SUPpRESSED DESIRES
Her only home is herself
her only contact to her body
her hands
untouched by man who want
to sleep with her in the nest
of desire,
she refuses all offers
regardless of color and shape
deep within her
pressure is building
like a tornado
but she keeps herself
composed like a placid lake
like an undisturbed sky
glittering with the beauty of
the stars
a volcano is erupting inside
her breasts
she refuses hands and lips
and mouths
her house is herself
abandoned by the sun
and the rain
she is alone and too lovely
still
the moon tonight by her
open window shall be her lover
she is after all a metaphor
of suppressed desires.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
Relying On Feelings
tonight sleep is cruel.
she does not come to you and you go anywhere searching for her
breasts, you are a new born child wanting to suck the milk of life
from her teats, and you want to take her like she is a sow,
and your hands are ready to caress her hair
and her soft body but she is cruel and so insensitive
and despite your endearments so she may sleep with you
tonight
she keeps that cruelty of a lover long
jilted by you.
tonight sleep takes its vengeance.
and so
you have to compose the lines again
to appease her.
speak of love, write about lovers
making love beside the sea
under the moon above the softness of the sands
tell sleep about love on top of love
caress sliding like a spill of honey to the lips of
the beloved
the tongue wriggles in such sweetness
the mouth opens and takes
every dripping desire
plead sincerity and beg for mercy.
perhaps, by then, sleep would be too kind to kiss your mouth
and gift you with a bouquet of sweet roses for dreams.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Erotic Scene pt 1
The sand at the ashore of
the ocean paints our body,
the sensitive full moon takes
record of our moves, The stars
are really cute tonight, smiles
never desert us, my chest is
your poillow and drawing board
your hair is my tendy.the sound
that comes from the oceans praise
our body as we grind to it. with our
lips fortifying our love, our hands do
the talking. I feel your lips on my ear
my heart beat fast, tears drops, my
hand find your hips as we grind ourselves
home, breathing heavily our hands shiver
smokes find it way out of our mouths, as
we reach your climax, screaming in ecstasy.
poem by Enyinwa Okechukwu Enyinwa
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Shape Me Like A Man
Spark my body into existence
Breath your life into me
Fill these eyes with temptation
Work your mystery
Make me in the image you desire
Raise me up from the earth
Let me be your creation
Women, give me birth
Take me in your hands
And shape me like a man
Shape me like a man
Put this broken body in motion
With a strong and natural drive
Fill my flesh with sensation
Women let me know Im alive
Take me in your hands
And shape me like a man
Shape me like a man
Like a man
Shape me like a man
Like a man
Shape me like a man
Like a man
Take me in your hands
And shape me like a man
Like a man
Shape me like a man
Like a man
Like a man
Shape me like a man
Like a man
Shape me like a man
Make me like a man
song performed by by Gino Vanelli
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Where Beauty Lies
Not the curve of the hips
Or the shape of the lips
Nor the clothes she wears
Or the color of her hair
Not in the numbers on the scale
But in the person who always seems to care
The beauty of a person
No matter who they are
Can only be measured
From the warmness of the heart
Not the face she wears
Or the voice she shares
But the expressions she makes
And the words that she creates
It's in the smile she puts on
even when everything has gone wrong
Beauty lies within the fire inside
That refuses to let her run and hide
Beauty shines from inside her
Throughout everything she does
Beauty comea from the way she stands strong for what she beleives
And can never be forced
To surrender to her knees
Beauty,
Is when she stands tall
Even when she has lost it all
Her hopes never shatter and fall
Beauty is when
Her soul is so bright
It shines through
In the darkest of nights
She leads the way
With no sighs of dismay
From the legs to the hips
From the eyes to the lips
It all does'nt matter
This is the beauty
that i wish to capture
poem by Tamara Puyear
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Lovely One
Lovely one,
Just as on the cool stone
Of the spring, the water
Opens a wide flash of foam,
So is the smile of your face,
Lovely one.
Lovely one,
With delicate hands and slender feet
Like a silver pony,
Walking, flower of the world,
Thus I see you,
Lovely one.
