When You Are Sleeping
i look carefully at the restive pose,
hands on the side, the head inclined towards the window
the breathing breast is as calm as the sunset sea
the eyelashes like a silk skirt on the side of the eye
nothing covers you except the soft breeze
your hair spreads like the gentleness of the night
your naked feet rests on the white pillow
your lips curl like a bow to its arrows
love hits me again and i am vulnerable
to its caresses, as i stand and hold the frame of this window
out there is the wide wild world of my dreams
where i do not belong anymore
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
After Death
IF we must part, this parting is the best:
How would you bear to lay
Your head on some warm pillow far away--
Your head, so used to lying on my breast?
But now your pillow is cold;
Your hands have flowers, and not my hands, to hold;
Upon our bed the worn bride-linen lies.
I have put the death-money upon your eyes,
So that you should not wake up in the night.
I have bound your face with white;
I have washed you, yes, with water and not with tears,--
Those arms wherein I have slept so many years,
Those feet that hastened when they came to me,
And all your body that belonged to me.
I have smoothed your dear dull hair,
And there is nothing left to say for you
And nothing left to fear or pray for you;
And I have got the rest of life to bear:
Thank God it is you, not I, who are lying there.
If I had died
And you had stood beside
This still white bed
Where the white, scented, horrible flowers are spread,--
I know the thing it is,
And I thank God that He has spared you this.
If one must bear it, thank God it was I
Who had to live and bear to see you die,
Who have to live, and bear to see you dead.
You will have nothing of it all to bear:
You will not even know that in your bed
You lie alone. You will not miss my head
Beside you on the pillow: you will rest
So soft in the grave you will not miss my breast.
But I--but I--Your pillow and your place--
And only the darkness laid against my face,
And only my anguish pressed against my side--
Thank God, thank God, that it was you who died!
poem by Edith Nesbit
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Winter's Fingers
I’m looking out of the window,
watching the rain turn to snow,
the land is running from winter’s grasp,
but naked trees mean autumn’s past.
Trees’ bony fingers reach for the sky,
but the pale grey sky is a little shy,
and will not answer their call,
no matter how big or how tall.
But the clouds do speak and answer,
with snow, the subtle breeze dancer,
and the snows’ frisky little caper,
covers the land and blankets nature.
The land is under a white membrane,
but on my side of the window frame,
all is cosy with the fire ablaze,
my window is now a frosty glaze.
poem by Dale Mullock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Opening A New Window
come to my room
let us open a new window
that opens to another window
look at my face
and hold the side of my body
i will caress your hair with my hands
hold your body softly as a wind holds a feather
my fingers shall travel from the tips of your hair
down to the last tips of the toes of your feet
let us be happy, let us try opening another window
let us see the other windows hidden from our eyes.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
What Matilda Said
Matilda closed the door. Matilda
Saw Millie by the window. Her maid’s
Uniform looked tight at the rear. She
Wanted to place her arms around her
Waist, kiss her neck. Millie turned and
Said, He’s out there with Mrs Dimmable.
Matilda walked to the window and stared.
She sensed Millie beside her; heard her
Breathing, the brush of her sleeve against
Her arm. Looks happy enough, Matilda said
Of Mrs. Dimmable. You didn’t sleep too well
Last night, Millie said, turning, going to the
Bed. She pulled back the covers, smoothed
Out the sheet. Matilda went around the other
Side of the bed and looked at Millie. You were
Tossing and turning, Millie said looking up.
Matilda helped make the bed and said, Sorry
About that. Millie stared at Matilda and said
You murmured words. Did I? Matilda replied.
Yes, Millie said, looking at her hands. What did
I say? Matilda asked. You muttered my name.
Millie stood back from the bed, gazed at Matilda.
You said things. What things? Said you loved me.
Millie blushed at the words. Matilda patted the
Pillow but said nothing. She brushed her hands
Over the covers, pushed away creases. She paused.
Looked at the window. Smelt the flowers in a vase.
Do you? Millie asked. Love me? Matilda stared
Out at Mrs Dimmable and the new gardener.
Her lips wanted to move but nothing came.
Her eyes watered. The world was awash. Millie
Walked to the window, put her arms around Matilda’s
Waist, her fingers formed a knot on Matilda’s stomach.
Matilda placed her hands over Millie’s.
They do look in love and contented don’t they?
Millie said over Matilda’s shoulder. Matilda’s sensed
The warm breath. Yes, she said, they do. Do you?
