THE CHALICE.
Behold! For within the Great Rite
Lay the mystery of the chalice;
Swept upwards upon the wings of
Divine love and victory,
We consume the Spirit
And re-unite with the Source.
Verily – I am Rhea,
I am the Minotaur …
I am the Chalice.
____________________________
THE ARCHETYPAL KOUROS.
Seated before the altar
At the Minoan Palace of Gnossos,
I drink thirstily from
The chalice of Divine Essence.
The intoxication I attain
From the nectar of sacrifice
Tightly binds the
Scrotum of my devotion,
And demands unconditional surrender.
Finally,
As the relentless frenzy
Of my intoxication
Reaches an orgiastic climax,
I both consume and
Give birth to myself
In generous libation
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THE COMING.
On the twelfth day of Bacchion,
The god of magical grace and rapture
Is summoned from the sea
By those willing to suffer to learn.
All hearts on Mount Parnassus are inflamed
By the scent of burning ivy and vine
As the nymphs of Nysa imbibe of the
Ecstasy of madness and destruction.
“Come to us, Thyonidas,
Beloved of bacchantes and panthers …
Join us, O nocturnal one,
In our sacred rites.”
The frenzy at the Festival of Thyia
Is soon stilled by the prophetic Great Whispering
And the miracle of wine,
Which herald the coming of Lord Dionysus.
Dripping with libations of honey and bloody flesh,
The sated god smiles,
For life force itself is borne
In the womb of pleasure and pain.
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Hyacinth.
Each Spring,
Appolonian tears of lamentation
Collect as sanguine dewdrops
Upon the verdant slopes of Olympus.
Nurtured by the glory of the elements,
The resplendent rebirth of Hyakinthos
Is made manifest throughout the four quarters
In carillons of sapphire blossoms.
The petals of these bell towers
Cense the air sublime with
The Spirit of the Great Mother
And the legend of creation.
In memoriam, the fugitive solar discus
Lay forever fixed in the heavens
As a symbol of love made Divine
Through resurrection.
_____________________________
THE ABORTION.
The stillness of the room is
gently broken by the first stroke
of the young concertmaster’s baton.
Onstage, the unfolding curtain of flesh
slowly reveals the
rising stamen of Ganymede.
Life force swells: the crescendo é accelerando
of aching muscles and rallying corpuscles
soon cheer on an intimate pas de deux
between hand and penis.
At once, the ritual fountain catapults
stars and comets in a
grand feu d’artifice.
How suddenly the triumphant applause of
body and emotion dissipate into silent shame
as the youth wipes away the seed
of the aborted fetus.
— Adam Donaldson Powell
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