The red candles are almost burn to the brim
The red candles are almost burn to the brim
and the faint golden light still flickers,
in the wind that goes through the bedroom.
Your eyes are big and golden and it’s like
I can climb down in the depts of them
and there’s a dropp of sweet glittering on your brow.
Your light skin is soft against me
and I see how your one breast still prominently pointed pink-brown
rises up and down while you breathe
The wine glasses are empty and the scent
of Berg kelder port
hangs strong in the air,
but your lips are much sweeter and more caressing
than any wine and it’s as if our passion
doesn’t want to stop tonight.
Somewhere in the garden a bird calls its mate
and I hear the church bell clanging eleven o’clock,
but the night is young and your lips tickle my ear.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Related quotes
Life's Hebe
IN the early morning-shine
Of a certain day divine,
I beheld a Maiden stand
With a pitcher in her hand;
Whence she poured into a cup
Until it was half filled up
Nectar that was golden light
In the cup of crystal bright.
And the first who took the cup
With pure water filled it up;
As he drank then, it was more
Ruddy golden than before:
And he leapt and danced and sang
As to Bacchic cymbals’ clang.
But the next who took the cup
With the red wine filled it up;
What he drank then was in hue
Of a heavy sombre blue:
First he reeled and then he crept,
Then lay faint but never slept.
And the next who took the cup
With the white milk filled it up;
What he drank at first seemed blood,
Then turned thick and brown as mud:
And he moved away as slow
As a weary ox may go.
But the next who took the cup
With sweet honey filled it up;
Nathless that which he did drink
Was thin fluid black as ink:
As he went he stumbled, soon,
And lay still in deathlike swoon.
She the while without a word
Unto all the cup preferred;
Blandly smiled and sweetly laughed
As each mingled his own draught.
And the next who took the cup
To the sunshine held it up,
Gave it back and did not taste;
It was empty when replaced:
First he bowed a reverent bow,
Then he kissed her on the brow.
But the next who took the cup
Without mixture drank it up;
When she took it back from him
It was full unto the brim:
He with a right bold embrace
Kissed her sweet lips face to face.
Then she sang with blithest cheer:
Who has thirst, come here, come here!
Nectar that is golden light
In the cup of crystal bright,
Nectar that is sunny fire
Warm as warmest heart’s desire:
Pitcher never lacketh more,
Arm is never tired to pour:
Honey, water, milk, or wine
Mingle with the draught divine,
Drink it pure, or drink it not;
Each is free to choose his lot:
Am I old? or am I cold?
Only two have kissed me bold!
She was young and fair and gay
As that young and glorious day.
poem by James Thomson
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Birthday night
The golden light
of twelve candles
sparkled on your skin
while you came to me
like a goddess
stepping back into my life
and a shadow
followed you
on the bedroom wall
and I could see
your beautiful big eyes glowing
as if set alight.
There were still drops of water
on your naked skin
which was warm to my touch
and you blew all the candles out
and in sudden darkness
your kiss was soft and hot.
In having you against me
there was something familiar
and something new
and things felt as if they
were destined to be
and I could hear
your heart beat against mine.
poem by Gert Strydom
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John Day: XIII
DAY was a full-blown flower in heaven, alive
With murmuring joy of bees and birds aswarm,
When in the skies of song yet flushed and warm
With music where all passion seems to strive
For utterance, all things bright and fierce to drive
Struggling along the splendour of the storm,
Day for an hour put off his fiery form,
And golden murmurs from a golden hive
Across the strong bright summer wind were heard,
And laughter soft as smiles from girls at play
And loud from lips of boys brow-bound with May.
Our mightiest age let fall its gentlest word,
When Song, in semblance of a sweet small bird,
Lit fluttering on the light swift hand of Day.
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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When red the wine
When red the wine
fills the glass
to its brim,
with sparkling shine
and taste sublime
and candles flicker
in the dark
and soft hands entwine
around mine,
I see the blush
upon your cheek
and the words you speak
sounds like a murmur
in my ear.
There are stars that shine
in the night
but your golden eyes
are much more bright.
