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
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Supremacy is the beauty
Chubby lips, plump cheeks, massive breasts, fleshy buttocks,
Blunt nose, hairy skin, coarse hair and black eyes
Are the features the Dravidians inherited from the Negros.
Thin lips, flat cheeks, rounded breasts, slated buttocks,
Long nose, pale skin, silky hair and brown eyes
Are the features Aryan inherited from the White race.
Aryans are held beautiful by their cultural supremacy.
30.11.2000, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The lasting beauty.
The lasting beauty lies
not in surging breasts, chubby cheeks,
cloudy hair, fair skin and ornaments.
It lies in one’s aura and personality.
Often the common are sexy.
12.02.2001, pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Marks for beauty
Dense hair itself stands for beauty.
The fair skin or massive breasts do.
A distinct jaw too stands out for beauty.
Energy or wit will add it.
Not to have all to be a beauty.
30.04.2003
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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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
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Grammar of beauty reverses
Wide eyes, wide cheeks,
Thick lips, thick bosom,
Broad hip and plump thy
Of women were alluring then.
Thin eyes, thin cheeks,
Slim limbs, slim breasts,
Slender hip and slender thy
Of women are alluring now.
Man was to lean on her.
Now he is to hold her.
31.12.2000, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Beauty, Beauty
Beauty, beauty in the light. Beauty, Beauty falling through. How sweet must beauty, beauty be. Beauty, beauty how it's happy. Beauty, beauty in the sky and in the grass. Beauty, beauty in the trees. Beauty, beauty on the ground. Beauty, beauty crawling on the ground. Beauty, beauty always climbing. Beauty, beauty that we are sirrounded by.
poem by Shania K. Younce
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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
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102
beauty
i agree what you say about inner beauty
the windows of your soul
through your eyes
to the secret chambers of your heart
holiness and peace
glow like burning fire in your head
as you evoke your presence
forgive me, but i am more tempted
as usual
to the external
the flesh that wraps your bones
the curves that travel around your body
the warmth of your arms
the softness of your touch
your lips
and breasts your thighs and groins
i see them more now as i kiss you
i am young. so young to see to want these all.
i do not bother about your soul
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Woman And God
You are in the up
You are in the down
You are from south
You are from north
You are from west
You are from east
You are from every where.
I love your all sides
Beauty of your front
Beauty of your back
Beauty of your hips
Beauty of your lips
The heaven God created
Between your thighs
You are the miracle of God
You are the mystic of God
I love you
Because I love God
28/11/09
poem by Devil Poet
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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
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The Beauty Of A Poem
The beauty of a poem
The beauty of music
The beauty of light
The beauty of life
The beauty which makes us want to live life more
The beauty which pains us inside
The beauty in longing.
The beauty we come upon by surprise
The beauty of the day and the beauty of the night
The beauty we all have inside us
The beauty we can see and feel and never explain
The beauty that lifts us up
The beauty that makes us want to live more
The beauty that makes us reach out to God
The beauty we want to thank God for
The beauty of lilacs
The beauty of autumn leaves
The beauty of the people we love
The beauty that pervades life
The beauty that turns away from us
And will not let us be a part of it
The beauty we hold on to fragilely
As a driven leaf
The beauty the beauty the beauty
Oh life oh God of goodness oh death
The beauty we can never see
And the Beauty within us all
Oh God
The Beauty in us and Beyond us all.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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My Beauty Hides
my beauty hides behind walls and lies.
she calls out but quites as the blade presses against my thighs.
my beauty hides behind mistakes and tears.
she smiles and pretends but she cant awake from her worst fears.
my beauty hides behind regret and envy.
she screams and claws because she wishes she was anyone but me.
my beauty hides behind broekn promisesand never.
doesnt she know i will always hide her forever?
my beauty hides behind never ending darkness and blame.
time flies but she wont ever be the same.
my beauty hides behind long shirts and tired eyes.
she use to be able to fly high and touch the skies.
but now my beauty hides..
poem by Julie Lopez
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What is beauty?
