I owe all to her
I owe, I owe all to my stirring, blushing lady;
To her tacit eyes, to her lips that savour of thirst;
Her palm, whose sweat my hand lowered to wipe;
Her lean arms, that are captive of my lorn eyes;
Her sturdy and slender waist promising me a nest;
Her love borne thought nudging its way to my path.
I heave in my soul when she hides her warmth.
If at all I live, it is for her, by her and due to her.
She is not the cause of my birth but can be for my death.
01.01.2001, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Eyeless is lifeless.
Love at first sight takes place by eyes.
Child communicates with mother merely by eyes.
Between lovers, between couples,
Warmth and cold often waft through eyes.
You woo a girl by her eyes.
Tacit look of Rosalind made Orlando
Conquer the wrestler, Charles.
Lips can talk but eyes only reach.
27.05.2001, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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A woman is ambiguous
He chances to set his eyes upon her chest
As she with her pallu hides her bust.
Is her act to hire his eyes still longer
Or to blur his eyes away from her nest?
07.01.2001, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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For you woman I shall not die
For you woman I shall not die
You woman of notorious name and high fame
Only foolish men with piercing eyes you may slay
But I and they are not the same
Why should I expire
for your eyes' fire
Ha slender waist? So what?
And for your swanlike limbs? I say tat
But I run from your round breast
the fresh skin, the crimson checks
hair like a waterfall, long and rich
Indeed, Indeed I shall hold
through sturdy high walls and wide moat
Please God! Not me for any such
yet the golden hair my eyes enthralled
the forehead thin, the gracious ears
the rounded heel, the languid tone
Oh fools! For fools alone find death from these
Mercy, your sharp wit, your perfect palm
The chaste mien, the white neck,
the brown eyes, your beautiful soul
has my heart as its goal
You graceful woman as a swan
wise man, while still wise, run
Or else plea to guardian God:
Save me or stab me before I succumb
Little palm? A White neck? or a bright eyes?
I shall not die for thee
Oh God let it not be me
copy rights 2010
Eyes of Death
I looked into your eyes
Your Eyes of Death
I killed for those eyes to look into mine
Into my eyes of pain and guilt
I dared to walk into your path
I dared to take your hand into mine
And I dared to tell you my darkest secret
I stared into your Eyes of Death
And I lost my soul to them
When I looked into your Eyes of Death.
To this day, I am still dead
To this day, I can no longer live in the mortal world
To this day, we shall not die of fire, water, or love,
But of our Eyes of Death that rein our souls
I stare into your Eyes of Death and I cringe at the sight
I look into your Eyes of Death and I am no longer alive
I looked into your Eyes of Death
And I died again, before I could run from them
For I cannot stand to be around you to this very day again
I looked into your eyes
Your Eyes…of Death
poem by Jade DragonHeart
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To be lean is beauty.
The thin long plait over long nape,
The long jaw matching with low chin,
The lean arms in sleeveless blouse,
The cylindrical waist baring navel,
How beautifully you are lank!
No matter you have no breasts to name.
No matter I have seen your face
In a stone through distance only.
The lean are my favorite.
I was born of fatty mother.
18.03.2001, Pmdi
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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Tz'u No. 3
To the tune "Red Lips"
Tired of swinging
indolent
I rise with a slender hand
put right
my hair
the dew thick
on frail blossoms
sweat seeping through
my thin robe
and seeing
my friend come
stockings torn
gold hairpins askew
I walk over
blushing
lean against the door
turn my head
grasp the dark green plums
and smell them.
poem by Li Ching Chao
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The heart travels safe
Dear Lady! Give me your heart,
Or, at least, a part. Don’t be tart.
Lend me your palm, not the red lips.
Enough, it can give me much kicks.
You may like reaching my two arms
So as, from the cold, to feel warm.
Hapless soul I’m; helpless you are.
See. Lending heart is risk-free.
Dear Lady! Give me your heart.
To win over it’s my apple cart.
Others’ notice can be at naught.
Without fear can sail your heart.
I do crave you; it is a fact.
You can’t desist, nor can accept.
It is safe to lend me your heart,
If not hand, the stake being least.
28.12.2000, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Lust has no eyes
To my eyes, mind, heart and soul,
Her nose, a masculine one, is tormenting;
Her lips, uneven, are devastating;
Her lock, a thin plait, is over whelming;
Her breasts, just a purse, are hurling;
Her fingers, un-manicured, are gambling;
Her bottom, not a convex, is stirring.
No word, she uttered to please,
Nor any deed conspicuous either.
Calls answered but not one made.
Letters received but not one sent.
Yet so much passion in her is visible.
Yet so much lust from her is discerned.
She is not a beauty, still is opium.
She is not feeding, still sates.
She stands as a proof that
It is not woman’s beauty one is after.
20.01.2001, Pmdi [repitation
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Tantalizing
I have seen that her eyes are sharp.
Her eyes are sharp and attentive
But still I dare not encounter them.
They hold my head captive.
I have seen that her nose is stern.
Her nose is stern and aiming
But still that nose I cannot pinch.