Later as passion
gets a life of its own
rapture fills the body,
mind and soul
and I thank Him
that made you mine
and blessed by planting
the first vine.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Fly My Muse Fly
Strum your kisses
tickle my lips
fly my muse fly
upon diamond daydream wings
over earth strum your airy kiss
your evergreen harp's florid garden gifts
tickle my lips with daisy petaled fingertips
and light tapping feet of dancing tulips
featherlight trance, let me slowly fade away
whisked into flight atop the warm winds
of Melisa's zephyrean blue butterfly ballet
soothing summer syrup, sun steeping all day
cradled in the hammock's gentle sea-breeze sway
fly my muse fly
upon diamond day dream wings
tickle my lips with your harp's evergreen kiss
I'll arrive, reborn, with the magnolias of spring
pink apple blossoms and laughter's golden pollen
to your bedside I'll bring
fly my muse fly
strum the soothing syrupy strings of your harp
tickle the world with the marigold manna
sung from your heavenly heart
poem by Gregory Allen Uhan
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Fantasia
THE YOUNG GIRL'S POEM
KISS mine eyelids, beauteous Morn,
Blushing into life new-born!
Lend me violets for my hair,
And thy russet robe to wear,
And thy ring of rosiest hue
Set in drops of diamond dew!
Kiss my cheek, thou noontide ray,
From my Love so far away
Let thy splendor streaming down
Turn its pallid lilies brown,
Till its darkening shades reveal
Where his passion pressed its seal!
Kiss my lips, thou Lord of light,
Kiss my lips a soft good-night!
Westward sinks thy golden car;
Leave me but the evening star,
And my solace that shall be,
Borrowing all its light from thee!
poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes
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You Could Have Been A Lady
(errol brown/anthony wilson)
Published by us music & media - ascap
Could have been alright, could have been here tonight
Could have been sweet as wine, you could have been a lady
I could have been alright, I could have been here tonight
Could have been sweet as wine, you could have been a lady
They all need you, to make love to
When you awake, you find them on the bed, lyin beside you
They all love you, youre a good girl
And I aint surprised, when you realize, just where youre goin to
You could have been alright, you could have been here tonight
You could have been sweet as wine, you could have been a lady
It could have been alright, you could have been here tonight
Could have been sweet as wine, you could have been a lady
If I told you, where youre goin to
Youd laugh in my face, say Im out of place, mind your business
And they all want you, to make love to
Its ashame, the fate of the game, the way it delights you
You could have been alright, you could have been here tonight
You could have been sweet as wine, you could have been a lady
It could have been alright, you could have been here tonight
Could have been sweet as wine, you could have been a lady
Na, na na na na, na, na, na na na na, na
Na, na na na na, na, na na
Na, na na na na, na, na, na na na na, na
Na, na na na na, na, na na
Alright, you could have been here tonight
You could have been sweet as wine, you could have been a lady
It could have been alright, you could have been here tonight
Could have been sweet as wine, you could have been a lady
song performed by by April Wine
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Sun Cup
The earth is the cup of the sun,
That he filleth at morning with wine,
With the warm, strong wine of his might
From the vintage of gold and of light,
Fills it, and makes it divine.
And at night when his journey is done,
At the gate of his radiant hall,
He setteth his lips to the brim,
With a long last look of his eye,
And lifts it and draineth it dry,
Drains till he leaveth it all
Empty and hollow and dim.
And then, as he passes to sleep,
Still full of the feats that he did,
Long ago in Olympian wars,
He closes it down with the sweep
Of its slow-turning luminous lid,
Its cover of darkness and stars,
Wrought once by Hephaestus of old
With violet and vastness and gold.
poem by Archibald Lampman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Schatz
I remember tasting lips so sweet that they drove my blood sugar level high to the sky
Sweet lips divine so to wine and dine must be a crime
So great the taste I ate till late
From front to back speech tenderly soft and pink I drink
Taint that nice tickling gently to soften moans uttered and muttered
Calm are the seas no more for sickened cured
Tasty liebling lions salute for you are so cute
Face in love I push and shove
Juices sweet and so much to eat
Meat I dine between the sheets for vegetarian I still be
Vegan I am not for I taste the spot so hot
Kitty so pretty rest on my chin I grin
It was on the tip of my tongue for songs I sung
Laps of fire was my desire taken higher
It was like dope that helped me cope
What can I say with you I lay
Thank you liebling for a magical evening
Now left to history for no more the mystery
I would not stop to think of cherry wine to drink
Lips to taste I could not waste a dropp of tender morsel
poem by Wilfred Mellers
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Love's Embrace
The flame of love flickers within the shadow of night
Two souls shall dance in perfect harmony
The heat of love holding them like a moth to a flame
Heart felt emotions relived yet never growing old
The world around us becomes nought but a dream
This everlasting moment reflected in our eyes
Heated skin against heated skin sparking the fire within
Caressing lips stoking the fires of passion
Trembling bodies locked within a lovers embrace
As passion moulds us into one sweet entity...
