A Poet To His Beloved
I BRING you with reverent hands
The books of my numberless dreams,
White woman that passion has worn
As the tide wears the dove-grey sands,
And with heart more old than the horn
That is brimmed from the pale fire of time:
White woman with numberless dreams,
I bring you my passionate rhyme.
poem by William Butler Yeats
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Related quotes
Numberless Dreams
Wonderful beauty
The curve of her neck
The fullness of her lips
The way her eyes cast
fervent glances
Her hair freshly disheveled
Her furtive smile
The curve from her waist
down to her hips
The fullness of her breasts
The way her legs flash when they move
Her skin flushed. Her body fervid
Reverent hands
Every time he touched her
was like the first time
His hands trembled,
yet moved with purpose
over her body;
gently pushin', pullin'
Her response urgent, ardent
Numberless dreams
Once I lived my dreams
Now I dream my life
I dream of you muse
Each night I hope
you will fill my sleep
with numberless dreams
of your wonderful beauty
and my reverent hands
tremblin' as they touch you
poem by MacGregor Tagliaferro
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Laus Mortis
I bring to thee, for love, white roses, delicate Death!
White lilies of the valley, dropping gently tears,
The white camellia, the seal of perfect years,
The misty white azalea, flickering as a breath.
White flowers I bring, and all the flowers I bring for thee,
Discreet and comforting Death! for those pale hands of thine;
O hands that I have fled, soft hands now laid on mine,
Softer than these white flowers of life, thy hands to me,
Most comfortable Death, mother of many dreams,
And gatherer of many dreams of men,
Dreams that come desolately flying back again,
With soiled and quivering wings, from undiscovered streams.
I have been fearful of thee, mother, all life long,
For I have loved a warm, alluring, treacherous bride,
Life, and she loved thee not; to hold me from thy side,
She closed her arms about my heart, to do thee wrong.
O gay and bitter bride of such divine desires,
Too fiercely passionate Life, that wast so prodigal
Of thine eternal moments, at the end of all
Take my forgiveness: I have passed through all thy fires.
Nothing can hurt me now, and having gained and lost
All things, and having loved, and having done with life,
I come back to thy arms, mother, and now all strife
Ceases; and every homeward-flying dream, wind-tossed,
My soul that looks upon thy face and understands,
My throbbing heart that at thy touch is quieted,
And all that once desired, and all desire now dead,
Are gathered to the peace and twilight of thy hands.
poem by Arthur Symons
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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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I am the woman
I am the woman who is unstoppable
I am the woman
Whose dreams are immeasurable
I am the woman
Of a different breed, unbelievable
I am the woman
Of all times, incredible
I am a woman
With passion and purpose, unspeakable
I am the woman
Who decides where I should fall
In this universe, unpredictable
I am the woman
Who refuse to lessen my dreams
To meet man’s expectation, inconceivable
I am a woman
Of greatness and this greatness
Should never be compromise, remarkable
I am that GREAT WOMAN
poem by Kathy Elliott
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The gambit of heaven above
Bring me the stolen song of silence
Passed between two lovers eye
Bring me the white dove's effervescence
That I may never die
Bring me the wings of an angel's heart
As might I, to an ancient course take part
Bring me the heart of unlicensed love
Though it be the hinge that time never unlocked
Though told, the door would be wide and unblocked.
poem by Mark Heathcote
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Chauvinist
I’d never really comprehended such a mighty range of
Shapes and sizes down behind, it’s really rather strange:
The buttock muscle in a woman, overlaid with fat
Is actually such a focal point for men to want to pat
Or squeeze, and then to tease her if it’s eminently stout,
Or even risk a stay in clink to sting it with a clout!
After all, we men are tuned to be that way inclined –
And tho’ our needs are varied, girls, they’re all perverse of mind!
Best of all, our sacred dream: to see her shed her gown
When gliding to the shower for the ritual sponging down.