It torments my eyes, straining.
I found that her lips are of flesh.
Her lips are fleshy and amorous
But still the very lips I cannot caress.
They render my lips nervous.
I like her face being slim and slender.
Her face is slim and passionate
But still I cannot claim that of her.
It keeps my brain desolate.
I wonder how nimble her limbs are.
Her limbs are nimble and at hand
But still to touch them I don’t dare.
They set my belly to grind.
I understand that her vibes is strong.
Her vibes is strong and resonant
But still me she chose to tantalize.
She left my soul poignant.
Total reticence from her
Might have been better
Rather than raising hope
And then belying it.
05.05.99
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Kisses And Cuddles!
Kisses and cuddles, yes, that's what you're worth!
And these you've received from the day of your birth!
Paradise started when life was received,
Preceding the moment that you ever breathed!
No man is an island, exempt from your charms!
Or the touch of your hand or embraced in your arms,
Or caressed with the fingers of fate at its best...
Awaiting the honour of one truly blessed.
Two lips left to reckon, and lowered eyes, too...
My heart seeks to beckon the nearness of you...
For what is the whole world itself worth to me
If true love is distant and never to be?
Yet hope springs eternal, it ever was so...
You are the sweetheart my heart yearns to know...
Take away riches, the clothes off my back,
And yet if you loved me, then nothing I'd lack.
Your love is most precious, most gracious of all...
Your kisses are luscious and sensuous to recall...
Forgive me for falling in love with your face,
Your body, your beauty, your skin soft as lace,
Your ideals as noble as God would decree,
Your patience and kindness and integrity.
And if dreams are the only highway to love
Then there I will love you as pure as a dove.
Like an angel who's known you and cherished your soul,
Who wishes your blessing and to at last see you're whole,
Who prays for the future when struggles are done
And Man's inner natures combine into one...
Kisses and cuddles, yes, that's what you're worth!
And these you've received from the day of your birth!
Paradise started when life was received,
Preceding the moment that you ever breathed!
No man is an island, exempt from your charms!
Or the touch of your hand or embraced in your arms,
Or caressed with the fingers of fate at its best...
Awaiting the honour of one truly blessed.
Two lips left to reckon, and lowered eyes, too...
My heart seeks to beckon the nearness of you...
For what is the whole world itself worth to me
If true love is distant and never to be?
Yet hope springs eternal, it ever was so...
Yes, you are the sweetheart my heart yearns to know...
poem by Denis Martindale
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True drive hardly dies
When we were under a roof,
We spoke by eyes, lips dumb.
Now away, unseen each other,
We see by voice, eyes blind.
Afar, I see you by your words
Like a blind sees by his limbs.
30.04.2001, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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You have no set in my thought
.
The Sun is set;
It slips out of my thought.
The Moon is set;
It slips out of my thought.
When you exited
You stay put in my thought.
When I hear some
By your name, you’re my thought.
You have not set
In my memory and thoughts.
You are not set
To my fervour and thoughts.
When I see some
As lean, you come to my thought.
When some one is
Coy, you strike my thought.
You cannot set
Though there is twilight.
I cannot let
You slip out of my concept.
For you have met
All needs of my amorous thought.
27.04.2001, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Lust is inborn
As a lad I set my eyes upon girls
With radiant faces. For a kiss?
As a youth I cast my eyes on damsels,
Who had robust busts. For a grab?
In my manhood, I was excited
By women with sturdy waist. For a bind?
Growing old, still I was drawn to their
Smartness and maturity. For a rest?
Even in my senescence, women matter
By vision, voice and words. For a diffusion?
Birth to death, ever lust persists with the man
To feed on women on many phases.
23.07097
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Song and Music
O leave your hand where it lies cool
Upon the eyes whose lids are hot:
Its rosy shade is bountiful
Of silence, and assuages thought.
O lay your lips against your hand
And let me feel your breath through it,
While through the sense your song shall fit
The soul to understand.
The music lives upon my brain
Between your hands within mine eyes;
It stirs your lifted throat like pain,
An aching pulse of melodies.
Lean nearer, let the music pause:
The soul may better understand
Your music, shadowed in your hand
Now while the song withdraws.
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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In Mr Atkinson's Room
You saw Judy on the south wing
of the old folks nursing home
near to Mr Atkinson's room
carrying towels in her arms
I need to speak to you
you said
what about?
she asked
you playfully bundled her
into Bob Atkinson's room
(he was either
in the lounge
or out down town
hobbling along
for small items of shopping
or at the second-hand
book shop looking
for boy's annuals
of yesteryear
which he read
from cover to cover
before cutting out
the pictures
and sticking them
in albums)
what are you doing?
she said
what if Bob comes in?
he won't
he's out
you said
but what if he does?
she whispered
well unless I was rogering you
to kingdom come
I don't think he'd mind
you said
pressing her 5'5'' body
against the door
and looking into her
grey blue eyes
she gazed
into your eyes
and said
what do you need
to talk to me about?
