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Archive for the ‘Ecopoetry’ Category

Great Spangled Fritillary on Common Milkweed

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A human being is a part of the whole called by us universe, a part limited in time and space. He experiences himself, his thoughts and feelings as something separated from the rest, a kind of optical delusion of his consciousness. This delusion is a kind of prison for us, restricting us to our personal desires and to affection for a few persons nearest to us. Our task must be to free ourselves from this prison by widening our circle of compassion to embrace all living creatures  and the whole of nature in its beauty.
Albert Einstein.
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All these years, how have I overlooked this humble herb growing up through the pavement? Tough narrow leaves, bottle brush of tiny flowers climbing its central spike, an entire array of bottle brushes – Virginia Pepperweed. It’s in the Mustard family, Brassicaceae, so I can already imagine its spicy taste as I pinch off a leaf and raise it to my . . . but wait! Now I’m recalling the Fourth Question you must ask yourself when you forage in the wild: “Do dogs poop here?”
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In a few minutes I’ll explain Questions One, Two, and Three to my hikers that are now gathering in the field beside the nature trail. Thus we’ll begin our first ever Ethnobotany hike as part of NC Trail Days in Elkin. I’ve titled the event, “Some Feed Us, Some Heal Us, Some Kill Us.” Doesn’t our culture of plants teach us exactly that? Or have we become so far removed from nature that we’ve forgotten how everything around us affects us, and how we affect everything around us? Culture is the wisdom and traditions we pass along from generation to generation; Ethnobotany studies cultural relationships to plants. These hikers have signed up to satisfy their curiosity and learn something new, but I expect we will all learn from each other. I’m sure someone’s granny once picked creasy greens in the Spring or stirred up a mess of poke salet.
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Southern Chervil, Carrot/Parsnip family

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I go to Nature to be soothed and healed, and to have my senses put in tune once more.
John Burroughs
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Everyone needs beauty as well as bread, places to play in and pray in where Nature may heal and cheer and give strength to body and soul alike.
John Muir
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The Elkin & Allegheny Nature Trail, a part of the Mountains-to-Sea Trail, just three miles or so if you include all its side loops and detours, has become my textbook. I’ve walked here several times a week, all seasons and all weathers, until I know where to find the single Fairy Wand and the four Adam-&-Eve orchids. When the first Hepatica blooms and when the last Trout Lily has dropped its petals and set seed. And yet this trail is always new. Last week a just-fledged Pileated Woodpecker poked its head out of the hole we’d been watching for a month. This week American Hornbeam displays its little chandeliers of seeds, glistening with afternoon rain. There is always something to discover, something to become part of.
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This little three mile trail has also become my refuge. Maybe I start down the trail with a dark cloud around my head and my breathing sounds like thunder, maybe there is only cold encircling my heart. Maybe the dark and the cold have not fully dissipated by the time I return to my car, but nevertheless some small seed of hopefulness always finds a way to take root. I recently encountered this saying: “Each one of us carries a sack of rocks. You don’t know how heavy your neighbor’s sack is. You’ve just got to carry your own rocks.” There is always a way to put one foot in front of the other. Slow or fast, heavy or light, grunting or singing, there is a way to walk on down the trail.
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Hairy Skullcap, Mint family

