Down along the motorway
pathos flowers grow
a tiny piece of nature
putting on a show
watch the diesel daisies
dancing in a row
among the shredded leavings
of the M1 contraflow

I have a special interest in telling about my colonoscopy.
The doc cheerful, secure in his specialty, colon cancer being
the second leading cause of cancer death after lung tumors.
They can snip the precancerous polyps right out of you during the test.
At first the doc gave me the statistics but having paid 25 bucks for this
      interview
I decided to make him explain the science. He was most comfortable
describing the physical architecture of adenomatous v. hyperplastic
      polyps
but what about cell structure I said. He was vague about genes and
      hormones,
I could have been chatting with an Electrolux salesman.
I wasn’t worried although my *** was burning.
Everybody dies, everybody, even Whitman and Emerson, so I browse
      models for dying—
mine are middlebrow, saddlebow—John Wayne in The Shootist, Paul
      Newman in Hombre—or hagiography
Plath her head stuck in an oven, Hemingway who ate his shotgun.
Anyway I was upbeat flirting with the nurse, a muse who has seen it all
      before,
acting tough, which isn’t actually an act
you do your prep and say your prayers.
I thought I’d be in and out **** as you probably already know
the prep for this procedure is worthy of Gandhi. A day of fasting,
clear fluids only, and constant voiding.
You arrive at the hospital one spiritual chicken.
I reflected it can’t hurt, lose a little weight, remember who you are
without so much **** and flesh between you and the natural world.
Snipping polyps is like taking electrons to a lower quantum energy level,
      nearer the nucleus, with fasting and ****** abstinence.
The art of total presence and abstinence, dependence on the Other for
      future existence.

Gathering sky,
heavy folds of white and linen grey
wrap the day,
tight in a nettle scented breeze
a blanket with no escape
song birds call, sharp to each other
hidden in the hedgerow
where the cow grass grows
thigh high by the gate,
pierced by spears
of meadowsweet and celandine
and so we wait to look for rain
allthough the weather may turn fine
who knows which way the season blows
in British summer time

Waking early
breathing full the yellow summer air
to drink the quiet and take it to my bones
just me alone, with all the trees and calling birds
no other sound was ever heard, except the breeze
that rushing soulful little tease
who stirs the streams and shakes the grass
where hungry warming rabbits pass
to scratch and stretch and start their day
with hymns of questing honey bees
that drone above the meadow flowers,
and work away the dawning hours

As the water falls
I feel my soul reawaken
Colors are brighter
More vivid
Greens coalesce into lush gardens of life
Made more pronounced by the grays of scattered boulders
Whose placement steers the water to lower climbs

As the water falls
I am falling with it
It’s power cleanses my heart
Opening my soul up to muted browns
Possessed by both life and death as leaves turn to soil
That breathes life into the skeletal limbs that anchor the forest canopy
Below Earth’s baby blues

As the water falls
I become swept away
Dragged further from the disconnections
That mute even the yellows of the sun
Pale to that of the myriad mountain flowers drawn from stark purples to contrasting reds
That remind me of both pain and happiness earned on the trail of life
Bruises that paint my battered body with the story of water and the gravity which causes us to fall

Do not save us
For we have become free
While falling

The pelican’s wings are so wide on the horizon,
He carries the sun on his back as if it were wind.

His big flat feet arch and land,
propped strong and confident on cool metal.

I see him around our little island,
A confident lone traveller.
Never have I seen someone so sure of themselves and their place.

He guzzles his fish, he splashes sapphire water down his feathers,
And every day he lands assuredly on his perch.

Maybe one day I will have my routine,
Land on my perch and enjoy my life.

Until then I’ll watch him,
A part of me burning for such simplicity,
The whole of me happy just to see him again.

I look down from blue skies on high.
Birds fly,
And sing.
Clouds make their rounds.
Shifting shapes,
Take the form of peace,
Content with itself.
The wind whooshes and whirls my hair.
I smile at its gentle caress,
Happy to receive an old friend.
Together we surf the heavens,
Bid our greetings
And farewells,
To the Gods above.
Feeling safe and protected.

Arching across the firmament,
I become separated from the wind.
Frantic,
I search the sky for any sign
Of my wayward friend.
I ask of the birds:
"Do you yet glide upon the breeze?"
"No," said they,
"We must flap and flap
Just to stay a flight."
Worried,
I look down at the clouds;
Still moving,
Shapes still.
...
And dark.
So... Dark.
Lights flashed within.
A terrible boom sounded,
Causing me to loose focus on my peace,
Leaving me to fall downward,
Ever downward towards the raging storm.
Panicked, I yell to the Gods in the heavens:
"Please, I have lost the wind,
And without it,
I am left to plummet!"
I was scared.
Would the Gods save me?
Would the wind?

My prayers unanswered,
I plunged into the abyss.
My hairs stood on end
As electricity arced.
The sound of thunder,
Deafened my ears,
Leaving a hollow ringing,
Screaming,
Thinking it's the end I begin
To sing:
"Above the clouds I knew peace,
Tranquility,
The love of friends,
And songs of birds.
I was free to smile,
And happy with my lot,
High above the human rot;
But now I fall.
The Gods too cruel.
The wind is gone;
And storms duel.
If this is the end,
Then perhaps I will rise again."

