What's The Use?
Sure, deck your limbs in pants,
Yours are the limbs, my sweeting.
You look divine as you advance . . .
Have you seen yourself retreating?
poem by Ogden Nash
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Pastiche
I.
LOVE, oh, Love's a dainty sweeting,
Wooing now, and now retreating;
Brightest joy and blackest care,
Swift as light, and light as air.
II.
Would you seize and fix and capture
All his evanescent rapture?
Bind him fast with golden curls,
Fetter with a chain of pearls?
III.
Would you catch him in a net,
Like a white moth prankt with jet?
Clutch him, and his bloomy wing
Turns a dead, discoloured thing!
IV.
Pluck him like a rosebud red,
And he leaves a thorn instead;
Let him go without a care,
And he follows unaware.
V.
Love, oh Love's a dainty sweeting,
Wooing now, and now retreating;
Lightly come, and lightly gone,
Lost when most securely won!
poem by Mathilde Blind
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Where Trees Are, I Am!
Just trees will grow in shapes that please,
My shapes do grow like limbs;
Eyes see, ears hear - abilities!
But trees possess just whims.
Where trees are, I am! So you are
The one with limbs, the one
Who swears with words always bizarre,
Phrases of prediction.
The plants called trees are super-wise,
The stalks are trunks profound,
Their limbs and roots also advise,
The trees are aboveground.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Woman on wheel
Strong head breeds
Weak limbs.
Strong limbs breed
Weak head.
Captain idles;
Crew labour.
Queen bee sleeps;
Workers sweat.
woman is stable;
Man revolves.
Who is clever?
03.10.99
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Escaping backward to perceive
867
Escaping backward to perceive
The Sea upon our place—
Escaping forward, to confront
His glittering Embrace—
Retreating up, a Billow's height
Retreating blinded down
Our undermining feet to meet
Instructs to the Divine.
poem by Emily Dickinson
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Smell Like!
you said:
old men smell like nuts,
and greying tree limbs...
wet ashes after the rain...
you smell like
the book on the shelf,
that goes unnoticed,
and needs to be read!
and we probably smell like
the broken glass, the limbs
on the car, the rain drenched seat...
and love stains aged
from under the wheel,
in the gravel drive
of an old abandoned house!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Love is a Tree
Only one girl on my mind
The girl I no longer have to find
I found her not long ago
Things moving slow
But that's fine with me
Love grows slowly like a tree
Soon it will be giant
And defiant
To the sky
As it grows way up high
We shall climb
Until there is no more time
And there we can stay
There we can lay
On the limbs
On my limbs
Entwined
They will never find
We never have to let go
Just grow..
poem by Jeremy Rascon
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Romance In Your Pants
Romance In Your Pants….,
Most times you can tell….,
With only a glance….,
But love can’t advance…..,
Unless you take the chance….,
And proceed to dance…..! ! !
So whatever sex you may be….,
I know you’ll handle it gracefully….,
Cause no matter what the circumstance….,
There’s no doubt…..,
That you’ve got Romance In Your Pants….! ! !
.
poem by Trade Martin
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The Row
`
There is maybe
in each burst of
energy, a product
of fanaticism filling
the air or the cities
when the limbs
of trees hail the
soldiers to the war.
Perhaps in each
bellow the burst
of energy produces
fanatic followers.
Perhaps in each
gust the rush of
wind uproots all
modicum of calm.
Perhaps in each
caterwaul the limbs
of protest raises
interjective receipt.
Each is a product
maybe without
hope of reprieve:
alone in time; Perhaps.
`
poem by Frederick Kesner
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The Spell Of Spring
Exfoliative sycamore
Limbs splay low above the water
like giraffe's drinking from the shore
at some silty, placid river.
Where once their arthritic branches
at the mercy of winters winds
it's springs meliorative changes
that bring green budding knobby limbs.
Here I sit astride a boulder
overlooking the riverbank
awestruck by springs natural wonders
recurrent offerings enchant
me like a mesmerizer's spell:
enthralled, hypnotized, compelled.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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An incurable kiss
Your steps
Are frightening the red leaves
Of an imaginary tree…..
Your sight
Is caressing the limbs of our tree,
That unreal dream tree
Coming out of our real mind
Which is seemingly seared by lightning……
The shivering limbs are waiting the winter ….
Your lips
Are kissing the crust of our real tree,
Named Ligustrum vulgare,
In that special zone,
Where it loses the life continuously...
You become the mirror
Of that incurable and irreversible
Kiss.
poem by Marieta Maglas
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Perchance to Sleep
She remembers how he
Would watch her sleep
His eyes running over her
From toes to the top of her
Head and she pretending
To be asleep taking control
Of her breathing being the
Actress putting on a show
Keeping her limbs just so
And now and then to move
Them as she would in sleep
No doubt move a little shift
About and she recalls how
Once he touched her and
She had to keep utterly
Frozen her limbs stiff trying
To keep him out of her inner
Being and that touch he gave
Lingered over her thigh and
Then moved along it softly
As if he wanted to wake her
Gently not wake her in a start
Not to get all wound up and
Frightened and that time he
Nearly caught her out nearly
Broke up the acting put her
On the spot but she managed
To keep control of her nerves
And limbs and opened her
Mouth just so as to utter
Nonsense words sleep induced
Ramble and he took no notice
And she caught sight of him
Through a slit of her eyelids him
Standing there that stupid look
On his face his eyes wide and
The whites almost drowning
The dark pupils and now knowing
He was out of the room she can
Open her eyes and breathe out
And sniff the air and sense he'd
Been standing there the smell
Of his cigarette breath and his
Lack of personal hygiene and
She moves her limbs and her
Jaw and wiggles her nose and
Toes preparing herself for when
He comes back and she resumes
The show not wanting sex with
Him but not wanting him to know.
poem by Terry Collett
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Cabin Fever
Cabin Fever.
