Ms. Widman 11th & 12th Grade
Drill.
The world didn’t begin with us.
The beauty of the rain forest
all the way to the ocean
the lush forest verdant with wildlife
the song birds sing deep in the trees
while woodpeckers interrupt the
song with incessant knocking
during the twilight when the wolves howl.
A sudden interruption.
Not that of a lynx chasing their hare
another
drill.
The foliage shivers
with the vibration of another
drill.
The cat approaches with deadly aim
target the ground
target the trees
target the life.
Drill.
Nearby mammals scram
while the birds nip their feathers.
It pounces onto every surface
demolishing every obstacle in its path.
The nearby ocean
shakes as well.
The seafoam peacefulness
becomes enveloped with
dark inky clouds.
Drill.
The shrimp and the salmon
glide to avoid
once an enemy
only now wanting
to live.
Drill.
Drill.
Drill.
Dirt is a comforting thing
dirt is a home
it provides life.
When I think of home I think of soil
my Dad has dirt behind his nails
my Mom has dirt stuck in her hair.
It’s because of this dirt that
my feet have touched so much soil.
The soil in Ireland is rich and deep.
The sky is dark yet the grass
is vibrant and homely.
Foals canter.
Lambs stumble
and magpies circle above.
Fuscia bushes blush and glow
lighting my pale face.
The soil holds roots
roots of the struggles
my ancestors faced
struggles that still appear
at the branches of my tree.
The soil holds love and passion.
The soil, the dirt
holds me.
Out of the AC-cooled house
into the natural warmth of the world
the big skyscrapers of ours
lit up by the rising sun
birds resting from their flight
using landlines for highground
rabbits running out of the wormwood
across the paved trails of Winnemac Park.
Dogs off their leash
collecting smiles from bystanders.
This beauty is a product
of not one
but two worlds
this art
the coexistence of nature
and the inventions of Man
creates a unique painting
connecting our innovativeness
with our roots
and displaying the beautiful harmony of both worlds.
In the jade green forest
it was full of life
ranging from a tiny delicate caterpillar
to a fierce lion
but then the Humans started
cutting trees down
each tree goes down
another animal forced out of its home.
Then these bold gray towers
made of rock and molten glass
emerge from the sky.
All animals left trapped in a cell
for the Humans’ amusement
but then a flaming rock
comes down the sky
and wipes everything out
then there was nothing again
plains void of life
until millennias later a
butter and eggs flower
breaks through the ground.
The grass is sweet, wet and fresh
Like the newborn pigeons
Slick with yolk and sparse feathers
A bundle of 5 baby doves.
In a world where they are seen
as flying vermin
Buckthorn under my feet
Scratchy, each step into the damp green
Like the soft wool of
Young ewes in the rain
An image from a story-
I have never lived.
But one I can get the sense of
I am a farmer with no farm or livestock
But I watch the plot of wormwood grow like it
Is my prized wheat
I have no chickens or sheep.
But the baby pigeons chirp,
The mother accepting my bits of stale burger
like feed to grow my poultry
My sheep sits there
She has fur and paws and a gray dog muzzle that says an old
“Woof”
But I can pet her soft rain soaked down
Feed her her greenies
And pretend its a “baa”