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Tantrics' Embrace
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sitting by the fire entwined  breathing
as one
flickering flames dance in your eyes your
ancient eyes
deeply knowing life's mixture of pleasure and pain
fingers finding nape of neck
noses grazing cheeks and eyelids murmurs
and purrs
bellies full of breath
phalluses filling from overflowing hearts
reaching to find to
touch to connect to
enter
your eye-fire glows brighter
gentle gazes piercing my layers
smiling on my tender boy self
seeing my strong soaring man spirit
hugs growing harder
moaning,
groaning
moving
now in horizontal waves
limbs reaching touching
every part fully enfolding
lips lingering licking
earlobes
tongue tips touching cock
tips gliding in groins
you look longer deeper
into my soul
tears flow forth eye-ooze
like pre-cum from the heart
the heart aching
only
to
go deeper
in Being
with
you.
by
Sequoia, 1999
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Poets' Perspective
The following poems were inspired by the Easter retreat at Daisy Lake
The magic of Touch |
| Much have
I yearned, |
| This have
I learned. |
| Trust must
be earned. |
| Much is to
be explored. |
| Please, give
me more. |
|
Larry Beck
|
|
This warriorhad
sensedhe was
approaching
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|
the centre of
the maze
He left his campcrossed
the prairies, the Rockies
|
| and on the shore
of the Pacific |
he met several other braves and together they climbed
the mountain to
the fire lodge
where
other braves also gathered
each
on his own particular quest |
|
Around the firecross-legged,
hand in hand
stories are toldtears
are shed and shared
and
in three daysnine
men became one
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|
Through this metamorphosis
this warriorfelt
every wound of the others
and
offered the love of his full heart
to
ease the hurt or pain
and in return
the others offered
their touch their care and tender concern
and
healed a deep, invisible wound
this warrior
had carriedunknowinglyfor
many years
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So this warrior had found
a circle of menat
the centre of the maze,
a
circle of one...
But peering beyond the fireat
the centre of the circle
he was surprised
to findan epicentre,
and there
a dear, long-departed
soul,
the source of
this warrior's love
which springs
kept his heart full
often overflowed
as tears
in which springs,
he prayed,
others would
also bathe
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So that held-breath of three dayssoon
had to be exhaled
to carry the
bravesback to
their various camps
Very reluctantly,
this warrior
left the circle
of men
finally mobilisedin
the knowledge that
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Loveis the centre
of the maze the centre of the circle of one
Love would always
warm his back, the backs of others
on
the journeyHome
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Bill Aitcheson
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BACK TO TOP |
The roughness of his
hands did not frighten me
But
his fear of his own tenderness frightened me
In the days of my boyhood I ceased to be kissed by the man with the bristling
whiskers
His whiskers did not
tear at my flesh
But
the lack of his kiss tore at my soul
In the days of my youth I held the hand of my brother
And admired his naked
beauty in the locker room
His
naked beauty did not frighten me
But
my own embarrassment frightened me
In the days of my young manhood I learned to love women and hate queers
The love of women has
frightened me a little
But
not as much as the awful power of my hatred
In the days of my manhood my hands have grown huge and rough
and my whiskers bristle
My
manhood has frightened me a little
But
not as much as the fear of the infant I hold in my hands
The
fear of the boy I dare not kiss
The
fear of the tender touch of my brother
The
fear of appearing queer.
