Reclining Nude
How fruitful the rounded limbs of the reclining nude
Soft contours long to be caressed by the eye
In all feminine holds robust strength
Fragility insults the perception of woman.
In this form sensual solidity and sweetened slopes of eb and flow
A womb of seeds transcribes life's intriguing form
Breasts propped, from which warm heart of desire appears to beat
Thighs that lay unified with the gravity of the Mother Earth.
poem by Stevie Taite
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The Grenadain Woman
Yes me woman, from my womb life was borne
Yes me woman, the young ones prune by my hands
Yes me woman, with the coves that sways with the redeem of the heart beat, tup-tup, tup-tup, tup-tup, tup-tup
Yes me woman, with beauty unimaginable, soft to the touch
yes me woman, with the voice of a heavenly being, soft, gentle, comforting, encouraging
Yes me woman, determine to succeed with the strength from above
Yes me woman, the days have gone, long gone for her to depend on the strength of another man
Yes me woman, her time has come for the world to see her for who she really is
Yes me woman, creative, innovative, confident, intelligent, loving, kindhearted
Yes me woman, mother, wife, daughter, sister, friend, lover
Yes me woman, The Grenadian woman.
poem by Curliann Mark
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A painter
A painter on study
sketched two nudes
In canvass, a nude
Man & woman
The man in hard
Solid lines his torso
His thighs his legs
Well chiseled by
The dark colors
Of his brush, and
The woman in
Smooth lines, her
Fragile hands, her
Soft breasts, her
Thin lines in light
Feminine colors,
He so admired
His nude creations,
And he stared
At the magic
He just painted,
And tired for
Hours, he just
Blinked a while
Wanting a little
Slip, he faltered,
He blinked and
Winked for a second,
Surprised, only to
Find out that the two
Are suddenly missing
not looking for food
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Love Sensual Women
I love sensual women and not passionate ones. A passionate woman closes her eyes, moans and shouts and the enjoyment of a passionate woman is blind.
A passionate woman writhes about, grabs you with her hands without looking where, clasps you, kisses you, even bites you and hurries to reach her climax as soon as she can. She has no time to display her sexual organs, no time to examine, touch with the hand and kiss your sexual organs, she is in such a hurry to slake her passion. Having slaked her passion, the passionate woman will fall asleep. The sexual organs of a passionate woman are dry. A passionate woman is always in some way or another mannish.
The sensual woman is always feminine.
Her contours are rounded and abundant.
The sensual woman rarely reaches a blind passion. She savours sexual enjoyment.
The sensual woman is always a woman and even in an unaroused state her sexual organs are moist. She has to wear a bandage on her sexual organs, so as not to soak them with moisture.
When she takes the bandage off in the evening, the bandage is so wet that it can be squeezed out.
Thanks to such an abundance of juices, the sexual organs of a sensual woman give off a slight, pleasant smell which increases strongly when the sensual woman is aroused. Then the juice from her sexual organs is secreted in a syrupy stream.
A sensual woman likes you to examine her sexual organs.
poem by Daniil Ivanovich Kharms
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Oh! Woman, Know yourself!
oh my dear woman.... In my life I have seen many
forms of you.... you are the part of infinite and
another part is man... You are assigned with duty to
propagate generations and you
are mother earth and provide
fertile land for propagation of
life! You are soft, sensual and you are
the strength of man
And you have the strength to
make man stand or fall! You can be as pure as snow of
mountains white.. You are like ocean of love where
life rise and fall! You are the one who can guide
all, mend all and care all! You are always sharp and you are
the knowledge and you are the
gauge of foolishness of man! You make the home where a
man can see your skill of
converting hell into heaven...
You can make a man a king, with
your cool words from smiling lips
and shining eyes even when he has no kingdome,
no throne, has workout purse in
torn out his pocket! You are the one who can induce
and mesmerize the man and
make yourself his goddess
dwelling in his heart and him in
your heart You are the one can bear the
fruit, care the fruit!
