Love Poems of the Good Doctor 5

GOOD AND EVIL

How the world came to be,
is not a question meant for me?

If you must, ask a light-bearing angel,
or perhaps, a demon lurking by a well.

I heard philosophers are a heady lot,
and drunkards babble about what is not.

The priest offers bread as His flesh,
mixed with wine His blood fresh.

Hedonists, ascetics, scholars, and the rest,
tout views at odds, one to the other’s best.

All I try each day is to love you God,
even though most find this quite odd.

I work to love my neighbor as myself,
even though admitting, I can find no self.

So even, if I knew the Absolute,
to you, I would remain perfectly mute.

For what benefit is such knowledge complete,
if you not help those having nothing to eat?

Love Poems of the Good Doctor 4

A PROPOSAL OF LOVE IS SACRED ONLY WHEN PEOPLE ARE REAL

21 October 2009

At first, my observations upon romance’s energies,
seemed strange, impossible, an illusion,
perhaps, grandiose and egocentric;
but, now I know,
Aphrodite taught me true.

For wherever Love burns true,
its flame out shines Aten’s solar disk,
sweeter than bee’s honey,
most holy of God’s light, shining pure,
resonating within susceptible hearts standing near.

Romance is as Gemini’s twins,
opposing faces of the Cosmic Cube,
bitter or sweet, red or gold, animal or divine,
easily mistaken, often confused,
One path to Purgatory, the other to God.

The more primitive of the two,
is instinctual, an evolutionary urge,
raging, savaging, wildfires of lust,
rapidly consuming all that lives within,
dying, a living, green forest no more.

The lower romance sets its trap for the young,
whose hearts know not the true ways of Love,
this evolutionary creature promises much,
gorging itself upon innocence and trust,
fracturing the heart, hiding God’s Love.

The Higher Romance begins,
when your darling Beloved to be,
having paid the price of innocence lost and regained,
seeking to find God’s Love once more,
in the kind touch and soft kiss of a woman.

First, he engages by arousing
wee touches of much needed, human lust,
for he knows the power of the lower,
activating mothering instincts,
he opens all of heart’s doors.

Being wise from experience,
intentions noble and pure,
he plants a small seed of trust
into the deepest part of your soul,
hoping that it will take root in virgin soil.

Allowing this seed to grow at its own pace,
feeding with words of substance and truth,
watering with kindness and caring,
tending his seed with tenderness and patience,
he awaits for Love’s first green shoot.

With Love’s first green shoot,
her Lover-To-Be knows
he chose well his garden soil,
for her soil is rich and alive,
her root ball strong and wide.

His Darling is blessed with a wise farmer,
knowing full well that Higher Romance
is God’s food for the human soul,
he gently feeds her growing love
with all that it needs.

He is a patient Lover-To-Be,
tending carefully to his someday
Lover’s growing needs,
listening to questions and assuaging fears,
he is in no rush to make her his’.

Her Lover grows closer each day,
feeling safe and adored,
respected for all of her unique charms,
her Lover comes to be most dear
she sees that someday she will be his.

The first, shy, quick kiss on the cheek,
joyful holding of her delicate hand in his,
seeing growing Love radiant and pure in her eyes,
he waits wisely for the moment of magic
when she gives herself, in toto, to him.

Such a moment this is,
when your Lover gives to you,
freely, joyfully and with God’s Love,
her temple body, holy and pure,
her sacred place, to inhabit as yours, alone.

Romance burns as a flame, radiant and warm,
a holy human love betwixt two souls,
warmth and light radiating from God’s hearth,
fulfilling God’s simple plan
of unconditional love, between woman and man.

Darling Angel, will you be mine,
lover and friend, wife and partner, in times easy and hard,
to make a happy home, with laughing babies
and tender moments of real joy and warmth,
this is my wish, my Love, grant it I beg.

Love Poems of the Good Doctor 3

14 January 2013

A THOUSAND AND ONE NIGHTS

A thousand nights, I lay
upon coverlets of Chinese silk and gold,
laid over ancient woolen carpets
woven on the looms of Persia’s past,
colored geopatterns, an oasis spreading
over cold silica, Arabian desert sands,
all enclosed within a Sheik’s Bedouin tent.

All this land was mine,
east as far as the Indus River Valley,
west into the Mediterranean Sea,
south to Arabia and North Africa,
north to the hyperborean tundra.

No army could withstand my advance,
not Greek, not Persian, not Hindi,
even the Olympians stood back,
for the son of Zeus was invincible.

At last, I rested for a thousand nights,
being sent the daughters of once upon kings,
peace offerings and treaty inducements
of radiant maidens from all of my lands.

Under an umbrella of stars twinkling
within a vast sea of onyx blackness,
I ravished one maiden after another.

Arabian beauties with jet black hair
and deep-well eyes.
Fair-haired, Valkyries burning for the thrust.
Oriental princesses, moist furrows longing for the plow.
Endless pleasures had I and them,
but, each I sent away at orange morning’s dawn,
for none had been the One.

On the night of one and one thousand,
the night air was unusually crisp,
ones breath generating swirling clouds,
the desert wind had nothing to share this night,
so silent, one could almost hear the moonbeams
striking the silica sand.

