We came from the soil, I thought, as Siqueiros prints flashed on the screen three seconds apart, just enough to absorb the feeling of mud, of desolation, of exquisite tragedy, until another picture annihilated the first, without so much as a fade out, to create the same ennui again.
Shalaka Ghiara
Ah soil. The top layer of the earth. A blend of life and rock known to exist nowhere else but our humble planet.
Cameron White
retrieved your fingers dark moist and sticky then turned and collapsed neck cradled like a little ergonomic pillow. soil burrows into your tiny curls like ants
I raised my head just a little, to see nothing but the same things i saw yesterday and the day before that… how I long for the moment I can stem out and finally see the blue-gray ceiling, sapphire in its vastness, that everyone else walks under and seems not to understand.
Since I live in Minnesota I won’t be seeing any soil anytime soon. Some times I think that the people who lived here hundreds of years ago must have been crazy. How the hell did they survive.
the serene smell when the rain drops soak in, the moist touch which freshens your feet, but the same dust that causes tornadoes in front of your eyes, and can destroy your years of dreams in a second.
The soil was re-used after the excavation, tons of soil being transported by trucks all the way from the other neighbourghood block; it was fresh and humid from the rain falling since this morning in the town of Wichita.
dhar
The soil was hard and tightly compressed. It was going to be quite a challenge for the feathery tendril of budding life to poke thought the surface. But a challenge it was going to take on. And succeed. Life wouldn’t always succeed, but this one would.
When I think of soil I at first think of dirt — something yucky that I don’t want to touch. But upon second thought I think of life itself – rich soil that helps the plants to grow and nourishes our bodies as well as our souls. I think of dark black soil that is lush and reminds me of making mud pies in grandmother’s backyard. Those were carefree days. I miss them.
Molly
the dirt was under her nails, all over her hands but she still hadn’t seen whatr she was looking for. She needed it or her whole world might crumble, she knew it was here somewhere!
L
The soil was soft. The rugged soldier bent down on his knee and felt it in his fingertips. It was good, nutritious soil. Mixed with many of the components required for good farmland. He put the dirt in his mouth and tasted all of these.
This was where he belonged, not in some nameless war for a faceless leader. He should be defending his farmland! Not helping his fellow soldiers burn others’ to the ground!
Will
I’ve been buried for a long time now; I can smell the earth beneath my feet and back and legs and I can feel it twisting under my fingernails. It hurts to smell nothing else. Earthworms dig through me and shoot me out the other side. I am health. I am nothing if not normality and health. Eat me alive.
Ishani
The soil. The crimson soil. I can’t believe I actually see another one. This, this is impossible! It’s supposed to be gone from this world. But still, here it is. And I don’t wanna know how it ended up here. It put this lovely village into danger.. What should I do? What !?
fail
cool, musty, crawling with worms. The smell of Autumn, picking potatoes with my Dad and siblings, an aching back but thoughts of new spuds when we get home. That which we return to.
Monica Flynn
The soil is the foundation of our earth. It is what enables growth and fertility. Without soil there would be no plant life, without plant life there would be an absence of pure beauty and also there would be no animals at all, only carnivores the most treacherous and evil beings on the earth. Without soil this world would be a dark, grim, competitive place. 99% of all wonders of the world would not have been born onto this wondrous earth in the absence of soil. When you really think about it, soil is the foundation to all life and true beauty on this solemn earth. We should praise the soil and respect it more in our day to day lives, and stop all of the ruthless tearing of its fruit (ie. trees) from it.
Molly O'Meara
The soil was hard and tightly compressed. It was going to be quite a challenge for the feathery tendril of budding life to poke thought the surface. But a challenge it was going to take on. And succeed. Life wouldn’t always succeed, but this one would.
Justforfun
the place where it all begins
the place where it all grows
and yet
it is also the place where it all ends
till death?
the farmer tills forever.
rai
Soil is solid, it’s earthy, it smells like ourselves. It sees pain, happiness and exists in a state of beauty due to its state of necessity.
Une terre humide, l’odeur de la pluie imprégné le sol. La terre, ma terre. Ma mère, ma patrie.
