Ode to you
It is not how you look,
But how I see you,
With chaste heart and pure eyes,
I solemnize you,
My beloved,
I restraining my fervent blood,
To be recognize not,
I quietly awake,
But you bed yourself in my lines,
As in placid lakes,
Or wave-foam
Earth music
Seas fragrance
In you,
Nakedly clear,
And beautiful to me,
Whether it is your strong hands,
On my breast,
At a primal touch,
Or your ultra thick lips,
Like a musical instrument,
The essentials of your skin,
Color and redolence.
The deep landscape
And meekness of your eyes.
You steal my breathe in a verse,
And I keep writing to you my love.
Copyright©ElenaToledo2009
poem by Elenushka Toledo
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Ode To A Naked Beauty
With chaste heart, and pure
eyes
I celebrate you, my beauty,
restraining my blood
so that the line
surges and follows
your contour,
and you bed yourself in my verse,
as in woodland, or wave-spume:
earth's perfume,
sea's music.
Nakedly beautiful,
whether it is your feet, arching
at a primal touch
of sound or breeze,
or your ears,
tiny spiral shells
from the splendour of America's oceans.
Your breasts also,
of equal fullness, overflowing
with the living light
and, yes,
winged
your eyelids of silken corn
that disclose
or enclose
the deep twin landscapes of your eyes.
The line of your back
separating you
falls away into paler regions
then surges
to the smooth hemispheres
of an apple,
and goes splitting
your loveliness
into two pillars
of burnt gold, pure alabaster,
to be lost in the twin clusters of your feet,
from which, once more, lifts and takes fire
the double tree of your symmetry:
flower of fire, open circle of candles,
swollen fruit raised
over the meeting of earth and ocean.
Your body - from what substances
agate, quartz, ears of wheat,
did it flow, was it gathered,
rising like bread
in the warmth,
and signalling hills
silvered,
valleys of a single petal, sweetnesses
of velvet depth,
until the pure, fine, form of woman
thickened
and rested there?
It is not so much light that falls
over the world
extended by your body
its suffocating snow,
as brightness, pouring itself out of you,
as if you were
burning inside.
Under your skin the moon is alive
poem by Pablo Neruda
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My DNA Angel
I love how you know,
When I am always in pain,
I love how you see my DNA flow in me,
You are My DNA Angel too me,
Your eyes they shine,
Such a beautiful Hazel sight,
So bright and pure,
You are My DNA Angel,
Your short brown hair,
Is so soft to touch,
I love your smile,
Of every Angels thoughts,
DNA Angel,
Oh how I sub come to thee,
And oh how I dream,
Of being in your embrace again,
DNA Angel,
My heart beats for you,
When will you see that I was created for you?
My heart belongs to you,
DNA Angel,
You are strong and tall,
My every essence,
Was just made for you to only breathe,
DNA Angel,
So light and pure,
But even though you dress in black,
You'll never hurt a deer,
DNA Angel,
Please come fly too me,
I want you, I need you,
I need my angel's lips to breathe,
You are my DNA Angel! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
Beautiful Me
They look at my dark complexion and they laugh.
But that don’t bother me.
For I’m beautiful.
Beautiful me.
I love my wide nose,
and thick lips.
I’m beautiful.
Beautiful me.
Now, my hips are wide,
and I got a lot of junk in my trunk.
But I’m beautiful.
Beautiful me.
My hair may be coarse,
And my breast are not enhance.
But I’m still beautiful.
Beautiful me.
So they may point, and laugh if they want too.
They may even call me names because of my
dark skin. I won’t cry because beauty is in
the eye of the beholder. And in my eyes
I’m beautiful.
Beautiful me.
Beautiful Are Eyes!
Sure, sure, it is true,
eyes are windows,
Windows that opens the heart,
mind and Soul,
To world around!
Beautiful eyes that see pain around,
And within see that pain,
Enchanting peace of soul,
That eyes which see the Self Everywhere,
The eyes that are beautiful,
Only windows that bring the fresh air!
Eyes are beautiful that can see beyond,
And see beyond the world,
The world beyond heaven and hell
hello hello namaste to all,
Smiling lips add to its beauty,
That can keep it smile in all worlds!