But then alas! With body lathered, oops! she drops the soap;
‘Please! ’ we beg her, ‘bend and bare! ’ But we can only hope!
I’m sure by now you get the picture – like a rule of thumb –
That men like me obsess all day about the fairer bum.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
My dreams are of a
woman woman woman woman woman woman woman
woman woman woman woman woman woman woman
woman woman woman woman woman woman woman
woman woman woman woman woman woman woman
woman woman woman woman woman woman woman
woman woman woman woman woman woman woman
woman woman woman woman woman woman woman
woman woman woman woman woman woman woman
woman woman woman woman woman woman woman
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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The House Of Dust: Part 03: 13: The half-shut doors through which we heard that music
The half-shut doors through which we heard that music
Are softly closed. Horns mutter down to silence.
The stars whirl out, the night grows deep.
Darkness settles upon us. A vague refrain
Drowsily teases at the drowsy brain.
In numberless rooms we stretch ourselves and sleep.
Where have we been? What savage chaos of music
Whirls in our dreams?—We suddenly rise in darkness,
Open our eyes, cry out, and sleep once more.
We dream we are numberless sea-waves languidly foaming
A warm white moonlit shore;
Or clouds blown windily over a sky at midnight,
Or chords of music scattered in hurrying darkness,
Or a singing sound of rain . . .
We open our eyes and stare at the coiling darkness,
And enter our dreams again.
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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Multitudes Turn In Darkness
The half-shut doors through which we heard that music
Are softly closed. Horns mutter down to silence,
The stars wheel out, the night grows deep.
Darkness settles upon us; a Vague refrain
Drowsily teases at the drowsy brain.
In numberless rooms we stretch ourselves and sleep.
Where have we been ? What savage chaos of music
Whirls in our dreams? We suddenly rise in darkness,
Open our eyes, cry out, and sleep once more.
We dream we are numberless sea-waves, languidly foaming
A warm white moonlit shore;
Or clouds blown windily over a sky at midnight,
Or chords of music scattered in hurrying darkness,
Or a singing sound of rain
We open our eyes and stare at the coiling darkness,
And enter our dreams again.
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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Woman In White
As I look out the window
from where I work
at the car park
about fifty yards away.
Near the fence that borders it
is a tree stump about five feet tall.
Bleached white by the sun
it resembles a woman in a cloak.
It seems to change daily
though I don’t know why.
One day it seems she is praying,
the next day she has what looks like
a basket in her hand.
When it rains, she changes colour
from white to grey.
Now the summers here
and the greenery surrounds her,
she looks like she is walking through a garden.
It is strange how my imagination
changes her from day to day
and I wonder what more
this tree stump figure will give my imagination.
Now this woman in white
has me puzzled as to who she really is.
I can give her many names
of precious people from the past
who may have worn a cloak and gown.
However, for me she is
just my woman in white.
