Post by Juan Castrocafe on May 30, 2008 1:11:58 GMT -6
to taste the unknown earth mother's lips
from the milk of a fertile breast, full whole, ripe
and guzzle down the pale trickle of the first gift
of life's nectar,
a thousand flowers in bloom
and the air rich with pollen
the mantis plucks a beetle from a leaf
and later looses his head to a lover
in the wind, the fragrance of a thousand wet pistles
of honeysuckle, wildly beckon me into you
wholly now, take no need
of wanting, till we end, when no ending can leave
a late spring rain caught up in the summer heat
at once to sweat the skin
at once to wilt the petal,
pulsing blood with hunger that I should spill a drop
to watch it fall and cascade like fireworks in red
on the dry parched clay,
would they grow a harvest in the desert
and yet you, sweet earth mother, nectar falling from the skies
and rising from the seas and breathed in every leaf
past the throat and back into the blood
caught up in the afterglow of you dear woman,
your taste on my lips lingering only in the momentary filling
we reap the harvest again to a fire proven
earth child willowing in its youth until again erectly
standing to take that sacred code, carved anew and afar,
similar and yet again, in death, the serpent rises to the sun
and we wash the desire in lamented tears in the moon
of our longest night, when she was the moment,
and we were the one, we were the fire,
and the storm that filled the fields, red clay breaking
through where it will with shoots and roots
reaching their hope to flower and make seed,
in what ever rain and hope may come,
that they fill the field, dancing robins
and dragonflies witnessing the constant rebirth..
from the milk of a fertile breast, full whole, ripe
and guzzle down the pale trickle of the first gift
of life's nectar,
a thousand flowers in bloom
and the air rich with pollen
the mantis plucks a beetle from a leaf
and later looses his head to a lover
in the wind, the fragrance of a thousand wet pistles
of honeysuckle, wildly beckon me into you
wholly now, take no need
of wanting, till we end, when no ending can leave
a late spring rain caught up in the summer heat
at once to sweat the skin
at once to wilt the petal,
pulsing blood with hunger that I should spill a drop
to watch it fall and cascade like fireworks in red
on the dry parched clay,
would they grow a harvest in the desert
and yet you, sweet earth mother, nectar falling from the skies
and rising from the seas and breathed in every leaf
past the throat and back into the blood
caught up in the afterglow of you dear woman,
your taste on my lips lingering only in the momentary filling
we reap the harvest again to a fire proven
earth child willowing in its youth until again erectly
standing to take that sacred code, carved anew and afar,
similar and yet again, in death, the serpent rises to the sun
and we wash the desire in lamented tears in the moon
of our longest night, when she was the moment,
and we were the one, we were the fire,
and the storm that filled the fields, red clay breaking
through where it will with shoots and roots
reaching their hope to flower and make seed,
in what ever rain and hope may come,
that they fill the field, dancing robins
and dragonflies witnessing the constant rebirth..
