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Clay Jensen returns home from school to find a mysterious box with his name on it lying on his porch. Inside he discovers cassette tapes recorded by Hannah Baker—his classmate and crush—who committed suicide two weeks earlier. On tape, Hannah explains that there are thirteen reasons why she decided to end her life. Clay is one of them. If he listens, he’ll find out how he made the list.Recommended Books
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Posted in Current Affairs, Literature, Nature, Poetry, Politics, Science, Social Commentary, Society, tagged advance, aquifer, ash, avalanche, awake, beneath, bosom, breach, break, breath, cacophony, call, canyon, churn, clear, cliff, clock, clod, close, commentary, conifer, continent, crevice, crumble, day, deep, desert, disaster, distress, dry, ears, earth, eclipse, endangered, faint, field, final, fire, fjord, floor, force, gather, glacier, glide, gorge, grass, ground, grumble, gulf, gush, hear, helpless, hurricane, hymn, iceberg, impending, island, journey, keep, land, landslide, lava, levee, listen, locust, loud, mankind, mold, mood, mountain, Nature, new, ocean, oil, One, open, pace, peril, plume, poem, poetry, potter, pull, push, rainforest, recede, reckon, restless, rhythm, ride, river, rouse, run, sail, sand, scour, sea, seed, send, shape, shreline, sinkhole, skin, slumber, soil, someone, somnambulist, sound, spill, split, spring, stillborn, storm, stream, summon, swarm, swing, terrestrial, tick, tide, tree, up, vent, voice, wait, wave, whispers, wildlife, wind, womb, write on June 12, 2010| 24 Comments »
Someone had it written clear-
that one should not just keep pacing
on this earth, like a somnambulist do.
Instead, he should lay beside the grass.
Ears close to the ground hearing
faint sounds and whispers coming
from the earth’s bosom.
Hearing how the rhythmic breath
of stillborn seeds of coniferous trees
waiting to break out of its shell,
awakening to the hymn of the spring.
Hearing how aquifers running deep
into crevices, into rivers, carving
canyons, gorges, fjords to the open seas.
Sailing away, riding with the wind.
Hearing the tides keep pushing,
and pulling in. Or the breaking waves
into the cliffs. Scouring the shoreline
of an island down to the ocean floor.
Hearing how the mountains gliding
its terrestrial skin past each other.
Like a potter reshaping and remolding
the land into a new continent.
Hearing how it grumbles beneath,
venting out ash plumes and lava streams.
A force roused from deep slumber
churning mood swings in its womb.
Someone had it written clear-
that one should not just keep pacing
on this earth, like a somnambulist do.
We should hear the gathering storms
of the impending avalanche. Iceberg splitting.
The glacier receding. Oil gushes, spilling
over the gulf. Helpless cacophony of wildlife
endangered. Landslides and the levees
breached by hurricane. Rainforest on fire.
Desert sands advancing. Clods of soil
drying up. Locusts swarming over fields.
Ground crumbling into sinkholes.
We should hear how restless it gets
day after day, when the clock is ticking out.
Faint sounds becoming loud voices
sending distress call to reckon with,
summoning mankind to listen. The earth
finally eclipsing to its perilous journey.
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