Spread the love... The peace will follow...
poem by Cosmic Dreamer
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Milking Time
There's a drip of honeysuckle in the deep green lane;
There's old Martin jogging homeward on his worn old wain;
There are cherry petals falling, and a cuckoo calling, calling,
And a score of larks (God bless 'em) . . . but it's all pain, pain.
For you see I am not really there at all, not at all;
For you see I'm in the trenches where the crump-crumps fall;
And the bits o' shells are screaming and it's only blessed dreaming
That in fancy I am seeming back in old Saint Pol.
Oh I've thought of it so often since I've come down here;
And I never dreamt that any place could be so dear;
The silvered whinstone houses, and the rosy men in blouses,
And the kindly, white-capped women with their eyes spring-clear.
And mother's sitting knitting where her roses climb,
And the angelus is calling with a soft, soft chime,
And the sea-wind comes caressing, and the light's a golden blessing,
And Yvonne, Yvonne is guessing that it's milking time.
Oh it's Sunday, for she's wearing of her broidered gown;
And she draws the pasture pickets and the cows come down;
And their feet are powdered yellow, and their voices honey-mellow,
And they bring a scent of clover, and their eyes are brown.
And Yvonne is dreaming after, but her eyes are blue;
And her lips are made for laughter, and her white teeth too;
And her mouth is like a cherry, and a dimple mocking merry
Is lurking in the very cheek she turns to you.
So I walk beside her kindly, and she laughs at me;
And I heap her arms with lilac from the lilac tree;
And a golden light is welling, and a golden peace is dwelling,
And a thousand birds are telling how it's good to be.
And what are pouting lips for if they can't be kissed?
And I've filled her arms with blossom so she can't resist;
And the cows are sadly straying, and her mother must be saying
That Yvonne is long delaying . . . God! How close that missed.
A nice polite reminder that the Boche are nigh;
That we're here to fight like devils, and if need-be die;
That from kissing pretty wenches to the frantic firing-benches
Of the battered, tattered trenches is a far, far cry.
Yet still I'm sitting dreaming in the glare and grime;
And once again I'm hearing of them church-bells chime;
And how I wonder whether in the golden summer weather
We will fetch the cows together when it's milking time. . . .
(English voice, months later): --
"Ow Bill! A rottin' Frenchy. Whew! 'E ain't 'arf prime."
poem by Robert William Service
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Under The Balcony
O beautiful star with the crimson mouth!
O moon with the brows of gold!
Rise up, rise up, from the odorous south!
And light for my love her way,
Lest her little feet should stray
On the windy hill and the wold!
O beautiful star with the crimson mouth!
O moon with the brows of gold!
O ship that shakes on the desolate sea!
O ship with the wet, white sail!
Put in, put in, to the port to me!
For my love and I would go
To the land where the daffodils blow
In the heart of a violet dale!
O ship that shakes on the desolate sea!
O ship with the wet, white sail!
O rapturous bird with the low, sweet note!
O bird that sits on the spray!
Sing on, sing on, from your soft brown throat!
And my love in her little bed
Will listen, and lift her head
From the pillow, and come my way!
O rapturous bird with the low, sweet note!
O bird that sits on the spray!
O blossom that hangs in the tremulous air!
O blossom with lips of snow!
Come down, come down, for my love to wear!
You will die on her head in a crown,
You will die in a fold of her gown,
To her little light heart you will go!
O blossom that hangs in the tremulous air!
