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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Related quotes
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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And because Love battles
And because love battles
not only in its burning agricultures
but also in the mouth of men and women,
I will finish off by taking the path away
to those who between my chest and your fragrance
want to interpose their obscure plant.
About me, nothing worse
they will tell you, my love,
than what I told you.
I lived in the prairies
before I got to know you
and I did not wait love but I was
laying in wait for and I jumped on the rose.
What more can they tell you?
I am neither good nor bad but a man,
and they will then associate the danger
of my life, which you know
and which with your passion you shared.
And good, this danger
is danger of love, of complete love
for all life,
for all lives,
and if this love brings us
the death and the prisons,
I am sure that your big eyes,
as when I kiss them,
will then close with pride,
into double pride, love,
with your pride and my pride.
But to my ears they will come before
to wear down the tour
of the sweet and hard love which binds us,
and they will say: “The one
you love,
is not a woman for you,
Why do you love her? I think
you could find one more beautiful,
more serious, more deep,
more other, you understand me, look how she’s light,
and what a head she has,
and look at how she dresses,
and etcetera and etcetera”.
And I in these lines say:
Like this I want you, love,
love, Like this I love you,
as you dress
and how your hair lifts up
and how your mouth smiles,
light as the water
of the spring upon the pure stones,
Like this I love you, beloved.
To bread I do not ask to teach me
but only not to lack during every day of life.
I don’t know anything about light, from where
it comes nor where it goes,
I only want the light to light up,
I do not ask to the night
explanations,
I wait for it and it envelops me,
And so you, bread and light
And shadow are.
You came to my life
with what you were bringing,
made
of light and bread and shadow I expected you,
and Like this I need you,
Like this I love you,
and to those who want to hear tomorrow
that which I will not tell them, let them read it here,
and let them back off today because it is early
for these arguments.
Tomorrow we will only give them
a leaf of the tree of our love, a leaf
which will fall on the earth
like if it had been made by our lips
like a kiss which falls
from our invincible heights
to show the fire and the tenderness
of a true love.
poem by Pablo Neruda
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‘Carnal Apple, Woman Filled, Burning Moon,’
Carnal apple, Woman filled, burning moon,
dark smell of seaweed, crush of mud and light,
what secret knowledge is clasped between your pillars?
What primal night does Man touch with his senses?
Ay, Love is a journey through waters and stars,
through suffocating air, sharp tempests of grain:
Love is a war of lightning,
and two bodies ruined by a single sweetness.
Kiss by kiss I cover your tiny infinity,
your margins, your rivers, your diminutive villages,
and a genital fire, transformed by delight,
slips through the narrow channels of blood
to precipitate a nocturnal carnation,
to be, and be nothing but light in the dark.
poem by Pablo Neruda
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At The Sheep-Dog Trials
What ancestors unite
Here in this red and white
Kelpie to define
His symmetry of line,
As crouched in burning dust
He halts both Time and beast?
The wethers stamp the ground,
At his will turn around.
He is of collie stock:
Austerity of rock
Has lent his mind and bone
The toughness of its stone.
And though for Border flocks
The collie and the fox
Fought tooth to tooth, they joined
And have the kelpie coined
Whose ears acutely set
Across the centuries yet
Hear the concordant sound
Of coupled horn and hound;
And as the moon the tides
The hidden vixen guides
With craft the blood that strains
And surges in his veins.
Those who stand and stare
At cripples in the fair
Have not the eyes to see
His blood's dignity
Where old adversaries meet,
As now on velvet feet
He moves to his master's call,
In action classical.
poem by David Campbell
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Love
What's wrong with you, with us,
what's happening to us?
Ah our love is a harsh cord
that binds us wounding us
and if we want
to leave our wound,
to separate,
it makes a new knot for us and condemns us
to drain our blood and burn together.
What's wrong with you? I look at you
and I find nothing in you but two eyes
like all eyes, a mouth
lost among a thousand mouths that I have kissed, more beautiful,
a body just like those that have slipped
beneath my body without leaving any memory.