Flatten cheeks, sunken breasts,
Thin plait, muscle-less waist,
Neither modern, nor of fashion in posture,
None of which is distinct for beauty.
With them she stirs me rather than any.
No one is better than she to me.
Coyness, swiftness and smartness
And her formidable clan are her assets.
Uneven lips, crowded little teeth,
Deep seated eyes, manly nose:
Everything to me is voluptuous.
None endeared as she did;
None I endeared as much;
None she had maddened that much;
None she is fonder of than me.
Saturday and Sunday are black days
As we miss the presence of the
Other, and I curse all holidays.
Ethical or not, I am at her feet;
She revived in me my youth
And who herself retained her youth.
06.04.99, Plakkad
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Plastic
She was a natural beauty
until they enhanced her,
put plastic in her,
fillers and tucks.
Now her lips are numb,
her breasts, lumpy,
her cheeks
puffy.
She was a pretty child,
now she's damaged,
doesn't go out
hides in the shadows.
poem by Ruth Walters
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Beauty Has No Grammar
Egg shaped face, not moon like one,
Cropped hair, not a long plaited one,
Plain neck and face, not ornamented,
Tiny breasts, not surging ones,
And casual wears adorn modern girls.
Concept of beauty has no grammar.
01.08.2001
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Good Friday and More
Good Friday. Dark purple over
All the statues. Grimstock stares
At windows coloured glass light
Shines through. Kim Keltis on his
Right dressed in black mind in prayer
Standing there. Crucified on a brass
Crucifix a Christ hangs the eyes
Closed arms stretched out the hands
Nailed. Grimstock's eyes lower down
To the slim waist of Kim and lets
Eyes move over firm buttocks fleshy
Thighs her dark dress caressing.
Unaware of his eyes her eyes closed
Holds to prayer talks to God confident
God is there not knowing Grimstock's
Stare. Grimstock's eyes like feelers
Reach and touch suck and feed in mind's
Eye greedily the prayer book in his hands
Clutched tightly becomes part of the girl's
Fleshy thighs becomes this becomes that
His dark eyes moving up rest upon her
Brushed hair. Kim standing still in prayer
Not aware Grimstock's there with finger
From forehead to her breast from shoulder
To shoulder makes soft sign of the cross
Imagines her own sweet Crucified hangs
For her in pain there Sweet Jesus she mutters
Like eased breath. Grimstock dreams she's
Undressed beside him in his bed making
Love passionate utterings sexual soft touches.
Kim opens her dark eyes sees Grimstock's
Greedy stare travelling over her standing
There his rough eyes like fingers touching
Her ravishing her soft flesh raping her in his
Mind and knowing that deep down that this
Man pushes hard onto her Jesus' thorny crown.
poem by Terry Collett
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Le Testament: Les Regrets De La Belle Heaulmière
By chance, I heard the belle complain,
The one we called the Armouress,
Longing to be a girl again,
Talking like this, more or less:
‘Oh, old age, proud in wickedness,
You've battered me so, and why?
Who cares, who, for my distress,
Or whether at all your blows I die?
You've stolen away that great power
My beauty ordained for me
Over priests and clerks, my hour,
When never a man I'd see
Would fail to offer his all in fee,
Whatever remorse he'd later show,
But what was abandoned readily,
Beggars now scorn to know.
Many a man I then refused -
Which wasn't wise of me, no jest -
For love of a boy, cunning too,
To whom I gave all my largesse.
I feigned to him unwillingness,
But, by my soul, I loved him bad.
What he showed was his roughness,
Loving me only for what I had.
He could drag me through the dirt,
Trample me underfoot, I'd love him,
Break my back, whatever's worse,
If only he'd ask for a kiss again,
I'd soon forget then every pain.
A glutton, full of what he could win,
He'd embrace me - with him I've lain.
What's he left me? Shame and sin.
Now he's dead, these thirty years:
And I live on, old, and grey.
When I think of those times, with tears,
What I was, what I am today,
View myself naked: turn at bay,
Seeing what I am no longer,
Poor, dry, meagre, worn away,
I almost forget myself in anger.
