Iona's Poems, cont. 4


magic lamp


1001 nights in the "Suitably Paired" Pavilion,
Might be all that rescues us from certain oblivion.
She awaits, dressed in only silken kaftan,
While he journeys to her over hill and mountain,
Speaking the secret words of “open sesame,”
Embroidering liquid words like finest filigree.

Hearken back to the tales of Sinbad and Ali Baba,
Listen to ancient heroes exclaim with a cry of “Aha!
Tales as bold as those of lovely Scheherezade,
Told nightly on the balcony of harem’s promenade.
Her craftiness could not be stolen by the Thief of Bagdad,
For secrecy and occult forces it strongly forbade.

Guided only by the spinning spheres of cosmic Astrolabe,
Return to the primal womb, like the smallest little babe.
All things conspire to produce the chemical aphrodisiac,
That pervades the entire universe and informs the Zodiac.
Bodies gracefully contoured like the finest of jade,
Clad only in abundance of tatoos and silken brocade.

She embraces him like a clinging-vine limbed courtesan,
Only lately come with kama sutra from from far-away Hindustan.
He is charmed and enraptured by love’s truest artisan,
Just carried here by long-ranging camel caravan,
Bearing all manner of lapis, carnelian, and quartz,
Spices, shells, pearls and treasures of all sorts.

We whisper now the secret spell of abrahadabra,
By the glistening light of a single candalabra.
Conjuring in the smokey glow of wildly burning incence,
Soon the sacred elixer will magically condense.
Precipitating universal solvent, alchemical alkahest,
That only love makes real and materially manifest.

Arriving like a genie with a flair of arabesque,
Skin like sparkling marble, beautifully statuesque.
Both now entranced by puffs of hookah smoking herb,
Which potion wafts a fragrance considered most superb.
The time and place was chosen by loyal court astrologer,
For him to plow and deeply plant his royal scimitar.

She, a radiant gem of brilliant purple amythyst,
Both he and she most-passionate confirmed hedonist.
Creating a heavenly atmosphere of richest opulence,
Together circumnavigate the earth’s circumference.
He pursues his course like an anointed holy crusader,
Because, in fact, he is so much more than fleshly invader.

We purify ourselves with rose and fragrant frankincence,
The only way to cure the poison of moral impotence.
Now forthright, sheathing sword within its scabbard,
True words of love and magick, he softly jabbered.
Eternally, on and on the incantations he babbled,
Until she softly surrendered, slightly more than bedazzled.

Opening arcane treasure chambers of sacred relics,
Like the sensual high of mind-expanding psychedelics.
In the radiant clear light of primal magnificense,
Revealed, at last, splendour of God’s great omnipotence.
Each time love blooms anew, ultimately we dedicate,
All the fragrant productions of alchemical distillate.

We find our paradise when we truly believe in it,
The rewards of its pleasures are finitely infinite.
These debauchees share the sweetest banquet feast,
Entertained by astral dancers and celestial artiste.
Now the sky becomes opalescent, shell like pure abalone,
For consummation of the royal marriage of divine syzygy.

6    . . .1001

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Abelard and Heloise, their destinies interlace,
Astral bodies and fates wed in virtual hyperspace.
From a blossoming love, at first profane,
They tried and tried from that sin to abstain.
The pleasure of that sweet love did presage,
Agony of love’s despair when they had to disengage.

Thrown out now are God’s laws to Heloise and Abelard,
The rules of convention they completely disregard.
But they follow the natural law of love, in its own way gallant,
And he proceeds without dual purpose his lady to enchant.
Courting her most preciously, without any merciful surcease,
He plies her with love’s sweetest wine and fragrant ambergris.

They held one another’s intellect and soul in highest esteem,
Such gentle regard, as pure and peaceful as a moonbeam.
He, tall and strong, yet so thoughtful, nurturing and debonair;
She, a fair maid from forest, entwined with ferns of maidenhair.
They shared the joys of nature: sun, sky and earth of serpentine,
Like the multitude of woodland trees, this love stays evergreen.