Lovely one,
With a nest of copper entangled
On your head, a nest
The coloUr of dark honey
Where my heart burns and rests,
Lovely one.
Lovely one,
Your eyes are too big for your face,
Your eyes are too big for the earth.
There are countries, there are rivers,
In your eyes,
My country is your eyes,
I walk through them,
They light the world
Through which I walk,
Lovely one.
Lovely one,
Your breasts are like two loaves made
Of grainy earth and golden moon,
Lovely one.
Lovely one,
Your waist,
My arm shaped it like a river when
It flowed a thousand years through your sweet body,
Lovely one.
Lovely one,
There is nothing like your hips,
Perhaps earth has
In some hidden place
The curve and the fragrance of your body,
Perhaps in some place,
Lovely one.
Lovely one, my lovely one,
Your voice, your skin, your nails,
Lovely one, my lovely one,
Your being, your light, your shadow,
Lovely one,
All that is mine, lovely one,
All that is mine, my dear,
When you walk or rest,
When you sing or sleep,
When you suffer or dream,
Always,
When you are near or far,
Always,
You are mine, my lovely one,
Always.
poem by Pablo Neruda
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Gratis Et Amore (2)
helen cannot sleep,
and she keeps on sneering at the moon
and writing it
with poems as though the moon is a man
and as though the poems are her
letters pleading
to be loved by its glimmer
and shimmer imagining
them to be the rough hands
of a lover and
throughout many nights
she had been waiting
to be loved
there were many things that she did
all for the moon not even for the stars
until one morning she was found
dead inside her room
her face towards the moon
her eyes closed
her window open
and the people who buried her
that same day
told about the shame
that she was naked
i know how it is to be like her
and it was all done in the name of love
gratis et amore.
and they said, all of them, after all the prayers were said
Amen.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Tonight
Ninety-thousand screaming watts
Honey dripping from her pot
Fill the cup to the top tonight
This deadly sin is all we know
Pleasure victim, who's next to fall
The question is will you please us all tonight?
Tonight tonight tonight
We need a lover tonight
We need a lover tonight
We need a lover tonight
We need a lover
Stand tall and ring the bell
The final stroke send you to hell
Take your body like a hammer and a nail
The taste of love, it might me yours
Slide down my knees, taste my sword
Can you feel the power inside tonight?
Tonight tonight tonight
We need a lover tonight
We need a lover tonight
We need a lover tonight
We need a lover
Tonight, we need a lover tonight
We need a lover tonight
We need a lover tonight
We need a lover
Tonight tonight
song performed by by Motley Crue
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Apple
You have enslaved me with your lovely body;
You have put me in a kind of prison.
Since the day we parted,
I have found nothing that is like your beauty.
So I comfort myself with a ripe apple—
Its fragrance reminds me of the myrrh of your breath,
Its shape of your breasts, its color
Of the color that used to rise to your cheeks.
poem by Yehudah HaLevi
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Pages
Still listening from lips,
a mute hearing with hands,
an improper metaphor.
……………………………………
In the frozen lake of eyes
a fish dies
in unread tears.
………………………………….
An upended
home of laments
in moon.
………………………………….
Imperfect proximity
of pillows.
sleep was distance apart.
……………………………..
Like poison ivy
a gnawing to itch
and an itch to gnaw.
