En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Dunne Studying.

Dunne watches her mistress sleep.
There is the flickering of the eyelids
As if in dream. She gets out of bed
And with soft tread walks to her
Mistress’s bed side and looks down.
She holds her breath. She takes in
Each aspect of the face and neck
And how the hair is spread upon
The pillow. She wants to lean down
And kiss the lips, put flesh to flesh.
She hovers like some hawk waiting
To fly down and take her fine prey.
She breathes out slowly. She watches
The rise and fall of her mistress’s breast.
She moves out a hand to lay it there
But does not touch. She imagines so.
Imagines also climbing into the bed
And snuggling up close and kissing
The nape of neck. Her hand lingers
Over the breasts. Her eyes greedily
Study the soft cheek. She breathes
In deep. Her heart pounds within her
Breast. So near so near. She imagines
Lying within those arms and feeling
The hands caress her back. Her mistress
Stirs and she moves away. Walks back
To her own bed to await the light of day.

poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hazel On the Edge

Dunne watches as Hazel unpins her hair.
She can see her facial expression in the
Dressing table mirror. I usually do that,
Dunne says. I thought you’d like a break
From being my maid, Hazel replies, catching
Dunne’s eyes. Dunne fiddles with her fingers,
Stares back at her mistress’s reflection. She
Notices Hazel’s smile. I feel useless if I don’t
Do anything, Dunne says. Hazel turns around
And says, you are never useless to me. They
Look at each other as if time had stopped.
Hazel seems on the edge of a chasm. She
Wants to put her arms around Dunne and
Draw her close to her. She just stands feeling
A falling sensation. Dunne looks away and says,
Did you want me to prepare a bath for you?
Hazel breathes in slowly. Calm, she tells herself.
Dunne goes to the window to peer out onto
The Parisian street below. Hazel moves up
Behind Dunne. She looks at Dunne’s hair,
The slope of shoulders, the smell of scent
She’d given her. Yes, Hazel says, a bath would
Be welcome after such a busy day sightseeing.
Dunne turns and smiles. Hazel is on the brink
Of putting out a hand to touch Dunne’s cheek.
She holds her hands by her side. Dunne moves
Off and out of the room to prepare a bath in
The bathroom next door. Hazel sighs. So close.
So near. She holds onto the scent of Dunne.
She senses things fall away: prejudices, class,
Manners, mores; feels her emotions flood her
Mind. Love, all love, Father used to say, is blind.

poem by Terry Collett
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Unexpected Things...

It's unexpected..
But it's something that causes you to catch your breath..
Make you sway
Perhaps it makes your pupils dilate..
The look of his fingers as they dance on a keyboard..
Those hands are unexpectedly
Somehow
Attractive
She imagines them on her..
And, a blush creeps to her cheeks
Making her flush
Making her warm
An unexpected glance at her flesh..
Her shirt lifts as she reaches up to adjust something too high...
It's that area at the small of her back
Near her side
And,
His eyes linger..
Tracing her form
While she is unarmed in her lack of awareness
He can't help himself..
Even that small glimpse
Leaves his throat dry
Makes his hand twitch
To touch..
Even a fleeting touch
Is that asking for too much?
Lips
What can one say..
When they are full
And
Beautiful
And inviting
And so soft..
She bites her lower lip all the time
She imagines her lips
Dancing on his..
He thinks he'd like to be the one to
Bite
See what her lips taste like
Her collar bone..
He imagines his lips there
His tongue tracing the perfect arch
To the dip at her throat..
Her eyes
They grow bigger at the site of him
Surprised
It's not a controlled reaction
Heartbeats accelerate
His neck..
The back where tapered
Perfectly clipped hairs
Meet the edge of his shirt..
But leave enough space
To spy his skin..
She imagines what it would feel like...
If her lips ever met his skin there
Her legs
Sculpted perfection in heels..
He imagines...
His eyes
So warm
She likes the way they look at her
And, when he laughs
His smile reaches them..
Her skin
Golden sun kissed and warm
Smooth...
Soft..
He wonders
If she's smooth and soft and golden
Everywhere..golden...delicious...
His voice
She can close her eyes and listen to his voice all day..
It calls to her
Somewhere deep inside
There is a reaction..
Her smile
He likes to see her smile
Especially when he's the one
Who has caused it..
She likes his arms
She's always had a thing for shoulders..
He likes her hair
Wonders how soft it is
How it smells
They spend their days
Wondering...
When things get dull..
Even when they aren't...
Daydreaming..
Each relieved
The other can't read thoughts..
Both acutely aware
Of the other...
She smells like...
His sent is that of...
It was unexpected
The realization of the other
It was surprising..
A shock to the system
A sudden awareness
Something that caused their breath to catch
Make them sway
Make their pupils dilate
It's a heady reaction
Unexpected in so many ways.

