earth cracked and dry
like the skin on my knuckles
the only difference
is the blood that seeps
through my skin

signs of life
cannot be mistaken
as proof of growth

sapped out seedlings

burn bury burn

crackle crumble

the will to live survives
the pain of scorch in
this desert of days

moisture moves
beneath the surface
with a ripple and a whorl
as the weight of memory
pulls me under




Linking up with the fabulous dVerse poets for Poetics, Whatever the Weather, join us!

14 Responses to “drought”

  • hedgewitch Says:

    Here the inner world mirrors the outer, and the dessication kills. The last lines hold out a bit of hope that somewhere there is an escape. You’re word by word construction of the emotional mirror which reflects back the scorch of the physical is faultless. Second stanza rules.

  • Debi Says:

    “signs of life cannot be mistaken as proof of growth.” truth, truth, truth.

  • claudia Says:

    the will to live survives… and there are those channels of moisture that we often only remember when the drought almost chokes us… like all the images in this..

  • honey Says:

    leave it to you make dehydration of the earth into a morning philosophy lesson. lovely. as always. i am your ardent fan.

  • stu mcp (hate&hope) Says:

    Sometimes life gets so hot that it seems like you won’t make it….but even in the harshest of droughts life still remains- this is what I took from this awesome poem…(even if that wasn’t your expressed intention!)… We all get scorched from time to time don’t we?…loving your work….always!

  • Anna Montgomery Says:

    Your examination fills me with a sense of the boundlessness of connection. I had a dream last night that was more like a mantra: micro-, meso-, and macro-cosms are one. This phrase repeated in variations and I woke up saying OKAY, I hear you. Apparently I needed another mirror today through your magnificent poetry. Thank you.

  • Susan Says:

    “the will to live survives
    the pain of scorch in
    this desert of days”

    Will a rescue come, will the blood rise again? Oh I hope so, you give me hope that under the outer show, something still breaths.

    Beautifully written to pull me in.

  • Heaven Says:

    Lovely share ~ I specially like the last stanza …memory pulling me under~

  • brian miller Says:

    signs of life
    cannot be mistaken
    as proof of growth

    dang tight stanza that…and the weight of memory pulling you under…evocative…drought is surely a killer…

  • Marcie Says:

    Hauntingly beautiful. Mesmerizing – both words and image.

  • Stereo Says:

    I needed this. You have no idea how much.

  • jane hewey Says:

    blood from your knuckles to moisture beneath the surface. great connections beginning to end. and the very center of your piece had my throat parched. burn bury burn, crackle crumble. very effective poetry.

  • Pat Byers (Tilda) Says:

    ditto to Debi’s response. ‘signs of life cannot….”
    as always, worth my time to come read.
    in fondest..tilda

  • Maery Rose Says:

    So much meaning to this poem. I can feel it to my core.

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