Kerstin Zu Pan / Trunk Archive
Introduction by Daphne Chouliaraki Milner
Poems courtesy of Poets for the Planet
A curation of poems and songs to celebrate Mother Earth, who is so often overlooked during the most romantic time of the year.
Editor’s Note: This month’s edition of EarthTones does not include a Spotify playlist at the request of Poets for the Planet due to the music platform’s public endorsement of Joe Rogan.
Every year, over 200 million roses are produced in preparation for Valentine’s Day in the U.S alone. Many more are flown in from Latin American countries like Ecuador and Colombia where the climate is warmer and labor costs are cheaper. In 2018, The Washington Post reported that Colombia flew more than four billion flowers to the U.S., many of them in the lead-up to the popular holiday. Although such flowers are given to loved ones as tokens of appreciation, respect, devotion, and care every February, the environmental cost is huge.
For example: reporting by The Post revealed that 30 cargo jets carrying more than a million flowers each fly from Colombia to Miami every day for the three weeks leading up to Valentine’s Day. This means the release of roughly 5,700 kg of CO2 emissions into the atmosphere on a daily basis. Moreover, flowers are then transported across the U.S. in refrigerated trucks, which require 25% more fuel than regular trucks, according to reporting by Vox. That’s not to say we shouldn’t celebrate holidays like Valentine’s Day, but thinking about how and why we choose to participate matters.
And so, at Atmos, we have chosen to spend Valentine’s Day celebrating our love for Mother Earth—who is so often overlooked during the most romantic day of the year. We are doing so in collaboration with Poets for the Planet, a community of poets and creative activists dedicated to fighting the climate and ecological emergency with words. Together, we have curated a collection of sonnets and love poems that explore our symbiotic relationship with the Earth, and compiled a track list filled with energizing, upbeat songs to celebrate the joys of the natural world.
oceans of love
by Alwyn Marriage
This huge expanse of time and space
appears to separate, until we understand
that all the oceans of the world
flow into one another, so that as I stand,
twelve thousand miles from home,
this water is in fact the substance
that is joining us — particles paired
with particles in a close conjunction
multiplied many times to reach
those you are touching now.
I can’t swim that far
but can immerse my hand
in ripples that stretch out
in your direction, feel love flow
through depths and storms
and unimaginable distance
to where you’re gazing out to sea,
remembering the happiness we’ve shared,
counting the months we’ve been apart,
and wishing you could reach me.
Grammar of a ring
by Alwyn Marriage
This ring has not worn thin,
or lost much of its shine.
It is a public sign
that I’m already
permanently paired
and therefore not available.
It is a symbol of our love
for one another, given and received
by two young optimists
nearly half a century ago.
There could be other symbols —
shared cup, pink heart, tied knot
— but this gold band
is the one most of us understand.
It’s like the rolling sphere
of time, a simile suggesting
all the years we’ve been a pair,
and our hope that we will still
be going round together
as the years spin by.
But more than a sign, a simile or symbol,
this ring’s a metaphor:
it’s made of earth’s most precious metal,
has been worn smooth by years of sharing,
fits snugly, is always there,
carries a hint of sexual union,
— has no ending.
Rewilding the Body
by Rachael Clyne
Based on Isobel Tree’s account of rewilding Knepp House Farm.
The ribs of my country jut,
its dreams tilled to exhaustion.
by intensively farmed ambition.
Let thistle stitch my wounds,
and painted-lady caterpillars feast
on their prickles.
Let pigs unzip my paths,
with cracks for bastard toadflax
and meadow-cleary.
Let ragwort flourish
as one hundred and seventy-seven insect species
thrive on its bad reputation.
Let longhorn cattle tramp
hoof-print pools for fairy shrimp,
water crowfoot, stonewort.
And one moonlit night – nightingales
will return to fill my country
with their song.
Step warily, my dear
by Rachael Clyne
on slippery earth-paths
that thread uphill
past ivied trunks
away from a world
of shotgun crack
and quad bike roar.
Lift your head instead
to light that catches
silver on hazel bark.
If, my friend
you find yourself
wire-barred
backtrack down
bottom-slide
clutch each
handhold branch
offered to you
by soft-voiced
strangers.
Learn, my friend
to avoid the lure
of sticky situations.
If their mire sucks you in
wave your wing tips
let the pull of air tide
uplift you all the way
to the hillfort crown.
Rest there, my love
on an old horse trough.
Gaze at dainty deer tracks
by your feet and scrutinise
badger sgraffito.
Listen to rooks chatter
feel your body fizz.
Now you are human-imal,
mudful of mind.
Cinema Paradiso
by Claire Booker
When Alfredo lets the film fly on its beam of light,
I Pompieri di Viggiù comes to roost
on a tenement block, rippling the hard lines
of masonry. Isn’t love sleight of hand after all?
You and I, in rainy Islington, among discrete
coughs and rustles, spoon Sicily’s raw energy
into our souls. Giant faces undulate over shutters
in the hot body of night. A couple on the cliff edge
of passion, lips parted, noses positioned, close in
for the . . . Twenty years, and they’ve never
let us see a kiss! wails an old Sicilian; the withheld
moment like a slap across the wrists.
How we laugh, as the priest rings his hand bell
and Alfredo snips each corrupting frame.
