September 6, 2019
Photo by Jan Kruse

A Poem by Jack Wesdorp

There’s the double-wanded one,
quare subtle with electrons,
felicitous with thought forms,
ubiquitous as a horn.
We are children of her womb,
the cloth woven on her loom,
the measure of her lament,
she’s the shears when we are spent.
Mellifluous equipoise
in the shrift that she enjoys,
dancing in the yellow sun,
her stance is a compelling one.
Tantric bird of paradise,
we cannot avert our eyes.
Her talent is clarity,
her virtue is charity,
sisterkin delight my life,
be thou daughter, mistress, wife.
On a plinth her image stands
full erect with nimble hands,
each one wields a spiral rod,
we are sure that this is god.


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