She, his devoted mistress and his dearest sweetheart,
He, her ardent paramour and her most natural counterpart.
In the beginning their love was mental, pure, and chaste,
Of the ecstasy to follow, it offered only slight foretaste.
Strong and defiant of roles and fate, like an ancient heroine,
She made love flourish and burn bright like fine gum benzoin.

Aye, none can say that this love was not wildly incandescent,
Nay, it was, in fact, downright mysteriously irridescent.
And in that atmosphere of utter cheer, they did love and bathe;
They paid the price, in turn were milled on god’s own holy lathe.
The slings and arrows of life and even the joys that we create,
Can the shared pleasures of imagination never ever castrate.

Locked in wild abandon, one another they rapidly undress,
With love so strong, it could not be too bad to transgress.
The holiness of this love divine they could never confess,
Consummated on astral plane with an intimate caress.
Her words of liquid honey flowed like a fluent poetess,
Just like untamed High Priestess, or archetypal sourceress.

Intertwined bodies of transparent alabaster flesh,
In love’s sacred, intuitive dance somehow readily enmesh.
Spirits are launched in ecstasy across intergalactic universe,
Which, like them, we in our time can readily fathom and transverse.
In throes of love, the quintessece of it all will finally coalesce,
While excitment and anticipation grow, we rise and effervesce.

Star-crossed love, born of immediate inexhaustible attraction,
In everyone who contacts it provokes a contagious reaction.
An entrancing form of confusion and mightiest bewilderment,
Cannot relieve our sense of awe and utter astonishment.
This grace of God is just one of the mystical fruits of the quest,
Their astral marriage, eternally true, even though unblest.

What mysterious power effortlessly lifts to other realms,
An awesome force of nature that completely overwhelms.
When it calls on us, it takes our lives without advice or consent,
And plunges us into the depths of direst romantic torment.
Naught can spare us from such primal archetypal encounter,
Like Heloise, it grabs us up, like it proceeded to surround her.

A fine estate, illuminated by brilliant light of Venus, or Lucifer,
While shafts of moonlight slipped from behind veils of gossamer.
Yet, “nothing good lasts forever,” even though it disconcerts,
This force moves mere mortals into spiritual converts.
Yet even stolen love prematurely cut off, as if to geld,
Could not suppress the yearning desires of deep love unquelled.

In this sense, some might say, it appears as a true curse,
A crime and sin of mortal man which some would call perverse.
In such an act there are consequences that can unnerve,
Even the staunchest soul gets thrown a wild arcing curve.
But in the timeless realm, the lovers always remain adjacent,
And once in a while, they within us, are reborn in love renascent.

magic lamp


Limitless Light injects momentum into Monad,
Which splits in joy into a divine Dyad.
Who then in turn bathe in the dew of Grace,
Henceforth, giving birth to the Lesser Face.
The power of opposites when they interlace,
Propels us hurtling into tantric hyperspace.

Beginning the quest means to ignite initiate,
Divinely chosen as ripe celestial delegate.
From the creation of the universal demiurge,
To the enlightenment of Magus, or thaumaturge.
These occult teachings of the mystic adept,
Are far more ancient than even Amenhotep.

Return to existence between being and nothingness,
Where lies a domain about which we cannot guess.
A fierce lightning flash will pierce the fair Bride,
Within the apparently solid realm wherein she resides.
The tale of her High Priestess heritage and of her troth,
Is all contained within the tarot cards’ Book of Thoth.

Jacob’s Ladder from pure clear light to solid matter,
All negative manifestations simply seem to shatter.
The infused world is merely a celestial Pendant,
We, of course, are aspiring spiritual mendicants.
Once we are trapped in no time between infinities,
We’re constantly reborn, spiralling through eternities.