Oulidi
the earth contains soil, and soil is where are bodies return to when we die. It is not just a mere scientific concept, it is the source of food, energy, life for the living beings on this planet. So one should ask themselves – why do we never think about soil the way we should and pay the deserved tribute?
de
The soil beneath his bare feet felt so good. The clear blue sky above and the rustling of the trees, the sun shining warmth on his face. This was the good life. The stream was quite wide; here the rushing eddies could still be crossed easily.
the earth, the worms, the death
that’s what soil is to me. that’s where i want to be
that’s where everything goes. there is no runaway. the cycle has to be completed
God.
M.Pereira
Land. people can plant various plants in it. They grow goods to eat, to use for many needs. Soil is the source of life. The earth needs it as much as it does water.
Uğur
Soil; the magnificent earthen concoction that surrounds us. Comforting the most delicate of flowers into existence.
Andrew B
The soil around my home was not good enough for the planting of food provision, so I had to dug it up and replace it with top soil. After a couple of months and seeing the results, it was worth every cent that I had spend.
What about just picking up some dirt in a garden?
Why use a trowel; why not move the soil around with your hands? Burrow a little hollow space for a seed with your finger, drop it in, push the soil over it with your bare palms, and pat it down tight?
Every time I get involved in anything, no matter how specific my intentions are, something always manages to distract me. I imagine that in gardening, it would be rubbing that good, pure dirt into the lines of my hands.
remains lining your hands, it dries them out and deprives the rose and the worms.
Bonn
The soil is to me, one of the strongest materials. Something so easily moved about can grow and support something so beautiful such as the delicate rose. Her petals so soft felt and colors so majestic . And so how is it just some dirt can create and tarnish something so catching to the eye.
Thus, soil brings in and out the life. Makes desert plains into garden wonders. Grows and provides for our flowers. And once that flower dies its seeds descends into the same soil its ancestors were flourished in, get grown. Therefore the process of beautiful life.
We take to granite these small miracles of the world. Looking at its dull appearance rather than its lively hood. Open your eyes and see all the true beauty around you. Big or small. Theres a reason for everything.
soil is dark brown
it’s everywhere
we come from soil
and end up in the soil
look at that soil ovr there
it’s so good
where did you get so much soil on your shoes
do not soil the floor
you have soil on your pants
where did we see that soil
Rance Q Spartley
Throw it under, pile some earth on top, bury it so that it may never rise again. I hate what has grown from the tears that have watered it. When did this disdain and hatred grow where love should be? When something is watered with so many bitter tears, with no one to give it love, what would you expect to grow? \
bleak-footed children scamper, memory-shards held by quiet breathing. irreplaceable, they caper; ghost-children caught in the world spiralling between my lungs, heavy with your heart-soil.
I never truly knew what it was about the earth that made me feel as if I was a part of it, but the ground beneath me, the soil, allowed me to actually become one with it.
Through it, the old and dead actually allow life to keep flourishing on this beautiful planet, as I will one day.
Josephino Stalin
what i’m standing on, where plants grow, what my cats are not supposed to step on though i let them to sometimes. where i will be when i die. what i’m made of.
Sekar Joewono
The gardener had no problem in the Midwest. It was here in Florida that the soil was not actually combined with any sort of nutrients. It was just sand. Sometimes he wondered why he ever moved down to the southern states. He didn’t even know the woman that well when he upped and left his entire existence. If you want to grow fruits and vegetables, one should probably start with a decent relationship. How metaphorical, he thought. The woman was too good to be true, but he had never felt like that before. Sometimes you have to take a risk. Sometimes you have to make mistakes. He looked at the sand. Sometimes you lose your foundation and end up on something inhabitable.
l love the smell of soil when rain fall down into the earth. simple but feel so comfort. stay with the colour, black
Shinta Debora
soil is that which supports all the plant life upon earth. Because of soil we can live, and breath, and eat plants. Without soil life would not exist, for there would be no oxygen for us to breath, no vegetables for us to eat, and we would be worth less.
Chcobo
There’s a group at my school called Leadership. It’s actually a mini-school, but all they do is environmental bullshit. They play with soil and want everyone in the whole world to “go green”. What is “going green” besides good marketing? Seriously, those kids are the most stupid people I have ever met. They get on my nerves.
Delilah Wichunter
The soft soil sifted underneath my bare feet, growing in between my toes so I could feel every little piece of the earth underneath me. I felt alive, happy and content. This was truly home. You knew it was home by the gentle caress of love it gave to your toes and how it was gently warmed by the summer sun, high in the sky.
