the  unnamed  one 

i am the available passion of the world

eros flames this heart and belly

ecstasy floods

in streams of liquid fire

through these veins and arteries

swells this flesh

creation of a newly emergent and unnamed one

 i am conceived

thrust forth

i am the fierce and radical unveiling of a new order of being

i am the blood of the east in the wine of a new pressing

santiago california beijing and the cape

dissolve

in a bright new vintage

 a bold virility expands outward

through the atomic structure of this body

swollen with the blood

the wine of new life pressing

i am the virile uprightness of the world and its people

good and evil disappear into my liquid presence

 i am neither good nor evil

there is no choice

i am neither permission nor restraint

i neither abandon nor withhold

i am penetrating

i am fertile

i am whole

 i am the thrust of the divine

the energy of a new unqualified intercourse

i am the ecstasy of the whole body

a seminal firing in the womb of a new order

i am the available passion of the world

 

david barnes

The  Man  Watching

I can tell by the way the trees beat, after

so many dull days, on my worried windowpanes,

that a storm is coming,

and I feel the far-off fields say things

I can’t bear without a friend,

I can’t love without a sister.

The storm, the shifter of shapes, drives on

across the woods and across time,

and the world looks as if it had no age:

the landscape, like a line in the psalm book,

is seriousness and weight and eternity.

What we choose to fight is so tiny!

What fights with us is so great!

If only we would let ourselves be dominated

as things do by some immense storm,

we would become strong too, and not need names.

When we win it’s with small things,

and the triumph itself makes us small.

What is extraordinary and eternal

does not  want  to be bent by us.

I mean the Angel, who appeared

to the wrestlers of the Old Testament:

when the wrestlers sinews

grew like long metal strings,

he felt them under his fingers

like chords of deep music.

Whoever was beaten by his Angel,

(who often simply declined the fight),

went away proud and strengthened

and great from that harsh hand,

that kneaded him as if to change his shape.

This is how he grows: by being defeated, decisively

By constantly greater beings.

Rainer Maria Rilke   translated  by  Robert Bly

                                 Solstice Lover

                                   

                                

                                                                                                 

                                  "Don’t move," says the lover …                         

                                  In luscious dark                        

                                  I hold still                        

                                  In fertile fallow field
                         

                                  I sense the pulsations                        

                                  Solar vibrations penetrate my deep
                         

                                  Beams of invisible light                        

                                  Laser through                        

                                  Renewed openness                        

                                  And devotion                        

                                  With absolute precision
                         

                                  Promise                        

                                  Breakthrough                        

                                  Culmination                        

                                  Inception                        

                                  Rest
                         

                                  O blessed Light                        

                                  Blessed Night

                                  

                                  Ann Foorman