GAIA [revised 20 Mar 08], SECOND REVISION Options

[Psyche]

SECOND REVISION

GAIA

To unwind, to dream,
beneath the canopy of a willow-tree!
I wander your prairies, Gaia,
picture sunflowers smile
at summer skies,
charting the sun’s orbit till nightfall.

Vast terrains pretend to slumber,
guarded by languid owl-eyes
stalking slinky felines
and other unseen creatures of night.

I sleep beneath my leafy umbrella
as frogs croak the onset of dawn,
heralding showers flirting with rainbows.
In dreams I circumnavigate
mountain lakes, sight naissance of rivers.

I recite poems that nobody wrote,
wondrous words dormant in memories of the dead.
I gaze at Gothic cathedrals, the Taj Mahal,
Roman aqueducts dominating Italic olive groves,
Alexandria’s library perished beneath the sea.

Libelious lies and carnage disrupt my trance.

Where has love gone,
where the chubby toes of children?
Why does blossom wither by waysides?
Nuclear submarines inflame sapphire seas…

I've shared hope with shipwrecked migrants,
blending homage and heartache.
I am a refugee seeking a fresh life,
or just life...
I dream the dreams of all men.

I conjure up dust-bowls on Austral steppes,
Amazonia gutted by russet roads,
thawing glaciers thunder Andean slopes.

Ice cubes tremble in my crystal tumbler,
as I offer a toast to Gaia,
to mystery, unreason, riddles,
the paradox of her existence in space-time,
to reality.

Reality is the destruction I have caused her.
It is mourning a death foretold,
though Death is not her death
but mine.

By Psyche

Copyright: Sylvia Maclagan, Buenos Aires, Argentina, 2007.




REVISION


GAIA

To unwind, to dream,
beneath the canopy of a willow-tree!
I wander your prairies, Gaia,
picture sunflowers smile at summer skies,
charting the sun’s orbit till nightfall.

Vast terrains pretend to slumber,
guarded by languid owl-eyes
stalking slinky felines
and other creatures of night.
I sleep on beneath my leafy umbrella,
even as frogs croak the arrival
of dawn showers flirting with rainbows.
In dreams I circumnavigate
mountain lakes, sighting naissance of rivers.

I recite poems that nobody wrote,
wondrous verses dormant in memories of the dead.
I gaze at Gothic cathedrals, Taj Mahal,
Roman aqueducts dominating Italic olive groves,
Alexandria’s library perished to the sea.

Libelious lies and carnage disrupt my trance:
Where has love gone,
where the chubby toes of children?
Why does blossom wither by waysides?
Nuclear submarines inflame sapphire seas…
I share dreams with drowned sailors,
blending homage and heartache.
I am a refugee seeking a fresh life,
or just a life...
I dream the dreams of all men.

I conjure barren austral steppes,
Amazonian forests fissured by red roads
and far-flung thawing glaciers.

Uneasily rattling ice-cubes in a crystal tumbler,
I offer a toast to Gaia,
to mystery, unreason, riddles,
the paradox of her existence in space-time,
.................................to reality.

Reality is the destruction I have caused her.
It is mourning a death foretold,
though Death is not her death
.................................but mine.

By Psyche

Copyright: Sylvia Maclagan, Buenos Aires, Argentina, 2007.


ORIGINAL


GAIA

To unwind, close my eyes, to dream,
beneath the canopy of a willow-tree!
I wander your prairies, Gaia,
picture sunflowers smile at summer skies,
charting the sun’s orbit till nightfall.

Vast terrains pretend to slumber,
guarded by languid owl-eyes
stalking slinky felines, hares
and other creatures of night.
I sleep on beneath my leafy umbrella,
even as frogs croak the arrival
of dawn showers playing at rainbows
with the sun. In dreams I circumnavigate
mountain lakes, sight naissance of rivers.

I recite poems that nobody wrote,
wondrous verses dormant in memories of the dead.
And then I gaze at Gothic cathedrals,
at Taj Mahal, at Roman aqueducts
dominating Italic olive groves,
at Alexandria’s library perished in the sea.

Libel, lies and carnage disrupt my trance:
Where has love gone, where the chubby toes of children?
Why does blossom wither by waysides?
Nuclear submarines inflame sapphire seas…?
I share dreams with drowned sailors,
blending homage and heartache.
I am a refugee seeking a fresh life,
or just a life...
I dream the dreams of all men.

I conjure barren austral steppes
gasp at far-flung thawing glaciers,
Amazonian forests fissured by red roads,
while I uneasily rattle ice-cubes in a crystal tumbler.
I raise my tumbler and offer a toast
to Gaia, to mystery, unreason, riddles,
the paradox of her existence in space-time,
.................................to reality.

Reality is the destruction I have caused her.
It is mourning a death foretold,
though Death is not her death
.................................but mine.

By Psyche

Copyright: Sylvia Maclagan, Buenos Aires, Argentina, 2007.

[Psyche]

Yes, Linda, less is more... in this year and age! You're probably right.
I confess that I read classical literature in preferance to new stuff; just finished Dostoviesky's The Brothers Karamazov and now started The Tenant of Wildfell Hall, by Anne Brontë!!!
The same goes for poetry, not that I'm going to compare myself with classical poets...haha...I'll see what I can do, Linda, thanks for dropping by.

HA. Man or Nature? That is the question.

Hugs, Sylvia