For the earthweal challenge and the dverse open link.

morning in january

Eyes, a window
in a borrowed room
with a view
of borrowed memories.

Thoughts skirmish,
birds after seeds,
rapid as stream water carrying its burden
of glitter into the dark.

Am I the thin branches,
pooling shadow beneath?

Not the bird, jay, crow, pigeon,
that rises chattering,

not the bonemeal
of dead leaves and burrowing things;

my feet are deep in this earth,
making my own ancestors.


This blue world



This blue world spins through space belted with cloud

and the great ocean, turning slow through the silent dark,


turning slow, and at each turn another light goes out, another

tree falls in the forest, another child dies in its mother’s arms.


Blue earth spins while the stars look down, and we look up

and wring our hands, some dreaming of new planets,


others dreaming of the old, how sweet the blackbirds

used to sing and the beauty of roses on summer evenings.

Across the universe


Is this the summum of creation

this smut in the eye of the universe

this polluted drop in the pristine waters of eternity?

Or is it not an unformed thing

a false good idea that will slowly sink

into the arms of oblivion? Perhaps

if the fates are kind it will scatter

across the web of scintillations

and lend its atoms to the multi-coloured winds

of some far and peaceful galaxy.

Quadrille 5: Blue planet

This quadrille didn’t start out as a homage to Major Tom, but that’s certainly how it has ended up.



Floating in your tin can,

I know how you feel—

the outside calls,

the darkness, tempting,

strung out in glitter

like a Christmas street.

Drifting so light,

eternity so hard to resist,

and our blue planet,

a chimera,

so easy to let it go.

Microfiction #writephoto: New dawn

For Sue Vincent’s Thursday photo prompt.


The last ship left with its huddled masses for another solar system, abandoning the blue planet sucked dry and arid. When the old sun set for the last time, Earth’s skin cracked, and her last sigh froze in the glacial cold. In the silence and the darkness, the spinning Earth felt a jolt, and a tremor ran through the soil and the rock. A new star was calling across the universe. Slowly, then faster, night followed day followed night, so fast and so far, pulled by the young star, pulsing brighter with every parsec Earth covered.

Earth locked into her new orbit, and the first dawn broke in all the hues the old world had ever know, washed clean by the winds of space and warmed by the power of the young star. The ice melted, the soil warmed and shivered with pleasure, sifting and shifting seeds and roots. In deep burrows and earths, in river mud and deep sea sand, life stretched. Nests with cold eggs basked in the growing heat, and in the heart of a jungle of dry brambles, eggs hatched. Later, soon, when the first leaves unfurled green and tender, a brown bird with a red throat shook out his feathers and began his song, the first song in the new world that said: winter is over.

Spring day

Another poem for NaPoWriMo’s Earth day prompt

©Wolfgang Bergmann


The earth shifts / the year turns

From dark to light/ grey to green, new leaves uncurling

The stars are fading/ palest blossom on a black bough

Night is slipping/ dark times forgotten

Beneath the dawn line/ dappled still with moonlight

Where day is hatching/ in a flurry of birdsong

Ravelling up the past/ spring flags unfurl

Perpetual motion/ eternal cycle.

NaPoWriMo: Earth

An Earth Day prompt. This might be the first poem of several.



not rich, not deep and galleried with crawling things.

Thin and unlovely it was,

speckled with decades of thoughtless waste,

glass shards, bottle tops, plastic caps, nylon string,

and older, rusted things that once has a purpose.

Garden earth,

was tainted with paint spills and varnish,

and killer products supposed to ward off evil pests,

the stupidity of ignorant preference,

tulips over dandelions.

My garden earth,

I tend and nurture,

returning what I can,

the peel of dead vegetables, tea leaves,

the good things the earth eats.

My garden earth responds,

With the riddling of galleries,

the wriggling of earthworms and earwigs,

the spiral beauty of snails,

and the first prize,

the gold of the podium,

the mad scampering of blackbirds

as they dig and scratch, squabble and cluck, tossing and turning,

in their wild treasure hunt.

My garden earth responds with life.