With much ado about No-Thing,
Clearly the vacuous plenum doth ring.
Experience of that illuminates us,
Emptying all to finally fill us.
Burning in that flame-filled hearth,
Is the brilliant fire of the Hollow Earth.

As the glittering flame draws the obsessive moth,
We are inextricably interwoven into that whole cloth.
Like cashmere, all of it touches me just right,
And lends my soul the swiftness of eagle’s flight.
Yet from that flaming radiance we are able to emerge,
And maintain that inner connection and continue to converge.

It’s so quick to awaken, my pet Kundalini snake,
Not even needing a magick potion made of mandrake.
Angels sing to me a sensual, soothing psalm,
Which can only serve my stricken soul to becalm.
The greatest of blessings is to meet a perfect saint,
That godman with whom we can personally acquaint.

Within the incessant pulse of the ritual dithyramb,
We learn the unfolding secret of unicursal hexagram.
All channels close when we die daily, except pineal gland,
On which we focus to let flowing consciousness expand.
Through that expansion we reach the astral hinterland;
We successfully negotiate it, like Masonic travel in a foreign land.

That openness to Beauty can only our self image enhance,
As we observe our coexistence within that perpetual expanse.
It makes the trials of real life seem like illusion or mirage,
For this mere physical life is just another gross atomic collage.
The reverberating mystical sounds my entranced soul enwrap;
In there are bells, ocean swells, and loud resounding thunderclap.

So begin your Return with a magickal chant,
With the mediation of the archetypal hierophant.
React and emote like an ancient Greek actress,
Feelings born of the musing of the Delphic prophetess.
Realize paradoxical convergence in the divine Dyad.
Leads to mystic unification in the Supernal Triad.

Continue your journey along a higher spiral arc,
To the nethermost regions we now do joyfully embark.
In the process of the journey our Selves we unmask,
And condense the divine fluid and fill alchemical flask.
We learn how to gain access to the void of abyssal chasm,
Through breaking up forms by guerrilla iconoclasm.

A final judgement comes with the Truth Feathers of Maat,
To determine us as fully human or divine aristocrat.
For the blessed, this occassion is a grand buffet fete,
A prelude to gaining further access through Heaven’s Gate.
Just as on the descent, the singing spheres mutually emanate,
On the serpentine Path of Return, they most surely dilate.

In this Way, our illumination is congealed,
And God’s infinite glory is so surely revealed.

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Prometheus stole holy fire from the Gods,
And his fate with outraged Zeus became at odds.
For this scandal 30,000 years he was bound,
But finally now his unbounded liberty is found.
The promethean spirit means vision or foresight,
Technology and science set imagination to flight.

Prometheus says, “according to my calculations...
These are the logical means to fulfill machinations.
Full of the foreknowledge of the mercurial light of physics,
As well as all the spiritual teachings of universal mystics,
His path led to theosophical initiation of this unbound Prometheus,
Who tasted the sweetest intoxication which made him so delerious.

With electromagic and electrode, equally at home with om and ohm,
Or the incantations of forward and backward mathematical palindrome.
Build a vacuum chamber, linear accelerator or glassblow a cathode,
Every magical nuance of his performance art was a media episode.
But with Her he wanted to play an archetypal engendering duet,
And actively knowing or merely naive, a magickal child did beget.

Self-assured, he acted so all-knowing and ultimately cocksure,
Though sensual, she was shy and retiring, definitely demure.
He drew strength from triangular inscribed silver and lapis amulet,
She drew hers from a consecrated sliver-thin shapely silhouette.
This unique love classically embodied a genuine archetypal paragon,
Which like Illiad or Olympus, manifested as vibrant living phenomenon.

She, a dove-like golden creature with ring of translucent moonstone,
Would bear an astral child, purposefully sacrificed before fully grown.
For assertaining sacred compatibility she could cast a horoscope;
He could too, and also coincidentally could isolate an isotope.
Zeus’ thunderstrike made their congress feel epic and tragic,
But it only numinously foretold of mystic enlightenment and magic.