And how empty you went through the world
like a wheat-colored jar
without air, without sound, without substance!
I vainly sought in you
depth for my arms
that dig, without cease, beneath the earth:
beneath your skin, beneath your eyes,
nothing,
beneath your double breast scarcely
raised
a current of crystalline order
that does not know why it flows singing.
Why, why, why,
my love, why?
poem by Pablo Neruda
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Losing Grip
Losing grip she holds to life,
She tells herself she won't let go,
Yet here she sits holding the knife,
Moving it ever so slow.
She sits beside her bed,
Knife pressed to skin,
Knees drawn to her head,
For she knows this is a sin.
Tears fall from her eyes,
They fall against the cuts,
Until the blood begin to dry,
She doesn't like this habbit, yet she's stuck in it's rut.
Her head falls back,
As sobs break the silence of the air,
Crys pour from her thoat, yet in volume they lack.
At the back of her eyelids she stairs.
Her hair falls around her,
A warm brown shall,
Not even the touch of a hand would make her stir,
As she listens to her creators call.
Along the slits she traces,
Time after time, line after line,
Forming a pattern like lace,
The paths, the cuts, so even, so fine.
pain shows through her face,
yet she drinks this pain, it is her feast,
Along her wrist, her body, the blood does trace,
She feels the least.
in the depth of the room,
She sits with nothing, no light,
Only the shine of the moon.
She knows sha can't stop, yet it feels so right.
The anger, the sorrow, flows through her, it all leaves,
The blood wipes it away, let's her feel numb,
A blanket of blood is weaved.
Her heart beats; a steady drum.
She looks down at her art,
When all the feelings are gone,
She stands, and slows her heart,
And waits for dawn.
poem by Bethany Maxwell
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Espinada (Love Poem)
You lie in bed and close your eyes,
Your heart beats fast as you fantasise,
The restless feelings deep inside begin,
Hot as his fingers trace across your skin,
Over the hills and valleys his magic touch,
That exquisite burning fire you love so much,
Lips taste your passion wet musk perfume,
The urgent coaxing of the flower to bloom,
You lust on fire for him to take you over,
Thrust deep and bring you - oh so clever,
The thorns of pleasure - searing height,
As two are one and perfect is the night.
poem by Ian Beckett
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The Petal Effect
A flower is born, bringing life to Earth.
With the experiences made on Earth,
A petal falls off the flower.
It slowly takes life from the flower.
He has his first crush, one petal is lost.
Bachelor's degree is obtained and requires another petal.
A family drops two more precious petals.
The last petal falls as life ends on Earth.
poem by Cody Klinker
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Lost To Lust
Thoughts of you, how my temperature rises
Your body next to mine so divine
Your touch electric upon my skin
Lost in the lust of our connection.
When we meet my body is alive
My control is abandoned to you
Nothing can equal the feelings I have
I’m lost in my lust for you.
Into a world of pure desire
We are locked together
United we feel the flow
Touch, taste, explore.
Lost to Lust
poem by Alison Smith
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What Then Is Love?
what then is love?
if it be not this...
the sound of your voice,
the stillness i breathe.
your scent, rainswept pines,
and wet plowed earth.
your skin the feathers
of dead crows seeking flight.
your hunger the thunder,
splitting clouds swollen with passion.
your eyes a bucket of rainwater,
shimmering in the moonlight.
your breasts the river,
your heart moss covered stone.
your soul the wind,
coming and gone without restraint.
your kiss the crackle
of branches in the fire...
your taste the shadow
that just stole the light.
your body the harbor,
this ship lost at sea.
your memory the anchor,
salt spray on my lips!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The nature of her beauty
The nature of her beauty
~
her pale soft skin
pure like untouched fields of snow
her lips red like the roses petal
feather like in their kiss
those eyes warm like the earth
feed my soul with a richness of passion
the depth of which is limitless
bury my heart into hers
let me lay amongst her nature
let me rejoice her beauty
let her words sing to me
the essence of her soul
place my hands in hers firmly
that I may feel their warmth
holding eternally
there is a beauty undying
embedded into my heart
and its all in her nature
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Evening Thoughts
How beautiful
The calm earth resteth in her quiet sleep!