The firewood in the hearth hiss and smoke
refuse to burn bright, these limbs of a giant
will not heat my cabin this winter evening.
I must have done something wrong, don’t
know what. I have doused the flaccid limbs
with alcohol, drank some too, now the fire
is burning bright with an inner ice blue tint.
From the floor looking up I see the roof is
on fire. Someone knocks on my door, I’m
a pirate burning my ship, there is rum for
everyone; for the dreary I’ve diet coke and
for the loony there is low fat yogurt.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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A Mood
You are so light and gay,
So slight, sweet maid-
Your limbs like leaves in play,
Or beams that grasses braid :
O ! Joys whose jewels pray
My breast to be inlaid.
Frail fairy of the streets ;
Strong, dainty lure;
For all men's eyes the sweets
Whose lack makes hearts so poor ;
While your heart loveless beats.
Light, laughing, and impure.
O ! Fragrant waft of flesh,
Float through me so-
My limbs are in your mesh,
My blood forgets to flow ;
Ah ! Lilied meadows fresh,
It knows where it would go.
poem by Isaac Rosenberg
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Skinny Limbs With Fire
Skinny limbs only saved us,
He grunted with disgust as his arm
Touched us, forever in this way.
He yelled, and a ripple of explosions
Were heard over the way.
The wild, untamed creatures denied
His authority, and they became flames.
The fire of honour was immense,
Just as fire is honourable after the laws.
These values are exceptionally overridden,
As far as death prevails.
He paused, and grinned, with the words
Of power, the exact words recorded by sages.
Those limbs that saved us were very thin,
But what fire roasts the skin?
poem by Naveed Akram
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The land of curse
Broken people with broken limbs,
Broken hope, broken dreams,
Here death is the most familiar entity,
This is the land of curse,
Danger lies on every step,
It may open his diabolic mouth,
To swallow up your limbs,
O little children, stay away from this land,
Under it the vampire of Death is sleeping,
Who has taken many lives,
But his hunger is not satisfied,
One more step and he will wake up,
To pounce upon you,
He is the nurseling of the bigger vampires,
Whose self-interests have brought the world
On the verge of disaster.
poem by Mohammad Akmal Nazir
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Adolescent hormones…
I have a devil in my pants
With a three pronged lance
Look here? Look there?
Look everywhere?
The whores of Babylon
And the wenches of France
Are serving up a dance
In my pants, in my pants
In my pants,
Yet; my heart wants romance.
poem by Mark Heathcote
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Moving and Dreaming:
Fast moving down, up, rounding curves, as
Astonishing morning scatters glow
And joy throughout and blue overflow
Bushes huddling and whistling wind upsetting
Chatting chickadees and ruffling feathers, they scatter.
Still, heel and toe slowly rocking and leaning into curves
asserting my pace against the wind, becomes winded.
Have to relax my pace.
So still are feathered friends strung along
the nearly bare limbs. Relaxed.
They ruffle feathers and wing.
Relaxed. I stretch my limbs and my dream flew.
poem by Almedia Knight Oliver
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Barelegged Charm
Along the sidewalk, strolls my dimpled dear,
Below a cloudy sky of pink and lime.
Her legs, ringing a bell my senses longed to hear,
Gives a celestial performance so divine and sublime.
A pair of sculptured complementing visions,
Creating a fervor within, one can feel to the bone.
Obliging my superego to handle decisions
About whether I see an angel from the rarified zone.
Such heavenly limbs should head the epicure’s list,
Being so divine as dove wings in the skies.
O how they lift my soul on waves of bliss,
As this vision beams its pleasure to my eyes.
O may we one day fashion the ideal affair,
So I can extol her figure so extraordinaire.
poem by Albert Price
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Sonnet 27
Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed,
The dear repose for limbs with travel tired;
But then begins a journey in my head
To work my mind, when body's work's expired:
For then my thoughts--from far where I abide--
Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee,
And keep my drooping eyelids open wide,
Looking on darkness which the blind do see:
Save that my soul's imaginary sight
Presents thy shadow to my sightless view,
Which, like a jewel hung in ghastly night,
Makes black night beauteous, and her old face new.
Lo! thus, by day my limbs, by night my mind,
For thee, and for myself, no quiet find.
poem by William Shakespeare from Sonnets (1609)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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What Semiramis Said
The moon's a steaming chalice,
Of honey and venom-wine.
A little of it sipped by night
Makes the long hours divine.
But oh, my reckless lovers,
They drain the cup and wail,
Die at my feet with shaking limbs
And tender lips all pale.
Above them in the sky it bends
Empty and gray and dead.
To-morrow night 'tis full again,
Golden, and foaming red.
poem by Vachel Lindsay
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