Mushroom Clouds

My daddy participated in two wars,
Piloting planes loaded with
Wounded soldiers
Transporting them home.

My daddy must have been
Traumatized, agonized
By the sounds,
The sights, the smells
Of all that blood, hearing the
Agony and Pain, the Suffering
From those not yet dead.

He never talked about the wars.
No wonder he turned to Spirit.

A mushroom cloud
Hot bubble of gas
Fireball full of smoke
And debris born from
A tumultuous explosion
Created by the United States     
Atomic bomb
1945 Hiroshima 
Nagasaki Japan
Radiation and decimation
Burning and murdering
Hundreds of thousands of
People, plants, animals
Over time

Civil War in America
Today, right now
Election year, 2020
Since 2016
A similar mushroom cloud hangs
Impacting our health and well-being
The planet and outer space.
Though not physically blasting open 
The earth (yet) but blowing apart
Families, friends and enemies
The Market swirling, threatening
The cloud swarms around us
Symbolizing our fears and angers

(The coronavirus invaded this 
Space as I wrote this poem
Another fear to bring people
Together and separate them apart.)

Surrendering is all we can do
Giving in to the explosive
Power that has bombed
Our hearts, our lives, our planet.
After so much death and despair
We stand up strong and
Rebuild our lives
With hope and compassion.

Mushrooms hold the earth (and us)
Together, the mycelium network
Spreads throughout the world
Underneath every step we take
Mushrooms feed us, they lead us
Into transcendental spaces
Full of life, wonder and hope.

Mushrooms may be demonized
When in beautiful but lethal cloud forms
Of competition, war and deceit.
Mushrooms are lionized, the fruits of the
Very structures upon which we stand
Eating and digesting the dead's remains
While building new life
Turning over dead leaves and
Reworking the soil.

We live together with many types of
Mushrooms, clouds, and viruses,
Participating in the process of
Death, Rebirth, and New Life
All at once.