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The ReturnIn sun-freckled frame, amber eyesDance with inexhaustible energy,As russet hair performsA last spiral dance,In wind-wild joy.I join the endless danceWith an eruption of inner delightTo the realisation that I am calledTo return to the MotherOn this night.I am summoned to Her sacred grove,The waterfall and poolWhere I shall offer myself,As a willing sacrificeTo the mother, in love.
AloneAt the barShe waits.Contemplates wistfullyThe last remains of her wine.She sighs,And pulls another cigaretteFrom its refuge.Catches the landlordWith her fluttering fiver,Orders another drink.Listens with her feelingsTo a saccharine song -And stares at nothing....
The Works CanteenPerched in rowsChatter climbs through the fumid air.Drab blue-greyNurse the last dregs,As other handsClaw a last cigarette from its retreat.Watching closelyAs the clock relentlessly passes timeUntil, inevitably"Alright ladies, back to work...."
An Amadaun-na-BrionaThe fatal fool, his mind a voidIn dark depression, dances.His touch is death, the final kissOf peculiar romances.The fatal fool, amusement coldLies deep within his heart.With pathos deep, his love is soldTo the purchasers of art.Blind fools! Quoth he, do you not seeTrue love cannot be boughtAs you bind the Mother with rivers of stoneThat you really must be fought?
RipplesStarlight dancesFrom the windblown ripplesOf his coffee.As he waits,With sardonic smileThat mocks his memories.In amber depthsA means of abstractionSuggests itself.He considers,Then laughs, and rejectsThe conventions of conformity.His philosophy,The forms his life will take,Is now formed.Love the Mother,An' it hurt no-one,Do what thou wilt.