En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Motherhood

She sat on a shelf,
her breasts two bellies
on her poked-out belly,
on which the navel looked
like a sucked-in mouth—
her knees bent and apart,
her long left arm raised,
with the large hand knuckled
to a bar in the ceiling—
her right hand clamping
the skinny infant to her chest—
its round, pale, new,
soft muzzle hunting
in the brown hair for a nipple,
its splayed, tiny hand picking
at her naked, dirty ear.
Twisting its little neck,
with tortured, ecstatic eyes
the size of lentils, it looked
into her severe, close-set,
solemn eyes, that beneath bald
eyelids glared—dull lights
in sockets of leather.

She twitched some chin-hairs,
with pain or pleasure,
as the baby-mouth found and
yanked at her nipple;
its pink-nailed, jointless
fingers, wandering her face,
tangled in the tufts
of her cliffy brows.
She brought her big
hand down from the bar
with pretended exasperation
unfastened the little hand,
and locked it within her palm—
while her right hand
with snag-nailed forefinger
and short, sharp thumb, raked
the new orange hair
of the infant’s skinny flank—
and found a louse,
which she lipped, and
thoughtfully crisped
between broad teeth.
She wrinkled appreciative
nostrils which, without a nose,
stood open—damp holes
above the poke of her mouth.

She licked her lips, flicked
her leather eyelids—
then, suddenly flung
up both arms and grabbed
the bars overhead.
The baby‘s scrabbly fingers
instantly caught the hair—
as if there were metal rings there—
in her long, stretched armpits.
And, as she stately swung,
and then proudly, more swiftly
slung herself from corner
to corner of her cell—
arms longer than her round
body, short knees bent—
her little wild-haired,
poke-mouthed infant hung,
like some sort of trophy,
or decoration, or shaggy medal—
shaped like herself—but new,
clean, soft and shining
on her chest.

poem by May Swenson
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I know that you really love me

You press my hand
against you chest
and I feel life,
pulsing through you
and your hand
is soft on mine.

The smell of your hair
goes through to my soul
and your breath
is hot in my neck,
while I draw you
deeper into my arms.

It’s nice to have you
right against me
while we are lying wedged up
and I feel a nipple,
coming alive
and become hard under my fingers.

There’s intenseness in our kisses
and my tongue
braids around yours
and your skin is soft
under my fingers
and I see sparks
in your golden green eyes.

The picture on the TV
takes its own route
and we are unaware of it,
while love and lust and passion
are steaming between us.

When you lie soft against me
and I disappear in the depths
of your golden eyes,
I know that you really love me.

poem by Gert Strydom
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Take This Body

Take this body, my love,
my body, my love,
feel my knees and my arms,
feel my fingers on your hair,
cold fingers, sad fingers,
kiss my mouth, my love,
ever so gently
caressing my chest and stroking my hair,
play with it-whatever is left of it-
I'm sad, my love,
and as I hear you laugh,
I feel the water around my eyes,
my brown eyes, the eyes of a poet,
the eyes of a stranger-
I'm a stranger, my love,
I'm a stranger in a strange land
of secret kisses and lovelorn faces,
of cold bodies huddled together,
hiding behind stiff dresses
and tightly fitting jeans,
I'm a stranger to a kiss,
I'm a stranger to a moist mouth
and a playful tongue,
I'm a stranger to a warm breast,
I stand here bespectacled and confused,
scratching my scraggly beard,
forcing a faint smile-
there is so much pain, my love,
right here in the palm of my hand,
right here in the lump of my throat,
right here in the tightness of my chest,
I'm strung like an instrument
with shrunken testicles
and immobilized toes-
see me tremble, my love,
see me shed a tear
onto this dusty world-
I'm with you, my love,
I'm with you alone,
I'm with you in embrace
of tender passion,
I'm in love with you
and that's why
I'm full of
tears.

poem by Alexander Shaumyan
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The Second Part: Misleading An Idea Like A Blind Man

my left hand touches the right side of my neck
rubbing it and then slides its fingers to my ear
i open my mouth to signify that i long for sleep

i put my hands on top of my unwashed hair
the day's schedule is hectic like the way a juggler pleases our eyes
i open my mouth letting the wall see my egg white
teeth and then i close my mouth again
sipping air inside my lungs
my eyes are like heavy clouds low to the ground
becoming fog to the grass

i am sleepy
but i do not want to sleep

i am teasing time since it has no
underwear

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Beginning...