Eyes that are beautiful,
That can see beloved everywhere,
The formless beloved in all forms,
nicely packed in ugly or attractive packets,
Our beloved tests us,
Let the beautiful eyes show us the truth!
Eyes are beautiful not when they attract others,
But attracts with highest wisdom and knowledge,
Eyes are beautiful when they radiate love and compassion!
Eyes are beautiful which shines with truth,
Glows with cosmic intelligence,
that has Infinite ocean of Self behind,
The eyes that
bornblind Surdas,
Helen Keller,
Louis Brail and
many such had!
poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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Music I Heard
Music I heard with you was more than music,
And bread I broke with you was more than bread;
Now that I am without you, all is desolate;
All that was once so beautiful is dead.
Your hands once touched this table and this silver,
And I have seen your fingers hold this glass.
These things do not remember you, beloved,
And yet your touch upon them will not pass.
For it was in my heart that you moved among them,
And blessed them with your hands and with your eyes;
And in my heart they will remember always,
—They knew you once, O beautiful and wise.
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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In the Spirit of Rumi - 15
To My Beloved I said
O My Beloved,
tell me of Yourself;
I yearn to know
My Beloved said
O my dearest one,
tell me, rather, of yourself;
for only in knowing yourself
and knowing what you do not know
may you know Myself
to My Beloved I said
I breathe; and yet
I was never taught to breathe.
I breathe perfectly;
who taught me then, to breathe?
In the light of the Sun,
I see all that may be seen;
who taught my eyes to see?
who taught the Sun to shine?
With my breath,
with my eyes,
I see love, breathe love in my heart;
who put it there?
Every day, I eat,
every day I need to eat;
every day there is some food;
who makes earth into bread?
Every day I make mistakes,
yet every day I live again;
my children I forgive their mistakes;
who will teach me my mistakes,
who will forgive me my mistakes?
Every day I find my world the greater,
every day my powers are greater;
every day the world’s glory is greater;
who made these boundaries to be boundless?
Every day, I think of death;
every day, I am alive;
every day, I seek the truth;
who joins these three, and who divides?
my Beloved said to me
In your questions, love.
In the answer, love.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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All White
All white, all light, all beautiful she stands,
Love in her eyes, a glory round her brows,
Blanched as the lilies chaste in her chaste hands.
Even so God's saints in their celestial house.
Red only are her lips, ay, red as those
Turned by the Queen, that happy day in France,
As yet unkissed, to him who made his vows,
Victor in fight, to her his soul's romance.
Idly she stands in dreams.--Ah, Launcelot,
Couldst thou but plead here haply and prevail,
Touch her soft cheek, draw tears from her sweet eyes,
Open her lips to passionate words unwise,
Receive her true kiss 'neath thy coat of mail:
In Love's name, I who love, should grudge it not.
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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Read My Lips
verbal silence. read my lips.
if you see them.
read the words. read it here.
these words. read them like
flowers in the garden.
these words speak a little.
tips of the iceberg. They are less
compared to the color of my eyes
the warmth of my fingers
the suppressed beatings of my heart.
these words that you read.
if only you can see my lips.
if only you can see my face.
and body, naked on the flowing sheet of
pure paper. IF only you know
what silence means, how emptiness
eats it, if only you know how inferior
verbs and adjectives are
compared to the caresses of the hands
and the tenderness of the fingers,
touch.
read the lines silently.
these words do not shape my lips.
they come to your eyes.
in the silence of your understanding.
never shall they speak
about me. they only talk about
the hands that write sometimes
without any meaning at all.
infinitives are not infinite.
neither do verbs know what is it to be still.
and adjectives talk only about the surface.
deep under, the noise begins.
and silence of the verbs move to another side.
now, the mountains of ideas collapse
and bury the casualties of silence.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Discordants
I
Music I heard with you was more than music,
And bread I broke with you was more than bread.
Now that I am without you, all is desolate,
All that was once so beautiful is dead.
Your hands once touched this table and this silver,
And I have seen your fingers hold this glass.
These things do not remember you, beloved:
And yet your touch upon them will not pass.
For it was in my heart you moved among them,
And blessed them with your hands and with your eyes.
And in my heart they will remember always:
They knew you once, O beautiful and wise!