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How important is a constant intercourse with nature and the contemplation of natural phenomena to the preservation of moral and intellectual health!
Henry David Thoreau, from his Journal, May 6, 1851
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The healing potential of flowering plants is an integral part of the deep bond that exists between humans and nature. That flowers have the ability to heal us, not only physically but also emotionally and spiritually, is something that has been recognized and utilized as far back as we know.
Anne McIntyre, from Flower Power
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Last week granddaughter Amelia and I played Scavenger Hunt. We took turns drawing little pictures of things in the yard and having the other one find them. My Dandelion and Holly she spotted right off. The Pill Bug she recognized but took longer to find. Just a half hour outdoors on a muggy day, but it erased a good fraction of my load of dread and loathing. She and I connected with each other in those connections with nature. As Einstein suggested, our task is to somehow discover that we are not separate from the universe, to widen our circle of compassion. As people come together on my little nature hikes, fifteen or twenty crouching in fields and woods eight or ten times a year, do we accomplish that? Do we connect?
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The First Question you must ask yourself before you pick a leaf or a flower is, “Am I 100% certain of my identification?” You wouldn’t want to brew up a tea of Pukeweed (Lobelia inflata). Wild Carrot is closely related and looks quite similar to the most toxic plant in North America, Poison Hemlock (Conium maculatum), both of them introduced from Europe and prevalent in our area. On the other hand, if I can recognize every member of the Rose family, Rosaceae, from apple to quince to almond, I can be pretty confident they are all edible.
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The Second Question is, “If I pick this, how will that affect the local ecology?” I tell folks they wouldn’t want to eat the last wild huckleberry if a hungry bear was standing beside them, but the full complexity of the web of life is impossible to grasp. Pollinators and larval hosts, things that creep beneath the leaf litter and fly down from the Red Oak’s crown, how does each feed and heal the next? My friend April supplemented her meager nutrition while she through-hiked the Appalachian trail by chewing greenbrier, cooking up pots of stinging nettle, cracking hickory nuts. She had a personal rule – never dig up a Cucumber Root if it was busy making a flower or a berry. It’s hard to imagine now, but a hundred years ago Galax was almost extirpated from the southern mountains as people gathered it to ship north for Christmas decorations. May we widen our circle of compassion to discover we, too, are part of these woods, these fields.
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And the Third Question is really just a subset of the Second: “If I pick this plant, how will it affect the experience of those who come after me?” Aren’t most major world philosophies and religions based on some paraphrase of this? The Golden Rule; the Second Commandment. It would seem obvious that in the shared space of a public park you wouldn’t dig up the flowers. Is it possible for us large-brained primates to widen our consciousness until we can image the entire earth as shared space?
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So let’s take a walk in the woods. Let’s imagine how our grandparents would have experienced and related to the life here. Let’s learn from these plants about other cultures, the Cherokee, the European pioneers. Let’s discover our own connections, to the diversity around us and to each other. Let’s be fed, and let’s be healed. Let us be part of the universe.
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Smooth Solomon’s Seal, Asparagus family

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The Christic
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I am looking at a tree, but I see such astounding beauty and
graciousness, the tree must be You, O God,
I look at the wild weeds playing across the fields, and their
wild joyful freedom speaks to me of You, O God.
Yesterday, I saw a child crying alone on a busy corner, and
the tears were real, and I thought, you must be crying, O God.
God, you are the mystery within every leaf and grain of sand,
in every face, young and old, you are the light and beauty
of every person.
You are Love itself.
Will we ever learn our true meaning, our true identity?
Will we ever really know that we humans are created for
love?
For it is love alone that moves the sun and stars
and everything in between.
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We are trying too hard to find You, but You are already here,
We are seeking life without You, but You are already within,
Our heads are in the sand, our eyes are blinded by darkness,
our minds are disoriented in our desperate search
for meaning.
Because you are not what we think You are:
You are mystery.
You are here and You are not,
You are me and You are not,
You are now and You are not,
You are what we will become.
You are the in-between mystery
The infinite potential of infinite love,
And it is not yet clear what You shall be,
For we shall become something new together.
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Ilia Delio, OSF
from The Not-Yet God: Carl Jung, Teilhard de Chardin, and the Relational Whole. Orbis Books, Maryknoll, NY. © 2023
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Black Cohosh, Buttercup family

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If you’re passing through Surry County, North Carolina, visit our trails! Elkin Valley Trails Association builds and maintains Section 6 of the Mountains-to-Sea Trail as well as many connecting trails in the area. The Over Mountain Victory Trail (Revolutionary War era) and Yadkin River Trail both pass through Elkin.
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EVTA also plans many trail activities and work days throughout the year, plus we partner with Explore Elkin to present NC Trail Days for four days at the beginning of June every year.
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And if you would like a copy of the handout I prepared for “Some Feed Us, Some Heal Us, Some Kill Us,” click HERE. This is a small subset of the 250+ plant species we’ve discovered on the E&A Nature Trail. Walk the trail and help us add more!
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Finally, you may notice that the title of our ethnobotany hike bears a resemblance to the title of the wonderful book by Hal Herzog, Some We Love, Some We Hate, Some We Eat, which I suppose you might call Ethnozoology. Dr. Herzog is a psychology professor at Western Carolina University in Cullowhee, NC and a world leader in the field of anthrozoology. Thanks, Hal, for continuing inspiration!
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And, for teaching me about sacks of rocks, warm thanks to Pat Riviere-Seel.
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Woodland Hydrangea & Bumble Bee

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Black-snakeroot (Sanicle), Carrot/Parsnip Family

 
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Virginia Pepperweed, Mustard family

