For A Picture
That nose is out of drawing. With a gasp,
She pants upon the passionate lips that ache
With the red drain of her own mouth, and make
A monochord of colour. Like an asp,
One lithe lock wriggles in his rutilant grasp.
Her bosom is an oven of myrrh, to bake
Love's white warm shewbread to a browner cake.
The lock his fingers clench has burst its hasp.
The legs are absolutely abominable.
Ah! what keen overgust of wild-eyed woes
Flags in that bosom, flushes in that nose?
Nay! Death sets riddles for desire to spell,
Responsive. What red hem earth's passion sews,
But may be ravenously unripped in hell?
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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Related quotes
Red;
Red is the colour of anger welling up inside me,
Red is believing and then having doubt,
Red is the colour of love and romance,
Red is the colour of the end of my nose on a cold winter day.
The colour of little red riding hoods coat,
Red is mars high up in the sky;
The colour that flushes my cheeks after playing sport and getting embarressed.
The colour of my sore sad eyes after crying.
Red is the colour of my warm blood flooding my veins,
Which shows Human Bondage,
Which shows the life within me,
Red is the colour of ambition burning my soul,
Red is the colour of the devil, which feeds me my power.
poem by karlia Ashlyn
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Lip Lock Rock
Alright
You look at me, the world in your eyes
You say like my style
Oh yeah
You keep hopin' till I make my move
You resist and give me that smile
Oh yeah
I just want a little kiss
But you keep on playin' those nasty little tricks
I'm longing of a - (...just another kiss)
I want a lip lock rock
Lip lock rock
Lip lock rock
Lip lock rock
Whoa
You make a man so frustrated
You got my head buried in a hole
Oh no
Just tease me 'till I'm crazy
I'm runnin' out of control
I just want a little kiss
But you keep on playin' those nasty little tricks
I'm not gonna bite, I - (...just want a little kiss)
I want a lip lock rock
Lip lock rock
Lip lock rock
Lip lock rock
Whoa
Lip lock
Lip lock
Lip lock
Lip lock
Lip lock
Rock
Lip lock rock
Lip lock rock
Whoa
Lip lock rock
Lip lock rock
Oh whoa
Lip lock rock
Lip lock rock
Lip lock rock
Lip lock rock
Lip lock rock
Lip lock rock
Lip lock rock
Lip lock rock
Give it to me
Lip lock rock
Lip lock rock
song performed by by Alice In Chains
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ache
The ache of my bosom
Is such, that it needs
The bite of your teeth
To make it ache
More and more…
And with this
Aching bosom,
My love, when I
Take leave of you,
The mark of your
Teeth - will always
Remain with me…
Making me ache
For you ~
Forever more…
poem by Aparna Chatterjee
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Pink is my colour
Pink pants and rosy plants
Pink blouses, never failing to arouse spouses
Pink hot feverish lips
Passionate pants of pink
Love letters dipped in pink ink
You see! You see!
Pink is my colour
Pink is the sweet side of wild
Quite mild
Like a little lost baby child
Of all the colours compiled
Pink is romantic and disarming
All pink roses are ever so charming
Pink is my colour
The fruit juices I drink
Are always colour pink
With favourable odours
Igniting my fire making me desire more and more
Think! Think! Pink always links
With erotic pleasant stinks
Those flirty winks
Combining with pink
Creating an effect of kink, kink, kinky!
Pink is my colour
Refined or raw
Pink is my colour
And the colour of my door
Pink is my colour
And the only colour I adore
Copyright 2006 - Sylvia Chidi
poem by Sylvia Chidi
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Old Town Types No. 9 - Long John, The Snob
Long John McDougal, the wax-end and leather man,
Solon of the main street, full of curious lore,
Keen-eyed and frugal, politician, weather man,
Pegging there, or stitching by his shop front door;
Keen-eyed and frugal, Long John McDougal
Talked as he toiled there, or harked to others' woes,
With his tousled old grey head and steel-rimmed spectacles,
His old steel spectacles perched on the end of his nose.
Long John the leather man: boots, bridles any a thing
Fashioned out of leather, could his wise hands mend.
'Cease your foolish blether, man! For I have cobbled many a thing
Cobbled it and cured it wi' me strong wax-end.
Cease your foolish blether, man. 'Tis Long John, the leather man
Has shod the feet of half the town, an' no complaints from those.'
And his old head would waggle and his steel-rimmed spectacles
His smeared old spectacles perched on the end of his nose.
Long John, the cobbler, sets aside his sowing owl,
Sets aside his apron and gives his hands a rub,
And trots off for his nobbler, just as he has been going all
These long years for his whisky at the Railway pub.