And you are the fruit of man's
luck! Most able you are in reform of
mother,
And in her absence, sister is not
less!
He is strong only when he has
you as his prefix S for strength of he
S for Stamina of he,
S for Shield of he and
S for smile of he! You are the Goddess when you
are selfless
and you are the Durga when you
are protector! You are Sharada when you are
tearcher,
you are Ganga when you flow
your love.. You are the Sindhu when you
nurture the culture! You are the Earth when you
support and
you are the Goddess when you
forgive with your smiling face! You are the instructor and
distructor of ignorance! You are Goddess kali when you
decide to teach lesson You are civilization and you are
the instructor and you are the
distructor! And always you are lovable like
mother, the most charming and
loved form in the Universe!
You are not for sale or rental and
you are the goddess in the
temple of men's heart!
poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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Room For The Life
Hey there, you lady in tears,
Do you think that they care if theyre real, woman?
They just take it as part of the deal.
Lost in your men and the games you play.
Trying to prove that youre better, woman.
But you neednt get heavy with them.
Like it or not, we were built tough,
Because were woman.
No, we never die for long,
While weve got that little life
To live for, where its hid inside.
No, we never die for long,
Oh! woman, two in one,
Theres room for a life in your womb, woman,
Inside of you can be two, woman,
Theres room for a life in your womb, woman,
Mama woman, aha!
Night after night in the quiet house,
Plaiting her hair by the fire, woman,
With no lover to free her desire,
How long do you think she can stick it out?
How long do you think before shell go out, woman?
Hey! get up on your feet and go get it, now.
Like it or not, we keep bouncing back,
Because were woman.
No, we never die for long,
While weve got that little life
To live for, where its hid inside.
Oh! woman, two in one,
Theres room for a life in your womb, woman,
Inside of you can be two, woman,
Theres room for a life in your womb, woman,
Mama woman, aha!
A-mama-woma-mama-woman-aha!
A-mama-woma-mama-woman-aha!
Oh, mama-woman, two-in-a-one, aha!
Oh, two in one, aha!
Oh, woman! woman! woman! woman!
Theres room for a life in your womb!
Theres room for a life in your womb!
Two in one, aha!
Two in one! two in one! two in one!
Room for a life in your womb.
song performed by by Kate Bush
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sonnet: Abortion- Murder, most foul in the Womb!
God makes the buds that blossom into flow’rs,
And flow’rs to form the seeds for newer plants;
God gives sun-light and bathes the roots with show’rs,
And nutrition, protecting them from ants!
God makes each species propagate on earth-
A mystery and wonder, all must take;
God takes care of their every want from birth-
Food, water, shelter, freedom from each ache!
God breathed life into clay and called it ‘man’!
And loved him, more than every creature made;
And made from him, his partner called ‘woman’;
His love for man (woman) will never fade!
‘Abortion- murder, most foul, in the womb! ’
Should mothers turn the sacred womb, a tomb?
Lovingly dedicated to all good mothers who
God-willingly serve to maintain the human race.
Copyright by Dr John Celes 1-12-2008
poem by John Celes
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Ode to the female form
Ode to the female form
~
A song of beauty plays
to the tune of desire
striking a note in the soul
a look into the mind seduces
a song ode to the female form
soft, delicate, sensual
alive with every feeling
serenades aloud to be heard
play on sweet song
enter the soul and mind
with a beauty known
as woman kind
poem by Matthew Holloway
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If one wants another only for some self-satisfaction, usually in the form of sensual pleasure, that wrong desire takes the form of lust rather than love.
quote by Mortimer Adler
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Too Long
It’s been too long since I felt the soft touch of a woman’s hands rub my bald head.
It’s been too long since I felt the gentleness of a woman’s lips press against mind.
It’s been too long since I cuddled with a woman’s head up against my chest listening to my heart beat.
It’s been too long since my tongue has slipped between a woman’s thighs and her juices drip down my throat.
It has been too long since I have made love to a woman and felt her inner walls pulsate.
