Go
for a walk
in the wilds
of Connemara
anything to
escape
the artistic tensions
of poets & publishers
Jungian & Yoga teachers
sharing a summer
cottage together
not realising
the clash of egos
that would be
released.
Atomic.
Ostensibly I am gone
to pick mushrooms.
I begin to run
become the wind
take off my awkward
city shores
run with them
in my hand
then
my awkward one by one
city clothes
these but
the human trappings
of civilisation
clutched tightly
flapping
in my paw.
I all
animal now
run
naked as the wind
along the towering thundering
Cliffs of Moher
the sea crashing
600ft below.
Next stop
America!
Across the Atlantical
Ocean
a thunderstorm
(by Jove!)
pitches
its might
against my puny
naked humanness.
I a Lear-like
“poor forked
animal.”
I run
screaming into its madness
THE TEMPEST’s “Then...
...to the elements...
be
free! ”
Believing there is not
another soul
in this God forsaken
world
this moonscape
of a wasteland
I run faster
trying to escape
my self
leave my self
behind
whereupon I am
shocked
(in a lightning flash)
to
encounter
(as an astronaut would be
on the moon)
an old farmer
out walking his dog.
Tips his hat
to me politely.
“Nice day
for it! ”
is all
he says.
My bare
behind
leaving them far behind
as I run
run like the wind
naked along
the Cliffs
of Moher
into the embrace
of the storm
listening only
to what the Thunder said:
”Shanti.”
“Shanti! ”
“Shanti! ”
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Nice day for this poem....I loved it. Felt the freedom of the wind from the cliffs blowing me along as well.