erotic

Apotheosis of desire

 

The fist of lust pumps in my core, driving up

from ancient foundations rooted in earth,

at the sight, scent, imagination of another,

pheromone-rich. Welcome the fierce muscled hand,

blood-hot, raise it up to the sun’s nerve centre,

the solar plexus, where it takes on fire,

blasting vitality, potency, life-force.

Nurse it there, unashamed, and lift it further

above the diaphragm’s holy horizon

into the vast, royal realm of the heart.

 

Here, at the crossing of ways between

inside and out, the heavenly-earthly,

past and future, and all dualities,

here, learn tenderness, how to bear grief,

share the sorrow of others, know

the mother strength – vulnerability.

Unafraid to take in as well as pour out,

self offers itself in powerlessness,

opens itself to receive divine will,

seeking and cradling its aim, true desire.

 

Up again, to the voice, to speak and sing,

send seeds of truth on the winds of the world:

be seen, be heard, wake and rise to see

with the spiritual eye’s wise discerning.

At last aspire to the summit, the crown

where the flame of the greater self burns:

not only to act but above all, to be –

a beacon, pure I within the great I,

inextinguishable spark, eternal

diamond set in the corona of God.

 

The Virgin Birth

 

Swimming in a torrent of lust, lost

in the body’s bliss, this earthly delight

seems heavenly, holy. For now I can

turn it around, reverse the direction, swim

like salmon upstream, towards what I choose,

not following gratification

but turning it inwards and upwards

towards: my work, creation, my people.

I offer this force and receive satisfaction,

not spent or jaded, not spilled on the earth –

perhaps you could call it a virgin birth.

Morning Wood

after 'Norwegian Wood' by Lennon/McCartney

 

I dreamed of a boy

I wish I could say he dreamt of me.

He stood in my room

Isn’t it good morning wood.

 

He told me to watch

as he took off his clothes one by one.

I couldn’t say no

when he promised me that we’d have fun.

 

I lay on my back watching the show

fearing he’d go.

He was down to his briefs when he said,

‘It’s time for bed'.

 

He said, ‘You’re quite old, and me,

I’m still in my teens.

I’ll do anything that you like

but it’s all in your dreams.’

 

Then, when I awoke, not so cool,

he’d gone to school.

So I had a long lie

Isn’t it good morning wood.

The Fool

He walks on by in his tight white pants

that handsome boy, so arrogant –

self-sufficient, thinks he's cool,

not knowing he needs me – what a fool.

 

He glides past, aloof as a swan,

grown like a man, cruel as a child,

not pausing even to toss me a glance

let alone one of his heart-stopping smiles,

 

leaving me desperate, down in the dirt,

scars on my soul and stains on my shirt.

His pretty white bottom moves off into town:

once I was him, now an old clown.