It has been too long since a woman made my leg shake as I climax.
It’s been at least nine months and that’s far too long.
The Birth Place of Pleasure
At the creation of the Earth
Pleasure, that divinest birth,
From the soil of Heaven did rise,
Wrapped in sweet wild melodies--
Like an exhalation wreathing
To the sound of air low-breathing
Through Aeolian pines, which make
A shade and shelter to the lake
Whence it rises soft and slow;
Her life-breathing [limbs] did flow
In the harmony divine
Of an ever-lengthening line
Which enwrapped her perfect form
With a beauty clear and warm.
poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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The role of man
Man takes a woman on his chest
As a father hugs his child.
He holds her mare as a jockey does.
Having embedded his seeds in her womb,
He falls down on her breasts as a child does.
08.10.2004
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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A La Sappho
was it she who lives
on an island
alone whose desires
flow like a river
and yet the pain
persists
on every
rock that blocks
its rush towards
the sea where
her lover
on almond eyes
and tissue soft
fingers await
her to be
subdued by the
strength
of her touch
and kisses
that glow with
sapphire fire
this a la
sappho form
of love
woman to woman
grace to grace
limb to limb
until
all her desires
are lost
when the fire
of her womanly
form
subsides
between the
skinny arms
of her
beloved naked
facing her
with nothing
but fresh flowers
covering
her hair
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The knot of the family
A woman dons the role of temptress
With her contours visible to a Big Boy
Brute.
Man is drawn to her and seeds are planted.
He must not deceive nor leave her.
So she dons the role of mother
With her breasts locking his head.
Man clings to her as a Little Boy Lost.
Hardly does a man abandon his family.
06.10.2004
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The Real Strength of a Woman
Everyone wonders what’s her secret?
The mother with 3 kids and no father to support them
The woman with cancer who still manages to come out on top
The grandmother who is forced to be a mother yet again because
Of her daughters mistakes
I wonder myself and I still have a long way to go
But I believe that they all have one thing in common….
The Real Strength of a Woman
The ability to shield themselves from the hurt while in others view
The ability to make their children believe that everything will be ok
The ability to make everything ok despite their hurdles
The ability to stay close to God despite how difficult it may seem
The ability to be strong and remain a brick wall for their loved ones
A real woman can console others even when she is worse off
She can find it in her heart to somehow give, even when no one is giving her
She can endure many hardships and sacrifices because of the ones she loves
Yet she somehow still remains strong
I still don’t fully know the strength of a woman
But every woman out there that I’ve seen, met or come into contact with
All possess these qualities in one way, shape or form
2/9/08
poem by Candice George
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The Child in the Womb…
The child in the womb longs
To leave the darkness ’round,
And see the light of the world,
Created by God.
The child in the womb yearns
To breathe the lovely air
Of independent life,
Made by God.
The child in the womb wants
To move about with ease,
On planet earth’s terrain,
Meant for it.
The child in the womb waits
To show its cry of life,
And feel its mother’s warmth,
And parents’ love.
The child in the womb loves
To show its beauteous form,
That love of God gave it,
Free of cost!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 2-15-2008
poem by John Celes
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Earth Pulse
ash
dirt
dust
solid
earth
groundterra firma
solidity stasis
earth murmur
heart murmur
shock earthquake
sudden heart attack
life pulse curve quirk
shake up tremour killers
aftermath scenes surreal
distorts harmonic flow
after shocks rhythmic
raw heart beat surge
cost displacement
miss monuments
rock time counts
fallen edifices
bodies rigid
shattered
seismic
ground
waves
flow
poem by Terence George Craddock
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From random pages
For once the eager lover
Affected to offer his best
And lo, there he is…
Crushed under shame!
The teenager ran
With the moving bus
To show her his 'worth'
There he is in a pool!
The young son blushed
When the father tried to know
The father smiled
The girl left the town!
I saw real fear in the eyes
Of a woman pregnant
While crossing the road
Her hands carefully clutched at her belly!