wading the waters i pushed my way
struggling hard to touch the land
held upside down, was my first view
of the world i’m to pass by
washed and tidied, i lie lost and helpless
a pair of hands cuddled me close…

i had nothing else but to pinch
all that i needed from her
merciless at my demand, i howled
and cried with not a dropp of tear
filled to brim, i would slip into
the world unknown to all…

slowly with the manna as my diet
i began to move the little i could
getting habituated to wail and demand
not a moment did i give her rest
demanding her constant presence
regaling as she gathered me…

suddenly one night in the middle
of an innocent sleep did i turn
on my belly i lie waking her up
in glee she drew me to her as a gift
at that independent movement
on that long infant summer night…

i kept smiling in that mystic glee
my hands splashing and cuddling
the damp sheets did my tender hands
carry into my mouth, comfort lit large
on my infant face as the body recalled
the touch of the warm flow…

somebody sat by my baby bed
touched me on my toes
a tickle went up
soft tender lips as a reflex
filled the infant face and
ripples of light flowed in…

what was it i was writing
in the thin air around me?
what memories left behind
did the infant mind recall?
i smiled and smiled as my little
fingers went writing in the air…

somebody lifted me
up into the air
my small lungs
struggled and gasped
all around me were
peals of laughter…

somebody wrapped me
into a bundle and held me
close to heart against the chill winds
and the hold tightened around me
with each wave of chillness
i dreamed warm infant dreams…

from the dreams i crawled
into the world on my belly
one hand folded under it
i went round and round
i leaped and leaped and hit
my nose against the floor…

28jan2010
14.20hrs

poem by Indira Babbellapati
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Closeness

your hand
entwined to my hand

your hair under my chin
your head resting on my chest

you smell my breath
there is no sound from your mouth

you close your eyes and see some trees
and ponds and waterfalls

and birds and clouds and flowers blooming
over a field of green grass

and butterflies and bees
the air you feel is as fresh as the scent of our skins

i caress your arms you let my hands go
you touch my face and then you look at me

we kiss and then we both melt
in paradise.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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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Mind Dance

I caught my reflection in the mirror
It was my own hand that ran through my hair,
I listened as my favorite artist crooned
Closed my eyes
Imagined your touch
There in the warmth of your lap,
I rest my head
My eyes stay closed
Your hand
The hand of love and warmth
Gently caresses my face,
My mouth
And slowly
Your fingers run through my hair
From the base of my roots
to the tips of the strand
You touch me,
And I am whole.

poem by Nancy Fischer
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Your Whispered Breath

Your whispered breath
Lips close to ear
Words of love
Breathed accross cheek
Hair brushes my shoulder
Caressing bare skin
Over chest sweet kisses
Tongue wet
Lingers around nipple
Moist lips
Sigh
Hand tangled in hair
Kissed neck in response
Teeth nipping gently
Ear lobes
You astride
Nails leaving
Red wheals
Tracing
Lovers aroused
Coupling, joined
Passions giving vent
Lovers payment, rent
Hot bodies
Glistening
Damp, wet
Lovers spent
Consumed
With each other
World forgotten
Sleep beckons
In the others arms
Wanten lust
Stated
Not abated.

RG/NB

poem by Robert Green
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Only Worse

On one hand I count the reasons I could stay with you
And hold you close to me, all night long.
So many lover's games I could play with you
and on that hand I see no reason why it's wrong
Chorus:
But on the other hand, There's a golden band
To remind of someone who would not understand
On one hand I could stay and be your loving man
But the reason I must go is on the other hand
In your arms I feel the passion, I thought had died
When I looked into your eyes
I found myself
When I first kissed your lips I felt so alive
I've got to hand it to you girl, you're something else
Repeat Chorus

song performed by by Randy Travis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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On The Other Hand

On one hand I count the reasons I could stay with you
And hold you close to me, all night long.
So many lover's games I could play with you
and on that hand I see no reason why it's wrong
Chorus:
But on the other hand, There's a golden band
To remind of someone who would not understand
On one hand I could stay and be your loving man
But the reason I must go is on the other hand
In your arms I feel the passion, I thought had died
When I looked into your eyes I found myself
When I first kissed your lips I felt so alive
I've got to hand it to you girl, you're something else
Repeat Chorus

song performed by by Randy Travis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A hand mirror

lightning
thunder
the storm
the calm
the chill
a hand mirror
my eyes
my nose
mouth
hair
face
a hand mirror
anguish
fear
pain
joy
happi ness
a hand mirror
spring
summer
autumn
winter
a hand mirror
childhood
teenager years
adulthood
old age
a hand mirror
poetry runs
outside
written by the gods
in multi-dimensions
a hand mirror
poetry runs inside
that all the outside
portrays so correctly
- i cry
a hand mirror

poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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The Hand

only the human hand,
the caring hand,
the hand covered in blood
and filth, the hand swollen

bruised, and beaten...
the open hand,
not a fist anymore hand,
not afraid to let go hand,
never letting go hand...