Long John, the cobbler, calling for his nobbler:
One I'll tak', or two I'll tak', but I'm content wi' those.'
And he gazes e'er so wisely thro' his steel-rimmed spectacles
His bent old spectacles perched on the tip of his nose.
Long John McDougal sat to have a crack there,
Just within his shop door the day I left the town,
Keen-eyed and frugal. And if I ever went back there
I know I'd find him fadeless, his wise law laying down
Kind-eyed and frugal, Long John McDougal,
Spouting weather prophesies, downing fiscal foes,
Peering, with his head back, thro' grime-dimmed spectacles
His old steel spectacles perched on the tip of his nose.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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A Handsome Man
i am a handsome face
long black hair
aquiline nose
slim body
kissable lips
sharp eyes
white teeth
smooth brown skin
lean and muscular body
i promise you nothing
i have no time
and i do not know what
love is
i am the vagabond of
this earth
a wanderer of its bosom
no one owns me
and i own no one.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Love You
I love your lips when they're wet with wine
And red with a wild desire;
I love your eyes when the lovelight lies
Lit with a passionate fire.
I love your arms when the warm white flesh
Touches mine in a fond embrace;
I love your hair when the strands enmesh
Your kisses against my face.
Not for me the cold calm kiss
Of a virgin's bloodless love;
Not for me the saint's white bliss,
Nor the heart of a spotless dove.
But give me the love that so freely gives
And laughs at the whole world's blame,
With your body so young and warm in my arms,
It sets my poor heart aflame.
So kiss me sweet with your warm wet mouth,
Still fragrant with ruby wine,
And say with a fervor born of the South
That your body and soul are mine.
Clasp me close in your warm young arms,
While the pale stars shine above,
And we'll live our whole young lives away
In the joys of a living love.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Early Works - Good Luck?
Here I sit in solemn repose
while some old bag looks down her nose
words echo around me
and I begin to snort and wheeze
like a bull ready to charge,
but I must be calm.
They talk in riddles
to confuse and fiddle
then I feel my good luck charm in my hand.
My aim is steady,
my shot is sure
and I return to my solemn repose, a
s the old bag looks cross-eyed
at my lucky charm stuck up her nose.
There is chaos everywhere
no one knows what to do,
I still sit in solemn repose
and the old bag is still cross-eyed
looking down her nose.
There is nothing they can do
and the case is dropped, wow, wow.
The old bag goes to hospital ho, ho
my lucky charm still up her nose.
The sun comes up in the morning
and I am still free as a bird.
Free as a bird, the word.
The air smells like dog muck
something you trod in to bring you luck!
10 October 2002
poem by David Harris
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A human body
Your
Head is not head
A computer...
Your
Eye is not eye
A camera...
Your
Ear is not ear
A cell phone...
Your
Mouth is not mouth
A wet grinder...
Your
Nose is not nose
A window...
Your
Stomach is not stomach
A Hotel...
Your
Hands is not hands
A wonder tool...
Your
Legs is not legs
A bycycle...
Your
Heart is not heart
A Rose...
With love...
With out love
A pump...
It is all
Your and your's of
Human body....
Simple Example...?
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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Wild Eyed Southern Boys
Its a hot night at the juke joint
And the bands pumpin rhythm and blues
Gonna spill a little rock and roll blood tonight
Gonna make some front page news
And the ladies hate the violence
Still they never seem to look away
Cause they love those
Wild eyed southern boys
Wild eyed boys
Wild eyed southern boys
Its a southern point of honor
You got a get right in on the action
You can hear the outlaws holler
Fight for the lady in black
And she's just one in a million
But she's all I need tonight
Cause she loves those
Wild eyed southern boys
Wild eyed boys
Wild eyed southern boys
Wild eyed boys
Oohhh yeah
Wild eyed boys
A man of wealth and power
Is out on the dance hall floor
He got a champagne Eldorado parked outside the door
And he's looking for a honky tonk angel
But he don't stand a chance in hell
Cause he ain't no wild eyed southern boy
Wild eyed boy
Wild eyed southern boy
Wild eyed
Wild eyed southern boy
Wild eyed southern boys
Wild eyed boy
Wild eyed southern boy
Wild eyed boy
Wild eyed boy
Wild eyed southern boys
Wild eyed boys
song performed by by 38 Special
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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If I Could But Forget
If I could but forget
The fullness of those first sweet days,
When you burst sun-like thro' the haze
Of unacquaintance, on my sight,
And made the wet, gray day seem bright
While clouds themselves grew fair to see.
