sultry dusk...
the nape of her neck
draws me in
as a streetlamp
beckons to the moth
tanka by Chenou Liu (2012)
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Light Beckons Her
LIGHT BECKONS HER
Light beckons her
She that travailed much
Light beckons her
She that tasted life’s test in earnest
Light beckons her
She that suffered much in her years
Light beckons her
She that passed her test in flying colours
Light beckons her
She that claims all my heart’s honours
Light beckons her
She that travailed much now has repose
Light beckons her
See how the angels cuddle her in warm embrace
Light beckons her
Now rest is yours! Rest Caroline! Rest Adelanke!
For Light beckons you!
No noise with light but silence, sweet silence.
Therefore enjoy your rest, Adelanke
As Light beckons you!
Jude Adebosoye Ogunade
This poem was written on hearing the death of my mother.
poem by Jude Ogunade
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Remove Her Necklace
City Park and a path of flowers at dusk,
The dream-inducing night;
I’m in love, I’m in love
With her Christmas heart
And wait for her to meet me
A quarter past midnight.
In a primitive motel,
We’ll rest from the highway,
I’ll remove her necklace
And kiss the nape of her neck;
I’ll remove her glasses
And kiss her delicate eyes
Of inner vision,
She is all I desire to see.
poem by Uriah Hamilton
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The moth hound
Of a coon hound
you have heard
there's plenty around
i have found
a very strange dog
who's nothing, but a moth hound
when ever, you see
he sees a moth near by
the moth trys to flee,
it isn't no match
as my dog goes after the moth,
and makes a wonderful catch
he eats it all the way
and chews and swallows
he looks at me, now he wants to play
Up To My Neck In You
Well Ive been up to my neck in trouble
Up to my neck in strife
Up to my neck in misery
For most of my life
Ive been a fool
And you know what a fool can do
Im telling you
You came along when I needed you
Now Im up, Im up to my neck in you
And Ive been up to my neck in pleasure
Up to my neck in pain
Ive been up to my neck on the railroad track
Waitin for the train
To cruise on through
Well baby my time is due
Oh its way overdue
You came along and you pulled me through
Now Im up, up to my neck in you
Well Ive been up to my neck in whiskey
Ive been up to my neck in wine
Ive been up to my neck in wishing
That this neck wasnt mine
I was a loser
You werent lost
Baby you were too good, too good to be true
What youve got no one else could do
Now Im up, Im up to my neck in you
Yeah you came along when I needed you
Oh Im up to my neck in you
song performed by by AC-DC
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Moth To Flame, Or Flame To Moth?
two souls, one body,
two hearts, one breath.
the spirit made to fit the mouth....
the dream naked, hungers...
we are born inside
the faintest touch....
carried by a blade of hair,
the scent of a neck....
moth to flame,
or flame to moth?
one cannot exist
without the other!
cannot be complete
without mortar and brick...
laid perfectly seamless,
one lost inside the other!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Long neck is beautiful.
Long neck is beautiful.
It is indicative
Of long limbs, long fingers,
Long nose, long chin,
Long waist, long loins
Long shins and long toes.
Altogether tall is beautiful.
The best way to show
The neck longer than it is
Is tug up the hair on head
So as to bare the nape.
25.06.2006
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The Lizard
there is this friendship
between this lizard
and me,
one day it lands on my nape
and crawls on its cold
tiny feet on my nape
to my head and
stays as my watcher
on my hair
and then i slept so tight
forgetting about
everything sad
and depressing.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Just A Kiss
Hold me close
So close.
My bosom
Heaves breathlessly
Hard
Against the thuds of your heart.
The nape of my neck,
Immobile,
For your grip
Holds it
A cage of feathers,
Tight…
and locked lie
our gazes,
your breath
mirroring mine.
My lips swollen,
Bruised,
Your taste a bitter sweet
Lingering in my mouth
Way past the moonless night.
Your tongue igniting
The deepest of my desires
And in cold fire
Burns "you" and "me"
Into ashes of" us".
My nape,
Still immobile,
In that feather grip
Of your hands
And all you asked for was
Just
"A kiss."
poem by Anjali Kakati
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The Nape Of My Neck
The nape of my neck has prickly hairs,
sensitive to touch.
I'd give anything to stop my urge
to want it so darn much.
Better I scarve it then leave it bare,
better not to feel
anything that can make it sensitive
so my heart will heal.
Remember the touch. Remember the feel.
Remember the hairs on your neck
And then try and release it.
Keep those feelings in check.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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When You Whisper In My Ear
when you whisper in my ear
you must know that i am not really listening
it is this warm breath of yours
that tickles my nape and my hair
my neck is sending erotic signals to my pelvis
i like to turn back to you quickly
so our lips may meet and then
i shall know what do you really want
candidly and spontaneously without words
do not tell me for i always understand.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A test of menopause
A lad and lass, in a hottest day,
On the shore of Elliot Beach, at dusk
Stood pressed, her hands round his nape,
His circling her waist, inviting each wave
To get drenched and pressed still more-
A sight that triggered in me a jealousy,
A sign that I am under menopause.