All influences were just right to conjure this solar sacrifice,
So, he into her private inner chamber she did seductively entice.
With the masterful practical aid of a very esoteric magical guild,
Her visualized plan of spontaneous creation was astrally fulfilled.
Weaving her own spell which intoxicated like drinking absinthe,
She led him deeper and deeper into her metaphysical labyrinth.

Once their tentative love became a fact and wildly unbound,
The creative results of priest and priestess were certainly profound.
This Io, whose true name means both amythyst and dove,
Became that fateful night his once and eternal ladylove.
Locked in an alchemical operation of aspiration to glorify,
Synchronicity recovered the talisman of finest lapis lazuli.

The outcome was cloudy like hazes of stratus and nimbus,
For it contained unconscious secrets of Jungian anima/animus.
Active magical work begins precisely at spring equinox,
When the matched merging of opposites embodies a paradox.
The Solar cycle embodies the prime arcane prototype,
The blueprints come through us as a living archetype.

Be aware of the force and power of the occult paradigm,
Guarded by choirs of golden angels and winged seraphim.
Sing the pantheon’s praises in the paeon of a magical hymn,
Echoed and reverbertated by radiant chanting cherubim.
From conception at the zenith of Halloween moonshine,
To the full fruitfullness foretelling of Beltane sunshine.

Contained in marriage of sun and moon, darkness of a solar eclipse,
While we hurtle through black velvet space on earth’s orbital ellipse.
Contained in licking her eyelash and back, and kissing her eyelid,
Are secrets hidden more deeply than within an Egyptian pyramid.
So, proceed to culmination; “Lift the cup of libation,” apertif,
Puzzled with mystery, wonder in awe with mock disbelief.

Drunk with joy, like the gold and opium of intoxicating laudanum,
Love produces its chemical concoctions and mysteries of delerium.
Only sheer joy and bliss carries us toward the final mystic synthesis;
This is the source and the fulfillment of the magickal child’s genesis.
Heart and throat, third eye opening, then Crown Center orifice,
Entwined twin serpents united produce the ultimate metamorphosis.

She shed those snakeskin pants and rapidly became nude,
They were clad only in magickal robes for a Samhain interlude.
The first taste of romance from that rosebud flesh he did pluck,
After the orange bars,” they were terminally thunderstruck.
Was the “Icycle of Isis” the result of playing this magical duet,
Which a philosopher’s stone and a love supreme did and still beget?

Prometheus to Io (from Prometheus Bound, by Aeschylus):

For thus you came at last to the Molossian plains and Dodona with its lofty ridges, where is the oracle and home of the Theoprotian Zeus and that strange portent of “talking oaks” which in language clear and void of riddles addressed you as the renowned future spouse of Zeus, and the memory of this must still speak in your breast.

From thence, urged on by frenzy, you rushed by the sea-shore path to the great gulf of Rhea, and back returned like a vessel tempest-tost from port.  Now no longer the gulf shall be known by its old name, but shall be called the Ionian Sea, as a memorial to all men of your journeying.  This knowledge is a sign to you of my understanding that it discerns more than meets the eye.

There is a city, Canobus, standing on the verge of the land at the very mouth and silted bar of the Nile, where at last Zeus shall restore you to your mind, with but the stroke and gentle touching of his hand.  There you shall bear a child to Zeus, the swarthy Epaphys, “Touch Born,” who shall gather as lord the fruit of all the valley of the broad-flowing Nile.



                       Eleleu! eleleu!
                       Once more the spasm, the madness
                       Smiteth my brain as a fire.
                       I am stung by the pest, I am pierced
                       With a dart never forged in the fire;
                       My seated heart at my ribs
                       Doth knock, and my straining eyes
                       Revolve in their orbs; I am borne
                       As a vessel is lashed by the tempest;
                       My tongue hath broke its control,
                       And my turbid words beat madly,
                       In billows of horror and woe.