And since, no day is gray or wet
But all the scene comes back to me,
If I could but forget.
If I could but forget
How your dusk eyes look into mine,
And how I thrilled as with strong wine
Beneath your touch; while sped amain
The quickened stream thro' ev'ry vein;
How near my breath fell to a gasp,
When for a space our fingers met
In one electric vibrant clasp,
If I could but forget.
If I could but forget
The months of passion and of pain,
And all that followed in their train--
Rebellious thoughts that would arise,
Rebellious tears that dimmed mine eyes,
The prayers that I might set love's fire
Aflame within your bosom yet--
The death at last of that desire--
If I could but forget.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Nose
No one cares for the nose
To go nose straight is the tao
If there were no eyes
You could see better with your nose
If there were no nose
you wouldnot distinguish the sweet from the bitter
And there would be no value judgements in the world
And it is the nose that keeps you hot in the cold
And that keeps you cold in Jakodabad
The nose is the vigilant customs officer
That does not allow any drug to your lungs
And the nose cannot be bribed
Oh Nose! the customs officer of the body
And the pivot of value judgement in the world
If that name thou love
Remain with us and teach the noseless world
That it must have a nose in this wartorn world
He who knows the greatness of nose
Surely goes to the realm of rose
In the life to come
Hurrah Let us compose hymns to nose
poem by Dr. Ramesh Chandra Mukhopadhyaya
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Desires Part -2
Yet another night
As I lay awake
Sleepless in desire…
Eyes aching for a
Glimpse of
"me"
In your eyes..
Lips parched
In hunger of
Your mouth.
Arms naked
In want
Of your arms.
Bosom swollen,
Painful against the confines.
This ache, painful..
Yet heady..
Starting at the navel
And spreads
Engulfing everything
Feelful or feeling less of
"me".
Dissolving into a fire
Burning its way
Into caverns
And deep recesses
Of my being.
As the skin burns..
In cold fire
In want of your being.
I still lay awake,
Half scalded,
Half doused,
Drowning in the floods
Of my own passion fluid.
Gasping, gaping
In wait of wanting you
Like the parched brown earth
Gapes in want of the seasons
First monsoon.
O love!
if only you ever know
How I desire you…
poem by Anjali Kakati
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For You, With Me
The Touch of my Bosom
On your Chest,
I’ll wait for the day
When East meets West.
The Feel of my Fingers
On your Face,
Making Love
In a lilting pace…
My Lips on your Mouth
Suckling Slow,
As if they have
Nowhere to go..!
My Hands on your Arms
Sliding through
Panting to glide
All over you…
My Smell and your Sweat
Mingling in…
For us to feel
The passion within
Your Body, A Paper
My Passion, A Poetry
With Love I Write,
How You Fulfill Me…
You spurt out
And I give in
Tell Me, My Love
Is it pleasure or sin?
poem by Aparna Chatterjee
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Rosa Flammea
Beautiful demon, O veil those eyes of fire,
Cover your breasts that are whiter than milk, and ruddy
With dewy buds of the magical rose, your body,
Veil your lips from the shining of my desire!
As a rose growing up from hell you waver before me,
Shaking an odorous breath that is fire within;
The Lord Christ may not pardon me this sweet sin,
But the scent of the rose that is rooted in hell steals o'er me.
O Lord Christ, I am lost, I am lost, I am lost!
Her eyes are as stars in a pool and their spell is on me;
She lifts her unsearchable lids, chill fire is upon me,
It shudders through every vein, and my brain is tossed
As the leaves of a tree when the wind coils under and over;
She smiles, and I hear the heart beat in my side;
She lifts her hands, and I swirl in a clutching tide;
But shall my soul not burn in flame if I love her?
She shall veil those eyes, those lips, ah! that breast.
Demon seeking my soul, I do adjure thee,
In the name of him for whose tempted sake I endure thee,
Trouble my sight no more: lost soul, be at rest!
She smiles, and the air grows into a mist of spices,
Frankincense, cinnamon, labdanum, and myrrh
Rise in sweet smoke about the feet of her
Before whom the sweets of the world are as sacrifices.
Cinnamon, frankincense, labdanum, and myrrh
Smoke in the air, the fume of them closes round me;
Help, ere the waves of the flood of odours have drowned me,
Help, ere it be too late! There has no help come,
And I feel that the rose of the pit begins to blossom
Into the likeness of a lost soul on fire,
And the soul that was mine is emptied of all but desire
Of the rose of her lips and the rose of her bosom.