29.05.2003
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Caught
Just when he was reaching the nape of your neck,
licking and kissing all warm, soft and wet.
Just when your bra hooks had finally snapped
and the carpet was better than sofa or lap.
Just when you thought you'd lay back and do
all of those things you were told not to do
the doorbell rang twice and what's more, in a flash,
all of your family came pouring through!
poem by Ruth Walters
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Tallness is the beauty
Knot your hairs up,
Baring the nape,
Use vertical mark
Or tiny dot
On your forehead,
Wear wide neck blouse
With elbow sleeves,
Put on hanging stud
And let the hip and navel
Be shown
So that you look taller.
Tallness is the beauty.
12.03.2002, Karaikudi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The Headmaster Ritual
Belligerent ghouls
Run manchester schools
Spineless swines
Cemented minds
Sir leads the troops
Jealous of youth
Same old suit since 1962
He does the military two-step
Down the nape of my neck
I wanna go home
I dont wanna stay
Give up education
As a bad mistake
Mid-week on the playing fields
Sir thwacks you on the knees
Knees you in the groin
Elbow in the face
Bruises bigger than dinner plates
I wanna go home
I dont wanna stay
Da-da-da ...
Belligerent ghouls
Run manchester schools
Spineless bastards all ...
Sir leads the troops
Jealous of youth
Same old jokes since 1902
He does the military two-step
Down the nape of my neck
I wanna go home
I dont want to stay
Give up life
As a bad mistake
Please excuse me from gym
Ive got this terrible cold coming on
He grabs and devours
He kicks me in the showers
Kicks me in the showers
And he grabs and devours
I want to go home
I dont want to stay...
Da-da-da ...
song performed by by Smiths
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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For M.W.
There is no transcience of twilight in
The beauty of your soft dusk-dimpled face,
No flicker of a slender flame in space,
In crucibles, fragility crystalline.
There is no fragrance of the jessamine
About you, no pathos of some old place
At dusk, that crumbles like moth-eater lace
Beneath the touch. Nor has there ever been.
Your love is like the folk-song's flaming rise
In cane-lipped southern people, like their soul
Which burst its bondage in a bold travail;
Your voice is like them singing, soft and wise,
Your face, sweetly efflgent of the whole,
Inviolate of ways that would feile.
poem by Jean Toomer
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Varsity
My idea of paradise
is a university at dusk,
late May, utterly alone.
No angels necessary—
just the clouds of insects
whirring around like electrons,
and no heavenly light, either,
unless it was that kind that only
comes from a very old streetlamp
filtering through oak leaves.
Never mind, for now,
that those Corinthian columns
are not fashioned from cirrus,
or that the low-watt hum
of the generators does not really
resemble a celestial choir.
Focus instead on that greenhouse
and its thousand dreaming cacti,
on the stars' dim oscillations,
on the graduate student pacing
in the solitary lit window
like an insomniac Dante
and grading with a blue felt pen
a piece of poetry much like this one.
poem by Christopher Apfelbach
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Butterfly Tattoo
Allow me
To push back your hair
And kiss the butterfly tattoo
On the nape of your neck
As we walk in the summer rain.
We may face death
By tomorrow dawn,
But today we have
Excited breaths
And yearnings
That cannot be suppressed.
If you fail to grasp love
In the heat of this moment,
Nothing will matter later
If you’re unhappy and alone.
poem by Uriah Hamilton
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Japan
Today I pass the time reading
a favorite haiku,
saying the few words over and over.
It feels like eating
the same small, perfect grape
again and again.
I walk through the house reciting it
and leave its letters falling
through the air of every room.
I stand by the big silence of the piano and say it.
I say it in front of a painting of the sea.
I tap out its rhythm on an empty shelf.
I listen to myself saying it,
then I say it without listening,
then I hear it without saying it.
And when the dog looks up at me,
I kneel down on the floor
and whisper it into each of his long white ears.
It's the one about the one-ton temple bell
with the moth sleeping on its surface,
and every time I say it, I feel the excruciating
pressure of the moth
on the surface of the iron bell.
When I say it at the window,
the bell is the world
and I am the moth resting there.
When I say it at the mirror,
I am the heavy bell
and the moth is life with its papery wings.
And later, when I say it to you in the dark,
you are the bell,
and I am the tongue of the bell, ringing you,
and the moth has flown
from its line
and moves like a hinge in the air above our bed.
poem by Billy Collins
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Come
Come, when the pale moon like a petal
Floats in the pearly dusk of spring,
Come with arms outstretched to take me,
Come with lips pursed up to cling.
Come, for life is a frail moth flying,
Caught in the web of the years that pass,
And soon we two, so warm and eager,
Will be as the gray stones in the grass.
poem by Sara Teasdale
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Curiouser And Curiouser Still
Tremors and chills
On nape of neck
Hairs stand erect
When one’s primal instincts
Sense fear or danger
Why then, pray tell
The response
of similar sensations
When warm palpitations
Of pleasure appear
Strange…contradictory…
Responses …in the body human
Occur.. and encompass
in their most curious qualities…
Become e’en more
curiouser and curiouser
poem by David Whalen
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