Millie’s breath uttered softly into her ear, yes.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
* * *
I hold my skirt, sash untied
and stand before the window with unpainted eyebrows.
Silk clothes fly open so easily.
If my skirt opens, I’ll blame the spring wind!
Little Dancer Girl
She wakes in the morning, opens her eyes to the world
Just another dreamer, just another little girl.
School waits for her but she doesn’t really care for it
They give her homework but she just can’t finish it
But when the night comes and she hits the floor
No one’s going to tell her what to do anymore
She comes home in the evening, ready for the night
Looking out of her window at the burning street light
She’s got one last chance to make the grade
To hit the stage with plans she’s so carefully laid
And when the night time comes and she hits the floor
She isn’t going to worry about work anymore
Let the music play all night as around the room you twirl
Hold that dream in your heart forever, little dancer girl.
poem by Anthony Lund
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Breeze
The window breeze
caresses, of peacefully calm,
refreshing with
a lullaby of dreams
sing by the wind.
poem by Luca Menin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Rajput Love Song
(Parvati at her lattice)
O Love! were you a basil-wreath to twine
among my tresses,
A jewelled clasp of shining gold to bind around my sleeve,
O Love! were you the keora's soul that haunts
my silken raiment,
A bright, vermilion tassel in the girdles that I weave;
O Love! were you the scented fan
that lies upon my pillow,
A sandal lute, or silver lamp that burns before my shrine,
Why should I fear the jealous dawn
that spreads with cruel laughter,
Sad veils of separation between your face and mine?
Haste, O wild-bee hours, to the gardens of the sun set!
Fly, wild-parrot day, to the orchards of the west!
Come, O tender night, with your sweet,
consoling darkness,
And bring me my Beloved to the shelter of my breast!
(Amar Singh in the saddle)
O Love! were you the hooded hawk upon my hand
that flutters,
Its collar-band of gleaming bells atinkle as I ride,
O Love! were you a turban-spray or
floating heron-feather,
The radiant, swift, unconquered sword
that swingeth at my side;
O Love! were you a shield against the
arrows of my foemen,
An amulet of jade against the perils of the way,
How should the drum-beats of the dawn
divide me from your bosom,
Or the union of the midnight be ended with the day?
Haste, O wild-deer hours, to the meadows of the sunset!
Fly, wild stallion day, to the pastures of the west!
Come, O tranquil night, with your soft,
consenting darkness,
And bear me to the fragrance of my Beloved's breast!
poem by Sarojini Naidu
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Suffocation
Last night I had the weirdest dream
I dreamt that I was lying in bed
With this girl whose hair was
As black as the night and as
Thick as a forest,
And her hair, her hair was
Smothering me
Or at least, I thought it was
Her hair,
Until I noticed it was her hands
Running over my face,
My lips
My eyes
My cheeks.
As hot as the desert
And smooth as silk
But pressing down
Pressing me into my pillow
Until I could see nothing
But the pink of her skin
And I thought,
Im gunna die
Those hands are gunna
Kill me
Until I realized really,
It wasn’t hands,
But lips,
Sucking the air from mine
Engulfing my last breath
And drawing it into her being
And I thought, well,
At least lips are
A nice way to go
Until finally I came
To my goddamn senses
And I realized,
I realized it wasn’t her lips
But the words coming
From those sweet lips
That was suffocating me
And it was “I love you”
I was choking on
Not her hair, hands or lips
At all.
poem by Nick Downer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
You Don't Belong Down Here
Sky rise so haunting on the other side of the street
Two thin white lines between where you are and where you should be
I know sometimes when you fly you think you're larger than life
But then you come crashing down and you're asleep on the ground
A king without his crown
Chorus:
You don't belong down here
You don't belong down here
You don't belong down here
Anymore, not ever
This park is an island in a sea of despair
In the heart of the city of angels who aren't even there
I see you praying for hope while you keep worshipping dope
The devil right by your side and i see death in your eyes
Will you live or do you have the will to die
Chorus
Doo, doo, doo, doo
I want to do things before they become
The things i should have done in my life
Chorus
We don't belong down here
You don't belong down here
You don't belong and we don't belong
We don't belong down here
We don't belong down here
We don't belong
No one belongs down here anymore
Not ever
song performed by by Tiffany
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I Am Always A Part Of The Whole Picture....
i should have stopped a long time ago.
move my way, like another planet to another orbit
unto another galaxy, for there are so many
options, anyway.