poem by Satish Verma
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She Is No Longer Innocent About The Ways Of The World
you think she is as fragile as a thin glass of cherry wine
that when you touch the tip with your finger
she blushes and the glass gets warmer with your thumb
its bottom at the mercy of your palm
you like to think that she is a flower blooming on the month of May
where the dews are as careful as the sap of the red melon
nothing that stains the skin and dirties the white linen
then you discover a lot of things
first, the way she uses the pillow putting it just bellow her buttocks
then the way she calls your name like the hush of the break of day's breeze
from the distant sea
mournful and yet so awakening to your senses
the way she puts her legs and spreads her arms to hold your body
she is like the full moon peeping over the window that you open
you let her in and she sleeps like a fantasy dream on your bed
every sense of you wakes up like there is a fire in the house
adrenalin rushes inside your thighs
you are undressed and in the naked truth you come to her
something unspeakable
unfathomed
giving you the freedom to plunge in the paradise
long denied by them for you
you found the map to her labyrinth of pleasure
and once there
you do not want to leave
this is your home
your niche where your hands thrive like the needles of grass
where you mind glows like the stars
alive and singing
this is pleasure immeasurable
her lips her breasts her arms her abdomen her eyes
her hands gripping your hands
her feet entwined like the vine to the pillar of your house
her soft voice her moans
the cock is crowing and by all means say hello to a very
nice morning
a new day to the first day of your life.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Tonight The Air Is Filled With Love
i cannot sleep tonight
i will not sleep tonight
for tonight is the night of love under a full moon
sitting on top a placid lake beneath the treetops
the air is filled with the scent of love
there are no birds as they are all asleep
but i can hear the songs of all the angels
the leaves glisten the stars glitter the pond with its gentle ripples
they all mention your name to me
and i am hearing it and
my heart beats with all perfect joy.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Your Between And My Betwixt
We so easily
slip into the
intestacies
of Time's Pauses
where we
make love;
where time
draws the window curtains
for our modesty
and our pleasure.
Moments
swirl
dance and play
on window sills
and make
toys
for our play
and taffida
ornaments
singing.
Touch my lips
with soft breath,
finger tips
down my
curved back
where hands
land
on smooth skin
erupting
senses
meshed
rising.
Instants
play
on your chest
dance upon
your breasts
rising to my touch.
All is wonderful here.
Shut away
are the Outside Fears
the Them Out There
for Inside Here
is Our World
perfectly mixed
with your Beating Open Heart
and my Desire-
My Between
and Your
Betwixt
Igniting.
There is in this
no other time
than this
Our Time
there is no other gift
than this gift given
Betwixt
and Between us.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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I Have The Touch
The time I like is the rush hour, cos I like the rush
The pushing of the people, I like it all so much
Such a mass of motion, do not know where it goes
I move with the movement and ... I have the touch
Im waiting for ignition, Im looking for a spark
Any chance collision and I light up in the dark
There you stand before me, all that fur and all that hair
Oh, do I dare ... I have the touch
Only, only
Wanting contact
Only, only
Im wanting contact
Only, only
Im wanting contact with you
Shake those hands, shake those hands
Give me the thing I understand
Shake those hands, shake those hands
Shake hands, shake hands.
Any social occasion, hello, how do you do
All those introductions, I never miss my cue
So before a question, so before a doubt
My hand moves out and ... I have the touch
Only, only
Wanting contact
Only, only
Im wanting contact
Only, only
Im wanting contact with you
Shake those hands, shake those hands
Give me the thing I understand
Shake those hands, shake those hands
Shake those hands
Pull my chin, stroke my hair, scratch my nose, hug my knees
Try drink, food, cigarette, the tension will not ease
I tap my fingers, fold my arms, breathe in deep, cross my legs
Shrug my shoulders, stretch my back, but nothing seems to please
I need contact
I need contact
Nothing seems to please
I need contact
Tac-tacatac, tac-tacatac
I need contact
Nothing seems to please
I need contact
Tac-tacatac, tac-tacatac
I need contact
Ah, tac-tacatac
I need contact
Nothing seems to please
I need contact
I need contact.
song performed by by Heather Nova
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It Is Sad
- It is sad when the cloud form but failed to rain.
- It is sad when you feel hungry and the mouth refuses
to eat.
- It is sad when you smile and the face continues to
frown.
- It is sad when you weep and tears refuses to flow.
- It is sad when you cut and the knife refuses to tear.
- It is sad when the child is more patient than the father.
- It is sad when false is the right answer and true is the
wrong option.