poem by Rabia Minhas
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Sonnet 130: My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun

My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damasked, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks,
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know,
That music hath a far more pleasing sound.
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress when she walks treads on the ground.
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare.

poem by William Shakespeare
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My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun (Sonnet 130)

My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damasked, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress when she walks treads on the ground.
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare.

poem by William Shakespeare
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My mistress’ eyes (in answer to William Shakespeare)

My mistress’ eyes has a bluer hue to them
than the colour of the cobalt sky,
not coral nor tomato can compare
to the soft care that I find on her lips

and the touch of her fingertips
is more gentle than any breeze
and the colour of her hair is rarer, more unique
than that of grass, or that which metal wires can hold

and her breasts and nipples
has a greater purity, enticement to them
than any snow or the darling buds of May
and the beauty that she holds, is more fragrant
than the flowers that even roses do display
when our true need for each other unfolds.

[Reference: Sonnet “My mistress’ eyes” by William Shakespeare]

poem by Gert Strydom
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Kenton Comes to Tea

Kenton comes to tea.
Dunne serves at table.
Kenton knew Hazel

even as a child.
Her late father's friend
watches Dunne pour tea

into his teacup.
Your dear father's death
was quite sudden he says.

We were in Paris
touring when news came
Hazel says softly.

Who was the other?
Kenton asks Hazel.
Dunne here my maid came.

Oh I see he says
gazing at Dunne's thighs
hidden behind cloth.

He was a good man
Kenton says firmly
I've known him for years.

Dunne wants to refute
but remains silent.
Her master's abuse

of her sexually
remains in her mind.
Hazel looks at Dunne

she knows the secrets
knew her father's deeds.
Kenton rattles on.

Hazel remembers
her months in Paris
with Dunne at her side.

Art and galleries.
Cafes on corners
smoking and drinking.

Talking and laughing.
Both of them bathing
always together

touching and feeling
kissing and holding
in one bed at night.

Dunne slices the cake
pours Hazel's black tea
her blue eyes searching.

Kenton eats his cake
talks between mouthfuls
spluttering small crumbs.

Dunne studies Hazel
her eyes undressing
her tongue like a snail

moves slowly between
her mistress's thighs
her hands embracing

the smooth naked skin
in her memory.
Hazel looks away

the room is so warm.
She knows that soft stare
sexual and hot

and she whispering
more of that don't stop
scratching through the air.

Dunne hears her and smiles
pours Kenton more tea.
He is unaware there's love in the air.

poem by Terry Collett
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Polly strips His bed

Polly strips back the sheets
where Master George has lain.
She folds the white sheets and
lays them on a chair. She lies

her head on the pillow where
his head has been. She sniffs
and smells him. Closing her eyes
she imagines she's there beside

him and he has her in his arms,
his lips against her flushed cheek.
She imagines they are in bed
together when dawn's light breaks

through the shutters and Susie
the other maid enters and wide
eyed she mouths a huge round O.
She opens her eyes; the pillow

is vacant beside her head, just
a small indentation where he had
laid his head the night before.
She fingers into the pocket of her

white apron a few black hairs she's
discovered on the white pillowcase.
She strips off the pillowcases and
puts them with the sheets. The bed

is now stripped of all coverings
and is left to air. She imagines as
she stands that he is still there,
laid out unclothed, skin all bare.

But in reality she knows he has
gone of to war as he has before.
She hopes he will return alive
and in one piece; no missing

limps or blind or gassed as some
have been she's read; but most of all
she dreads him laid out cold and damp
in some foreign field lying still and dead.

poem by Terry Collett
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Trusting No Light

you wrap my body with your breasts
and i face the pillow my body presses
on the softness of materiality, you run
your fingers on my arms looking for
the secrets of my flesh, and i keep my
hands steady on the railing of the bed.

you whisper to my ear the tradition that
in true love there are no more secrets.
i smile to the white linen and i close my
eyes back to the horrors of my pasts.

you put your chin on my shoulder and
you kiss my hair and you caress my
head and neck down to my hip and butt.

you kiss me again and you signal that i
now must face you in this intimacy. And
i look at you and gently i kiss you in return.
I am Cupid and you are Psyche. I must tell
you again, i trust no light. Love exists

by itself, through itself, for itself, & in-itself.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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As the butterfly imagines

As the butterfly imagines
the world is moving fast
historical events are happening
no one knows when they will last

New melodies are the present
as the butterfly imagines
slowly she starts dancing
before realizing reality.