We came from the soil, I thought, as Siqueiros prints flashed on the screen three seconds apart, just enough to absorb the feeling of mud, of desolation, of exquisite tragedy, until another picture annihilated the first, without so much as a fade out, to create the same ennui again.
Ah soil. The top layer of the earth. A blend of life and rock known to exist nowhere else but our humble planet.
retrieved your fingers dark moist and sticky then turned and collapsed neck cradled like a little ergonomic pillow. soil burrows into your tiny curls like ants
I raised my head just a little, to see nothing but the same things i saw yesterday and the day before that… how I long for the moment I can stem out and finally see the blue-gray ceiling, sapphire in its vastness, that everyone else walks under and seems not to understand.
Since I live in Minnesota I won’t be seeing any soil anytime soon. Some times I think that the people who lived here hundreds of years ago must have been crazy. How the hell did they survive.
the serene smell when the rain drops soak in, the moist touch which freshens your feet, but the same dust that causes tornadoes in front of your eyes, and can destroy your years of dreams in a second.
The soil was re-used after the excavation, tons of soil being transported by trucks all the way from the other neighbourghood block; it was fresh and humid from the rain falling since this morning in the town of Wichita.
The soil was hard and tightly compressed. It was going to be quite a challenge for the feathery tendril of budding life to poke thought the surface. But a challenge it was going to take on. And succeed. Life wouldn’t always succeed, but this one would.
When I think of soil I at first think of dirt — something yucky that I don’t want to touch. But upon second thought I think of life itself – rich soil that helps the plants to grow and nourishes our bodies as well as our souls. I think of dark black soil that is lush and reminds me of making mud pies in grandmother’s backyard. Those were carefree days. I miss them.
the dirt was under her nails, all over her hands but she still hadn’t seen whatr she was looking for. She needed it or her whole world might crumble, she knew it was here somewhere!
The soil was soft. The rugged soldier bent down on his knee and felt it in his fingertips. It was good, nutritious soil. Mixed with many of the components required for good farmland. He put the dirt in his mouth and tasted all of these.
This was where he belonged, not in some nameless war for a faceless leader. He should be defending his farmland! Not helping his fellow soldiers burn others’ to the ground!
I’ve been buried for a long time now; I can smell the earth beneath my feet and back and legs and I can feel it twisting under my fingernails. It hurts to smell nothing else. Earthworms dig through me and shoot me out the other side. I am health. I am nothing if not normality and health. Eat me alive.
The soil. The crimson soil. I can’t believe I actually see another one. This, this is impossible! It’s supposed to be gone from this world. But still, here it is. And I don’t wanna know how it ended up here. It put this lovely village into danger.. What should I do? What !?
cool, musty, crawling with worms. The smell of Autumn, picking potatoes with my Dad and siblings, an aching back but thoughts of new spuds when we get home. That which we return to.
The soil is the foundation of our earth. It is what enables growth and fertility. Without soil there would be no plant life, without plant life there would be an absence of pure beauty and also there would be no animals at all, only carnivores the most treacherous and evil beings on the earth. Without soil this world would be a dark, grim, competitive place. 99% of all wonders of the world would not have been born onto this wondrous earth in the absence of soil. When you really think about it, soil is the foundation to all life and true beauty on this solemn earth. We should praise the soil and respect it more in our day to day lives, and stop all of the ruthless tearing of its fruit (ie. trees) from it.
The soil was hard and tightly compressed. It was going to be quite a challenge for the feathery tendril of budding life to poke thought the surface. But a challenge it was going to take on. And succeed. Life wouldn’t always succeed, but this one would.
the place where it all begins
the place where it all grows
and yet
it is also the place where it all ends
till death?
the farmer tills forever.
Soil is solid, it’s earthy, it smells like ourselves. It sees pain, happiness and exists in a state of beauty due to its state of necessity.
Une terre humide, l’odeur de la pluie imprégné le sol. La terre, ma terre. Ma mère, ma patrie.
the earth contains soil, and soil is where are bodies return to when we die. It is not just a mere scientific concept, it is the source of food, energy, life for the living beings on this planet. So one should ask themselves – why do we never think about soil the way we should and pay the deserved tribute?
The soil beneath his bare feet felt so good. The clear blue sky above and the rustling of the trees, the sun shining warmth on his face. This was the good life. The stream was quite wide; here the rushing eddies could still be crossed easily.