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[with 3 poems by Kathryn Kirkpatrick]
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Turbulence
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Of the stomach lifting. Of the weightless
where I was and am again variety.
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Sway and crack, our craft. Slalom
the wind. So much carbon in the currents.
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Of the climate kind. Of the jerk and twack.
Of the hurtling toward. Shake right out
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of our human. As if we might not
settle back into these bodies,
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but land instead in someone else.
Yet the hare far below isn’t empty
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to receive us. Neither is the horse.
They have their own embodied plans.
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We will have to settle beside ourselves
Blurred boundaries and all. Bump,
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rattle, and creak. Our enlightened selves
grasp cokes, play solitaire, read, sleep,
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going on as if what’s happening isn’t.
With more than prayers
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holding us up, we are nonetheless
tossed in the vastness.
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Kathryn Kirkpatrick
from Creature, Jacar Press, Durham NC; © 2025.
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❦ ❦ ❦
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ah spring spring 
how great is spring! 
and so on 
Bashō (1644-1694)
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Basho has perfectly snared my mood this morning. I am reading Spring haiku at SeasonWords.com: Ah, Winter vanquished!, Ah, new life!, blah, blah, blah. I am not feeling newly lively these days, especially not as the sun so gaily rises. By day I seem to be the rock between two storms, my father and my son, but by 4 AM I have eroded to sand and the bed is far too gritty for sleep. Now this haiku blog offers a prompt for the season and encourages sharing? Here are my Spring lines:
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what to say
when everyone’s “spring, spring” –
toads trilling
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In her book Haiku and Senryu: A Simple Guide for All, Charlotte Digregorio states, Wherever one lives, one experiences changing seasons. The haiku’s brief flash illuminates one specific moment. We read the terse lines and might recognize where we are, but certainly, and more critically, we do know precisely when we are. Perhaps we have never shared the haiku’s circumscribed space, but we do share the time of pollen, the humidity, crisp crackling leaves, the shivers. A moment’s experience broadens into a communal truth.
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In that sense, haiku becomes less an instruction in encountering nature and more an invitation to shared humanity. Besides the experience of changing seasons, the thing we all share is the experience of suffering. A moment’s observation may stand in as a piercing metaphor: Spring’s anticipation, Summer’s lassitude, Autumn’s anxiety, Winter’s dread. And perhaps pricked by that dart of connection upon reading a haiku, we might also share one more thing – joy.
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Just to be fair, I imagine my Spring haiku is not really an indictment of inane people chattering around me. On a dark night after rain, the lonesome trill of an American toad rising from down in the woods is a peace offering. My son and I stood on the deck last night and heard it together. Yes, it was very dark. This morning, light has returned. Again. Oh my. The season rolls on.
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In 1685, the Japanese astronomer Shibukawa Shunkai adapted the 24 Solar Terms of the Chinese calendar for Japan and created 72 seasons. As we learn at SeasonWords.com, these 72 seasons “offer a poetic journey through the Japanese year in which the land awakens and blooms with life and activity before returning to slumber.” Mark, the site’s curator and naturalist, shares lessons from nature corresponding to the seasons; haiku both ancient and modern that complement the lesson; and craft tips / kigo with a prompt and an invitation. Readers share their haiku and receive commentary.
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Visit https://seasonwords.com/ and subscribe to receive periodic postings in your mailbox!
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The Ridge
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1.
One day I found the outline of a deer
in the snow. She’d slept on the old logging road
above our home, curled against the cold.
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Her imprint on a trail I’d walked for
twenty years was intricate and vulnerable
as I now feel since strangers bought this land.
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their cameras
nailed to the trunks of trees
Christ
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2.
At first I waved. New to the neighborhood,
the seemed shy. Hovering at the side
of the road with their harnessed dogs, they walked
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harnessed too, shoulders hunched, eyes averted.
About their money I didn’t then know, or
Appalachian families letting go of land.
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orange flags
festoon the property lines
orioles in snow
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3.
What we had of commons among
hill people here is gone, our hollow hollowed
out, our waves, our lifted heads, our calls across
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casual borders fretted now by registered
mail. “Not authorized.” “Legal action.” They’ve
no bonds to sunder because they’ve no bonds made.
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camera 1
my shetland sheepdog framed
first day of spring
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4.
Surveyed for surveillance, the ridge. But I
can love what I don’t own. I miss the oaks,
their wide-girthed stillness. I miss the mountain’s
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spine. Across family lands and state lines,
through Cherokee and Appalachian time,
