Her My Body
about the left nipple
of the woman in the bathroom.
She is drying her hair, the woman
whose left nipple is sore.
We looked this evening
for diagonal cuts
or discoloration
or bite marks from small insects
that may be in our bed.
It is a good bed, a faithful bed.
A bed that won’t be hurt
by the consideration we gave
to the possibility of small
though disproportionately
strong insects in our bed.
The blow-dryer sounds like a jet
taking off. The first time
I flew to Brussels, people began
the journey happy but ended
with drool on their shirts.
She is drying her hair
though she has never been to Brussels.
Drying her hair
though she could be petting a dog.
Drying her hair
while having red thoughts
about what the pain in her nipple means.
I would not dry my hair
in such a moment but I am bald.
The body of the woman
has many ways to cease
being the body of the woman.
I have one way
to be happy
and she is that way.
I would like to fly with her to Brussels.
We would not be put off by the drool.
This is what happens when people sleep.
We would buy postcards of the little boy
who saved Brussels when he peed on a fire.
We would be romantic in public places.
For the moment
these desires can best be furthered
by petting a dog.
I’m also working on this theory.
That sometimes a part of the body
just hurts.
That the purpose of prayer
is to make the part of the body
that sometimes just hurts
the little toe or appendix.
Something vestigial or redundant.
Something that can be jettisoned.
I have no reason
to use the word cancer
while petting a dog.
Here is a piece of a second
during which a jet is not flying
nor is it on the ground.
I’m working on a theory
that no one can die
inside that piece of a second.
If you are comforted
by this thought you are welcome
to keep it.
Related quotes
A Woman's Nipple
a woman's breast is exposed
the nipple, pinkish and firm like a pointillist finger
looks over the window of the dress, innocent and
wondering, what the world out there is all about
why it is hidden? it is desire - why is it suppressed?
the eyes of the woman with long curly and soft
hair are so inviting, it says welcome, we have been here
before you came, we have been searching for you
for you are lost, like a ship without an anchor in the sea
of love, in the storms of your lust, in the calmness after
an outburst of desire, -why do you come with shyness?
the nipple smiles, and remembers how is it to be sucked
till it brings forth milk for all thirsty babies of this world
men who miss life, men who love to live because the
pink nipple is hungry for their hands, because the eyes of
the woman are always inviting, because love is still a
possibility, because lust is its initiative, because death is
imposed by the system, that refuses to understand and give.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Rope hair woman
Rope hair woman
Where you’re off to tonight
Rope hair woman
You’re lookin’ out of sight
O rope hair woman
I love with all my might
Rope hair woman if you could if you can
Let me be your dread lock man.
Dread lock man
Can you understand
That a rope hair woman
Does all that she can
To move you to that sexual point
Better then your hand
O rope hair woman
Here is my plain
Rope hair woman I will give
Up my womanly man
O rope hair woman
The world can understand
That you want a dread lock man.
poem by David E. Patton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Water Lilies Of Knas
ABOVE the water lilies
of KNAS
is the whole body sculpture
of a national hero
in black suit, well defined hair,
tight white pants
nice mustache on the face
of his bravery
on his right arm is the heaviness
of books
on his left his famous
coat taken from the city
of Brussels
below this history
is a pond of goldfish
bubbling
knowing nothing about
heroism
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Grand-stranding
With little success at hair retention
I've one strand left of small dimension
Scalped this way, I'm not enthralled
One-stranded now, I'm follicle-y bald
It's hair raising to feel alone and bereft
Deserted by all it's brothers who left
This ordeal has the hair standing there pining
Atop my bald scalp, so hairless-ly shining
The lonesome strand just keeps on grieving
Missing its mates, since their mass leaving
So soulful and sad, it can't seem to find
On the scalp of this lad, a hair-piece of mind
My dome once covered with hair-filled density
Has no foreseeable future-tense-ity
For so loyally standing hair-ly at hand
I'll always be grateful to that one last grand strand
poem by Stanley Cooper
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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On modern woman
Smile, take a pretty picture,
Be the best woman you can be.
Paint your nails a scarlet red,
Stain your hair a pale blonde,
Be the best woman you can be.
Perk up those breasts,
Put razor to flesh,
Then Scrape off those old skin cells
Breed, woman, breed!
But don't you get stretch marks.
Be the best woman you can be.
Tear the hair from your vulva,
Be the first to church,
When in doubt, smile.
Steam your hair and bleach your teeth,
Don't neglect your husbands needs,
Be the best woman you can be.
Woman, did you read it in a magazine?
You're a void I can not fill.
Don't ever wrinkle.
You don't have to like it, it's gucci.
Snort this line, eat my words.
Don't neglect your petty needs.
Be the best woman that you can be.
poem by H.J. Shreeve
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Be Sexy Effortlessly
Being sexy is not revealing parts.
Being sexy is highlighting features.
Highlight hair, ears, neck, upper back,
Arms or legs but one or two at a time.