The ground was wet. The rain kept pouring. The soil was opening up. Worms were coming out. Flowers were wilting. Time was passing by.
Wolves were howling. The night darkening around me. The breeze kept blowing. The leaves kept falling. Plants kept growing.
Life kept going on.
Dark, Rich, Beauty of earth. I am the maker of life. The taker of life. Processor of energy.
the earth, the worms, the death
that’s what soil is to me. that’s where i want to be
that’s where everything goes. there is no runaway. the cycle has to be completed
God.
Land. people can plant various plants in it. They grow goods to eat, to use for many needs. Soil is the source of life. The earth needs it as much as it does water.
Soil; the magnificent earthen concoction that surrounds us. Comforting the most delicate of flowers into existence.
The soil around my home was not good enough for the planting of food provision, so I had to dug it up and replace it with top soil. After a couple of months and seeing the results, it was worth every cent that I had spend.
What about just picking up some dirt in a garden?
Why use a trowel; why not move the soil around with your hands? Burrow a little hollow space for a seed with your finger, drop it in, push the soil over it with your bare palms, and pat it down tight?
Every time I get involved in anything, no matter how specific my intentions are, something always manages to distract me. I imagine that in gardening, it would be rubbing that good, pure dirt into the lines of my hands.
remains lining your hands, it dries them out and deprives the rose and the worms.
The soil is to me, one of the strongest materials. Something so easily moved about can grow and support something so beautiful such as the delicate rose. Her petals so soft felt and colors so majestic . And so how is it just some dirt can create and tarnish something so catching to the eye.
Thus, soil brings in and out the life. Makes desert plains into garden wonders. Grows and provides for our flowers. And once that flower dies its seeds descends into the same soil its ancestors were flourished in, get grown. Therefore the process of beautiful life.
We take to granite these small miracles of the world. Looking at its dull appearance rather than its lively hood. Open your eyes and see all the true beauty around you. Big or small. Theres a reason for everything.
soil is dark brown
it’s everywhere
we come from soil
and end up in the soil
look at that soil ovr there
it’s so good
where did you get so much soil on your shoes
do not soil the floor
you have soil on your pants
where did we see that soil
Throw it under, pile some earth on top, bury it so that it may never rise again. I hate what has grown from the tears that have watered it. When did this disdain and hatred grow where love should be? When something is watered with so many bitter tears, with no one to give it love, what would you expect to grow? \
I just need your love now.
bleak-footed children scamper, memory-shards held by quiet breathing. irreplaceable, they caper; ghost-children caught in the world spiralling between my lungs, heavy with your heart-soil.
I never truly knew what it was about the earth that made me feel as if I was a part of it, but the ground beneath me, the soil, allowed me to actually become one with it.
Through it, the old and dead actually allow life to keep flourishing on this beautiful planet, as I will one day.
what i’m standing on, where plants grow, what my cats are not supposed to step on though i let them to sometimes. where i will be when i die. what i’m made of.
The gardener had no problem in the Midwest. It was here in Florida that the soil was not actually combined with any sort of nutrients. It was just sand. Sometimes he wondered why he ever moved down to the southern states. He didn’t even know the woman that well when he upped and left his entire existence. If you want to grow fruits and vegetables, one should probably start with a decent relationship. How metaphorical, he thought. The woman was too good to be true, but he had never felt like that before. Sometimes you have to take a risk. Sometimes you have to make mistakes. He looked at the sand. Sometimes you lose your foundation and end up on something inhabitable.
l love the smell of soil when rain fall down into the earth. simple but feel so comfort. stay with the colour, black
soil is that which supports all the plant life upon earth. Because of soil we can live, and breath, and eat plants. Without soil life would not exist, for there would be no oxygen for us to breath, no vegetables for us to eat, and we would be worth less.
There’s a group at my school called Leadership. It’s actually a mini-school, but all they do is environmental bullshit. They play with soil and want everyone in the whole world to “go green”. What is “going green” besides good marketing? Seriously, those kids are the most stupid people I have ever met. They get on my nerves.
The soft soil sifted underneath my bare feet, growing in between my toes so I could feel every little piece of the earth underneath me. I felt alive, happy and content. This was truly home. You knew it was home by the gentle caress of love it gave to your toes and how it was gently warmed by the summer sun, high in the sky.