the mountains stay. The mountains stay. They stay.
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a taloned sun sets
the red-tailed hawk
needs no human hand
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Kathryn Kirkpatrick
from Creature, Jacar Press, Durham NC; © 2025.
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Creatures – so we are. We seek what all creatures seek, but especially we seek the closeness of other creatures. Kathryn Kirkpatrick is visited by crows and grieves for house wrens dying and for cows separated from their calves. She reveals her creature’s struggle and confusion as she loses her mother. She is not afraid to say that she hesitates to speak of death because every creature must face death but fears to do so. She reveals moments and connections and we readers look about us to discover her light is casting our own shadow. And in the closing section of Creature, Kathryn Kirkpatrick has written the finest collection of dog poems I’ve read in twenty years.
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Creature by Kathryn Kirkpatrick at Jacar Press: HERE.
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On Finding Monarch Caterpillars in September
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And whatever love a parent
feels stealing bread for a starving
child, I have it as I dig by
the flimsy light of my bargain
headlamp, having driven miles for the last
of the chain-store milkweed, which will
feed these ravenous young in their striped
skins, who are no metaphor, who stand for
themselves only, though in my ecological
worry, my long-range fright, I am surely
standing for something as I shovel in the dark.
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Kathryn Kirkpatrick
from Creature, Jacar Press, Durham NC; © 2025.
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In their multi-generational migration pattern, the endangered monarch butterfly bears its fourth generation in September and October. Rather than dying after two to six weeks as the earlier generations do, this generation migrates to warmer climates like California and Mexico, living six to eight months before starting the process again. – K.K.
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[poems selected by and written by the students
of West Carteret High School, Morehead City, North Carolina, USA]
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Earlier this month I asked Jessi Waugh, teacher/scientist/poet and instructor in Earth and Environmental Science, if she would like to have her high school students contribute Poems for the Earth. Jessi replied Yes! and then this:
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Several days before the poem-writing lesson, I gave my students the assignment to post an EcoPoem to a class discussion. They could post any poem or song lyrics related to nature. In this discussion format, students are able to see each other’s posts and like or comment. Few interacted, but they did see each other’s poems as I scrolled through the class submissions.
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This assignment saw some of the expected favorites: Robert Frost, Shel Silverstein, Dr. Seuss. It also saw poems obviously chosen by a Google Search for “ecopoem example,” as I knew it would. But I got unexpected and delightful responses as well, such as:
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Stick your leaves back on
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My mother planted you the day I was born.
I grew with you.
I remember trying to stick your leaves back on in autumn;
I was scared of you changing.
Yet as time passed, my attempts stood no chance.
The cruel seasons ripped apart your branches.
The cruel season ripped me apart, too.
You looked so unrecognizable by the time winter ended,
I didn’t even wanna be near you.
My mother made me blow out a candle for you every year.
She hasn’t lit one in 1…2…3… I lost count.
I grew without you.
You stood tall, but I only kept changing.
I was scared of changing.
I’m 16 now.
A storm ripped you from the earth.
I’m trying to stick your leaves back on.
I wish you could do the same to me.
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Emily M
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The Rose that Grew from Concrete
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Did you hear about the rose that grew
from a crack in the concrete?
Proving nature’s law is wrong it
learned to walk without having feet.
Funny it seems, but by keeping its dreams,
it learned to breathe fresh air.
Long live the rose that grew from concrete
when no one else ever cared.
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Tupac Shakur
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Before they wrote a poem, Jessi gave her students this assignment: “Analyze the connections between the biosphere and other Earth systems (geosphere, hydrosphere, atmosphere).” She took them to the back soccer field at their school, which is surrounded on three sides by forest and powerline land. She had cut 2′ x 2′ pieces of an old tarp for them to sit on, and once they were outdoors she handed them a clipboard along with the assignment log sheet and told them to sit facing the forest and far enough apart so they couldn’t distract each other.
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When we first got out there, many students sat in the middle of the field or facing away from the forest, and I came around to encourage them to sit near the wild areas and turn towards them. Most did. Others were not comfortable and chose to stand or remain near the middle of the field, especially girls wary of jumping spiders.
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Students documented the abiotic and biotic factors in the ecosystem, reinforcing those terms, and created a food web with the 10 organisms they observed. These were concepts from class (trophic level, energy flow, limiting factors) put into practice. They then answered a series of questions about interactions between ecosystem components and biodiversity, and then crafted their poems, all while outside.
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Before taking them outside that day, I read the students one of my own poems, Dunation, but didn’t tell them it was mine. I told them to listen for the repetition of sounds and them suggested they repeat sounds in their poems as an easy literary device.
