TENNYSON DOWN

Sunday, August 22, 2010

TENNYSON DOWN

By Philip Cairns

Copyright 2010 by Philip Cairns

I’m remembering Tennyson Down on the Isle of Wight,
Back when I was 17.
I went there, in the summer of 1971,
With my best friend from public school, Ian Dennis.

He moved back to England in 1967,
When I was in Grade 9,
And I found no one to replace him.
I learned, at a young age,
To fend for myself.

On Tennyson Down,
The water sparkled like rare diamonds.
Undines danced on top of the waves.
It was a magical, mystical place.
A sacred site, if ever there was one.

Walking on the hills,
Stepping over the omnipresent goose shit,
I felt pure peace and serenity,
As if I were truly at one with the Universe.

I stood on the cliffs,
Looking out at the ocean,
And felt wondrously in touch with the Divine.
The Goddess was whispering in my ear.
Pan was prancing across the hills,
Playing his joyous music.

Today, almost 40 years later,
It’s wet, overcast and gloomy in Toronto.
The dark clouds pray on my heart and soul.

I wish I were walking on Tennyson Down,
Right this very second,
With not a care in the world.
My heart full of the mysteries of life,
Communing with the undines and the water sprites.
I swear I actually saw them
Glittering and dancing on the tides in the warm sun.