II
My heart has become as hard as a city street:
The horses trample upon it, it sings like iron;
All day long and all night long they beat—
They ring like the hoofs of time.
My heart has become as drab as a city park:
The grass is worn with the feet of shameless lovers,
A match is struck, there is kissing in the dark,
The moon comes, pale with sleep.
My heart is torn with the sound of raucous voices,
They shout from the slums, from the streets, from the crowded places;
And tunes from a hurdy-gurdy that coldly rejoices
Shoot arrows into my heart …
O my belovèd, sleeping so far from me,
Walking alone in sunlight, or in blue moonlight,
Are you alive there, far across that sea?—
Or were you only a dream?
III
Vermilioned mouth, tired with many kisses,
Eyes, that have lighted for so many eyes,
Are you not wearied yet with countless lovers,
Desirous now to take even me for prize?
Draw not my glance, nor set my sick heart beating,
Body so stripped, for all your silks and lace!
Do not reach out pale hands to me, seductive,
Nor slant sly eyes, O subtly smiling face!
For I am drawn to you, like wind I follow,
Like a warm amorous wind; though I desire
Even in dream to keep one face before me—
One face like fire, and holier than fire.
.............................................
I walk beneath these trees, and in this darkness
Muse beyond seas of her from whom I came,
While you, with cat-like step, steal close beside me,
Spreading your perfume round me like soft flame.
Ah! should I once stoop face and forehead to you,
Into and through your sweetness, a night like this,
In the lime-blossomed darkness feel your bosom,
Warm and so soft, and find your lips to kiss,
And tear at your strange flesh with crazy fingers,
And drink with mouth gone mad your eyes’ wild wine,
And cleave to you, body with breathless body,
Till bestial were exalted to divine —
Would I again, O lamia silked and scented,
Out of the slumberous magic of your eyes,
And your narcotic perfume, soft and febrile,
Have the romantic hardihood to rise,
And set my heart across great seas of distance
With love unsullied for her from whom I came?…
With cat-like step you steal beside me, past me,
Leaving your perfume round me like soft flame.
IV
Dead Cleopatra lies in a crystal casket,
Wrapped and spiced by the cunningest of hands.
Around her neck they have put a golden necklace,
Her tatbebs, it is said, are worn with sands.
Dead Cleopatra was once revered in Egypt—
Warm-eyed she was, this princess of the south.
Now she is very old and dry and faded,
With black bitumen they have sealed up her mouth.
Grave-robbers pulled the gold rings from her fingers,
Despite the holy symbols across her breast;
They scared the bats that quietly whirled above her.
Poor lady! she would have been long since at rest
If she had not been wrapped and spiced so shrewdly,
Preserved, obscene, to mock black flights of years.
What would her lover have said, had he foreseen it?
Had he been moved to ecstasy, or tears?
O sweet clean earth from whom the green blade cometh!—
When we are dead, my best-beloved and I,
Close well above us that we may rest forever,
Sending up grass and blossoms to the sky.
V
In the noisy street,
Where the sifted sunlight yellows the pallid faces,
Sudden I close my eyes, and on my eyelids
Feel from the far-off sea a cool faint spray,
A breath on my cheek,
From the tumbling breakers and foam, the hard sand shattered;
Gulls in the high wind whistling, flashing waters,
Smoke from the flashing waters blown on rocks.
And I know once more,
O dearly belovèd, that all these seas are between us—
Tumult and madness, desolate save for the sea-gulls;
You on the farther shore, and I in this street.
poem by Conrad Aiken
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Lingering Kisses
A lingering kiss remains on my lips
I can feel your warm skin below
Entangled in our passion
Pure
Raw
Undeniable
Sparkling eyes stare off into the the distance
Hands tremble, voices break
the soft Moonlight kisses every curve of your body
Groping hands explore every part of an unknown world
Taboo
A fire ablaze in our kiss
A mad passion
eyes open and the hunger quells
Breathe in
Breathe out
A lingering kiss remains on my lips
poem by Katherine H. Belle
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Comradery
With eyes hand-arched he looks into
The morning's face; then turns away
With truant feet, all wet with dew,
Out for a holiday.
The hill brook sings; incessant stars,
Foam-fashioned, on its restless breast;
And where he wades its water-bars
Its song is happiest.