There are no sounds of human life abroad,
And the soft voice of that one bird, whose plaint
Melteth upon the ear so soothingly,
Seems but the low breeze moulded into sound.
The shadows of the trees distinctly lie
Upon the earth unstirring, and no breath
Comes whispering among the tender leaves,
To wake them into playfulness.
The sky
Bendeth in loveliness above the earth,
With a few clouds drawn o'er it, beautiful
In the soft light, and exquisitely pure,
As if they knew no other home than heaven.
Oh, thus it is, God of the universe!
That thou wouldst sanctify with thy rich grace,
Our erring human hearts, that we might be,
When from the earth our day of life hath pass'd,
Dwellers in that bright world where all are pure—
A world where sorrow cometh not, nor sin,
Nor the down-stooping ‘neath the oppressor's hand.
Alas! that earthly things should be so fair,
And day by day harmoniously move on
In their allotted course, at thy command,
Dutiful and unwavering from their track,
And man, man only, who alone may know
How beautiful thy ordinances are,
Mock at thy holy will, and mar his soul
With the dark stains of sin. Alas! that man,
With thy pure law unveil'd before his eyes,
Should bind the fetter on his brother's form,
And smite him with the scourge, and bid him pour
His strength out on the earth, for no reward;
And worse than this, wrench from his bleeding heart
The dearest objects of his earthly love;
And all that the oppressor's hoards may flow
With Mammon's worthless treasures; meagre dust,
Beside the priceless treasure of a soul!
Shall it be ever thus? Most Merciful!
Will man's hard heart be never touch'd with all
The o'erflowings of thy love, and yield itself
To gentle sympathies, till he shall learn
The noble joy of pouring happiness
Upon the heart of sorrow, and how sweet
The pleasure is of shedding bliss abroad.
poem by Elizabeth Margaret Chandler from Poetical Works (1836)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Narcissus
A boy, Narcissus long ago lived in Greece
Perfect of body, dark hair fine as fleece
The face of an angel, no one could deny
Fair skin, large eyes as blue as the sky
A nymph for a mother, his father a god
Who ruled over all rivers, narrow 'n broad
Narcissus, loved by Apollo the most handsome of men
Would ascend Mount Olympus, to sojourn now 'n then
He dined with Zeus and with gods great and small
As demigods might at an extravagant Grand Ball
One day Narcissus sat in repose by a clear water pond
Looked down at his image and at once grew fond
Of the beauty neath him so at once he did fall
In love with himself, to the exclusion of all
Eyes only for self, this youth did briefly enjoy
But soon grew deluded and sad lonely boy
He faded, withered and would soon die
He lay on his back gazing up at the sky
Saw the form of Apollo looking down from above
A smile on his face, radiating warmth and pure love
Narcissus left his body, his spirit did rise,
No more burdened by beauty, he saw with new-eyes
Looked down at the earth so far below
Saw where he once lay, a flower did grow
A flower devoid of vanity, stately and sound
Blooming, seeding, spreading, soon to be found
By all who love beauty that speaks to one’s heart
Narcissus!
You're now of Earth’s landscape, no longer apart
poem by Ray Lucero
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Beautiful Woman!
Beautiful like fresh flower,
Beautiful with rainbows in eyes,
Beautiful with shyness and smile,
beautiful woman!
Beautiful are the star like eyes
Deeper than deepest ocean,
Ocean of feelings and love,
Beautiful is that motherly heart!
Beautiful woman thy beauty is thy compassion,
Thy beauty is in patience and knowledge,
Thy beauty lies in flowerless lips with precious smile,
Beautiful woman, most abstract beauty,
Not that beauty felt by eyes
Nor that skin or hair,
Not that grace or style, beautiful woman,
you are the beauty!
