Compost limerick

(To sing as I do yard work 😜)

There once was a daughter of dirt,

who loved to eat garden dessert-

veggie ends and fruit peels,

old leftover meals,

until Autumn she hit a growth spurt!

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The world deeply moves me

yet I learned to keep

composure, to stay

put together

while potent feelings

stirred inside me

I didn’t know

how to feel them

to create conditions

for them to breakdown

into fertile soil

to nourish my growth

I’m learning to compost

break cycles feeding my landfill

make new cycles that give life

I give my feelings air

tend to them lovingly

so they can decompose

I let them deeply move me

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It’s amazing

how the

undesired and


of daily life

can be

transformed into

life-giving substance

that nurtures

growth and

gives back

what is

desired and


in daily life.

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it is almost as if

the Earth knows

what She is doing


She has been


for aeons



my dear humans,


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I am sorry.

I tried to stop it, really I did.

Or at least steer it into the grassy ditch.

to get to the good words hiding behind. but,

with no brakes or steering wheel,

it was all i could do to just hold on,

as my dope incrusted, alcohol saturated

runaway train of a brain,

laughing crazy loud,

runs hellbound straight for the priceless

Hayseed Dixie chorus:

"Im keepin your poop in a jar,

until you come back.

so i dont forget

just what you are.

Yeah, im keepin your poop in a jar"

(i really had no choice).

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Compost is much more

than simply recycling;

turning death and decay

into life and growth

breaking down to build up

from little, abundance

an opportunity

for sustainability

to create a system

that gives more

than it takes.

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I think that

is what I want to be

something transformed

from waste into

fertilizer that

provides nutrients

for others

and I think

that is what has

been drawing

me to

the Eucharist (Holy Communion)

as the true

symbol of what

Christians are called to

take up in their lives

as opposed to the cross

Jesus took

the broken parts of

his experience and

shared it with others

so that he provides

nourishment for life

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Compost (this one feels a bit like the child in me offering her perspective...)

I don't really like compost

all that smelly rubbish

bugs and worms

getting dirty is not really my thing

But I do like herbs

and pretty flowers

which grow so much better

when that mysterious muck

does its job

I suspect there is a lesson

for life in this


from dark to light

from dirt to colour

from rubbish to better life.....

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I’ve run out of words,

Just left with the scraps,

So I put them all in a bucket

And take them out to the edge of the woods.

There, I’ll pile them up

With the rest of the discards,

Tossing on leaves and flowers

And handfuls of soil to boot,

Then go back inside to start dinner

Without a single glance back.

I’ll write and I’ll

Scrap and I’ll add and

Keep going, the

Pile ever growing, the

Days ever flowing,

And then sometime in early autumn,

When the leaves fall on their own

Into my pile,

I’ll remember it’s there

And stand beside it once more.

Try as I did to think I failed,

To throw my treasures out with the trash,

To see I built a broken world,

I am humbled to find that

In the presence of this decay,

I orchestrated a world with the

Movement of decomposition after all.


Thanks for that, my little friends.

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Decay into life.

Karri Temple Brackett

May 24, 2023


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In some aspect of my being

I am always disintegrating

and crumbling away

An ongoing evolution

as a falling apart

in order to fall open

This requires a dying

a deep surrender

Withering and washing away

the dross, rubbish

and built up waste

That which is no longer serves

becomes the fodder for compost

Fertilizer for the new seeds of


Callings that must be

attended to and answered

A dying away to make space

for the birthing

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To answer the question posted in the email....I tend to think about what I am going to write if it is a subject I am going to delve into more deeply and then actually write either at home on my laptop or at work on my desktop. In the evening once I wind down for the night I tend to write just a couple of words or thoughts in a journal and read a few pages or do a devotional. Currently reading Living Resistance :)

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Old fallen tree along the trail,

bright amber orange, decomposing,

Food for the earth and the beings surrounding,

Still a living organic beauty even in death.

As we trekked up to Hightop Mountain,

I mused how the words of the last few days blended.

Miracles. Death. Compost. A trinity.

Source, kindred and spirit.

Jesus became compost, or at least the

resurrection brought new life out of death.

His new look familiar and not so much,

A dawn dreamer breaking all the rules.

Won’t we all be compost, sooner or later?

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, earth to earth.

Give us this day our Daily compost;

rich, vital, nourishing soil that sustains us.

In our death lie the seeds for new beginnings,

and food for our descendants to feast on in our memory.

So that one day, story after story unfolding,

The miracle of love breaks through.

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Karri reminded me that Kaitlin asked about where we write, our sacred composing spaces and rituals. Being a person who eschews routines and regular structure, and who is making friemnds with distraction, I find I write everywhere--at my desk at home, on the back deck; at my office desk at work; in the sanctuary, and since May 17th, we have been traveling so I have written in bed, on floors, in the park, a cafe, in any number of friends sapces and guestrooms> And composing so often while I am walking. The thougnt of a special, designated place is so attractive and appealing, but I expect that is for the next life to make happen!

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