As the last lyric left my lips,
I broke through the clouds,
Fighting off hail and sleet,
As I spun out of control.
Rain began to soak me,
Leaving me shriveled
And wrinkled,
As if I'd aged a century.
I can see the earth now;
My sweet mother,
Who had nurtured me,
And taught me to soar.
She too was also sodden.
Rivers flooded the ground.
Trees were being torn from their footing.
Lightning struck repeatedly.
A blinding cacophony,
That left dark scars on her skin.

Humans ran where'd they could.
Some climbed mountains,
Other dug into her flesh.
Parasitic cowards,
Unwilling to face their fate.
Their greed and avarice
Were what led me to the skies,
All that time ago,
When I cried to the great mother:
"They take and take and take,
Yet never do they give to you.
Once they worshiped you
With offerings of laurel
And incense.
Now they insist upon stealing your life."
Warmly, she brushed away my tears,
Saying:
"My dear nymph,
They know not what they do.
Just like you,
They too are searching for peace.
Though, they are not a part of me;
They do not pray to the Gods.
They do not dance with the trees.
They do not sing with the birds.
They do not blow with the breeze.
Much like lightning,
They are static,
And ever racing.
Life is a competition they feel they must win,
Regardless of the cost."

As the memory faded,
So too did that feeling of falling.
Looking around,
I saw light that was bright,
Instead of dark.
Clouds parted to shine brilliant rays,
Pristine,
A rainbow curved over a mountain top,
And birds sailed once more in leisure.
Looking down,
I see that I'm floating
Just inches from the ground.
Then feel just the slightest cool kiss
Brush across my cheek:
"My friend! You've returned!
And not a moment too soon!
For if you had been just a single second later,
I would have reunited with the mother,
Six feet under."
A new smile bloomed on my lips,
Relieved to be alive,
Yet also sad to see the state of Gaia;
Flooded and scarred.
She was unrecognizable.

I whispered to the wind:
"Set me down dear breeze,
For I must commune with the forest,
And help heal the damage
Caused by murderous men."
Unexpectedly, the wind lifted me up,
But not towards the heavens.
No,
The wind raced me to the nearest mountain;
Rainbow still curved over,
Where the humans huddled
In their ragged masses.
Stricken, I fought against the wind,
Wanting only to fall again:
"Those men and those women,
Threw me away so long ago.
They made me feel such pain and sorrow
As they hewed my forest
To satisfy their insatiable hunger,
Forgetting those days of peace,
Where nymphs helped lost humans,
And humans composed beautiful poems
About nymphs.
... And their great mother."

The wind did not listen,
Setting me down in the center of the pestilence.
I cowered,
Wondering why my friend
Would act so cruel?
The humans around me shied away.
Some yelled "demon".
Others "fiend".
I cried then,
Feeling other than,
And yelled at them:
"Stay away you barbaric heathens,
I will not let you cut me again!
Nor witness you harm my mother!"
Then, I felt the wind...
It nudged me towards a crying child.
She wasn't much taller than myself.
I felt... empathy for it.
Together we cried tears of fear,
And sorrow;
Both victims of life's losses.
Mine, in the past.
Hers, in the present.
Sobbing, I asked her:
"Why do you cry young one?"
She wailed:
"I lost my mommy!"
My tears redoubled as I said:
"I too have lost my mother,
But it is not the same.
You see, dear child,
I have been watching my mother die
For far longer than you have lived,
Or will live.
So do not cry.
Instead, go offer some incense and laurel
To the spirit of Gaia;
Pray to the Gods.
Dance with trees.
Sing with birds.
Blow in the breeze.
Find peace in nature as your people once did,
And compose a poem for me,
To read in Elysium.
...
If you do this,
A mother you will find.
I know, because I asked the Pythia,
Long ago,
In a different time."

You admire pieces of me
Soft and beautiful
For the pleasure they can give you
You condemn my capability
Practicality and spirituality
You claim I can’t have it both ways
I can’t indulge my senses and hold power the same
Divine femininity has become synonymous with delusion
In a modern world that will never love me
I am aligned with the moon
I am in tune
With the rhythm of the waves
And the passage of days
You don’t know what I feel
How it is to exist in a world not built for you
Every living soul
Assigning your worth for what you can’t control
All of mankind is built on the principle
That my body was built for your enjoyment
That my life belongs to whatever man finds beauty in my eyes
And peace in my silence
Of course I turn to the tides and the trees and the breeze
To find comfort in their embrace
When you can’t hold me
You mock me for connecting to something bigger than my body
Loving Mother Nature more than the woman that brought
Me into this world
Yet you reduce my strength to beauty
Tell me I am too weak and small and simple minded
To understand a world you built
Out of fear of me
My divine femininity

In the garden's tender shade I lie,
Underneath the azure sky,
Where whispers weave in harmony,
With the rustle of the leaves so free.

Beneath the boughs, I find my seat,
Where words of poets come to greet,
Their verses dance in the gentle breeze,
As I immerse in their symphonies.

A tapestry of blooms unfold,
Their colors bright, their stories told,
Each petal sings its own refrain,
In a language only hearts can gain.

The sun, a painter, strokes the air,
With golden hues, so fine and rare,
Its rays caress each blade of grass,
In a choreography, oh so vast.

And as I lose myself in verse,
In the garden's blessing, I immerse,
For here, between the earth and sky,
I find the beauty that will never die.

In nature's arms, I gently sway,
As time itself just slips away,
And in the silence, I'm not alone,
For poetry and nature, they are my home.

© fey (09/05/24)