A Gift for Gardner

A gift for Gardner, and his grand dames
who England opened ancient ways
unto the muggled modern zombies
banal-bound to mill-pulled machines.
From the heart of a home's secrets,
the sweet woven writhings of a kindred's craft,
books' leaves fluttering in the Autumn wind
he up gripped words to cover paths
that witches' mouths once spoke in secret.
These other authors' utterance he tailor-seam sewed
to fit the garment of the garden's God and Goddess
words women private-poem hymned, and could not share,
for oath : and oath he held, yet wrapped the naked
unspoken words in luscious leaves blood and white dew
inked by masters of magic and sex god and star'stress' wonders.
He did not need to unroll these words, for women worried
that these spells by stranger's paws might sullied be,
for soft psalms of the amateur's breath,
long hallowed in the family's secret ways through long times of hiding
might misunderstood by modern minds twist, and spit, and drive
away long kin-held fairies who gather round the magic round.
Yet he did! For beauty and subtle night's trance ought not
ever fade from the fields of blessed mother, beloved Earth!
So he psalmed, for these naked spiral writhings spellbound
spoke deep summerlands where loved ones gather
and grow their strengths for new surgings! Together!
Beyond the veil of our deepest fears, in Night's seeming snuffing,
there gasps of plenty, gasps of pleasure dawn
in the witch mind twirling naked and blindfold
on the god-named blessed circle where nymphs once
spun this spunky British gentleman long spun out
by his laughter's large eccentrics, beyond his hope or grasping.
In deep halls of grand canyon-down meandered lichen ways
to Holy Hel's sun dancing fields of apricot and frolic, he saw
the family's friends gathered in rest and pleasure, paraded
and feasted by the phallus' antlered wheat-showered God,
who in yoredays drew down blessed dew
of lunar queen's loin's marvel, kissing her, and joined his spells to hers.
In the fullness of month's menstrual orb, she taught
midst the thicket-weave's waves of fallen leaves
all matrons and maidens the heart's spell of love,
if all fairies welcome they would tend. And hunters, horn-drawn
out to pastures flocked by old oaks' many children,
heard in the deep-root spiral scent
of stag's musk the old big-bellied laughter-wisdom
of the phallus' smiling God tomes.
The gold-runed leaves of the grand dames have faded,
burnt as offerings unto the heavens, whose incensed smoke
enlucks the world, and are not found. Yet Gardner's arcane
words compiled, collaged, and wrapt up, boquet in rose
and rapture, woo, and welcome thee, and thee, and thine
to dine and taste forbidden wine
brewed by kinsmen in the depths
who wait and wassail thee. Ho!