A comrade of the chinquapin,
He looks into its knotty eyes
And sees its heart; and, deep within,
Its soul that makes him wise.
The wood-thrush knows and follows him,
Who whistles up the birds and bees;
And round him all the perfumes swim
Of woodland loam and trees.
Where'er he pass the silvery springs'
Foam-people sing the flowers awake;
And sappy lips of bark-clad things
Laugh ripe each berried brake.
His touch is a companionship;
His word an old authority:
He comes, a lyric on his lip,
The woodboy-Poesy.
poem by Madison Julius Cawein
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To O.E.A.
Your voice is the color of a robin's breast,
And there's a sweet sob in it like rain--still rain in the night.
Among the leaves of the trumpet-tree, close to his nest,
The pea-dove sings, and each note thrills me with strange delight
Like the words, wet with music, that well from your trembling throat.
I'm afraid of your eyes, they're so bold,
Searching me through, reading my thoughts, shining like gold.
But sometimes they are gentle and soft like the dew on the lips of the eucharis
Before the sun comes warm with his lover's kiss.
You are sea-foam, pure with the star's loveliness,
Not mortal, a flower, a fairy, too fair for the beauty-shorn earth.
All wonderful things, all beautiful things, gave of their wealth to your birth.
Oh I love you so much, not recking of passion, that I feel it is wrong!
But men will love you, flower, fairy, non-mortal spirit burdened with flesh,
Forever, life-long.
poem by Claude McKay
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Feigned
inside that room
the item is displayed
in full
and you shall see the
perfect form that
you dream of
i will not describe the
lines and the curves
this is private
you are free now to explore
the terrains of the
human body
your hands are firm
you perspire in the middle of
the coldness
you are preoccupied with
yourself on the
limited time
life is....limited
time is money
the other one is obliged
the contract is clear
the hands mimic the touch of love
the lips plays the music
the body sways into a dance
the approximation is too short
love does not exist
no words come out
the eyes close imagining another
world out there
the heart bleeds
you do not see blood
you are too preoccupied with
what you shall get
well, time is up
upon a profuse perspiration
the heart is calm
that lovely storm is over now
you go separate ways
trying to forget.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Let me
Let me breathe
the scope of your thoughts,
let me
lite the manic of my heart
with your intoxicating charms,
let me,
let me lose my aspect
in your chaste eyes,
let me
be the lyrics of your amore,
let me,
let me be the
essences of your touch.
Copyright©ElenaToledo2011
poem by Elenushka Toledo
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Weekend In New England
Last night, I said goodbye
Now--it seems year
Im back in the city
Where nothing is clear
But thoughts of me --holding you
Bringing us near
And tell me
When will our eyes meet
When can I touch you
When will this strong yearning end
And when will I hold you again
Time in new england
Took me away
To long rocky beaches
--and you, by the bay
We started a story
Whose end must now wait
And, tell me
When will our eyes meet
When can I touch you
When will this strong yearning end
And when will I hold you again
I feel the change comin
--i feel the wind blow
I feel brave and daring!
I feel my blood flow
With you
I can bring out
All the love, that I have
--with you theres a heaven
So earth aint so bad
And tell me
When will our eyes meet
When can I touch you
When will this strong yearning end
And when will I hold you again
song performed by by Barry Manilow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Discordants
I. (Bread and Music)
Music I heard with you was more than music,
And bread I broke with you was more than bread;
Now that I am without you, all is desolate;
All that was once so beautiful is dead.
Your hands once touched this table and this silver,
And I have seen your fingers hold this glass.
These things do not remember you, belovèd,
And yet your touch upon them will not pass.
For it was in my heart you moved among them,
And blessed them with your hands and with your eyes;
And in my heart they will remember always,--
They knew you once, O beautiful and wise.
II
My heart has become as hard as a city street,
The horses trample upon it, it sings like iron,
All day long and all night long they beat,
They ring like the hooves of time.
My heart has become as drab as a city park,
The grass is worn with the feet of shameless lovers,
A match is struck, there is kissing in the dark,
The moon comes, pale with sleep.
My heart is torn with the sound of raucous voices,
They shout from the slums, from the streets, from the crowded places,
And tunes from the hurdy-gurdy that coldly rejoices
Shoot arrows into my heart.