Ah! she smiles the great smile, the immortal shame:
Her mouth to my mouth, though hell be the price hereafter!...
I hear in the whirling winds her windy laughter,
And my soul for this shall whirl in the winds of flame.
poem by Arthur Symons
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Lust has no eyes
To my eyes, mind, heart and soul,
Her nose, a masculine one, is tormenting;
Her lips, uneven, are devastating;
Her lock, a thin plait, is over whelming;
Her breasts, just a purse, are hurling;
Her fingers, un-manicured, are gambling;
Her bottom, not a convex, is stirring.
No word, she uttered to please,
Nor any deed conspicuous either.
Calls answered but not one made.
Letters received but not one sent.
Yet so much passion in her is visible.
Yet so much lust from her is discerned.
She is not a beauty, still is opium.
She is not feeding, still sates.
She stands as a proof that
It is not woman’s beauty one is after.
20.01.2001, Pmdi [repitation
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Doll Parts
I am doll eyes
Doll mouth, doll legs
I am doll arms, big veins, dog bait
Yeah, they really want you, they really want you, they really do
Yeah, they really want you, they really want you, but I do too
I want to be the girl with the most cake
I love him so much it just turns to hate
I fake it so real, I am beyond fake
And someday, you will ache like I ache
Someday, you will ache like I ache
I am doll parts
Bad skin, doll heart
It stands for knife
For the rest of my life
Yeah, they really want you, they really want you, they really do
Yeah, they really want you, they really want you, but I do, too
I want to be the girl with the most cake
He only loves those things because he loves to see them break
I fake it so real, I am beyond fake
And someday, you will ache like I ache
Someday you will ache like I ache
song performed by by Hole
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To A Cold Beauty
Lady, wouldst thou heiress be
To Winters cold and cruel part?
When he sets the rivers free,
Thou dost still lock up thy heart;—
Thou that shouldst outlast the snow,
But in the whiteness of thy brow?
Scorn and cold neglect are made
For winter gloom and winter wind,
But thou wilt wrong the summer air,
Breathing it to words unkind,—
Breath which only should belong
To love, to sunlight, and to song!
When the little buds unclose.
Red, and white, and pied, and blue,
And that virgin flow'r, the rose,
Opes her heart to hold the dew,
Wilt thou lock thy bosom up
With no jewel in its cup?
Let not cold December sit
Thus in Love's peculiar throne:
Brooklets are not prison'd now,
But crystal frosts are all agone,
And that which hangs upon the spray,
It is no snow, but flow'r of May!
poem by Thomas Hood
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Gold Watch And Chain
(A.P. Carter)
Oh I'll pawn you my gold watch and chain, love
And I'll pawn you my gold wedding ring
I will pawn you this heart in my bosom
Only say that you'll love me again
Darling, how could I stay here without you
I have nothing to ease my poor heart
This old world would seem sad, love, without you
Tell me now that we never will part
Oh I'll pawn you my gold watch and chain, love
And I'll pawn you my gold wedding ring
I will pawn you this heart in my bosom
Only say that you'll love me again
Take back all the gifts you have given
A diamond ring and a lock of your hair
And a card with your picture upon it
It's a face that is false but is fair
Oh I'll pawn you my gold watch and chain, love
And I'll pawn you my gold wedding ring
I will pawn you this heart in my bosom
Only say that you'll love me again
Oh, the white rose that blooms in the garden
It grows with the love of my heart
It broke through on the day that I met you
It will die on the day that we part
Oh I'll pawn you my gold watch and chain, love
And I'll pawn you my gold wedding ring
I will pawn you this heart in my bosom
Only say that you'll love me again
song performed by by Emmylou Harris
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Barbie Doll
This girlchild was born as usual
and presented dolls that did pee-pee
and miniature GE stoves and irons
and wee lipsticks the color of cherry candy.
Then in the magic of puberty, a classmate said:
You have a great big nose and fat legs.
She was healthy, tested intelligent,
possessed strong arms and back,
abundant sexual drive and manual dexterity.
She went to and fro apologizing.
Everyone saw a fat nose on thick legs.
She was advised to play coy,
exhorted to come on hearty,
exercise, diet, smile and wheedle.
Her good nature wore out
like a fan belt.
So she cut off her nose and her legs
and offered them up.
In the casket displayed on satin she lay
with the undertaker's cosmetics painted on,
a turned-up putty nose,
dressed in a pink and white nightie.
Doesn't she look pretty? everyone said.
Consummation at last.
To every woman a happy ending.
poem by Marge Piercy
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