I was lost in random thoughts
and heard not, her grand entrance,
but there before me, stood a maiden
wrapped all around in shearling fur.

I asked who she was,
she replied,
I am from the land
where the Dnieper River flows.

My first thought, was she an angel,
come to tempt my soul?
Or perhaps, she was death,
showing me that my fame was naught?

With pursed lips, she spoke,
as if she could read my mind,
words flowing like honey through
lips stained with red rose blush.
I am no more than a physician’s daughter,
though for you, I am your medicine.

Her hair, red-gold yarn,
framing her high cheeked face,
gleaming in the flickering lantern light,
seemingly forged by dwarfs deep
within some mythical mountain.

Her eyes, lime green irises,
like those of the cat-goddess Bast,
calling onto my secret name,
sweet words, pulling me
as the lodestone pulls iron.

Without a word or sound, this cat-goddess
let her fur slip to the floor,
standing naked before my eyes,
her virgin loins as a child’s,
nipples firm from lust, not cold.

Alabaster skin, untainted by imperfections.
Ripe for remodeling with a potter’s hands.

I asked her name, she replied,
I am yours, my love to be,
called by your heart’s deepest yearnings,
I am your Calliope.

Moving gracefully, as the cat she was,
she came to me, sparkling sunlight
moving on the surface of still water,
her skin was light itself.
She knelt in front of me, smiling,
her face radiant with love’s pureness.

She leaned forward, her lips near my ear,
her exhalations, warm and moist,
she whispered, her words compelling,
take me my lord, I am yours
as you are eternally mine.

Bringing her lips to mine,
her heart spoke to my heart and
I knew she was the One,
and I loved her for I remembered her.

When the orange desert dawn came once again,
Calliope I kept, for she had conquered
he who had conquered the world.

 

Wisdom From Within

​​​Dear Friends,  the Institute is offering to our readers an  opportunity of posting original writings discussing  philosophy, spirituality, religion, mysticism, the sciences, and other writings useful to others seeking conscious evolution.  Such writings may be poetry or prose.  

All submissions should be emailed to drmjkell@gmail.com.  Please include a statement that the Institute has your express permission to publish such article or poem on  http://www.freedomexercises.org.  

Publication with credit is solely at the discretion of the Institute.

Wisdom From Within

Dear Friends,  the Institute is offering to our readers an  opportunity of posting original writings discussing  philosophy, spirituality, religion, mysticism, the sciences, and other writings useful to others seeking conscious evolution.  Such writings may be poetry or prose.  

All submissions should be emailed to drmjkell@gmail.com.  Please include a statement that the Institute has your express permission to publish such article or poem on  http://www.freedomexercises.org.  

Publication with credit is solely at the discretion of the Institute.

Love Poems of the Good Doctor 2

A LOVER’S WARMTH IS

So, my curious rose of love’s longing hopes,
thou muse, doth thou, upon my hows of warming thee?

Thy room bears the chill of winter winds,
steam radiators no more than arrows against guns,
hand-knit sweaters and woolen shawls,
not quite good enough,
worn pajamas and feather comforters space limiting?

Shall I incarnate as the life-animating sun,
my heart ablaze with flames of passion’s sparks?

Shall I weave of my essence true and erotic,
a luxurious mantle of rainbow, woolen silkiness,
layering it over thy wanton nakedness,
so the cold night’s humors are held at bay?

Shall I show myself as Krishna to Arjuna,
in the fullness of Holy Love and Eternal Wisdom,
rays of burning brightness fondling thy erogeney,
my Ankhen hands lighting fires where e’er I touch?

Or perhaps, even simpler, only thy lover’s lusty embrace,
locked timelessly together in passionate deep kisses,
moving to complement hot lance penetrations?

Dear love, such are only some of my hows.

Love Poems of the Good Doctor

I think I shall post some Love Poems for awhile as I am busy.  They are part of the Teachings of the Way of the Gallant Heart.  If you are embarrassed, you are not an adult yet.  If you are carnally effected, you are not a Saint.  If your heart aches for such a love, your are on the way to enlightenment.

My Valkyrie

Your letters, honey-dipped arrows shot from the bow of Eros, himself,
each feathered spear piercing my heart, so painlessly,
bringing into its chambers the honeyed mead of the Vikings so to sweeten my days.

Oh, wondrous, brave Valkyrie,
I would die gladly and valorously each day of battle knowing only
that your kiss would awaken me each evening for banquet and love making.

Golden armored Valkyrie,
know you not that dreams are powerful places for female magic,
layered worlds full of misty oceans and enchanted forests

Where cauldrons bubble vigorously,
not with eye of newt or tail of dog,
but, with flower petals and pollen grains,
sweet love potions you cook for me.

For in the dark of night, my heart fortress is unguarded,
slip into my bedchamber, deposit a drop of potion onto my lips,
awaken me with a compelling kiss,
discard your gown and lay naked with me.

Your magic potion shall join my dream with yours,
as your dream loins cover mine in sacred embrace,
as your unleashed orgasm brings mine,
so shall it be in our daily lives,
I, your devoted prince and warrior lord,
you my holy princess and high queen.