III
Dead Cleopatra lies in a crystal casket,
Wrapped and spiced by the cunningest of hands.
Around her neck they have put a golden necklace,
Her tatbebs, it is said, are worn with sands.
Dead Cleopatra was once revered in Egypt,
Warm-eyed she was, this princess of the South.
Now she is old and dry and faded,
With black bitumen they have sealed up her mouth.
O sweet clean earth, from whom the green blade cometh!
When we are dead, my best belovèd and I,
Close well above us, that we may rest forever,
Sending up grass and blossoms to the sky.
IV
In the noisy street,
Where the sifted sunlight yellows the pallid faces,
Sudden I close my eyes, and on my eyelids
Feel from the far-off sea a cool faint spray,--
A breath on my cheek,
From the tumbling breakers and foam, the hard sand shattered,
Gulls in the high wind whistling, flashing waters,
Smoke from the flashing waters blown on rocks;
--And I know once more,
O dearly belovèd! that all these seas are between us,
Tumult and madness, desolate save for the sea-gulls,
You on the farther shore, and I in this street.
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Red Is The Color I See
Red Is the Color I See
Red is the only color she can see
Dripping from the sky sliding from the trees
Red is the only color she sees
From the blink of an eye to a dropp of a penny
Red is the only color she sees
From the pain exploding within
To the drink being mixed with vodka or Gin
Red Is the Color Hanging On the Walls
Crawling on the floor and sliding down the halls
Red it the blanket that covers her a night
The color that hugs her skin so tight
Red is the Color that whispers death
That suck up the air and your last breathe
Red is the color tell her it will be ok
Just lay down close your eyes and pray
Red is the color that didn't make it through the night
Eyes closed no more memories in sight
Red it the color that hung on the knife
Gone was a life
No a breathe or a blink
The knife now lies in the sink.
poem by Jamelia Lane
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Touch Of Your Lips
When troubles get me, cares beset me,
And wont let me go.
I turn to you for consolation.
There I find new peace of mind;
To leave behind my woe,
I turn to you as I shall always do.
The touch of your lips upon my brow,
Your lips that are cool and sweet,
Such tenderness lies in their soft caress,
My heart forgets to beat.
*The touch of your hands upon my head,
The love in your eyes a-shine,
And now, at last, the moment divine,
The touch of your lips on mine.
(Instrumental interlude and pick up at *.)
*The touch of your hands upon my head,
The love in your eyes a-shine,
And now, at last, the moment divine,
The touch of your lips on mine.
song performed by by Nat King Cole
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Shoes
The shoes are red
And creamy white on the inside
As pure and beautiful on the inside
As they are vibrating red
On the outside.
She puts her incredibly beautiful feet
In them and begins her practice routine.
The red shoes hug her feet
As if from sheer love,
Glistening, having achieved their purpose.
Plus her feet are beautiful, warm and strong.
I know.
You wouldn't be able to know,
Those shoes looked so gentle and pretty
Just a while ago.
They go with her every move
Seemingly loving every minute of it.
The leather red of her shoes
Is the color of blood
Reflecting and bright, the color of life alive.
So is she
Tall, warm, smiling and full of life.
Many a man has died
Perhaps knowing that she is what he protected,
Or thousands of women just like her.
She knows,
Because she went to battle herself
Right alongside the men that died.
But now she is busy.
Doing what she wants to do,
Her practise in her red patent leather shoes.
She sees me
Observing her.
Her soft, brown and hard eyes smile,
Spreading to her warm and pink lips.
Taller than most women,
Her hair in bangs,
Framing her face.
She finishes her practice routine,
Steps out of her red shoes
And goes into the shower.
I pick up her shoes,
And breathe in
The traces of her persona.
Darling
I still have your red shoes,
And can still breathe in
Some traces of your persona.
Why have you left this warrior
For another?
poem by Lonely People Champion
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Return
Return often and take me,
beloved sensation, return and take me --
when the memory of the body awakens,
and an old desire runs again through the blood;
when the lips and the skin remember,
and the hands feel as if they touch again.
Return often and take me at night,
when the lips and the skin remember...
poem by Constantine P. Cavafy
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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