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Nature and number contain an arcane archive,
Which those who look with fresh eyes instantly revive.
No mystery, only nearly-lost history of the prime codex,
To be most circumspect our minds must circumflex.
Some Sumerian genius the most ancient alphabet did inscribe,
Now a numerical man revives this lore with his diatribe.

The ancient code survived disaster as the human zenith,
Encoded in monuments and ratios of the 2001 monolith.
And holding his hand, a maiden with ancient eyes, black with kohl,
Together discover, decipher and unroll the antique scroll.
To navigate, mine copper, make bronze, and deftly carve onyx,
As well as calculate the solar system’s numerological matrix.

By adding and subtracting, we simply rearrange,
In retroscillation, multiplication and division interchange.
Eternally, the 9/11 cycloflex is the recurrent multiplicand,
And just as much was known of this in ancient Samarcand.
Sumerians, Greeks, Indians, and Arabs too were all geometric,
Perhaps this explains why the Bagdad battery was so electric.

It was easy to get Buckminster Fuller’s energetics to emulate,
The geometrical nature of numbers and Synergetics explicate.
The best clues came immediately:  number 108, and 2520 climax,
In triaxial retrograde interface to behold the perfect syntax.
Two lives converge along same lines of intergalactic parallax,
And they took vows to finish the quest and reveal number facts.

Within the prime unit of the tetrahedron, nature doth conceal,
The grandest secret of construction we will constantly reveal,
Its scale ranges from microcosmic to macrocosmic and galactic,
Its language is that of mathematics which always is syntactic.
The easiest way to find the key is to merely reverse ambiguity,
And see the chaos within it all as its own serpentine circuity.

All civilizations of the earth the ancient canon did revere,
Eurasia, Africa, the Americas, all parts of either hemisphere.
In Stonehenge or the Pyramids it perhaps reached its perigee,
All geometrical monuments reveal their source in synonymy.
It is also shown in calculations of equinoctical precession,
By looking backwards into time by numerical regression.

This thesis is about the revisioning of mathematical antithesis,
And its encoding in the observational lore of one final synthesis.
But, one thing that we know, all great ideas need landing gear,
For all societies require this, as well as wings to fly and steer.
To correct the mistaken notions of numerologist and astrologist,
It only took the bold enlightenment of one master numeronomist.

The poetic rules of nature are now dramatically reversed,
Like primes in certain order, like squares totally inversed.
He simply reversed all order to deduce the prime metaphorm,
Obviously written in its ancient script, alphanumeric cuneiform.
To find the key they just reject old mathematical narratives,
And find the geometric nature of number is not only relative.

So look to pure force and form which is retroactively objective,
And find the serpentine basewave in number is cycloreflexive.
A minutely discrete yet complete portion of infinity is a holotome,
A number which fluently reads both ways is a transpalindrome.
From Plato and the Bible comes 2520, the golden Auric Key,
To get tensegrity, synchrographics, metrology, and Numeronomy.

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“THE 23rd PATH”

Please accept the submission of your humble anchorite,
Battling onslaughts of lust and vanity long hours after midnight.
Then simply basking in the magnum solitudo, intimate solitude,
Home of the Supreme Being of infinitely vast magnitude.
A human heart on earth residing in the sacred heart of Punjab,
Is always teaching ancient mysteries of the resounding Shabad.

Deep in contemplation, if we can only get spacetime to collapse,
We rise to that place in meditation in which aeons rapidly elapse.
These astral journeys of the inner soul may seem at first bizarre,
But we gladly say goodbye to earthy cares and woes we bid au revoir.
If each day and night we are dyed in the color of our imagination,
We are therefore tinged by the stains and hues of our inner gestation.