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It was a beautiful day, perfect for sitting in the back field for an hour. We saw at least 20 species between all the different insects, herbaceous perennials, trees, and birds. Likely closer to 50. In general, students were quiet and reflective and did a great job of observing the ecosystem.  – Jessi Waugh
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selected student poems . . .
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The Great Outdoors
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When I step outside to the great outdoors
I see nothing but change, out of our culture nothing
stays the same
not the trees, not the grass, not the very ground you stand on
everything around us is just waiting on its moment
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When I step outside to the great outdoors
I notice change is inevitable but nothing to fear
everything changes even just saying
“the last time I was here”
or the time and age you got, like the sound
of the creek, of the animals above, or even the things
that all of us take for granted like a mother’s love
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Everything changes
please don’t be afraid
be glad you have what you have
and enjoy the change
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Kevin Hunter, Student at West Carteret High School
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In the Back Soccer Field 
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With all these limiting beige walls I’m stuck with
for over 5 hours a day, it feels
refreshing to see the leaves, feel the breeze
crunch the brittle soil like the wandering ant
I make my pilgrimage
toward NATURE
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My eyes are stimulated by something that isn’t
a screen but the echoes of human
development still make their unpleasant sounds
nature is something that can’t be replicated
truly by plastic or plaster models or
the dull green of money, as nature is
VIBRANT and cannot be comprehended by man
no matter what
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Kyndall Griffin, Student at West Carteret High School
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Life Cycle
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Green
Life abounds
Sunlight kisses leaves
Insects buzz, a symphony of life
Grass
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Tiny world
Hidden, teeming
spiders spin, frogs leap
nature’s dance, a vibrant scene
Balance
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Stillness
Whispers softly
Decomposers working
Life to death, death into life
Cycle
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Jazireyah Johnson, Student at West Carteret High School
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and another favorite selected by Jessi’s students . . .
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rises the moon
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Days seem sometimes as if they’ll never end
Sun digs its heels to taunt you
But after sunlit days, one thing stays the same
Rises the moon
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Days fade into a watercolour blur
Memories swim and haunt you
But look into the lake, shimmering like smoke
Rises the moon
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Oh-oh, close your weary eyes
I promise you that soon the autumn comes
To darken fading summer skies
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Breathe, breathe, breathe
Days pull you down just like a sinking ship
Floating is getting harder
But tread the water, child, and know that meanwhile
Rises the moon
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Days pull you up just like a daffodil
Uprooted from its garden
They’ll tell you what you owe, but know even so
Rises the moon
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You’ll be visited by sleep
I promise you that soon the autumn comes
To steal away each dream you keep
Breathe, breathe, breathe
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lyrics and music by Liana Flores
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Dunation
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The sorrows they pile heart-high
head-high, sky-high like peaks
of primary dunes against winter-white
an accumulation of minutia
a hummock too precipitous to persist
Spring’s avalanche comes
grains slip-slide down dune slipfaces
so suddenly, the sound akin to arctic ice breaking
tern eggs crackling, oak limbs fracturing
in furious full-February gales
Hearts, heads, skies on fire
here comes March’s awakening
dunes crash-topple into manageable talus
Here we come
tip-toeing across the tops
paper children tumbling
over ridges and ruins
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Jessi Waugh, Earth and Environmental Science Teacher, West Carteret High School
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The main reaction from students to this project was appreciation for the time sitting outdoors, and they enjoy the social aspect of posting “favorite’ ecopoems on our class discussions. As much as I’d like to turn it into a week of poetry discussions, that would be terribly off-topic for my science class, and I used it primarily as a way to reflect on the connections between earth’s “spheres” (atmo, hydro, litho, geo) and how they interact in ecosystems. In general, I notice that students are disillusioned with politics and technology. They, like all students I’ve taught, enjoy hands-on experience and labs. I think poetry and teens could mix well in many places. – Jessi Waugh
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West Carteret High School is in Morehead City, North Carolina, in the southeastern USA. It is a public 9-12th grade high school, with about 1100 students. Approximately 40% of students are economically disadvantaged. Jessi Waugh teaches Earth and Environmental Science, since 2000 a required course for graduation. She also teaches Biology and Marine Science as needed, and has been a teacher for 12 years. Her students are all 9th & 10th grade, ages 14-16. The poems submitted are from both the honors and standard classes. She holds a Master’s in Teaching Secondary Science and an undergraduate Biology degree. I like teaching this course and age group; it’s my niche.
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