Cerne Abbas (August'98) Poem by David Levitas

Cerne Abbas (August'98)



Sitting beneath the giant whitened spread
A silhouette on rolling Dorset Hills,
A phallus as cream as its earthen bed
Among the munching bovine sweat, that feels
The sunshine pulse in udders big with milk,
I pick the gleanings from a cornfield raped,
And in my fingers unpeel seed like silk
Inhaling amber dust, ambrosia, caked,
In sod and chalk and stalky flesh, that streams
Like the transparent waters rush from club
Upraised, beckoning lust from where it dreams
To rolling fields that feel its earthen rub.
Specks of humanity, like moles or rats
About its figure rabbit, worshippers
At an antique shrine who doff their limp hats
like a crowd of wearied pilgrim trippers.
Excited mumbles, like braying cattle
Spread the air in exhalation, in hope
Of pleasures lost and undefined; rattle
Of an empty bag, victims of a trope
Misconceived by mortal brains who shower
Expectations on a Giant's conceit,
Failing to sense his immortal power
On ev'ry Dorset hill that summer greets.
Yet not in the light of translucent skies
Where vision bright upholds our conscious glow
But deep beneath nights dark flickering eyes
Does the giant arise to ebb and flow.

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