18.10.14

THE HORN-CALL OF THE ALL ENCIRCLING FEMININE!

THOUGHTS UPON ENCOUNTERING THE RECLINING NUDE BY HENRY MOORE AT UNIVERSITY OF EAST ANGLIA WHILE OUT WALKING WITH MY SON


Of all the songs held in the hearts of men,
There’s one that goes down deeper than the rest.
The song that fills their mouths and ears.  Oh how
They stumble with its harmonies and chords!

Mischievous boys cavorting in the choir.
Men follow its tunes like stubborn, burdened mules
Led by the halter to the sacred pools
Where flow the words that form the song of LOVE


The horn-call of the all-encircling feminine.
First taught them by their mother’s long ago-
Clamped like limpets on her milky breasts
Man and boy have sucked from those sacred jugs

All the dark and bright they’ll ever know.


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