15 August 2011
poem by David Harris
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I Need A Woman
(bob dylan)
Its been raining in my mouth all day
Dripping down to my clothes
My patience it is wearing thin
Got a fire inside my nose
Searching for the truth the way God designed it
The truth is I might drown before I find it
Well, I need a woman
Yes, I do
Need a woman
Yes, I do
Someone who can see me as I am
Give the kind of love that dont have to be condemned
And I want you to be that woman
Every night
Be that woman
Treat me right
Ive had my eyes on you, baby
For about five long years
You probably dont know me at all
But Ive seen your laughter and Ive seen your tears
Now you dont frighten me
I aint no defendant
And you look like it wouldnt hurt you none
To have a man of understanding
Well, I need a woman
Oh, dont i
Need a woman
Bring it home safe at last
Ive seen you standing on the corner
Seen you sitting down in the park
Been watching you in the sunshine
Walking with you in the dark
And I want you to be that woman
Treat me right
Be that woman
Every night
Well, if you believe in something long enough
You just naturally come to think its true
There aint no wall you cant crossover
Aint no fire you cant walk through
Well, believing is all right
Just dont let the wrong people know what its all about
They might put the evil eye on you
Use their hidden powers to try to turn you out
Well, I need a woman
Just to be my queen
Need a woman
Black, white, yellow, brown, blue or green
Riding out with me at midnight
Like two spanish desperadoes
Gazing down upon the futile world
In her cadillac eldorado
We will penetrate the storm
In search of truth that has not been tested
But she better bring along her checkbook
Just in case we get arrested
And I want you to be that woman
song performed by by Ry Cooder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dove Grey Sands
Seein' life begin
Hear the oceans sing
It takes you back
Pulls you back
Brings you home
See your face in stone
A hollow moon above an aching sky
Silent night
Brings you home
Left without a place
Lonely inner space
That you can breathe
It's the essence of a love
My love
Lead by devotion
Celebrate (x2)
Celebration
Dove grey sands
Lead by devotion
Celebrate (x2)
Celebrate now
Dove grey sands
Narrow days alone
Pushing for the sun
Don't hide away
Burn to grey
One soul
Facing life alone
Numbers on a phone
To help you back
Send it back
Bring you home
Left without a place
Lonely inner space
That you can breathe
It's the essence of a love
My love
Lead by devotion
Celebrate (x2)
Celebration
Dove grey sands
Lead by devotion
Celebrate (x2)
Celebrate now
Dove grey sands
Feelin' like it's over
It's just the start
I can't hear you again
Dreaming of the ocean
As waves come in
I can't hear it again
Dove grey sands (x3)
song performed by by Feeder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bring em All In
Bring em all in, bringem all in, bring em all in,
Bring em all in, bring em all into my heart
Bring em all in, bring em all in, bring em all in
Bring em all in, bring em all into my heart
Bring the little fishes
Bring the sharks
Bring em from the brightness
Bring em from the dark
Bring em from the caverns
Bring em from the heights
Bring em from the shadows
Stand em in the light
Bring em out of purdah
Bring em out of store
Bring em out of hiding
Lay them at my door
Bring the unforgiven
song performed by by Waterboys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Snow White Transparent
“Mirror… Mirror…”
Snow White stops
Looks down at
Her hand
Perfectly pale
Unblemished
Young and
Innocent
But damned
So damned
The wicked
Woman knew
Smiled and knew
“This is what you want”
Hands her the
Apple, poisoned
And red
No one knew
That Snow White
Knew, knew
The Truth
No one
Suspects her
Not Snow White
Pure, perfect
Snow White
“Mirror… Mirror…”
A brush bristles
Through her hair
Snow White looks
At her reflection
In the Mirror
Her mirror
The Wicked
Woman’s mirror
Snow White’s
Image smiles
Sadly at her
No hope left
“On the wall…”
He comes in
Princely in
His ways
Snow White does
Not look at
Him, not at him
Oh no
She cannot
She resents him
It is not apples
That are poisoned
But lips
“Snow…? ”
Without words
She undresses
Revealing glorious
Pale body
His to touch
Snow White
Watches his hands
Lower and closes
Her eyes
This is not love
Love is not—
Love is
“Seven little men…”
She falls into the
Dark corners of
Her mind
Where poison
Still chokes her
And there is
Nothing but
Death and silence
Oh, for the silence
Snow White turns
To look at The Mirror
And asks:
“Who is fairest of them all? ”
poem by Elizabeth Rebel
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Airs for the Lute
I
When the sobbing lute complains,
Grieving for an ancient sorrow,
This poor sorrow that remains
Fain would borrow,
To give pleading unto sorrow,
Those uncapturable strains.
All, that hands upon the lute
Helped the voices to declare,
Voices mute
But for this, might I not share,
If, alas, I could but suit
Hand and voice unto the lute?
II
If time so sweetly
On true according viols make
Her own completely
The lawless laws of turn and shake;
How should I doubt then
Love, being tuned unto your mood,
Should bring about then
True time and measure of your blood?
III
Why are you sorrowful in dreams?
