DESIRE

I'm taking control of your senses, lover;
igniting your carnal fire.
Love or lust? Does it really matter,
as long as the species survives?

I've made you see a beautiful face
with a body that's Heaven on Earth,
where before you'd have only seen a girl:
nothing special, not remotely your type.

So here you are in the throes of passion,
as the fountain hits the orb
prepared by Nature for mid-month fusion.
And she cries out in my name, 'Oh God...'

TRETHEVY MILL

Be at peace and
See a clear
Pattern running
Through all your lives.
Nothing is by chance.
Eileen Cady

Modern feet treading

ancient coastal path...

Stepping carefully

near crumbling cliff edge...

Veering off now

into Rocky Valley...

To follow winding river

against it's flow...

Sensing every step

bringing me closer

to the Sacred...

A shrine of the Old Gods...

With it's Celtic

Labyrinth carvings

(1400 - 1800 BC)...

Placing my own offering

in gratitude for the blessings

of this life.

I thought I chose to come here today,

but now I see

it was the call

of Destiny.

Thank you so much

for joining me

on this Sacred Pilgrimage.

Blessings and Peace

be with you all.



POLE DANCER

The girl at the nightclub, the shiny chrome pole;
rainbow lights flashing to pulsating beat.
She spirals around, this human chameleon,
high up on her platform inside a glass cage.

She's sexiest of all the girls up there,
in sequined red shorts and transparent top.
Watch how she moves, gyrating those hips,
reptilian tongue flicking over full lips.

Male eyes are fixed on this agile temptress,
as alcohol-fuelled fantasies run riot inside
minds obsessed with erotica visual.
She's become their virtual whore tonight.

But to her this is just another night's work
to pay the bills and feed her young son.
And as she dances, her thoughts are focused
on a holiday to come in the California sun.

DISHONESTY

Am I a mad woman
because I converse
with the unpeopled spaces
between tangible matter?
Many would say so.
But intelligences do lurk there,
are concealed in the molecules
of thin air: non-beings
more real than I am, in
my slowly disintegrating form.
For they are immortal.

They come to me in the silent hours,
these messengers from the World of Spirit:
these fleeting shadows that fall
across curtains and wardrobe doors.
But my partner wakes,
turns over in bed;
and they dart away
through solid walls, afraid
he'll learn, unprepared,
of the dishonesty
of five-sense perception.