The Goddess in the Garden For L.M. Poetry
Clark Morrow California, USA
Goddesslike she glides the groves where kind Affection roves, Her lips fuller than prodigious, proud papayas, her tongue The whole-world-healer that taught Wotans and Joves To abandon proud palaver, and love the long-unloved, and wrung From crones and lizards blizzards of kisses for all lost kids.
I see galleries of eye-slaying irises embowering her heart And out of their hale exhalations she dew-breaths The air with her hello. Playing her appointed part Of silver-souled sylph in this Mozartean scena, She entombs each slight vice in her disciplining eye-depths. No sad little habit, no shabby indiscretion limps Out of her gaze unchastened. When she glowers In the pride of a high heart, Edenic entities and imps Quail and consult their consciences, and flowers Not known to prevaricate, renovate their oaths To her, who empresses and queens above their primps.
Brought within the circle of her scent, you find a Pomona Enflowering and engardening hosts of blighted barrows And tools left moldering in black mire -- brought within her corona, The cruel, the fool, are lit from within. She charms and harrows Within her sphere, fear disappears, and all is burnished into beauty.
All the orchard ogres flee from her fleet, sweet feet That dance destruction on the vile vilifiers who Inhabit pond-slums of the heart. She whose diadem reads Death to the Loveless, rains ruin like fiery sleet On the foul spouses of solaceless mates. Three of them – Three crushers of the cute and uncorrupted – she fires through Their heavy heads with scorn, and slays. Upon her teat
All is hushed, hymn-hearted, spangled with planispheres, There where I saw the honey-blooded holyland Of her all-wombs-engendering Womb. There heroes unfold (Spear-possessed), saints lave lepers, and all other mothers Are made martyrs on behalf of every fat and fussing infant. Here Love lives. Enwombed in her, and radiating forth Far over far stars, Love lives in the lymph and deepest lair of Her.
Clings all of life that can be found abounding, rounding Off their little sleep with maters-milk. Her heroine glands Annihilate the human-haters, the borders of her gown pounding With the pounding of a harbor-sized heart, that soothes and sands Away the barbs of antelope-angst, and doe-distress, and beebother.
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