Her body is ice walking through paradise
she's so delighted, no one will dare to disturb her happiness
as the butterfly imagines
that she is like a holy angel.

Time ran out!
The friend's funeral is happening
she's not here anymore
as the butterfly imagines.

poem by Maria Jose Cid Velazquez
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Minus into minus

The chambermaid, as usual, made ready
The bedroom for her mistress and master
When the master’s eyes fell upon her shoulders,
That the mistress took note of the least.

Without any fuss, saw the mistress
The master lay his hand upon the shoulder
Of the maid. No rage, no jealousy.
She, the straying, rather felt relieved.
07.02.2003

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Mistress Of All Time

(enlightened woman)
She dances on the seven seas
Dances on the ocean
Sunlight on her golden hair
Shapes of pure emotion
Her voice is heard like
Crystal words across the sky
She moves just like an angel
Shes the mistress of all time
Her sun pours down like liquid gold
To chase away the sorrows
Her clothes are like a million stars
Made of tears and rainbows
And all the while
Her senses smile into my life
She moves just like an angel
Shes a mistress of all time
Just like the restless
To a mission bell
I must run to her
Meet her everywhere
As her music fills the universe
She leaves the dancing visions
Of her image on the water
And precious stones upon the shore
From every distant corner
Like diamonds in the light
They shine beyond the stars
She moves just like an angel
Shes the mistress of all time
She dances on the seven seas
Dances on the ocean
Sunlight on her golden hair
Shapes of pure emotion
Her voice is heard like
Crystal words across the sky
She moves me like an angel
Shes the mistress of all time
She moves me like an angel
A voice of pure emotion
Her tears are like a rainbow

song performed by by Uriah Heep
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Unheeded Pageant

Ah, who was it coloured that little frock, my child, and covered
your sweet limbs with that little red tunic?
You have come out in the morning to play in the courtyard,
tottering and tumbling as you run.
But who was it coloured that little frock, my child?
What is it makes you laugh, my little life-bud?
Mother smiles at you standing on the threshold.
She claps her hands and her bracelets jingle, and you dance
with your bamboo stick in your hand like a tiny little shepherd.
But what is it makes you laugh, my little life-bud?
O beggar, what do you bed for, clinging to your mother's neck
with both your hands?
O greedy heart, shall I pluck the world like a fruit from the
sky to place it on your little rosy palm?
O beggar, what are you begging for?
The wind carries away in glee the tinkling of your anklet
bells.
The sun smiles and watches your toilet.
The sky watches over you when you sleep in your mother's arms,
and the morning comes tiptoe to your bed and kisses your eyes.
The wind carried away in glee the tinkling of your anklet
bells.
The fairy mistress of dreams is coming towards you, flying
through the twilight sky.
The world-mother keeps her seat by you in your mother's heart.
He who plays his music to the stars is standing at your window
with his flute.
And the fairy mistress of dreams is coming towards you, flying
through the twilight sky.

poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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All Hail My Dear Mistress I

My dear mistress
People comment on you
Even in my presence
Your love in me is hard to take away
People respect me
Because of you
Your succulent lips
Makes me go crazy
My dear mistress

Your love in me
Is like a precious seed planted
That is hard to uproot
My dear mistress

I am happy and sad
Because I fear for the future
That we missed out on each other
My dear mistress

Oh lord!
I wish you prepared her for me
To marry in future
I wish she mothered my future children
My dear mistress.

poem by Tolulope Modupe
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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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Touch

Touch

To a loved family member…
a caress, a touch
A loving hand on ones knees
Can convey e’er so much
Just a soft gentle squeeze

To a child….
A finger’s soft glide
Down child’s turned up nose
Can start the slow slide
Into dreamland repose

To a friend…
Friendly pat on the shoulder
Gentle nudge in the side
Head lain on one’s shoulder
Floods one’s heart like the tide

To a real close friend…
Tips brushing closed eyelids
Arms tightly clasping
Rough sheets on one’s back
Fast breath slightly gasping

To a really, really close friend……
Fingers entwined,
palms ardently pressed
Palms kneading one’s back
Lips brushing soft breasts

To close..
Every being needs
The sensation of touch
And a surfeit of hugs
Could ne’er be too much

poem by David Whalen
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From the Drama of “Charles II”

COME and kiss me, mistress Beauty,
I will give you all that ’s due t’ye.

