In the beginning

Some folks believe they praise the Lord, By telling all in words quite awed, Of how he made the world, pre-packed, Ready-made and instant fact. Now when I look around in awe The things that really drop my jaw Are not what's mummified, unchanging But all the miracle rearranging. Improve, progress and better grow. In that's the wonder that I know. In seeing seed to blossom sprout: Here creation's victory shout. A mind that can all worlds expand From singularity small as hand. Now there's true source of majesty Endowed with cosmic liberty. To shrink down gods to size of man Is blasphemy deserving ban. To credit gods with tiny vision Is to treat them with derision. This cunning snare of the deceiver, There to trap naive believer. When creation's tale was written Already fruit forbidden bitten. But this, like all, is just some verse. To treat as fact, that's the curse. Its simply fuel for the mind. To feed on as own truth you find

Dream Lover

Within her cold and unshared bed The maiden tossed in fitful slumber, Her mind consumed by wish to wed The object of her awe and wonder. She had but once his face espied, As she looked down from room to yard. A love like hers can't be denied, But he knew not, paid no regard. To her delight, in fitful drowse, With heart afire and loins aweep, Her hero did her heart arouse, Crept into bed to join her sleep. His touch awoke what so long slept, The serpent coiled within her womb. His hard embrace she'd fain accept, To plant the seed, and touch the bloom. As dawn lit up the Eastern sky, The maiden woke with pained regret. The lover of her dreams - a lie, And she was still a virgin yet.

Silent Words

Through ages past and more to come Many words of love are spun, Their authors hoping to enshroud With vivid words, love's boiling cloud. And yet what do those words impart, To the innocent virgin heart? Like signs found from some long dead race, That hint at paths they cannot trace. What well-turned phrase, what image bright Can recreate climactic height? What words so sweet or spicy hot, Can bring to mind what taste knows not? The one who knows, though sweet of tongue, To virgin heart sings phantom song. The bud blooms into crimson flower Where seed was sown in earlier hour. To those who know, fine words remind. But all the rest, the words leave blind.

Streams

Into a single river's flow
Only once your step can go,
This a truth, some wisely know.
 But all of life is passing streams,
All return, nostalgic dreams,
Going back's not what it seems.
 Each journey leaves its trail of dust,
You may be left with clinging lust
Or simply worn-out, rotting rust.
 So when we reach our rendezvous,
It is not I, it is not you.
We are two travellers anew.

The Well of Life

Entering the secret valley, 

Drawn blindly to life's fountain head, 

Within the canyon walls, I tarry, 

Their awesome inward press, ahead. 

The cool dark silken smooth embrace 

Of cleft high cliffs that over tower 

Conceals from chance this shrine's pure grace, 

Yet guides the chosen to its bower.

 

The moist warm air thrills, rich with scent. 

Intoxication swift beclouds the mind, 

Of any who would risk ascent 

And hope the deep veiled grove to find. 

Here tangled jungle find, dense-grown, 

Around the sacred path whose way 

By one lone priestess only known, 

An occult mystery, 'til this day. 

Prostrating at the ritual mount 

Upon its niche, my lips to lay. 

This rite of passage to the fount 

Where ever ecstatic ripples play.

Softly Touched

We met across a word filled space.
Our verses writhing interlace.
Where flesh can't join, our thoughts instead
Cavort and grope on cyber bed.
 With cunning words and soft bon mot
Our tongues each others secrets know.
Each consonant crisp stands firm and strong,
Awaiting mating vowel song.
 Carrying word-wrought subtle art
Will my tongue your stanzas part?
Could my phrases, silken voiced,
Arouse you, touch you, hotly moist?
 Will its throbbing pulsing beat
Light within a fireless heat?
From my lips soft words will flow
Giving yours a liquid glow.
 With Sapphic literal intent,
New pleasures for you I will invent,
And seek with rhythmic steady pace
To add a blush to creamy face.
 So, with Wilde, our minds collide
And seek out fun in the countryside.
Exclaim, with deep-filled pleasure horde:
Oh! Your pen is mightier than his sword