feed the baby, plow the field hand,
stroke the face of
the old woman dying hand...
light the fires, sweep the floors hand...

the praying hand, the picking hand,
the paint the soul hand...
only the human hand
can touch with the heart of God!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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I Think, I Know Myself

i think, i know
myself, ...i arrive
at the conclusion
of who i am, really,
when i look at you,
and i lift my
left hand to
hold the side of
my neck

my right hand
hidden inside
my pocket

i gaze at you that
long enough

you do not mind
there is no meaning attached

my hand caresses
my hair

my lips close my eyes open
my heart dancing

and you are
that event for this
celebration

i look at myself in the mirror
and say, ' a toast! '

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Cirque

Alone in a dark room
A figure sits
A woman
A girl
Bedraggled hair
White face
Red lips
Scarred
Arms crossed over her chest
X
Clasping each shoulder
Lightly
As though afraid to touch
One hand shakes
Quivers
All she can hear is
Razor blades over a violin
Screech
Her hair is wrinkled
Wet
Like her lips
Chapped and red
Glistening
She’s not in pain
She giggles
Insane
Looks up
Dark eyes
Circled in black
Sunken like pits
Hair, so pale,
It could be green
Dress of purple
Lilac
Fuchsia
Her arms unfold
Her smile widens
Into Glaswegian
She runs her tongue
Across her teeth
Like she’s hungry
“Smile, much? ”
She’ll giggle
As she unveils a knife

poem by Rebecca Kate Summers
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Do Not Worry

Take your right hand,
Palm facing up,
And line your fingers
With your teeth.
Hold firmly onto the roof of your mouth.
Do the same with your left hand,
But grip your chin.
Move your hands in opposite directions
Until you hear your jaw cracking
Against the pressure
You put yourself through.
Let your face relax
Back into place.
Let your elastic skin
Rubber-band back into the folds
Sagging over the shadows on your face.
Let it cover your wrinkles
And worry lines.
Then, try again.
Try to unfold your head.
Open it like a book.
Expose your throat to the wind
To let it blow the words
You couldn't speak away.
Split your lips at the seams,
So that a smile may spread its way
Across your rigid cheeks.
Do not worry when your skull
Whacks against your back
And ricochets into the air.
Do not worry when your jaw
Slaps and swings at your chest
By the light current of the breeze.
Do not worry when your blood
Spills all over,
Drenching the dirty ground
And the eyes of everyone
As they watch you
Pull yourself apart.
Do not worry.

poem by Tim Stensloff
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Maundy Thursday and Later.

Maundy Thursday. The church
Was packed. Full of incense.
Miss Dogberry sat at the back.
Mudrift watched her. He studied her.
The way her hair hung black and long.
Her broad bridged nose. Sat next to her.
She unaware. Priest proceeded with
The service. Miss Dogberry smelt Mudrift’s
Scent passions were stirred. She sniffed
Heavy her nose breathed deep. A bell
Was tolled. Candles were lit. Mudrift felt
Love or was it lust? Moved closer his thigh
Touched her thigh. Priest’s hands were
Raised host lifted high the Crucified the
Bloodied lamb. Miss Dogberry whispered
Softly do you sense it? Mudrift nodded
His loins stiffened. The last supper the Judas
Gone the Magdalene followed him out.
My place or yours? Mudrift muttered.
Mother’s at home Dogberry said no privacy.
Mudrift took her his hand in hers. I live alone
Mudrift muttered no disturbance. His room
Was warm smelt of old smoke and beds unmade.
He offered drinks and put on jazz with lights
Turned low. She undressed slow hand holding
Out each small item. Mudrift watched her
The nakedness revealed the plump body
The broad bridged nose the soft flesh lips
The melon breasts. Is that Stan Getz?
She asked Mudrift that baritone’s his
Saxophone. Mudrift nodded his mind on
Sex not saxophones or soft jazz tones.
He kissed her lips his arms embraced her
Ample flesh. She didn’t mind his lack of hair
On balding head or bearded face rubbing
Her chin. She wanted sex and saxophones
And him within. Maundy Thursday.
The Crucified above the bed upon a cross
Nailed hands out wide eyes looking down
Head to one side. Mudrift made love the
Magdalene Miss Dogberry gazed up above.

