on this rumbling
              stretch of tundra
                  no trees reach up
                     to soothe the sky
                     there is a pulling down
                  of wind tunnel vortex
               like conifers in reverse
          an icy howl
in the bonechill
               of time
Translucent holes,
         perfectly round, are dug
                in glacial archeology
                  and in the sea below
               gelid creatures lurk,
           half-frozen
         in the history of my
                                        soul
Only moss and lichens
grow on the rock,
somehow softening the
rugged textures
of the wild landscapes
that seethe
          just beneath my skin
and there, just
shy of the surface
is a quickening
a subtle pulse of veins
that pumps life
between the gales of
my heart's steppes
flushing out
           the pain
somewhere
deep
      within the private lotus
of my being
folioles unfurl
leafy shapes around
my organs
wrapping them like gifts
          as they undulate in whorls
opening my petals
in renewed consciousness
and deliberation
as a new kind of  
           stamen
                rises
    dusty pollen
powdery
budding ripeness
       bursting up
       and out
   of my deepest
       centered
whirlpool pistil
nectar dripping
in viscous webs,
to be caught upon
the tongue of
a new dawning
My silky outer
wings of vegetation,
slender stalks of
          filaments and anther
have been turned
into hot steel
They protect
    the tender vulnerable
                   when burned
as poison words held up to my
watchful eyes,
                   are properly discerned
I give myself over
to this new power,
my back arched to fully embrace
what is to come,
a universe calling thunder,
the old patterns undone
I am ready
to reveal my all
as the goddess deep within
comes to release my gold
suffusing light through skin
conjured from me
a relentless strength,
ever-growing,
                now tenfold
rising way past
soft-lit stratospheres
and orbiting
               to
                 bold

The Natural High©

Long before there was an ***** crisis
And before we even heard of ISIS

We too were looking for that hi(gh)
It might be at church and in the choir nearby

Or just to sing a ring a ling a ding
With our friends and neighbors we would bring

High as a kite had a different meaning
Ours was on a string in the sky; in and out it was weaving

Playing in the school yard
Did not require a security guard

Using a needle and taking a chance
Sounds less fun than being at a school dance

Being out of it meant taking a seat during a game
Not your head in a cloud to stay sane

Glue was for art class and a lot of fun
Not for sniffing by anyone

A snort was something a horse did
Not a white powder up the nose to be rid

An arm was for wrestling
Not a pin cushion for testing

We didn’t need a pill to chill
We thought life was enough of a thrill

A cocktail was a drink
Not something that would make you shrink

A concoction was something you made up in class
Not a chemistry brew you grew

It just seems to me as I read this stuff
The natural high was good enough

Andreas Simic©