by Leonard M Hawkes

The passing storms
Drew us to the warmth
Of Waters: the healing
Of our mother the earth,

And in morning's glory,
(Arrival an interruption) he
Approached with the
Physiognomy of deity;

Unabashedly he shed
The confusing outer garb,
And we stared at the splendor
Of the ablution of a god:

Muscle, axillary, chest to pubis,
We gasped at the ease, the
Balance, and that innate
Certainty of transcendent

And eternal beauty.


Author's Note: Little Mountain, 23 December 2010: he spoke of a balance and fitness in a parapatetic life, and of the physical and spiritual power of chanting Krishna.

Posted on 12/24/2010
Copyright © 2023 Leonard M Hawkes

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Alison McKenzie on 12/24/10 at 08:17 AM

I adore this, for all sorts of reasons.

Posted by Jody Pratt on 12/25/10 at 07:27 AM

Born of a virgin on December 25th, known to his disciples as the "Son of God", and resurrected three days after his death: Horus (3000BC), Attis (1200BC), *Krishna (900BC)*, Mithra (600BC), Dionysus (500BC), Jesus (0AD), Quetzalcoatl (600AD) and all the other mythical, imaginary saviors, from different periods, from all over the world that subscribe to EXACTLY the same fairytale.

Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 12/28/10 at 04:27 PM

This speaks to me more of a man in a particular place and time - quite the image of a man at ease with himself in the universe.

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