Ponder This now and act later, yesterday comes, today is
going, let tomorrow rest!
poem by Aliyu Ahmad Madi
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I Have The Touch
The time I like is the rush hour, cos I like the rush
The pushing of the people - I like it all so much
Such a mass of motion - do not know where it goes
I move with the movement and ... I have the touch
Im waiting for ignition, Im looking for a spark
Any chance collision and I light up in the dark
There you stand before me, all that fur and all that hair
Oh, do I dare ... I have the touch
Wanting contact
Im wanting contact
Im wanting contact with you
Shake those hands, shake those hands
Give me the thing I understand
Shake those hands, shake those hands
Shake those hands, shake those hands
Any social occasion, its hello, how do you do
All those introductions, I never miss my cue
So before a question, so before a doubt
My hand moves out and ... I have the touch
Wanting contact
Im wanting contact
Im wanting contact with you
Shake those hands, shake those hands
Give me the thing I understand
Shake those hands, shake those hands
Pull my chin, stroke my hair, scratch my nose, hug my knees
Try drink, food, cigarette, tension will not ease
I tap my fingers, fold my arms, breathe in deep, cross my legs
Shrug my shoulders, stretch my back - but nothing seems
To please
I need contact
I need contact
Nothing seems to please
I need contact
song performed by by Peter Gabriel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Faith Healer
[Alex Harvey]
If your body's feeling bad
And it's the only one you have
You want to take away the pain
Go out walking in the rain
You watch the flowers go to bed
Ask the man inside your head
Your spirit never has to grieve
All you've got to do's believe
The faith healer, the faith healer
All you've got to do is feel
Your body's going to start to heal
The fingertips of holy fire,
Everlasting sweet desire
It never mattered
What the doctor said
The healer man will sail away
It's immortality for two,
Oh the miracles
They will come to you
From faith healer,the faith healer
Can I put my hands on you?
Can I put my hands on you?
Faith, and hope, and charity,
The simple relativity
He can make you understand
All you've got to take his hand
Remember somebody said
Ask the man inside your head
The fingertips of holy fire,
Everlasting sweet desire
The faith healer, the faith healer!
Can I put my hands on you?
Can I put my hands on you?
Let me put my hands on you?
Let me put my hands on you?
Can I put my hands on you?
Can I put my hands on you?
The faith healer, the faith healer...
song performed by by Helloween
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Song of the Soul XXII
In the depth of my soul there is
A wordless song - a song that lives
In the seed of my heart.
It refuses to melt with ink on
Parchment; it engulfs my affection
In a transparent cloak and flows,
But not upon my lips.
How can I sigh it? I fear it may
Mingle with earthly ether;
To whom shall I sing it? It dwells
In the house of my soul, in fear of
Harsh ears.
When I look into my inner eyes
I see the shadow of its shadow;
When I touch my fingertips
I feel its vibrations.
The deeds of my hands heed its
Presence as a lake must reflect
The glittering stars; my tears
Reveal it, as bright drops of dew
Reveal the secret of a withering rose.
It is a song composed by contemplation,
And published by silence,
And shunned by clamor,
And folded by truth,
And repeated by dreams,
And understood by love,
And hidden by awakening,
And sung by the soul.
It is the song of love;
What Cain or Esau could sing it?
It is more fragrant than jasmine;
What voice could enslave it?
It is heartbound, as a virgin's secret;
What string could quiver it?
Who dares unite the roar of the sea
And the singing of the nightingale?
Who dares compare the shrieking tempest
To the sigh of an infant?
Who dares speak aloud the words
Intended for the heart to speak?
What human dares sing in voice
The song of God?
poem by Khalil Gibran
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To Cut a Long Story Short
Your lips like cherries fresh
from the garden
Your breasts enough to fill
my palms
My hands tremble when I picture
your breasts
The way our lips merged together
without space between us while
our tongues played hide and seek
Your eyes i miss to drown inside
I miss your fingers caressing my body
The scent of your detailed body and
the fragrance of your smile
I miss the two of us
poem by Moffat Mbuzi
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A Cry
Oh, there are eyes that he can see,
And hands to make his hands rejoice,
But to my lover I must be
Only a voice.
Oh, there are breasts to bear his head,
And lips whereon his lips can lie,
But I must be till I am dead
Only a cry.
poem by Sara Teasdale
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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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