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We have to rebirth,
the soul of this planet
praying it be cleansed
and gentled evermore,
but as nails keep piercing
hands reach to smooth
her scared shroud

It has to be worshipped
like the apostle to the apostles,
but with a feast of celebration
everyday, dressed in her finest,
she must be read and chronicled
by scribes across the ages

her spirit cries out for a easing,
for the torment that embroiders
across and through her linen,
rent from the abuse and torture
of her kin and by their hands,
marred she is torn

it will take Millenniums
to ponder at the fibers of her cloth,
for in the beginning,
as the interweave of her shroud
we started to spin,
our great wheels through time

but as the linen folds
hands must reach
to smooth her holy surface

Style / type: 
Free verse
Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Last few words: 
Inspired by a poem called *In Praise of Ironing* by Pablo Neruda and a poem by P.K.Page *Planet Earth*
Editing stage: 


Canadian poet P.K. Page's poem, Planet Earth, has been selected to be part of a United Nations program to foster dialogue among nations, involving readings in countries around the world and possibly from Alpha, the new international space station. The poem was published in Ms. Page's collection, The Hidden Room, Collected Poems (in two volumes), 1997 by The Porcupine's Quill Inc., 68 Main St., Erin, Ontario, N0B 1T0 Canada. Tel: 519-833-9158; Email: <[email protected]>. Planet Earth was inspired by four lines of a longer poem by Pablo Neruda, a Chilean writer. The poem expresses her feelings and pain for what humanity is doing to the Earth.


It has to be spread out, the skin of this planet,
has to be ironed, the sea in its whiteness;
and the hands keep on moving,
smoothing the holy surfaces.
----- In Praise of Ironing by Pablo Neruda
It has to be loved the way a laundress loves her linens,
the way she moves her hands caressing the fine muslins
knowing their warp and woof,
like a lover coaxing, or a mother praising.
It has to be loved as if it were embroidered
with flowers and birds and two joined hearts upon it.
It has to be stretched and stroked.
It has to be celebrated.
O this great beloved world and all the creatures in it.
It has to be spread out, the skin of this planet.

The trees must be washed, and the grasses and mosses.
They have to be polished as if made of green brass.
The rivers and little streams with their hidden cresses
and pale-coloured pebbles
and their fool's gold
must be washed and starched or shined into brightness,
the sheets of lake water
smoothed with the hand
and the foam of the oceans pressed into neatness.
It has to be ironed, the sea in its whiteness.

and pleated and goffered, the flower-blue sea
the protean, wine-dark, grey, green, sea
with its metres of satin and bolts of brocade.
And sky - such an 0! overhead - night and day
must be burnished and rubbed
by hands that are loving
so the blue blazons forth
and the stars keep on shining
within and above
and the hands keep on moving.

It has to be made bright, the skin of this planet
till it shines in the sun like gold leaf.
Archangels then will attend to its metals
and polish the rods of its rain.
Seraphim will stop singing hosannas
to shower it with blessings and blisses and praises
and, newly in love,
we must draw it and paint it
our pencils and brushes and loving caresses
smoothing the holy surfaces.

© 1994 P.K. Page

“The world is full of magic things, patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper.” — W.B. Yeats

author comment

Your write is good and well organised, as to me though I love humons a lot, and know that this is one of the places we can come to learn all these physical lessons, the great Earth, sometimes I feel it would fair better, and all its creatures if Man was not there..
To give a land animal, a free thinking brain and ability to, over time, kill its own people, seems a pointless exercise,
Can you teach a hunter gatherer anything after years of wandering around doing what he likes, killing and loving to kill.
The wild life of the African plains , the Bison of North America, the Do Do, and many other species, that we hunt or kill for the hell of it.
A very bad Gene that cannot be got rid of, not that they have looked for it lol. Hey it's not Sunday and here I am ranting away like a grumpy old man lol. What other type of creature would walk into a young children's place and kill them or kill 70 odd young people on an Island when they are on holiday, what type of madness is this.
My wife and I agree, (There is a first for lots of thinks LOL) that we are at the best age both near 70 so that we wont see the humons in another 30 years or so.
I Say:- That we treat each other worse than the dogs of the street, and that the Great Earth will be a happy place if we were to leave it..
That will do for now, you know mostly how I feel about things and people that need, it is the majority that need to know that the person next to them is also human..
My thoughts go out to you at this time and that the rain has arrived as I said it would, Yours Ian.T

There are a million reasons to believe in yourself,
So find more reasons to believe in others..

Im afraid the rain has gone and the heat is back with a vengence, tonight I am sitting here in a lather of sweat, I will be glad when autumn comes it cant come quick enough for me this year.

its a damn crime what we have done to the planet the earth cant sue us or take us to court shes just our victim, I love P.K.Pages planet earth and pablos in praise of ironing they are among some of my favourite poems, this is an old poem that was never finished I read the planet earth poem again and thenit became clear which way I should take my poem ... thanks for the read and the comment its just a private poem this one I dont ever have any plans to do anything with it to be honest I just decided to post and add the inspiration for it

I received your message and will reply in a short while

with love always JC xxx

“The world is full of magic things, patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper.” — W.B. Yeats

author comment

Pablo Neruda rears her head in all lives bringing yet again the moment of madness when a man refuses to stop having gay sex but say he loves you

I am afraid I dont quite understand your comment or what its refering to


“The world is full of magic things, patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper.” — W.B. Yeats

author comment

All is explained! I now lknow why mass murders keep objects from their victims. It is because one small item brings back the whole scene in your memory so pablo isnt good for me xxx

I am up to speed now sorry I was clueless until I had read your poem and I can understand Pablo not being good for you but hes one of my favourites his poetry touches something in me I cant explain in mere words

hugs Jayne-Chloe xxx

“The world is full of magic things, patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper.” — W.B. Yeats

author comment

I like this tribute to the mother ofus all. Only 2 suggestions :
but even as nails keep piercing
like an apostle to the apostles
Just a couple things which rattled out of my empty head lol..............stan

I will look at those two lines you have brought up my brain is rattled tonight I will take a look at it later when its cooled off right now I am just trying to pass the time until it cools down enough to breathe properly lol , I am sick of the heat this year cant wait till its gone

love JC xxx

“The world is full of magic things, patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper.” — W.B. Yeats

author comment
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