“Darwins’ Worms”


Spiral right back into Life


The soil has lost its excellence.

Worms hide in the

Deep sullen earth

I imagine curled up,

Embracing worm castings

And each other,

Desiccated former selves

Pale little ghosts

Awaiting the fertility of spring

The watering of a hard rain.


I squandered the bloom months,

Thinking paper and pen

Would bring its own blossoming

Scarcely seeing the vitality outside


Allowing cabbage moths and beetles

To dominate

My nod to farming,

To self-sufficiency,

My tithe to the earth.


Ah, the soil is hardened

By the sins of the season.

Sharp winds make


The cold buries down,

Deep, deep down

Torments, teases any life

That would show a feckless head.


Especially those hopeful worms

Now bundled in worm-sleep.


The words, verse,

I chose to cultivate

Over cabbage, collards

Failed to bloom.

Better I had plied the hoe

And bucket to that

Than a fevered pen

To paper.


It is now winter.

The fallow earth

Plays a waiting game

Knows I have failed

In pulp and soil

And mocks with a barrenness

Inside and out.


Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2014

(“Darwin’s Worms” was published in “Pitcher of Moon”, Jane Kohut-Bartels, Amazon.com, Createspace, 2014) 






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8 Responses to ““Darwins’ Worms””

  1. Sherry Marr Says:

    I really like the comparison to hoeing earth and plying pen and paper……we poets are accruing a harvest that may be enjoyed after we pass on. At least that is my hope. Though planting in the earth is equally wonderful. I love the descriptions of the earthworms…….and I could feel the cold roll in through your words.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Liras Says:

    And we, like the Earth, appreciate your tithes, when you offer them.


  3. ladynyo Says:

    Lol! Thank you, Liras.


  4. ladynyo Says:

    Thank you, Sherry. Coming from a marvelous and sensitive poet as you are….that is high praise indeed.

    I agree about the harvest that poets attempt to pass on. My hope, too.


  5. Liras Says:

    Anytime, Lady N!!


  6. ladynyo Says:

    Thank you, Sherry.


  7. phoartetry Says:

    “The poet’s eye in a fine frenzy rolling, Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven, and as imagination bodies forth, the forms of things unknown, the poet’s pen (given a chance and time) turns them to shape, and given to airy nothing, a local habitation and a name” – Shakespheare

    Thought you’d like this Jane.

    A stunning poem you wrote you wrote.



  8. ladynyo Says:

    LOL!. I love the quote from Shakespeare. , Connie. Haven’t come across this one. And thank you for the praise of this poem. Worms… essential substance of life and death, we live with, and within ourselves, roiling in gut and earth. Tis little difference where but are the fabric around us unseen. (My poor attempts at Shakespeare. LOL) And thank you for your praise. I am settling down this week to attempt some more poetry, something I most love, but have gotten away from in the last year. Hopefully, I can mend that rip in a personal fabric.

    Liked by 1 person

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