O blossom with lips of snow!
poem by Oscar Wilde
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Whispers
Lamp in the kitchen shines
Hallways away from fear
Dressed in green Victorian time
She lights the bedroom
She brings a red candle
Myth streams from the light
Elder mountains where joy lives
Eyes of the forest soul
Arms of Joan of Ark
Mossy trees with boughs of valentines
Logs burn by our own desire
Manifold collusions
She revels in dusky silk
Stained glass fingernails of satin red
Wine glasses filled with empires
Pillows of violet frosted meadows
Winds drift like eagles soaring
Words with timbre of stately cedar
Clocks tick and chime
Veranda with antique spirit
I am the prisoner of desire
Fate is a free will accepting love
Moon shines through the curtain lace
Cherish every word she speaks
Feel every soft ripple of the river
Bookcase of rosewood legends
Carpets of golden fire
Lamps of crystal lovers
On the table a family portrait
Rites of passage
Her lips move like a calm sea
Passion is a whisper
poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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In The Dark, Painted Pink
eyes blazing in the dark
do not be slumbered
by sleek black hair
and soft touching
of breath from
ripened lips of red
eyes blazing in the dark
do not fall into sleep's abyss
as gentle touch
fingers promises on brow
with polished nails
pointed painted pink
eyes blazing in the dark
do not drift in dreams
of allures sweet scent
such intoxicates
and dims the wit
of weary men
eyes blazing in the dark
look into souls
and reflect
what is within;
eyes blazing in the dark
poem by David Taylor
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All Souls
I
A THIN moon faints in the sky o'erhead,
And dumb in the churchyard lie the dead.
Walk we not, Sweet, by garden ways,
Where the late rose hangs and the phlox delays,
But forth of the gate and down the road,
Past the church and the yews, to their dim abode.
For it's turn of the year and All Souls' night,
When the dead can hear and the dead have sight.
II
Fear not that sound like wind in the trees:
It is only their call that comes on the breeze;
Fear not the shudder that seems to pass:
It is only the tread of their feet on the grass;
Fear not the drip of the bough as you stoop:
It is only the touch of their hands that grope -
For the year's on the turn, and it's All Souls' night,
When the dead can yearn and the dead can smite.
III
And where should a man bring his sweet to woo
But here, where such hundreds were lovers too?
Where lie the dead lips that thirst to kiss,
The empty hands that their fellows miss,
Where the maid and her lover, from sere to green,
Sleep bed by bed, with the worm between?
For it's turn of the year and All Souls' night,
When the dead can hear and the dead have sight.
IV
And now that they rise and walk in the cold,
Let us warm their blood and give youth to the old.
Let them see us and hear us, and say: 'Ah, thus
In the prime of the year it went with us!'
Till their lips drawn close, and so long unkist,
Forget they are mist that mingles with mist!
For the year's on the turn, and it's All Souls' night,
When the dead can burn and the dead can smite.
V
Till they say, as they hear us - poor dead, poor dead! -
'Just an hour of this, and our age-long bed -
Just a thrill of the old remembered pains
To kindle a flame in our frozen veins,
Just a touch, and a sight, and a floating apart,
As the chill of dawn strikes each phantom heart -
For it's turn of the year and All Souls' night,
When the dead can hear, and the dead have sight.'
VI
And where should the living feel alive
But here in this wan white humming hive,
As the moon wastes down, and the dawn turns cold,
And one by one they creep back to the fold?
And where should a man hold his mate and say:
'One more, one more, ere we go their way'?
For the year's on the turn, and it's All Souls' night,
When the living can learn by the churchyard light.
VII
And how should we break faith who have seen
Those dead lips plight with the mist between,
And how forget, who have seen how soon
They lie thus chambered and cold to the moon?
How scorn, how hate, how strive, we too,
Who must do so soon as those others do?
For it's All Souls' night, and break of the day,
And behold, with the light the dead are away. . . .
poem by Edith Wharton
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An Old Maid's Lament
1.
Every wild she- bird has nest and mate in the warm April weather,
But a captive woman, made for love — nor nest, nor mate has she.
In the spring of young desire, young men and maids are wed together,
And the happy mothers flaunt their bliss for all the world to see.
Life's great sacramental feast for them — an empty board for me.
2.
I, a young maid once, an old maid now, deposed, despised, forgotten —
I, like them, have thrilled with passion and have dreamed of nuptial rest,
Of the trembling life within me of my baby unbegotten,
Of the breathing new- born body to my yearning bosom prest
Of the rapture of its little soft mouth drinking at my breast.
3.
Time, that heals so many sorrows, keeps mine ever freshly aching,
Though my face is growing furrowed and my brown hair turning white.
Still I mourn my irremidiable loss, asleep or waking —
Still I hear my child's voice calling “Mother” in the dead of night,
And am haunted by those sweet eyes that will never see the light.
