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Archive for the ‘Passion’ Category

The Land of Yum

(©by Eric Grace 1-26-2012)

 

If and when the spirit comes to you

And you’ll find this comes to pass,

Where you gaze upon the moon above

Or upon a most beautiful lass,

Give yourself the subtle pleasure

To infinitely pursue

The gift that lies within this mortal flesh

Thy sacred Hand, Thy sacred Muse.

 

That golden basket that opens up

To share its gifts of Bounty,

That there within lies a precious form

Birthed from struggles,

Newly found and freely shared

into a land of plenty.

 

If you but find the way to walk

into this quiet pasture,

It will lead you by the hand

Into the heartland of your one and only

tried and true Heart Master.

 

Then forgive yourself of all you’ve lost

And gain yourself a new composure

That gives the rain its style and spin

While leaves the ground all

the wiser.

 

So whistle a sweet tarry or tune

And wiggle that silly temple

Find yourself refreshed and renewed amongst good friends

And your toil will last no longer.

 

Grieve the sacred heart

Your tears

And the mists of fog will rise above

Giving Heaven all the fears

which have grown from secrets

Stolen from the mud.

 

When you’ve cried your last wail

And the circles become complete

Dance a celebration song

And set sail to the new world

a living loving tenderness,

numerous in fleet.

 

And as you walk upon the shore

Tender warm sand at your feet

Touch the sacred earth, this land

Give a simple song or chant

Listen to your heart beat.

 

Praise the Golden Hand.

Thus Grace has given to you this Day

And all those still yet to come

You will live into this my love,

Onward! Into the Land of Yum.

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Broken Light

I lied.

I cheated.

I borrowed.

I stole.

I was perverse

in thought and action.

I fucked.

 

I ran naked through

the woods

screaming

Jehovah’s name.

 

I lost myself in

so many thoughts,

people, and delusions

of grandeur.

 

And now I’m here.

 

I have no dreams left.

I have cracked open

to my brokenness,

living in my core.

That place that is unredeemable

except

in the living it as such.

 

In being what I am

freshness cleanses

the wound

so that its revealed to be

my destiny,

giving birth

to this broken light.

 

I stumble down

these halls

banging against

my self-inflicted walls

pretending I’m great

or straight or narrow

when I’m not.

 

I’m nothing of the sort.

I’m wicked game.

A fuselage

ready to explode

rocketing into orbit

around the sun.

and it takes just one moment to

bring me there,

 

That place between

you and I

that hurts,

that groans,

that’s murky

and disgusting.

 

none of it is far from here,

if you but scratch the surface

of this moment.

That is my gift.

11-7-11

Eric Grace ©


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Still Alone


sitting

alone at night

with sex having lost

its fright

and its rush

over me to wage war

in my loins

or push my buttons of passion

into self-pleasuring

or robust wanderings.

 

The emptiness revealed

consumes a quiet light

that delegates

a new dawn

to my doorstep,

as I am becoming familiar

with a man

my father did not know

and never will,

except in the eyes

of my son

if he ever dares to take

that flight out of the cold country

where I used to sleep.

 

I do not know

this road

that weeps its way

to new vistas

of plenty,

But it has a liberating leash

around my neck

and I’m happy

to be its pet

until freed

into the wild

of my true Heartland

of Sacred Desire.

 

Eric Grace

7-28-11©

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This Burning Moth

I want to run to you

 

and burn up

 

in the Supernova

 

that you are.

 

 

 

I want to cast my

 

laborious space suit

 

aside

 

and step into the

 

delirium

 

of your bright shine

 

dancing the stars

 

away

 

into infinity.

 

 

 

I laugh at my insanity,

 

A death wish high

 

that surely will fall

 

but this teenage feeling

 

cannot go unnoticed

 

for it has me by the

 

head, heart, guts, and balls.

 

 

 

You take me to my depths

 

and you raise me to the Sky.

 

You move me to

 

Cuming and crying

 

in sacred

 

silent stills…

 

moments of candor

 

and flow

 

that ease the crust

 

of days gone by,

 

accepting

 

what I do not easily feel

 

with others,

 

as just the state of affairs

 

on Planet Earth

 

or perhaps

 

my delinquent account of the Heart,

 

projecting its lonesome love

 

dove

 

out to the seekers

 

that surround me.

 

 

 

For you my dear

 

are at One with me.

 

At home

 

in the Great Abyss

 

of

 

this Life.

 

 

 

We dance in it

 

together

 

And I forget of

 

this passion

 

I feel so fervorently.

 

 

 

thank you

 

for the gift

 

you awaken in me

 

that I can feel

 

this Alive!

 

 

 

You are so fucking Gorgeous!

 

 

 

I want you.

 

 

 

I want to Burn in you…

 

 

 

like a moth

 

in a flame.

 

 

 

Burn me up.

 

 

 

Burn me Up!

 

 

 

Fast.

 

Now.

 

 

 

Impulse drives

 

me to your doorstep

 

without a key

 

the door of flames

 

burst into my

 

heart

 

and takes me

 

to the place

 

of no names,

 

no words,

 

no nothing.

 

 

 

I drink Here

 

for the day has light

 

and the night

 

its own dark blanket

 

and I hide in both

 

until  I’m reminded

 

by you

 

of the glory

 

of Truly Living.

 

 

 

Eric Grace

 

7-29-11 ©

 

for Liz

 

 


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Cruelty Free Being liberates the Day of Night

Crushed in currents

shaking my bows

sailing the salty seas

that make me weep

and cry

for the sailors I meet

and the sailor in me.

I stand up

in what I am

grateful to live

in this native Heartland.

I pray to God

others live and know

this gift as theirs

I hope to show.

The journeys on

to no longer fear

to tread

the days and

nights

as Life’s bridegroom

I wed

in the Here.

I take her hand

and see her face

in all the women

I taste

in all the bosoms

I greet.

I carry the child

that once was

abandoned ashore

that crazy

Island

separation

and delusions

galore.

I frequent now

the hobbies of

threads

that weave together

The Great Being

a most delicious

Life’s Bread.

I say my prayers

and Grace is given

through my heart

like Sunday

brushes

the face of grass

and the blossoms

of these Spring trees.

Eric Grace

5-10-11

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From where she stands

I must look like

a man

that has yet to bellow

his deep call

of yearning for the Sacred.

from where she stands

I must seem

like a man

that has not fully

anted up.

When she looks down on me

from the great sky

where she breaths

or when she pears out

through my chest

into this naked world

from my frigid flesh

I believe

she knows that

I haven’t come

into my full

birthrighted

palace yet.

she knows

that I am humbled

before eternity

with the crest

of deliverance

of the sacred cow

waiting

to give its final moo.

I know she thinks well of me.

If she thinks at all.

But I wonder,

Is she having her way with me yet?

Is she taking me

into the full swing

of her hips?

Is she guarding me

from the power that she carrys

until I give my full

utter

surrender

into her gates?

I wonder.

 

Copyright by eric grace

March 2nd 2011

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As I feel

into my body

Desire blooms

for her

to be

beside me

and for Her/She

to live through me.

Waves of fear

and torment

show themselves

as the last vestiges

of the wraps

that I placed

upon myself

cloaking

my desire for union

in all, with all form.

 

As I drip

and drop deeper

into my body

of Desire

i hear her call,

the call of living

and singing

the Mystery of my life.

11-24-10

copyright Eric Grace 2010

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