Beautiful woman!
thy beauty shines
Moon in star studded sky,
Thy beauty flashes with every turn of your neck to the call of child,
like plant swing with
perfumed flower in the garden
When that beauty of heart beautifully expressed!
Where her beauty lies,
Is it in her body or mind,
Or is it in her heart soft and kind?
Who wants to get stick or bind,
That's why women race fast leaving wondering men behind!
poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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Do Not Threaten Me With Fire My Love
do not threaten me with the fire of your body my love
for i am a man born of fire and shall die of fire
i eat fire, i bathe in fire, i swim in the deepest part of fire
i like to burn in the fire that you start
from your flicker, from the flints of your gaze
i like to see this hearth, this warmth, this conflagration
you with me burning like hell
do not threaten me with the fire of your thighs
for i eat fire, my body is fire, it is alive with its heat
my sweat are the smokes of fire
my end is the char that stays beside your legs
and tomorrow morning when i finally die
when i am put off by your power
you shall find me as burnt residues
beneath your feet
i am the offering of love to life.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Woman Is Fire
There was a time when Woman went out of house, house of wax was left by Woman, Woman with waxen complexion I was, I was fiery Woman, Woman's body was a wax, Woman's eyes a flammable paraffin, what Woman's mouth was: withered red apples when Woman was fired out of house. House was invisible when Woman took a fire lamp and went to cheer in the smell of fallen apples, scattered around house, our moldy house. In the cold night Woman molded her body in a candle mould to revive old fire and saw Man that gathered apple stalks from moldy apple trees. It was a lonely man, Man that made a fire with waxed paper and moldering apple stalks. Man that sat outdoors on a moldy wooden bench by that fire and drunk applejack.
Woman saw Man, Man that felt Woman's looks through apple shaped embers bursting out of fire when wet apple leaves dried. Fire was a necessity for Man, for Man made his living being a fire-eater. The fire-eater wanted fire that gives birth, of fireworks, exploding fire. Man moved a long green apple stalk through fire to burn fire more. Man took a dropp and swallowed it. Man took another dropp and spat it into the fire. Suddenly Man realized what he needed and waxed on a piece of paper: fire must drink applejack for fire is becoming moldy, and he spat what he drunk mingled with apple-tasting spit. House is moldy too, Woman remembered and woman's heart became a rotten apple.. Fire was quenching as Woman closed her eyelids, apple peels, longing for house. House may be moldy, but house is not empty. Woman molded house the like, house full of candle lights and fireflies. Woman left Man's fire quenched and remained an apple scented candle. House melts easily and hardens quickly, Woman too. Woman abandoned Man not to be melt. That is old fire in Woman, as she stalks on apple waxed earth toward house.
poem by Afrodita Nikolova
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Fire Of Spring
Spring: What do you see like this?
Fire: To you
Spring: Please I entreat you
Fire: What to do? I can’t bear darkness
Spring: Naughty, not to utter thus. Come here.
Fire: May I set fire to wax candle?
Spring: Put on spectacles, other wise
No surplus will remain.
Fire: Oh! You are very miserly.
Spring: OK Think- you are lying under a tree in hard sun light-in this moment what will be your temperament?
Fire: You are upon a hand; our child is upon another, crystal blue sky in front.
Spring: I see! Have you ever seen that fair of children darken the blue sky?
Fire: Yes, I saw that in your eye, on your lip, inside the rib bone.
Spring: OK
Fire: Oh! No, do not talk; close your eyes, why so sweat scent in your hair?
Spring: At your chest too...
Fire: Surging fire on my body
Always, couldn’t you see that?
Spring: How could I see? The thunder-the flood reside on my body too.
Fire: You are carrying so much thunder and flood why did not you tell me before?
Spring: How could I say? Did I know that so much?
