A strange phenomenon
Breasts are a fountain to infants
And yet not seductive to them.
Breasts are nil in that sense to men
And yet arrest men by their sight.
03.10.2009
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Modesty counts
Breasts when hidden add value to the cleavage.
Breasts when hidden make the loins seductive.
Breasts when hidden add poise to the face
Breasts must be hidden to make men erotic.
25.01.2006
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Conceal to reveal
Breasts bare, breasts with bra,
Breasts revealing the cleavage,
Breasts under blouse with bare belly
And breasts with contour visible
Have their appeal up in that order.
The more one is left for imagination
The more the beauty will reveal.
06.12.2006
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The hidden breasts
A woman hides her breasts with clothes;
She hides them from being seen
To betray their presence by shape
More pronounced than the naked.
Anything that is hidden means
It’s location isn’t traceable.
Breasts aren’t hidden with clothes;
Breasts are decked out with clothes.
24.12.2009
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The face is value giver.
To know which breasts are lovely
From the two pairs looking alike,
I must know whose breasts they are.
The breasts owe their value to their face.
31.01.2010
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Small breasts
Small breasts are as much an asset; be proud.
The insecure only will seek large breasts.
Men of valour go for the handy ones.
Small breasts are an asset that humbles men.
21.06.2006
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Women are always complaining about men's fascination with breasts. But what if men were absolutely indifferent to breasts? What would women do then with these things that serve one function once or twice in a lifetime, and the rest of the time are just in the way?
quote by Jonathan Carroll
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
La lyra es, telemann, suite
You were wearing a polka dot one piece
Got your pic
From that white sand beach
You look smaller this time
The sadness is not visible
On your face smiling at the
Digital camera
Got your pic
My own pick
Is the sound of the lyre
On polka dot
On a polka dot one piece
Hiding the bruises
In your breasts
There is really no sense
There is really no sense
White sand as hideaway
A smiling face
And a piece of polka dot
Bikini
Can be more accurately revealing
The bruises
On your hips
The bruises
On your breasts
Junk him you pride a kind of your own story
I never believe you, you make no sense to me.
Polka dots, white sand and bruises do not
A true picture make, my dear.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
To Feel Good
Biceps of man and triceps of women
Captivate attentions of each other.
Shoulders of man and breasts of woman
Arrest attentions of each other.
Instant attraction is a must to one
To feel good in a moving circle.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Liberation of female sex.
You cannot grow taller than you are.
But you can be leaner than you are.
Dwarf is not the sign of beauty.
Be thin to look taller.
Surging breasts and broad hip are outdated.
Tiny breasts and narrow frame are the order of the day.
29.05.2001, Berhampur
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Love’s base alike.
What is pink? Her cheek’s.
What is White? Her teeth.
What is fountain? Her breasts.
A child refers them to mother
And a lad, to his beloved.
A metamorphosis of love.
13.01.2001, pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Beauty is described
She is a beauty
Whose mouth is as wide as a python’s,
Whose nose is as sharp as a sparrow’s
Whose neck is long as a peacock’s
Whose mane is as dense as a lion’s
Whose hip is as broad as a duck’s
And whose legs are as tall as a crane’s,
What about her breasts?
Any shape; breasts themselves are beauty
For men, who’d been denied enough feeding.
01.12.2007
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Queen Mother
Oh my 'Queen Mother',
How sweet are your breasts as i do see them?
For they are swollen up with love and,
Very attractive for the eyes and the hands to touch them;
But i am the one who want to love you the more!
I fell once and i have learnt my lessons well,
So stop crying and let me care for you;
Because the rainbow had already heard your message of love!
And i will do the rest if you just sleep on my laps.
Your breasts are swollen up and very succulent!
And you are now a matured lady and,
I will press very close to the walls of your love;
For what is sweet are in your breasts and,
What is loveable are on your lips.
I will hold you tight all night long my 'Queen Mother';
For the night is cold i want your sweet love.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Dreaming The Breasts
Mother,
strange goddess face
above my milk home,
that delicate asylum,
I ate you up.
All my need took
you down like a meal.
What you gave
I remember in a dream:
the freckled arms binding me,
the laugh somewhere over my woolly hat,
the blood fingers tying my shoe,
the breasts hanging like two bats
and then darting at me,
bending me down.
The breasts I knew at midnight
beat like the sea in me now.
Mother, I put bees in my mouth
to keep from eating
yet it did no good.