Kisses drop to the floor, shiny as snakes; alive
in our minds as only the unsaid can be.
IF
by Shanta Acharya
If the universe had not been Love’s creation,
life and light born in an unimaginable explosion –
we would not exist.
If the Milky Way and the dust of dying stars
did not scatter in space, in love’s reincarnation –
we would not exist.
If the sun and moon did not send their rays to earth,
awakening us to worlds beyond our imagination –
we would not exist.
If our sky did not gift us with the gods of weather,
protecting us from space debris and radiation –
we would not exist.
If our planet did not revolve round its axis,
inner and outer cores locked in lovers’ passion –
we would not exist.
If day and night did not daily renew their vows,
blessing us with light and darkness for our preservation –
we would not exist.
If water did not enthral us with the miracle
of creation, the beginning of life and evolution –
we would not exist.
If plants did not produce oxygen for no reason
except the pure joy of breathing in carbon –
we would not exist.
If every species did not have a purpose for being
here, their lives worthy of celebration –
we would not exist.
If nature’s bounty and resilience did not go about
scattering the seeds of hope and compassion –
we would not exist.
If greed and ignorance, pride and power
stand in the path of enlightenment and realisation –
we will cease to exist.
SONG OF PRAISE
by Shanta Acharya
from prayers in different traditions
Praise the stars in their constellations
for knowing their place, yet blessing all migrations.
Praise the sun, powerful, yet unwavering
in its journey across the sky, light pulsing
through clouds, mists – life sustaining.
Praise the moon always true, waxing waning,
constant in its daily transformation.
Praise the earth as it moves on its axis –
inner and outer cores holding on to each other,
partners on the dance floor, steady as they go.
Praise day and night, mere limits of our perception;
and death, a release from our earth-bound vision.
Praise the sky, air, ether; praise the universe
for awakening us to worlds beyond our imagination.
Praise water in all its forms, giving and taking –
blood flowing through continents of bodies.
Praise plants sun-facing, light-changing,
breathing in carbon, green deities in meditation,
giving us oxygen, expecting nothing in return.
Praise the eye of the guest – clear, observant.
Praise the giver of life – almighty, benevolent.
Praise every species in our planet
masterpieces of evolution –
rich, rare, wild, keepers of infinite secrets.
Storm Arwen
by M. Anne Alexander
Our pylons fell down.
Our trees fell down.
Our power was lost.
Buzzards fell from the sky,
feasting from entangled wires
that felled lives beyond our ken.
Soldiers fell in, powerless as engineers,
but, taking their cue from neighbours,
venturing in with water, warmth, care,
while starlings called
and huddled together,
leading the restoration.
Woods: for sale
by M. Anne Alexander
Greened claws grip and
a sinewed trunk lies
along the ground
to a knotted knee
of an old beech tree,
driven down by
long-since silenced winds
but its trunk curves still
and from its loins a tree rises
straight and tall towards the sun
and a copse of cousins
clings close around …perhaps
sprung from fallen seeds or, maybe,
from roots below the ground.
Another fallen beech lies
in a darker place.
Its trunks twist and intertwine
till they twirl and shoot
towards the sky…
though its roots appear
long since wrenched away.
Dark caverns underlie torn roots.
We can’t see where they lead,
nor what subterranean lives
sustain one another here. Nor
can we imagine what is to happen
to the wyrd web of life in this ancient wood,
about to endure the ruthless roar of a chainsaw.
Nature’s kind
by M. Anne Alexander
Badger cubs, born early in the year,
blink into full-flushed Spring, when
food abounds – in good time
to fatten for the winter to come,
unless killed by dominant sows
or males unsure of their paternity:
what is it that turns Nature’s ways
red in tooth and claw?
Mine, mine are the genes
that I, I determine
should survive to the end of time;
but why?
Here on
Earth
by Kevin Wright
A sense of
belonging
where I stand
My hand
scoops earth
of forebearers
from below my
feet
Its faith
exudes
through my
fingers
Streaming
through body,
kin and all
This place of
sanctuary
Our world
remains
unquestioning,
it needs our
support
Where you
and I, live and
love
And one day
become the
earth
Seeing Stars
by Michele Witthaus
Pulling over on a ridge,
we gazed down over the city.
Too much glare, we agreed.
On we drove, ever higher,
until we found a lookout spot
beyond the reach of street lights.
Later, when we recalled that night,
you described the joy
of seeing a star streak earthwards.
I smiled but said nothing.
I’d missed it because
my eyes were fixed on you.
All Weather Friends
by Peter Raynard
I remember my childhood as always being sunny
but it was only the summer of ’69 that was hot.
Climate’s grip was still loose, before the factories
began coughing up soot. Our two up two down
backed onto the school playground and I would call
my mother, to bring out the jammy dodgers
or custard creams to the school fence at lunchtime
to feed me and my hungry friends, like pets at a zoo.
At that bright age friendships were built on tricks
and games, who made you laugh the most,
the most silly, most naughty. Grammar school
entrance meant none of those boys stayed mates.
I forged long term friendships in my twenties
in pubs, clubs, on football fields, and at gigs.
Friends for more than forty years. Seen the many worlds
with them, marriage and kids, though some passed
on by whilst the earth began to blaze. Most
are layered with hot days and cold, trying to keep
up with the weather, as power hungry people
eat away at the earth’s burning soul.