I will taste your rosebud lips
Daintily as the bee sips;
At your bonny eyes I ’ll look
Like a scholar at his book:

On my bosom you shall rest,
Like a robin on her nest:
Round my body you shall twine,
I ’ll be elm, and you be vine:

In a bumper of your breath
I would drain a draught of death;
In the tangles of your hair
I ’d be hanged and never care.

Then come kiss me, mistress Beauty,
I will give you all that ’s due t’ ye.

poem by Douglas Brooke Wheelton Sladen
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My Name Is Qalme-Tari

My name is Qalme-Tari
Mistress of Death.
Were I go
People will follow.

My name is Qalme-Tari
Mistress of Death.
Were I go
Death follows.

My name is Qalme-Tari
Mistress of Death.
I bring death
Upon people of injustice.

My name is Qalme-Tari
Mistress of Death.
Death for people of injustice.
Tyrants beware!

My name is Qalme-Tari
Mistress of Death.
Dictators beware
I come for thee.

My name is Qalme-Tari
Mistress of Death.
Kidnapers beware
I come for thee.

My name is Qalme-Tari
Mistress of Death.
Child abusers beware
I come for thee.

My name is Qalme-Tari
Mistress of Death.
For those of injustice
I am Death.

My name is Estela
Mistress of Hope
For those of purity
I am Hope

My name is Qalme-Tari
Mistress of Death.
The in just
Shall flee before me.

My name is Estela
Mistress of Hope
The pure
Shall follow me.

My name is Qalme-Tari
Mistress of Death.
My name is Estela
Mistress of Hope
Were I go
People will flee.
Were I go
People will follow.

I am Qalme Tari Mistress of Death Nat. Norville.
Cretics Welcome

poem by Athena Goddess of Wisdom Lumis Light to all
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KISS ME KATE! (for Helen)

A Blazon sonnet?

That’s the one an
Elizabethan lover

would turn his
Elizabethan Miss

into a
list

itemise her attributes
(hidden or otherwise)

& tick ‘em off
bit by bit

like a ledger clerk
closing an account.

From the colour
of her eyes
(always had to be blue)

to the colour of her
hair(always a blonde)

from toes to tit
in one hit.

Sincere...not
the least little bit!

Yawn...stop me if you have heard this one!

A fashion accessory
for the gay young blade about town

already fallen out of fashion
before it had barely begun.

“Oi...darling! ”

“Yeah...you love! ”

“Get your ruff on
...you’ve pulled! ”

“I got 14 lines
Petrarchan or Shakespearean

...know wot I mean? ! ”

And a clever
clearheaded Elizabethan lady

would more than likely
(but politely)

tell ‘em

“Oh...f***est thou
off! ”

******
As Shakes puts it in Sonnet 106

Then, in the blazon of sweet beauty's best,
Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow,

Shakey also turned the blazon upside down in his famous sonnet 130:

My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun,
Coral is far more red than her lips' red,
If snow be white, why then her breast are dun;
If hairs be wires, blackwires grow on her head.
I have seen roses, damask'd red and white,
But no such rose see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, - yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go, -
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare!

poem by Dónall Dempsey
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Wanting

She can't help it
The wanting of him
A simple glimpse
Across a crowd
She hides her smile
As her imagination
Goes
Into
Overdrive
Goosebumps rise
Along her flesh
Somewhere deep
A quickening begins
Her heartbeat accelerates
Her blood warms and
Begins to pulsate
As she
Holds on
Always
Yearning
Wondering
If he kissed her
Would she moan
As his mouth consumed her
Enslaved her
As his hands touched her
Caressed her flesh
His nearness makes it difficult to breathe
All of her wishes
To melt into him
Reach out and
Touch
A glimpse of her
Across a room
Leaves
Him
Wanting
Wanting to
Reach out and touch
To hold her face in his hands
Brush the tip of his thumb
Across her soft lips
Caress her skin
Let his hand travel
Travel
Across her throat
Feel her pulse
As it glides
To the back of her head
Grab a fist full of raven hair
Tilt her head back
Look into her languid eyes
Her parted lips
And trace kisses along her flesh
As she forgets
How to breathe
Their wanting of each other
Is hidden well
In the ease and flow
Of a crowded room
Maybe neither knowing
Neither certain
Both aware of the other
Both
Wanting.

poem by Rabia Minhas
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Under Whose Moon?

whose lips do you kiss in your sleep?
whose hands upon your breast?
whose voice do you hear
in the shudder of dreams...
whose hot breath upon your neck?
whose wetness feeds your hunger?
whose fire? and who stirs the embers?
whose howl? whose mount?
whose furred claw digging into your flesh?
whose darkness... under whose moon!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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