Men Like Orchids Too

It seems I'm fated to writing assorted essays rather than the nifty posts I find in myriad other places – posts that occasionally make me laugh out loud! Of course, it's difficult not to chuckle at Coffee's rendition of Princess Diana's musings on the subject of boys and girls:

If women could just shed their inhibitions and be completely open, man and woman alike could finally settle onto the same verticle plane — giggity giggity giggity!

The, ummm, "giggity, giggity, giggity!" refers of course to dancing! – Something my Baptist friends assure me is simply a vertical expression of a horizontal desire. I've also heard that "only a man would say something like that." Horse hooey. Actually, what my Baptists friends told me was that making love standing up was verboten because it leads to dancing… Though Princess Diana has a point, I think our great American Poet sees and understands the, uh, root of the matter more clearly:

PAN WITH US

PAN came out of the woods one day,--
His skin and his hair and his eyes were gray,
The gray of the moss of walls were they,--
And stood in the sun and looked his fill
At wooded valley and wooded hill.

He stood in the zephyr, pipes in hand,
On a height of naked pasture land;
In all the country he did command
He saw no smoke and he saw no roof.
That was well! and he stamped a hoof.

His heart knew peace, for none came here
To this lean feeding save once a year
Someone to salt the half-wild steer,
Or homespun children with clicking pails
Who see no little they tell no tales.

He tossed his pipes, too hard to teach
A new-world song, far out of reach,
For a sylvan sign that the blue jay's screech
And the whimper of hawks beside the sun
Were music enough for him, for one.

Times were changed from what they were:
Such pipes kept less of power to stir
The fruited bough of the juniper
And the fragile bluets clustered there
Than the merest aimless breath of air.

They were pipes of pagan mirth,
And the world had found new terms of worth.
He laid him down on the sun-burned earth
And ravelled a flower and looked away–
Play? Play?--What should he play?

Robert Frost in A Boy's Will (1915)

Do we let the male gods die? Is the green-man no longer? The balance of male and female on Beltane is a must! Leaping the fires of May's Eve through to the Maypole celebration simply isn't that obscure. The god and goddess unite in this mythology – I'm reminded of a conversation from The Rock:

John Mason: Are you sure you're ready for this?
Stanley Goodspeed: I'll do my best.
John Mason: Your "best"! Losers always whine about their best. Winners go home and fuck the prom queen.
Stanley Goodspeed: Carla was the prom queen.
John Mason: Really?
Stanley Goodspeed: [cocks his gun] Yeah.

So let us honestly celebrate diversity, especially between the sexes! I'll bore you with some verse (I know, a nasty habit) that celebrates that very thing! This was from a class assignment to twist someone else's poem to my own liking, and I haven't the first idea who's poem I butchered, but here it is:

Beltane's Aftermath

I lie on the
moss-covered forest floor
dappled in moonlight.

Crystalline drops of ecstasy,
attached to your moss-covered mons,
march
across the bridge
of my nose.

Inhaling the musk,
I think about the earth's
revolutions.

Elsewhere,
people are dying.
And I wait,

not impatiently,
for the turning
of the world.