The young bride in smiles
Her eyes eager with expectation
Tears smudged her cheeks
For parents she would never see!
An infant cries and cries
Mother’s sterile pathetic breasts
There another mother, breasts oozing
No infant to warm her heart!
For one last time
I played the match
Of my life…
And simply lost it!
Several pages of life
Each intriguing and interesting
Not so easy to turn any page
The book burdens the elbow!
04oct2010
23.01hrs
poem by Indira Babbellapati
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Women
Defies all gravitational orthodoxy that ascertains her
Bringing the mythology of fiction to fruition
Potrait perfection, sculptured image of reincarnation
Preeminence through renaissance, artistic creation
She's a mother of all beings, a mother in a mother who bears all seedlings
A man in all man, ... look past the unscripted beliefs
She telescopes clouds of a unicorn
Birthing astronomical strength that her tears should be of celestial form
Self believe immaculate that inside herself she's born
Call it conceptual inception mirror image being God's form
Ella es el verdadero don
Her heart is equivalent to a treasure hunt, that he who uncovers it should have found a pot of gold
Unlike now younger women who use their bodies as resources, self pimped and sold
Even though she loves like her life depends on it, she cares coz she was made that way.
Doesn't mean she needs to be loved less, nor cared for less
Love your woman like she's your mother, that when you hold your mother, you see how she feels when you hold her
Discerning profinity how a woman and a phoenix share the same myth, realistically
Clannish is her essenance and jus by being a woman should be characterized as epitome in excellence
poem by Kgagamatso Chimelwane
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Heart Yearns
Your hands a ladies hands
manicured fingers long and slender.
Each displaying a balance a supple
delicate care free fascinating grace.
Texture fashionable taunting tasty
beautiful blessing bountifully given.
By our loving master father.
Heart yearns to hold such hands carefully
gently lovingly with cupped skill.
As given while holding monarch butterfly.
Appreciably protective though never
as confining cage gilded bars.
Freed to glide playful cooling zephyr
whenever freedom’s fickle need
arises within soft tendered soul.
A form wonder
those soft subtle
hands that fit
my own hands
as length exact
matched pair.
So amazed astounded completely.
Inviting entrancing curve
of your warm welcoming thighs
are as soft and full to me.
As psalms benediction prayer;
offered up as hosannas by myriads
of appreciative angels upon altar.
To Jehovah the most high.
To Adonai divine eternal Creator.
The love I hold
for you embraces
breathtakingly
like an empyrean
urgent siren desire.
Felt when I’m held
in paired paradise
fire of your heartfelt
feeling enfolding arms.
Your neck
noble feminine
long gracefully
arching
upward
heavenward
thus your
longing lips
may quench
hunger
felt within by
fevered mine.
Behold classical
sculptured arms
those thin minstrels
porcelain phantom
slender firm limbs
grace lure typical.
Classifying
a well bred
genteel lady.
A comfort
fondling
enclosing
caressing
beloved
deified me.
Love engulfs
my purged heart.
When those
beautiful
magical
proportioned
limbs.
Reach out
drawing me
ever in
to first
heated
heartfelt
embraces.
My heart my hands
my arms are lost
alone desolate.
When parted from thee.
When thou art, absent,
unable to love me,
comfort me, dear.
My days waste
in deep despair.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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The Vision
As the sun begins to set on the horizon,
I walk down a lonely path towards the sea-
Know not do I its reason, its form no surprising:
Looking to land's end, I see a solitary vision looking back at me!
Far off in the distance, framed in it's solar glare
This beauteous vision, in all its amazing grace-
Begins to move toward me, until very nearly there
Soon I am able to take in the form's feminine face!
It then occurs to me that I know her, and have for all my days-
Though not had I laid eyes upon her for years nearly 2 score:
I had seen her every day of my life, in myriad ways-
I allowed that visage to fade, always needing more!
One day the vision came to me in yet another form,
This time though, always and ever, shall she stay and keep me warm!
Maurice Harris,30 October 2008
poem by Maurice Harris
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