Thick clouds and cold air
confuse the expectation
as if we’re turning retrograde
toward winter;
talk in a coffee shop
about weird weather,
looking to the sky for light;
in the Gulf of Mexico
Gaia’s artery lays open
altering the sea irrevocably;
fish and birds are witness
to a threshold crossed;
sky brightens through the clouds
but an eerie sense remains
of a strange new time;
Gaia integrates, this is nature
but who will attend Her labor?
The wet leaves receive what comes
and out to sea there is a cry,
the earth trembling;
She is giving birth.
Don, This is an achingly beautiful poem. The lack of blame with the implication of everything being changed is very moving. Certainly a different take on the issue!
Lovely and painful as giving birth is known to be. Thank you for sharing this sentiment.
Carefully organized words that reflect the current events in the Gulf. Nice.
I could feel the poem .
This brought tears…
Yes, who hears, who will attend?
Recently, in a setting that rightly would have been dedicated to celebration of motherhood–of the grand feminine–there was an overriding burst of impatience of the masculine, seemingly unable to hold steady enough to embrace the wounds of Gaia, the Mother.
I will be reciting this poem publicly on the morrow.