The Soil

You are beneath my feet oppressed forgot,

Ugly and dark your face when first laid bare,

No symmetry, no fair relief your lot.

Across the sea they call you “dirt”. That’s fair.

For in your deep untrodden paths and niches

Crawl,  ghastly, loathsome, beasts small and obscene.

Your are the midden of a thousand species,

The grave yard for the countless  hosts unseen

Then came the spring and from your  breast arose

A multitude of promises of food

Of beauty in each bursting seed that grows.

The soil, I find it is no longer rude.

Without the soil I learn we could not feed

We least esteem the source of all we need.

Peter M. Grinham 25th February 2015

 

The Sky

The mistress of a thousand cryptic faces,

I raise my grateful longing eyes to you.

Your depths contain a multitude of graces

Which daily give an ever changing view.

Sometimes grey clouds give battle bold on high

On other days a gloom obscures the blue

That still remains above the clouded sky

Each day reveals some truth that’s ever new.

But when the sun is low and in its fall

The back cloth sky turns blue to green to red

And black barred cloud brings loveliness to all,

I thank my God for what the sky has said

For in the torment of tumultuous days

Sad pain to fairer beauty points my gaze.

Peter M.Grinham 20^th February 2015