poem by Terry Collett
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My World

this is my world

walks in the morning
making me think
steps on the rocks
and mud and under the rain
shiver and quiver
and sighs and then
sunshine on my face
soft hands
on my chest

noontime is harsh
inside this cell
of the musts and oughts
and this and that
piles of papers
more readings to make
confusions and even
delusions
breathe and death
on installments
in the office and
this world of work

then sunset
orange and fading colors
remembering my youth
and combing my white hair
and touching her hand
reminiscing some promises and vows

we sit on a background of darkness
on a chair just the two of us
on a table our old hands rest
recalling the poems
we once wrote

then you turn off
the light
your head rests on my chest
my hand carressing your hair
we are so close
that when i sleep
i hear you hum
a lovesong
as you too close your eyes

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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One Leg Anne and the Kid

Anne poked Monica
the girl with burn scars
with one of her crutches

and said
Scam scar face
me and the skinny kid

want to be alone
and Monica moved off
and said

I'm going to tell
Sister Bridget about you
Anne indicated for you

to sit in one of the chairs
on the lawn
and said to Monica

Go tell her then
and kiss her arse
while you're there

and Monica went off
and Anne eased herself
down into the other chair

and laid her crutches
against the round table
Well Kid how's it going?

All right
you replied
Just all right?

aren't you blown away
and isn't your heart faster
on my approach?

she laughed
and stared at you
Well?

she said
after a few moments
of silence

Did you manage
to bum me a smoke?
you fumbled

in your shirt pocket
and pulled out
a cigarette slightly bent

Well done you
Skinny Boy
and she took the cigarette

and put it in the pocket
of her cardigan and said
I'll have that later

when I'm in the john
having a pee
What if someone sees you?

you asked
What in the john?
I hope there'll be

no one in the john
with me
well unless you want to come

you're quite welcome
No
you said looking at

her straight black hair
and her dark eyes
and the one leg

sticking out
from her red skirt
she saw you staring

at her leg and said
I think you've fallen in love
with my lone leg

and she lifted her skirt
and revealed the leg stump
coming a little way

from her panty line
Have a good look Kid
and she laughed

and pulled your left hand
onto the stump
and held it there

and you sensed
the warmth and softness
and when she released

your hand you seemed
to take the impression
of the leg stump

on your palm and fingers
and odd
that years after that

that impression
like some ghost
still lingers.

poem by Terry Collett
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Too Far From Auntie's Gaze

Auntie said
don't go
too far away
with the mutt

I need to know
where you are
and so you
and the mutt

went down
the metal stairway
and off
into the barrack grounds

at Aldershot
keeping close
to the places
that your aunt

could see you from
and you could hear
soldiers marching
on the parade ground

and the sergeants
bellowing their orders
to the marching troops
and you sensed

the cold air
and frost
on the ground
as you walked

and the mutt sniffed
the earth
and you said
come on mutt

let's go for a run
and off you went
and the mutt followed
and overtook you

its tail wagging
its eyes large
and brown
like pools of chocolate

and lucid like mud
and you raced him
as far as you could
then you had to stop

for breath
and the mutt
stopped too
and looked back at you

its tongue hanging
from the corner
of its mouth
and you looked over

to where your aunt lived
and realised
she wouldn't
be able to see you

from where you were
and the dog didn't care
and the air
was chilling

your lungs
and your tongue hung
in the corner
of your little boy mouth

and the soldiers marched
and marched
and you stood watching
bent over

with your hands
on your knees
and big black birds
called out from the trees.

poem by Terry Collett
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Dunne Studying.

Dunne watches her mistress sleep.
There is the flickering of the eyelids
As if in dream. She gets out of bed
And with soft tread walks to her
Mistress’s bed side and looks down.
She holds her breath. She takes in
Each aspect of the face and neck
And how the hair is spread upon
The pillow. She wants to lean down
And kiss the lips, put flesh to flesh.
She hovers like some hawk waiting
To fly down and take her fine prey.
She breathes out slowly. She watches
The rise and fall of her mistress’s breast.
She moves out a hand to lay it there
But does not touch. She imagines so.
Imagines also climbing into the bed
And snuggling up close and kissing
The nape of neck. Her hand lingers
Over the breasts. Her eyes greedily
Study the soft cheek. She breathes
In deep. Her heart pounds within her
Breast. So near so near. She imagines
Lying within those arms and feeling
The hands caress her back. Her mistress
Stirs and she moves away. Walks back
To her own bed to await the light of day.

poem by Terry Collett
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