Once it is automatic to constantly repeat the sacred mystical phrase,
It washes us as pure as snow and sets every mortal fibre ablaze.
Then we can dive into the blackest vortex of that deepest crevasse,
To lift the curse of centuries of karma from living in life’s morass.
Watched over by the four guardians of the directions quadrate,
We are nothing more, nor less than dusty supernovas’ matter stellate.

The veil of separation falls as soon as God and man are cognate,
And at long last, this escalating agony of final reparation will abate.
In the mystical union with the Beloved of which we have all dreamt,
Lies the purpose of our human lives and the fruit of our attempt.
Sensations, actions, feelings, and thoughts we simultaneously suspend,
All other perceptions and attachments we cheerfully transcend.

This is no idle fancy, follie, masquerade, or literary allusion;
It is not just another surface layer of mystique or illusion.
Spirit descends into matter in the downward motion of bathos;
To regain that state, we empty ourselves to fill a yearning pathos.
In the face of that cosmic craving, we are wildly indiscreet,
In the quest to taste the sweet dew that holy grace secretes.

Of all of the glories of life and death that we can conceive,
We might imagine the finest is the full karmic reprieve.
Therefore, there is no need to ever feel abandoned: redirect,
When the mission of our lives and the transcendent intersect.
Based on experiments of what masters and saints allege,
We give our vows, and to be vigilantly steadfast we pledge.

These mandates come from the wisdom we all deeply revere,
Whose secrets through centuries were hidden in deepest Kashmir.
The way home, wisdom kept safely from nature’s pagan infidel,
And the raw seductions of many a wanton and guileless Jezebel.
It is hidden within grace, for you cannot earn your starry diadem,
It is a surrender and merging, a divine gift from god, ad hominem.

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She-in-us, Shekinah, Radha, Shakti, or Inamorata,
All her names mean the same mystic mysteries of Holy Qabalah.

My soft center is filled with light or LVX,
Direct result of entertaining primal and celestial influx.
And once we realize we are truly made of stardust,
Then to that Supreme Being our lives and fate we entrust.
Only in the search for the Beloved can we really find our muse,
And allow the grace of God our entire life and soul to suffuse.

Embodied, knocked unconscious, blind-sided by a lover’s ambush;
Kicked out of heaven, left alone and adrift, as if lost in the Hindu Kush.
Swallowed by utter illusion, crushed by fear, and bitterly heartsick,
We cannot rationalize our way through with endless analytical rhetoric.
As a lover wants to be with the Beloved and that aim will pursue,
God’s way in us will eventually balance, tame, and subdue.

This human exile can be seen as a long voyage down the Nile,
With all manner of earthly joys and delights it will beguile.
But with the opposites comes knowledge of agony and anguish,
The burden of all of the sorrowful emotions which keep us feverish.
Even though through fulfilling our desires we may revel and indulge,
The way within is guarded and keeps so many secrets to divulge.

A taste of this state is open to all, not just transcendentalist,
It can naturally come to the smallest child or super-naturalist.
In one long loving act this blessing we can infinitely prolong,
Carried on each livelong day from morning through evensong.
That taste of bliss, forevermore, stays always on the tongue,
As God’s instrument, we now find ourselves thoroughly highstrung.

And enraptured by soul’s captivating rapid-swirling whirlpool,
As magical and mystical as an ancient marketplace in Istanbul.
Her heart is as precious and transparent as the diamond Kohinoor,
As refreshing and enlivening as the first taste of  forbidden amour.
All pains and agonies find surcease for the weary and lovelorn,
But, final union is rarer than discovery of the legendary unicorn.

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In my perfumed garden, I dreamed of oriental spicey cinnamon,
The light was golden-rose, like some days so magnificently halcyon.
The blossoms of the morning the sweetest honeysuckle and tuberose,
Under whose influence even the strongest of lovers swiftly propose.
A tangy note within the yard of orange neroli, or fragrant bergamot,
Reminds us of those pregnant loves unborn, those dreams yet unbegot.