Fire at your heart!
Fire: Leave it. Now you have come to know.
Spring: Hey-I entreat you, do not touch my hub. Earth quake sleeps there.
Fire: Oh! Really you are very beautiful and natural, A very exciting eminent on your thigh looks.
Spring: Entreat, I entreat you, do not touch there. Earth Quake sleeps there also.
poem by Bongokobida Zakaria
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I Am Ash
do not threaten me with the fire of your body my love
for i am a man borne of fire and shall die of fire
i eat fire, i bathe in fire, i swim in the deepest part of fire
i like to burn in the fire that you start
from your flicker, from the flints of your gaze
i like to see this hearth, this warmth, this conflagration
you with me burning like hell
do not threaten me with the fire of your thighs
for i eat fire, my body is fire, it is alive with its heat
my sweat fumes are the smokes of fire
my end is the char that stays beside your legs
and tomorrow morning when i finally die
when i am put off by your power
you shall find me as burnt residues
beneath your feet
i am ash
the offering of love to life.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A woman at a café’
She is a burning beauty so beguiling bright
As she sits in a café’ of a city under the night
Her skin over her face and limbs is spread like a dream
All the lights around her turn their heads in shame dim
Her legs peep beneath a dark collied skirt
Setting all passers by into anguish alert
What mortal hand or eye
Could frame or design your thigh
In what clay, in what mould
Were her eyes of fury and beauty rolled?
In what distant depths or vaulting high skies
Burnt the fire of her eyes?
He who framed her what dare he aspire?
What hand could dare size this intense fire?
Her shoulders, what an art
What craft could twist the sinews of her heart?
And when her heart begin to beat
What dread hands what dread feet?
Where is the hammer where is the chain
In what furnace she was give birth where it all began
The stars above the city threw down their spears
And watered heaven with their tears
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the man make thee?
She, she, the burning fire of the night
Lent her ore to the canopy of the city so bright
The flames of the candles at her table
Competed to reflect their image in her eyes like shadows fragile
Her glass of wine did not delay; it had stelled
Her beauty's form within its convex heart
So proudly its bounty to the world it held
Claiming it never captured a better art
Burnt! Burnt! Beguiling beauty in bright
As the city approached the edge of the midnight
The trees at the avenue their blooming boughs dropped
To feel her blood in her veins throbbed
What immortal hand what heavenly eye
Dare contrive your fearful symmetry beneath this sky
And there was none in the city’s daughters
With the magic like her when she sat down to eat
And like the night music on the East river water
Was her voice loud in tease and in din beat
When as if her humor and soul were causing
The charmed river pausing
The waves at its banks to lie still gleaming
And the lulled winds seemed dreaming
And the midnight moon was weaving
Her bright image over the water deep
While her twin breasts were gently heaving
As if an infant was asleep
As she got up to leave
She walked in beauty into the night
That a city of cloudless climates can give
And all that was best in dark and bright
Were reflected in the lofty vaults of starry skies
And met in her structure and in her eyes
And thus mellowed to that tender glow of night
Which heaven bestowed on her yet to the gaudy day denied
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We fit into each other
We fit into each other
and it is pure passion,
perfect like light on glass
with bodies, hands
and feelings touching deeper.
There’s JC Le Roux champagne in a glass
and the red sparkles like fire
burning deep in your eyes
while you shake your head
spreading your hair over your shoulders.
Later you lipstick
is on the edge of a glass,
while I pour some more champagne for you
and the smoke of your cigarette
spirals up into the air
and I see your perfect body
before you draw me nearer to you
and I feel your soft skin
with nipples pointing into my chest
with your breath soft against my cheek.
In your sleep your turn against me,
lying with an arm stretched over my body
and it’s as if your lips are muttering words
while your face looks pure and chaste
like that of a small girl.
The next day I find
a brown hair-clip in my bed,
on the pillow there’s a mark of red lipstick
and my sheets smell of you.
poem by Gert Strydom
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