There's a fine line between being sexy
And being cheap, which a woman must note.
For a toned body, no need of windows.
For defying hair, no need of hair-do.
For evenness of the skin, no cosmetics;
For hygiene body, no need of perfume.
On a pair of high heels one is sexy
With breasts forward and buttocks upward.
To look sexy, woman must feel sexy.
In feeling sexy, she gains confidence
About her sexual prowess and command.
Be sexy effortlessly and feed man's eyes.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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How Do You Separate The Woman From The Poetess?
she is mad at me
and i wonder
how was i not able to separate
her being a woman from being a poetess?
is it her lust or her love?
she says 13 inches is smaller
and i just can't get why should she not make
me comment on her creations anymore?
why i have become so indelicate?
is it because my hair is curly?
or my pubic hair too thick?
does she dare touch the most delicate part
of my body?
we are far and she is too sensitive
we have not seen each other and yet she is filled with anger.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Piece of This
A son trying to help his mother who’s 83 in to the tub to bathe hears words that cut him to his very soul, “You must want a piece of this.” Now, as he hold back his hurt and wipe the spit of his face that his mother had spat on him thoughts begin to race through his mind. How could the woman who gave birth to me think that I would want to do that to her? She comforted me when I was afraid at night. She fed me when I hungry. Yes she was the first woman I loved just like any son would love his mother. But no I have no Oedipus complex. So no I don’t want a piece of that. Wow, this woman is the Grandmother to my son I wonder if I was not here and he was would she say to him “You must want a piece of this.” I know Alzheimer has taken over her mind and she is not the loving mother I once knew but it stills hurts to hear her say, “You must want a piece of this.”
I Am Sorry....
so you really read my poems?
are you then
reading me?
are you going inside my
heart and mind?
are you a blood corpuscle now
traveling inside my veins?
are you another strange thought
on a journey to my
brain?
are there lapses or
synapses?
do you see my heart
beating inside
my body?
i guess i have to say
i am sorry
it is never me.
I am the other people.
I am the old man who
lost a house
I too am the old woman
who lost a son
in the war
I am too the child
abandoned in the street
Sometimes i am
the moon resting on the
bosom of a river
Last night i was the
sea breeze
refreshing drying the tears
of a woman
abused
Tonight i am someone else
that i met in the
street
soon i will choose
whether i should be a
carpet or
the tick
so will you still read me?
you want to enclose me
in my own work?
sorry, you called the
wrong number.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Gypsy Woman
From nowhere through the caravan
Round the campfire light
Lovely woman in motion
With hair as dark as night
Her eyes were like that of a cat in the dark
That hypnotized me with love
She was a gypsy woman
She was a gypsy woman
She was a gypsy woman
She was a gypsy woman
She was a gypsy woman
She danced around and round
Guitars melody
From the fire her face was aglow
How she enchanted me
Id like to hold her near
And kiss her hair and whisper in her ear
I love you gypsy woman
I love you gypsy woman
I love you gypsy woman
I love you gypsy woman
All through the caravan
She was dancing with all the men
Waiting for the rising sun
Everyone was having fun
Hated to see her go
Knowing that shell never know
That I love her
That I love her
I love you gypsy woman
I love you gypsy woman
I love you gypsy woman
I love you gypsy woman
Whoever compared it to part monkey part man hit the nail on the head. it has that same kind of dark, mysterious sound. the vocals are soft and understated, somewhat reminiscent to those on if I should fall behind or pony boy. the song is sung with that nasally twang bruce has grown so fond of lately.
song performed by by Bruce Springsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mosquitoes
Mosquitoes bite where the skin is uncovered.
Yet they spare from biting the eyes and hair.
Man’s eyes bite woman’s eyes and hair too;
When her body is covered and veiled.
19.09.2010
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sisters are always drying their hair. Locked into rooms, alone, they pose at the mirror, shoulders bare, trying this way and that their hair, or fly importunate down the stair to answer the telephone.
quote by Phyllis McGinley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Poem for All Men and Women!
Woman,
Demean not your body
Given to you
For a divine purpose!
Woman,
You're not mere body, though!
A soul's passage
To an earthly sojourn
Is no spitoon!
The hips
That hold life secure
The breasts
That nourish growth
The body
That bears the world
Can never be a play-field
For the undeserving
For those who look upon it
As a booty to loot!
It's not for measly men
Who price it at their whim!
