I Hope Mother Earth Will Eat My Ashes – Poem by Bicycle Bob Bussey
A humble goodbye to a planet we take from every day without thanks.
In I Hope Mother Earth Will Eat My Ashes, Bicycle Bob Bussey reflects on a lifetime of quiet taking and the hope that, in death, he might finally give something back. Read it now on Written Tales—submissions are open if you’ve got words that leave a mark.
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I have lived here on this earth
Consuming daily so much of what she is worth
Without a single thought
Of how it must feel
To give so much
With nothing in return.
But, I know that when I die
She won’t know of my passing.
Still giving shelter to so many
Without asking.
She won’t cry,
Won’t grumble,
Won’t ask for my possessions.
I know I take everything you can give.
Your beauty.
Your seasons.
Your fertile soil.
Your hidden secrets.
Your waterfalls, lakes and streams.
The animals who live with you.
Your rocks, minerals and precious stones.
Your seas and oceans.
Your mountains.
Even your air.
Your many varied plants,
Vegetables, fruits, roots, legumes and fungi.
I even consume your insects without any thought,
Without any thanks,
Without any despair.
I take it all,
And ask for more.
More comforts.
More riches.
More space.
More beauty,
To adorn my walls and halls.
I can think of only rare times
When I have given back
Anything of much worth.
Riding a bike.
Walking in the woods.
Hiking on some mountain trail.
Gliding down some clear stream.
Leaving only footprints or less.
I can only hope that you will be pleased
When my body is turned to ashes
In some oven
And my heirs toss my ashes
On your ground
To be consumed
By some plants,
Some insects,
And plowed into your soil
Or lofted into the sky on one of your winds.
I hope I will be able to feel
When I finally give back
My body to you
So that you can finally use me
As I have used you.
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✍️ About the Authors
Husband, father, grandfather, cyclists, semi-retired attorney, yoga novice, TRX addict, hurricane survivor, poet. Searching for truths. Nature observer. Gardener. Deer feeder. Live and breathe in Louisiana.
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Such brilliant ideas in this poem, a manner of relating to death that I have not thought of before. Maybe we can rethink what it means to die, a contribution rather than an ending, at least, since reading this prose, I will try to see it that way.