In the end they cut off your breasts
and milk poured from them
into the surgeon's hand
and he embraced them.
I took them from him
and planted them.
I have put a padlock
on you, Mother, dear dead human,
so that your great bells,
those dear white ponies,
can go galloping, galloping,
wherever you are.
poem by Anne Sexton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Breasts and bottoms look boringly alike. Faces, though, can be quite different and a damn sight more interesting!
quote by Lee Remick
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
His Mother's Best Friend
O’Brien fancied his mother’s best friend,
Mrs O’Hara, she with the daughter
Who showed her panties to boys for sixpence.
How are you, Micheal? She asked, as she sat
With legs crossed in the kitchen between sips
Of milky sweet tea. I’m fine, he replied,
Studying her legs, trying to pursue
With his greedy eyes, the length of her thighs.
How old are you now? Her soft voice inquired.
Fourteen, he replied. He lifted his sight
To her weighty breasts, picturing his head
Wedged tightly between. Don’t sit their gawping,
Go get to your play, his plump mother said.
He took a last look, trying to capture
Mrs O’ Hara with her legs and breasts
And what lay beneath, for his nightly dreams
In his sweaty bed, be they wet or dry,
And gave her a smile and wink of his eye.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Monte Carlo
Monte Carlo,
I need to hold your breasts and get the feelings of love;
Monte Carlo,
I need to brush your breasts along my hairy chest of mine;
Monte Carlo,
I want to feel your love all day long;
Because the law is not only laid down for a righteous person,
But also for lairs and for perjurers.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
My Eyes Were On Your Tomatoes
I now am missing kissing.
And that's since I've gotten older...
With time to think of this,
Especially when it's cold outside...
And I'm inside with wishes.
Wanting more to snuggle close.
And I connect that to being older.
Oh how I like to dance.
And when I dance I hear the jokes.
The young folks laugh and the old ones sit.
As I dance on the floor,
Not giving a...
Well,
Not much thought of it!
And when I invite 'anyone',
To do a 'swing' with me...
I refer to the dance.
But there's a hush that is silent.
And the floor is cleared,
Instantly.
'You dance too dirty old man.'
Excuse me?
What on Earth are you thinking about?
I now am missing kissing.
And that's since I've gotten older...
With time to think of this,
Especially when it's cold outside...
And I'm inside with wishes.
Wanting more to snuggle close.
And I connect that to being older.
Even at the grocery store,
I'm careful of the questions I ask.
I try to stay focused...
With other things on my mind.
Are those breasts fresh?
'I beg your pardon? '
Those breasts you've selected,
And packed in your bag.
Those chicken breasts,
Are they fresh?
'Oh?
I suppose they are.
Everything I've got is fresh.'
Well that's a relief.
Do you mind if I touch them?
I haven't seen them look that good,
In quite some time.
'My breasts? '
Oh no, no, no.
I'm sorry.
My eyes were on your tomatoes.
'You don't shop too often do you? '
Not at this time of the day.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
for Juvy...
Juvy is a thirsty woman
she is thirty, a widow for three years now
her husband died on a car accident
leaving her with
a daughter
tonight she cannot sleep
her breasts are making fire
she goes out of the house
and finds the brook nearby outside the fence
of her house
when she gets there
it is cold and dark but her breasts are glowing like cinders
she undresses herself
and goes into the water
her breasts are playful on the ripples of the water
she goes deeper
and dives
opens her eyes looking for happiness
she opens her mouth
drinks the fresh water of the brook
she is thirsty and wants to drink
everything
satisfied for now
she goes out of the water
dresses herself again
under the moon
she goes home
opens the door of her room
and with her hair still wait
she lays in bed and begins to sleep
the picture of her husband
is no longer
on top of the table
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Nude as such is flat
But for hidden breasts,
Cleavage fails to attack.
But for slipping Pallu
Her chest is nonchalant.
But for low hip bottom,
Belly fails to rebel.
But for lifting skirt,
Thighs are mere slaves.
But for low cut blouse,
Back is barren.
Nude as such is flat.
19.12.2001, pakd
[pallu = the end portion of saree thrown over the left shoulder, hiding the breasts, contour]
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Beauty has no standard
Plump cheeks,
Surging breasts,
Massive buttocks
Fleshy thighs.
It is epic beauty.
Firm cheeks,
Standing breasts,
Bonny buttocks,
Slender thighs,
It is modern beauty.
Beauty reforms according to fashion.
26.04.2002, pkd
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!