Woman,
Ridden with pain
Your body is a celebration too
Woman,
Your body is a unique creation
To house creation!
poem by Indira Babbellapati
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Catherine
on top of me is a woman's body
after
a moan is another woman's body
a door opens
for a woman's dressed body
a window closes
for a woman's naked body
Catherine
wolverine in a woman's body
pure cotton
dangling softness in a man's naked mind.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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She completes me
The woman who inhabits my soul
The woman who took a part of me
that I became unwhole
The woman whom I promised
I'll never let go
The woman who makes me weak
The woman whom I'll always seek
The woman whom I gave my heart
The woman who tore it apart
The woman who I love
The woman who flew away like a dove
The woman who I'll always adore
Never will I abhor
The reason I shed tears
The reason for my fears
The cause of my misery
But I'm never angry
I'll take the pain
Until there's nothing else to gain
poem by Steven Nacar
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Woman 26
Woman is the mystry of God
Woman is the miracle of creation
All greats are born out of woman
Woman is the womb of whole creation.
No man knows what is woman
It's onlly God knows what is woman
It's only God knows what for the woman is
Worship woman, woman is the religion
of all religion
Place your holy flower
On the budding nipple
of a virgin woman.
poem by Devil Poet
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Chauvinist
I’d never really comprehended such a mighty range of
Shapes and sizes down behind, it’s really rather strange:
The buttock muscle in a woman, overlaid with fat
Is actually such a focal point for men to want to pat
Or squeeze, and then to tease her if it’s eminently stout,
Or even risk a stay in clink to sting it with a clout!
After all, we men are tuned to be that way inclined –
And tho’ our needs are varied, girls, they’re all perverse of mind!
Best of all, our sacred dream: to see her shed her gown
When gliding to the shower for the ritual sponging down.
But then alas! With body lathered, oops! she drops the soap;
‘Please! ’ we beg her, ‘bend and bare! ’ But we can only hope!
I’m sure by now you get the picture – like a rule of thumb –
That men like me obsess all day about the fairer bum.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
My dreams are of a
woman woman woman woman woman woman woman
woman woman woman woman woman woman woman
woman woman woman woman woman woman woman
woman woman woman woman woman woman woman
woman woman woman woman woman woman woman
woman woman woman woman woman woman woman
woman woman woman woman woman woman woman
woman woman woman woman woman woman woman
woman woman woman woman woman woman woman
poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Entangled in Her Hair
Her hair
covers my face
she
kisses my mouth
kisses my kisses.
She chuckles.
I stroke her hair.
She sways &
...moves.
Her hair
covers my chest.
She
titillates a nipple
...it tickles.
I run my fingers
through her hair.
She sashays &
...moves.
Her hair
covers my navel
& there...&
there...abouts!
I…almost beside myself
neither...here...nor... there...
Lost in the anywhere
of an everywhere.
I clutch
her hair.
She shimmies &
...moves.
Her hair
covers my crotch.
She
licks it
into shape.
She
goes to say
something
it’s on
the tip of
her tongue.
But, she says nothing
only: “Mmmmm...! ”
& smiles
...smiles.
I close
my eyes.
My hands
entangled in
her hair.
*******
TREAD SOFTLY
We rest on the bed
your head rests against my head
sharing the same dream.
poem by Dónall Dempsey
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Insects
Tiny insects in my hair
Tiny insects everywhere
Tiny insects in my pants
Watching insects make romance
Insects make me make me want to dance dance dance
They make want to dance . . .
Flying insects everywhere
Flying insects buzzing buzzing buzzing thru the air
Just like little diamonds in the sky
Insects buzzing in my eye
Buzzing insects make me want to dance dance dance
They make me want to dance . . .
Insects crawling all around
Insects squirming in the ground
Insects gooey squeaky chewy
Should I eat them--no
Id rather stomp them hurt them stomp
Stomp them while I dance dance dance
I hurt them while I dance dance dance
I stomp them while I dance dance dance . . .
Insects make me scream and shout
They dont know what lifes about
They dont have blood
Theyve got too many legs
They dont have brains in their heads
They know theyll rule the world some day
They bite and sting me anyway
They bite and sting and suck
They bite and sting and suck suck suck
They bite and sting and
Suck suck suck suck suck . . .
Dance dance dance
song performed by by Oingo Boingo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Building My Body
I'm building my body
I'm happy when I'm building my body
I'm tired of fighting, let's make friends
I'm tired of burning both ends
That's why I'm building my body
It hurts me but I'm building my body
And I know what the pain is worth
I know I feel the pain of birth
I'm pushin' up
And gettin' down with my body
There's no-one else around with my body
One look says I'm a stone disgrace
Don't kick no sand in my face
Because I'm building my body strong
I'm watching what I eat
And I'm sorting out right from wrong
Hey, not a lot of meat
And I know that it won't be long
Before I gotta quit smoking
Because I'm building my body
I'm peaceful when I'm building my body
I'm sweating out mistakes I've made
I'm getting back the dues I've paid
I'm doing more
And getting sore with my body
But I'm gaining a rapport with my body
And this seems like the perfect time
They say I'm in my prime
That's why I'm building my body strong
I'm thinking at the table
And I'm sorting out right from wrong
I'm reading every label
And I know that it won't be long
Before I gotta quit smoking
'Cause I'm building my body
There's someone else inside of my body
He's waiting to be born again
song performed by by Don McLean
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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