I think I'm in love with you
you said
she sighed
that's the umpteen time
you've told me that
she said
she dropped the towels
on Bob's bed
and put her arms
around your waist
and drew you closer
you moved your left hand
around her back
and your right hand
on her buttocks
and said
that's because it's
umpteen times worse
or better depending
how you look at it
she kissed you on the lips
and you sensed
her tongue touch yours
her eyes closed
and you closed yours
the room becoming
a far away place
her perfume blending
into the air about you
the ticktock of Bob's
old clock on the bedside table
like some metronome
setting the pace
as if it was all part
of some song or some
deep aspect
of a Bruckner symphony
she pushed you away
and said
it's nearly break time
and people will wonder
why we're not there
and put one
and one together
ok
you said
removing your hand
from her butt
the warmth still there
her eyes still captured
in your inner self
thank you
for the Chagall postcard
I've put it on
my bedside table
along with that photo
you gave me of you
got to go
she said
and opened the door
and walked off
down the passage
you looked around
Bob's room
at the ticking clock
and the blue
candlewick cover
and the picture
of some boy
cut out of some
old annual
chasing a dog
over a field
and Judy's lips
and tongue
seemed still
to be there
in your mouth
and her hand enfolding
your waist and back
and Peter in the pants
going all slack.
poem by Terry Collett
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GOD's Love
Have you ever seen a sample?
A sample of God’s love?
Have I, I would say I’m sure.
T’was a won’drous sight.
A lady of many years,
spied a child of hardly any.
Wandering older eyes,
Met wondering younger eyes.
Their eyes brightly shined,
as if captive stars.
In place of any words,
two smiles warmed the air.
This lady of many years,
with open arms beckoned.
Sans hesitation,
eagerly, the child reached out.
In amazement we watched,
the child’s parents and I.
As this gentle lady cradled,
a bundle of love to her breast.
An inspiring sight it was,
together so content.
The child of hardly any,
and the lady, of many years.
What magic passed between them.
The lady of so many and the child,
of hardly any years.
I’m unable to explain.
My only reply if asked,
I was privileged to see.
A sample, oh so seldom seen.
A sample of, GOD’s love
11DEC94
poem by Kurt Hearth
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Tallness is far fetching beauty.
Your slanting lower jaw
Elongates your oval head.
Your tightly braided hair
Elevates your long nape.
Your sleeveless blouse
Lengthens the length of arm.
Your low hip worn saree
High lights your slimness of waist.
You are still longer.
You are still taller.
Slim and slender as you are
Fair and lovely you appear,
Though you gave me poses
From a hundred yards away.
25.05.2001, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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All That Love Asks
All that I ask, 'says Love, 'is just to stand
And gaze, unchided, deep in thy dear eyes;
For in their depths lies largest Paradise.
Yet, if perchance one pressure of thy hand
Be granted me, then joy I thought complete
Were still more sweet.
'All that I ask, ' says Love, 'all that I ask,
Is just thy hand clasp. Could I brush thy cheek
As zephyrs brush a rose leaf, words are weak
To tell the bliss in which my soul would bask.
There is no language but would desecrate
A joy so great.
'All that I ask, is just one tender touch
Of that soft cheek. Thy pulsing palm in mine,
Thy dark eyes lifted in a trust divine
And those curled lips that tempt me overmuch
Turned where I may not seize the supreme bliss
Of one mad kiss.
'All that I ask, ' says Love, 'of life, of death,
Or of high heaven itself, is just to stand,
Glance melting into glance, hand twined in hand,
The while I drink the nectar of thy breath,
In one sweet kiss, but one, of all thy store,
I ask no more.'
'All that I ask'-nay, self-deceiving Love,
Reverse thy phrase, so thus the words may fall,
In place of 'all I ask, ' say, 'I ask all, '
All that pertains to earth or soars above,
All that thou wert, art, will be, body, soul,
Love asks the whole.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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A Portrait
HER glance is equable, serene;
She looks at life with level brow;
She strides through circumstance—a queen!
To compromise she cannot bow—
Even to love she will not lean!
Not hers the head that, like a flower,
Trembles upon a swaying stem;
Her neck is firm-curved as a tower,
And on her brow for diadem
Shine steadfastness and peace and power.
She wills no limits to her scope;
Her head imperiously borne
Above her gradual bosom's slope;
Her chin a dainty-moulded scorn,
Her eyes a deep, untarnished hope.
By gusts of passion undistressed,
She spurs not on a panting pulse;
Throned in her womanhood, at rest,
No ripples of her moods convulse
The tidal swayings of her breast.
She is no fevered Sex to flush—
A woman-weakness that should yield,
A fruit for love to clench and crush,
A fragile warmth that arms should shield,
A whisper that a kiss should hush!
Yet with the tears her soul has shed
Her innocence is seared within;
Her heart is not a white thing dead:
She lifted dauntless eyes to Sin,
And from her splendid frown he fled!
But when love breathless to her trips
And joy within her laughs elate,
Her soul to no surrender slips—
She meets the kiss that crowns her mate
With vivid eyes and virile lips!
poem by Arthur Henry Adams
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