4.
O my baby that I might have had! My darling, lost for ever!
O the goodly years that might have been — now desolate and bare!
O malignant God or Fate, what have I done that I should never
Take my birthright like the others, take the crown that women wear,
And possess the common heritage to which all flesh is heir?
poem by Ada Cambridge
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Tonight You are Mine
Stark black and white, drama
Silent evocative emotion
Are there ghosts like old movies?
The sea washes the moonlit evening
We are the protagonists
Ambiance and soft shadows
The time of amour and desire
Soft music and erotic wine
Slip into the attire of risqué silk
Black silk stockings, French perfume
High heels create a stage
Don’t you love a pedicure?
Garter belts and satin sheets
It takes self-confidence to be sexy
She is exotic like Monroe
Sweet with a true smile
We stroll the words of the poets
Intelligence is sexy
Wit and soft candles
The sea is sublime and cupid has come
Tonight is made of gossamer magic
Her eyes burn with sweet fire
Her red manicured nails scorch the night
The crazy world will be there tomorrow
You don't need to be beautiful to be sexy
Too many of us end the honeymoon to soon
Tonight you are divine
Tonight I am in love
She sings “Happy Birthday Mr. President”
Sometimes the wind just blows her dress up!
Tonight she is my angel in a centerfold
Tonight passion rules and you are mine
poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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The Dark Holl Tolls
When the dark hour tolled its bell;
I had to bring certain things to light.
It was needed, the roots concealed yet;
Had to be brought to the surface.
Again I had to light those candles of my memory,
Which were put off by the wind of occasions.
I had to listen to the faint cries of my soul,
I had to grasp arms of past uncertainties.
I needed to explain, to put reason in my lost child;
I had to tell him that the wind does not sing lullabies.
Also that the Rainbows were not employed to
Fill the black corridors of deserted souls.
The rain is not for washing off uncertainties,
Sun is not for the sake of warming our spirits
And the grass doesn't conspire to tickle our beings.
No one was there to hear me,
The child of me had already migrated,
With the last flock of birds which flew from my childhood.
poem by Sarang Mangi
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A Season of Wine and Roses
Remember when the wine was red,
and the rose was red, as well ~
and how the two were wed as one,
when the sunlight softly fell.
The pinkened kiss, the gentle blush,
beneath a soft, green canopy ~
and wine flowed there beside the rose,
'til sunlight set on autumn's eve.
And there within the autumn's breath,
came an orange and golden kiss ~
that found the wine and lovely rose,
beguiled by summer's bliss...
remembering when the wine was sweet,
and the rose was a budding bloom ~
and velvet was the reddened wine,
when the red rose danced in June.
Thinly brown, with winter's death,
the vine and thorn entwine ~
and wait impatiently for spring,
when, once more, a life they'll find.
And now upon the chilling wind,
there's a whisper that gently fell ~
'Remember when the wine was red,
and the rose was red, as well'...
poem by Hazelmarie Elliott
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Little Girl So Fine
After the music had stopped
I still heard it playing
I moved a little closer to hear
The words she was saying
She said Ill never break your heart
Ill never try to fake it
My love is here for you
All you have to do is take it
Kisses sweeter than wine
My little girl so fine
The night seemed to say it was right
But could I believe her
My heart said, its time to go
But my eyes wouldnt leave her
Theres always somebody trying to break your heart
Somebody trying to take it
My little girl tried so hard
To help me make it
Kisses sweeter than wine
My little girl so fine
Oh, oh, oh, oh, sha la la
Oh, oh, sha la la
So fine
Oh, oh, oh, oh, sha la la
Oh, oh, sha la la
So fine
When we danced
I forgot everything and whispered
Hold me tight
Take a chance
On what tomorrow brings
Wont you be mine, be mine
Be mine tonight
We walked away laughing together
Into the night for ever and ever and ever
Now I know
Ill never break me babys heart
Ill never try to fake it
Ill give her all my love
All she has to do is take it
Kisses sweeter than wine
My little girl so fine
Kisses sweeter than wine
My little girl so fine
Oh, oh, oh, oh
Kisses sweeter than wine
My little girl so fine
Oh, oh, oh, oh, sha la la
Oh, oh, sha la la
So fine
song performed by by Bruce Springsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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