Where's my smooth brow gone:
My arching lashes, yellow hair,
Wide-eyed glances, pretty ones,
That took in the cleverest there:
Nose not too big or small: a pair
Of delicate little ears, the chin
Dimpled: a face oval and fair,
Lovely lips with crimson skin?
The fine slender shoulder-blades:
The long arms, with tapering hands:
My small breasts: the hips well made
Full and firm, and sweetly planned,
All Love's tournaments to withstand:
The broad flanks: the nest of hair,
With plump thighs firmly spanned,
Inside its little garden there?
Now wrinkled forehead, hair gone grey:
Sparse eyelashes: eyes so dim,
That laughed and flashed once every way,
And reeled their roaming victims in:
Nose bent from beauty, ears thin,
Hanging down like moss, a face,
Pallid, dead and bleak, the chin
Furrowed, a skinny-lipped disgrace.
This is the end of human beauty:
Shrivelled arms, hands warped like feet:
The shoulders hunched up utterly:
Breasts….what? In full retreat,
Same with the hips, as with the teats:
Little nest, hah! See the thighs,
Not thighs, thighbones, poor man's meat,
Blotched like sausages, and dried.
That's how the bon temps we regret
Among us, poor old idiots,
Squatting on our haunches, set
All in a heap like woollen lots
Round a hemp fire men forgot,
Soon kindled, and soon dust,
Once so lovely, that cocotte…
So it goes for all of us.
poem by François Villon
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What's In Your Heart
True beauty is in the way she laughs
True beauty is in her eyes
True beauty is how she acts
True beauty is inside
True beauty is unseen
True beauty is only felt
True beauty is not mean
True beauty is herself
True beauty can't be cruel
True beauty is bare
True beauty lies within you
True beauty is always there
True Beauty can't be covered with makeup
True beauty means true love
True beauty can't be baked up
True beauty is the flight of a dove
True beauty has no flaws
For True beauty is all that matters after all
poem by Ricky Baker
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A Never Ending Kind Of Intimate Thing
Your white body lies like a continent
with breasts as hillocks, slender thighs
and the valleys somewhere in between
while tiny shadows fall in the afternoon.
I bury myself with great pleasure in you,
feel the warmth of your blazing volcano,
reach up to the centre core of my existence
and each and every glance in your bright eyes
draws me deeper, draws us still closer together
and the lost of self, where nature flees from me
there is a tender kind of peace at twilight
while we love each other past all feelings.
There is peace in the separation that comes later,
the separation of skin, of thighs of genitalia
but still your gaze were burning into my very soul
and I love you; love every part of your body,
with the smell of love like fresh rain around us
rising from the rose of your tender hot pubis,
with nipples still somewhat hardened aroused
on your soft firm breast that are fragile to touch.
Boundless desire flames again and again,
while your beauty bringing sheer joy,
bringing a kind of very deep tranquillity,
as if the thirst, the yearning for each other
is a never ending kind of intimate thing,
that always exists, with a kind of grace,
that has an infinite kind of ache for fulfilment
a kind of indescribable joy that comes with bliss.
poem by Gert Strydom
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God is beauty
The beauty of a lady
Spreading love on Internet
The beauty of the first kiss
On the corner of a dark room
The beauty of a crow
Pecking the food into grasses
The beauty of the skins
The beauty of the smile
Of a pretty girl
The beauty of the morning light
The beauty of a queer feeling
Under the shadow of a tree
The beauty of the sparrows
Bathing in the pond
The beauty of the unknowns
The beauty of forgiveness
The beauty of solitude
At a goodbye party
The beauty of a sinking heart
Driving on a steep road
The beauty of a lady
Walking alone
In the park
The beauty of the laughter of a child
The beauty of being loved
The beauty of the pat unexpected
On our shoulder
Saying I am here beside you
The beauty of making love
Early in the morning!
The beauty of the beauty
The beauty of God
The beauty of Jesus
The beauty of Zoroaster
The beauty of Buddha
The beauty of myths
The beauty of goddess
The beauty of you and I!
poem by Framarz Bagheri
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