EarthPoem Archives
Site Map
Teacher Resources
Teacher Resources
Learn Ecology
Kids' Earth Art
Members' Writing
John Caddy
Contact MorningEarth

John Caddy's
Morning Earth Poems
June 2002


Lightning plays behind wind-tossed trees
as thunder rolls from everywhere,
and through the thunder,
riding loud upon warm wind
the wild singing of the frogs.


Such music of sultry summer nights, when approaching storm is a promise of wind enough to carry away sweat. The frogs singing loud praise are connoisseurs of coming rain.



When you were small
you watched raindrops
slide down glass.
The best glass
to see a rainy day into
was old and wavy,
like Grandma's.
The drops meandered
through your eyes,
calm and safe.


Water-watching evokes so many reveries. We are exquisitely organized water, of course, so we are conscious water watching itself.



On the roadside lies an egg,
large, dried-hay gold and whole,
sun warmed, one end a narrow cone,
the other wide and round.
During last night's rain it slipped from
some hungry beak or paw and fell
on this wet indented sand,
cushioned by water
sheeting off the road.
Now it's heavy and warm.
I cup it. Whole.
Is there life inside?
And if so, what?


So often there is nothing we can do. There is nothing like an egg to wake the child.



The whitetail deer has been
watching me walk down the road.
The instant our eyes cling
she wheels on her hind legs
and dances into trees,
a white flag vanishing.


Eye-contact decides much among the furry kinds. I treasure such moments beyond my species, even when the cousin flees. Are they not wise?



The full moon last night shone
through miles of water haze
ascending night, until sky
was all moonglow.

In twilight, air drenched with June,
grasshoppers stridulate
in grasses suddenly tall and panicled.

Some wilding in flower has set
an ambush of fragrance.
In middle distance, treefrogs trill.

Dragonflies draw lazy wheels
through heavy air.

Quickbeats of swallows
who dive into nest holes
to deliver bugs, pop
right back out to hunt.


Summer thick upon us, every life is making seed or feeding the result. Steamy times.



The fledgling catbird
stands on the railing
in new feathers so dapper
he should be wearing spats
Every few moments
he begs to be fed
fluttering wings
as he did in the nest,
but he's now too
dapper to gape.


Beautiful teenagers all have this hunger, and parents all have to let them learn to find their own bugs. It's hard.



The brown cow
swaps its jaw side to side.
Calm as the cow,
a brown cowbird
walks about
on the cow's knobbed spine,
and things make a little sense.