The promise of the buds of May, the first flush of tiny rosebud,
Heralds spring fever and all the joys of a tender emotional flood.
The swell of all feelings and the promise of the ripening of desire,
Could match the courageous royal blue of the finest Asian sapphire.
The fine distillation of emotional realizations we avidly admire,
And the confident ardour of the Beloved to which we daily aspire.

Crocus, hyacinths, and daffodils send an early loving Valentine,
And raise their heads to praise the Lord, in the brilliant sunshine.
Filled with the antique golden light of a masterpiece Florentine,
Radiant bulbs raised from the dead in Spring, like Proserpine.
Scotch broom, acacias, and anemones burst near the sea and brine,
Night bloomers glisten and glow in the softest vernal moonshine.

Drawn extraction and condensation of lavender and starry jessamin,
There is no finer smell than an essence so absolutely genuine.
Therefore, no quest is too hard to lay at her feet a perfume so exquisite,
It becomes clear why so many virtues and ordeals are tacitly requisite.
All parts of a game to woo his love, and for him to win her maidenhood,
With gifts of great fancy and opulence and carved boxes of sandalwood.

In a powerful skill whose wisdom and lore is a magickal hierloom,
Lies a liquid genie embodied and from a bottle set free -- perfume!
Its entrancing ordour is far more mighty than any bold broadsword;
It etches the memory and always strikes a deeper olfactory chord.
Retreat to the sanctuary of the healing scent of nature’s counselor,
Perfumery, the most neglected of Hermetic Arts, is not mere metaphor!

Why all around the entire globe did adventurous men bestride?
For cooking of essences shares it roots with alchemy, we confide.
What other consecrated oils can compare with noble ambergris?
In perfume magic, fragrant desire is born of the essence of reality.
The clarified body of the high note of a gum benzoin, or styrax,
Can ring clearer than the black and white philosophy of Abrasax.

The essence of Qabala includes a perfumer’s absolute extracts:
Many fabled scents including fragrances of aloes, saffron, and storax.
Some of them come from far-off lands and some in the garden grows,
Like Dittany of Crete, poppy, jasmine, amber, spikenard, and rose.
And many other fragrant flowers and resinous crystals of finest gums,
Like myrrh and frankincense, camphor, cedar, mastic, and galbanums.

Without the time or inclination for perpetually renewing seduction,
Much of the work can be accomplished through chemical reduction.
Scented cues of olibanum, myrrh, violet, and animal musk and civet,
Release our soul’s inhibitions and allow us to deeply live within it.
The juices of love are then released like nature’s liquid flowing amber,
And the love of God is also set free, so long as we care to remember.

So lay down your head, my love, on a deliciously perfumed pillow;
And let all manner of lavish scents around you form and billow.
Come to the garden’s makeshift bed within love’s hidden bier.
And find the joy within that place to raise the ante higher.
Then eat the fruit of sweet pomegranate trees that lie in garden’s wall,
And taste the pleasure of holy love revelling in scented euphoric recall.

With careful and appropriate blending and fixation of discrete essences,
Are presciently forecast the rudiments of animated erotic dalliances.
Spirit and matter, most ethereal yet material, but not-so-thin air,
Meet and match in the haunting challenge of an olfactory double dare.
From the distillation of love’s sublimation, “Solve et Coagula,”
We tame the fire of the volatile oils and drink in their oooh-la-la.

The distillation of our volatile spirit is analogous to enflourage,
Heavenly scents waft over us, covered with petals of a floral decoupage,
Some lovers carry that fragrance away on an animal-musky goatee,
From a luscious floral sanctuary with more suitors than Penelope.
Promise of joys, anguish, and growth in her silken, perfumed hair,
For brave hearts who would enter that circular, enclosed garden lair.

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File Created: 4/5/2000    Last Updated: 4/17/2000