i should have closed the door and the windows,
light my own room, and play the flute and
listen to the songs of my own soul,
contented with the caresses of my own hands
the dances of my feet and the gentleness of
my breathing,
i am a certain rhythm away from all of you,
i have a hammock where my head rests
throughout the night, i have my own soft bed
of white fleece, the rain outside and the storms
can do me no harm,
i could have just listened and do nothing,
i didn't.
tell me now, have you heard the coldest
sound of my regrets? have you heard the flapping
of bird wings away from your heart?
have you seen the river moving away from
the banks where you are
constantly castigated by the
howling sounds of your foxes?
my nights are your nights now.
come, do not listen to me, come,
i shall listen to all of you.
we're all in this now.
to the journey of our deepest selves,
my way of understanding the changes of
our lives, the coming of the dawning of
light, shadows fading, rains stopping,
seeds beginning their sprouts
in the coming of our springtime.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Under Cover of Night
To slip into your shadow under cover of night.
To follow your footsteps, your shadow at the window.
That shadow at the window is you and no one else;
it's you.
Do not open that window behind whose curtains you're moving.
Shut your eyes.
I'd like to shut them with my lips.
But the window opens and the breeze, the breeze
which strangely balances flame and flag surrounds my escape
with its cloak.
The window opens: it's not you.
I knew it all along.
poem by Robert Desnos
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
In My Own Emptiness
night is a home of dreams
restive bed, warm blankets
soft pillows,
your head rests in my arms
you are asleep
my night is a home of your
dreams
i am your solace in this
darkness
now i too, am complete
i am an emptiness gone.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Skirt
Hallo Germaine that's a fine skirt you have
A fine skirt for a queen A cruel queen
Let's feel the silk of it Silk from Japan
And trimmed with wide lace made on no machine
Your skirt's a silken bell whose double clapper
Your legs have struck the passing of my fancies
O Germaine now I ring it my breast heaving
My hands press down upon your willing haunches
Your bedroom O my bell is a fine belfry
My hands touch silk and seem to tear my ears
Those pegs are gallows on which skirts are hanging
Those hanging men are dazzling my eyes
Motionless as an owl the oil lamp watches
poem by Guillaume Apollinaire
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Face Of Ponder
the classic one
naked, butt on a rock
legs extended
body sits and hands
supporting the jaw
like a pillar
to a cellar
got one today
with my glasses on
i stare to the sea
amidst the storm
with my window
open
i am not naked
nay,
i am fully dressed
without any plan of going
to any place
my hands hold the frame
my feet rooted on the floor
my soul like water inside a glass
overflowing
i am emptying
because i am full.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Remembering The Smell Of Youth
smooth pillow, warm blanket,
a woman's body so white
and calm
light is shun by the door of the room
on closed silk curtains by the window
i still taste the youth in spring
its perfume still remaining in the air
late at night, the same smell
comes even in my sleep
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
For The Good Times
(Kris Kristofferson)
Don't look so sad;
I know it's over;
But life goes on and this old world will keep on turning.
Let's just be glad we had some time to spend together
There's no need to watch the bridges that we're bur.....ning.
Lay your head upon my pillow,
Hold your warm and tender body close to mine.
Hear the whisper of the raindrops
blowing soft against the window
And make believe you love me one more time
For the good times.
I'll get along; you'll find another;
And I'll be here if you should find you ever need me.
Don't say a word about tomorrow or forever.
There'll be time enough for sadness when you leave me.
Lay your head upon my pillow,
Hold your warm and tender body close to mine.
Hear the whisper of the raindrops
blowing soft against the window
And make believe you love me one more time
For the good times.
Andr Velloso - Rio de Janeiro, Brazil
[email protected]
song performed by by Kenny Rogers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The Sound of Snow
The sound of snow......
it is all of these together
or separately
or combined
and sometimes
none of them at all,
like a dark still night
where sound just doesn't belong.
....it is a kitten landing on a feather pillow,
a single thin piece of paper
floating from side to side
then settling on the ground in one graceful slide,
it is a wind through a spider's web,
long silk hair tussled by a breeze
....snow is not silent it is discrete,
hiding in the open
....a three year old's sleeping breath,
a tear of joy escaping down a red round cheek
....the sound of snow is
the moment between sleep and consciousness,
fuzzy and both empty of thought and full of promise all at once,
snow is the sound dreams would make if we heard them while awake,
snow is the sound an angel makes as it guides a soul to rest.
The sound of snow
...it's all of these together
or separately
or combined
and sometimes
none of them at all.