What can I say... big Pagan poem with political undertones.
(yule come back now!)
Danica Nuccitelli (c) 1-4-1995
the poisons wrack her system
dust flies over the chasm between her withered breasts
settling on the hollow cheeks, filling in the cracked lips
a soul-less nuclear wind blows, no child of earth,
its cries the cries of true death, erased.
Her fruits have died, cyclically,
for a drink....
Parasites, buggity beasties
crawl about her flesh for shelter
but she doesn't mind sharing, it's a tough Universe
and somebody's gotta do it!
infested, poisoned, struggling at best
her salad days are over, her children forsaken her,
her consort left for dead,
and another and another and the rains
come the waters pour the floods crash water blessed water rushes across
washes across her face, her neck, her breasts, her belly, her legs,
crashing foamy white chaos puddling around her feet,
the plashing splashing wonderfulness,
children kicking joyful through the lakes in the playground,
fresh new cold air crisp cleans their lungs, sharp ozone smell
a leaf-clogged raingutter becomes an impromptu waterfall
filigree ferns and spiderweb creations glitter and dazzle
thirst quenched, quenched, quenched!
her dust has been washed away, body renewed, consort returned,
in this season of replenishment
Children play, dance crazy through the storms, ecstatic,
they haven't lost their faith in their mother yet
Others shut themselves away, coccooned in steel and fiberglass,
turn up the heat and shiver, fear the storm,
annoyed at the disruption in The Schedule
you've lost the connection, man....