I KNOW I HAVE WRoTHIS BEFORE BUT NOT

ON A TRAUMATIC-SHAMANIC HZ FREE-QUENCY WAVE.

     ODE TO NATURE'S MORPHIC MEMORY 

      

 I woke up to a red glow dawn.

                   A fox skulked out of the ditch

       stopped in motion to glare into 

me, heart-beat wild. A shamanic vibe 

           forged between us at the half-door/

ditch. Kavanagh's ditch animalistic-

       humane-hyphen-

                      ate at Hack-

                                      balls-cross '

                               Co.Louth.

50 years later, with stroke un-

                     emotionally-engineered long-

                         term memory loss but A Fox looking at

a fox by A.Fox is seared into my broken

             mind. We two were one in 72', In natures 

        memory, the painted bodhan  

                on the wall beats a memory age 

                       fourteen at the half-door, Hackballscross.            

                  Just a mile from Mucker, Kavanagh

I won't ever remember for-get those 

                freedom winds. Something else was 

     alive, a wave of humanity natures-morphic-memory.

                  A fox thought, I know it wasn't a dream-

            scape

MY PARADISE IS LOST AND FOUND

These images are seared into my mind, not 

like memory. Spoken from a broken mind

I feel they don't seem like my poetic faction. 

I am not sure if they aim to fit in poetic fiction. 

There is nothing else in my mind like odes

they are a song of myself. I wanted to write 

a romantic poem like Keats and Milton, but 

my paradise is lost. The morphic

vibration of life is felt through works of art like a shamanic foot--

fall, fingerprint. I feel poe-artry without memory; poe-artry is under

my skin. It seems I have lived two lives, one with and one without.

A Fox Looking at a fox by A Fox means so much to me; I like those

two states, A Fox Thought and The Dreamscape of the Fox Thought.

I can't put my finger footfall on nature's memory, but I feel adrift.

Like the diving bell and the butterfly, fluttering in a backward law.

A reverse effort floating up to the top, locked-in a default syndrome.

When I first took the massive stroke, I was drifting between life

and death in a flimsy hologram, a grey state. Beside my hospital

bed was an exit door. Above it was a little green man. I was tripping

like I had never tripped. The drugs to keep me alive were making me

hallucinate, and my balance was gone; I couldn't even put my foot 

on the floor, it was like an ocean. My compass point of fantasy 

 and reality, I had no fixed issue and couldn't tell the difference.

Everything on the ward was moving nurses on off rota; patients', 

time/space meant nothing to me. The little Greenman I focused 

where I got this strength of mind is beyond me because 

the stroke erased my hard drive. There was nothing in my mind

but I told myself if I had seen the Greenman, then I was in reality

and not fantasy, hallucinating. I realised that the consultants

whispered, not knowing where I fit in life or death.

Self-determination gives you strength if you just believe in you

It felt great knowing that I was in control of my stroke recovery.

The nurse opened the exit door, and I tasted greenery. My ashen, grey

flimsy hologram felt the rush of life. The breath of fresh air was like the stroke boost that woke me bolt upright from death's door. Declared dead for seconds,  I saw my reflection in my son's eye

like a zoom-me.

Summer entered me like a rebirth; the nurses,,  and doctors saw me

in a different light. Paddy, the little green man, showed me Ashfalt

which led to the bluestone road and Lylo cemetery, where my mother

and sister are soiled, waiting for me. This was the first day of my

blemished acceptance; I knew where I was at the back of the hospital. A Google map opened in my mind like a sat-nav. From that

moment, no matter what three hospitals I went to, the compass point

was in my mind. I no longer felt lost and alone. I felt good in myself, knowing my mind had figured this out; there was hope in me. Paddy showed me the road; self-determination is a beautiful thing. If only

we believed in ourselves.  I was on the road to recovery, not hell.