I am sad in the night;
The hours till morning are white,
I hear the hours' flight
All night in dreams.
Why do you send me your dreams?
For an old love's sake;
I dream if I sleep or wake,
And shall but one heart ache,
For the sake of dreams?
Pray that we sleep without dreams!
Ah, love, the only way
To put sorrow away,
Night or day, night or day,
From the way of dreams!
IV
Strange, to remember tears!
Yet I know that I wept;
And those hopes and those fears,
Strange, were as real as tears!
What's this delicate pain,
Twilight-coloured and grey?
Odour-like through my brain
Steals a shadowy pain.
What's this joy in the air?
Musical as the leaves,
When the white winds are there,
Faint joy breathes in the air.
poem by Arthur Symons
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Heart Changes
The heart of a woman is as big as the sky
and stars sparkle inside.
All it takes for this feeling to happen
comes from the rushing tide
that sweeps over her and crests,
then subsides and rests.
One man can bring this passion
and one man can take it away.
For the heart of a woman can change in size
and the sparkle will not stay.
It drifts aimlessly inside her chest.
It aches with memories from before
when it was as high as the sky
but now as low as the floor.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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And So The Search Begins
he starts with an advertisement
wanted: a clean woman
neat down to the nails
of her toe
one who washes her hands
with chlorine
and gargles salt and vinegar
and munches mint
before kissing
in a line he sees
laundrywomen and washers
and babysitters
he closes the door
and wonders where is the clean woman
of her dreams
he dreams of the unicorn
wearing a white apron
and a bottle of antiseptics
to boot
a purified germ-free presence
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Unbroken Dreams
Through the days and nights in my unknown world
I’ve been nothing but a woman of no hope
I can’t even move, chained by my fears
Wishing for miracles but they won’t come to me
But I won’t give up
I’ll embrace my dreams
No, I won’t hold back
I will change my world
I may still be far but I won’t give up
I am my own hero and this is my story
World was black and white
Everything was void
But now I am stronger
My past faded away
I won’t run away
Forward I will move
Feeling my own heart beat
I know I can make it through
I’ve got no more doubts
I can reach my dreams
I will trust my heart
Now I am broken free
Even a thousand years will be nothing to me
For I am my own hero and forever I will be
The path that I have chosen
Sometimes bring me harms
But each time I fall
I’ll learn how to stand
poem by Rose de Ramar
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You are a woman!
A real woman,
your beauty glitters evry where,
your smile takes away a man's heart.
You are a leader of nations,
a leader of other women,
you can bring life to earth
and parent child without hesitation.
You have the potential
creating things,
Significance glows unto you.
Protection is what you
live over, you've got
no fear, you can create a home
and make people feel at home.
You are a woman of liberation,
a woman of thoughts
and opinions, a woman of passion
and compasion,
a woman of courage
and resilence, a woman who cares
for her body, a woman
of confidence.
You are a real woman.
poem by Anelisa Rulumeni
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What A Woman Can Do***************1979
when a woman can bring beauty into the heart of man
she knows that she is on the right track.
for man will always try to hide the feelings
he has locked up inside.
it is an emotion he will try to deny.
but when he looks upon your face
he will know it's no disgrace
to let his feelings all unwind
and want to be with you til the end of time.
for a woman can bring out the feelings that he never knew
she can take away the sadness and heartaches
he may have gone through.
to make him feel he can confide in you.
'this is what a woman can do'.
poem by Louis Rams
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Envy Exposed
Green with Envy does not describe
The color worn by this foul Sin
For green is the color of living things
An Envious Heart has no life therein
The color Blue for Envy will not do
Blue is the sky where freedom sings
In skies so many dreams take flight
An Envious Heart has no wings
Envy cannot dress in Yellow or Gold
The warm colors of the life giving Sun
An Envious Heart is so bitterly cold
With no joie de vivre for all of life’s fun
Envy dare not wear any shade of Red
A color so linked to precious bloodshed
Blood is sacred not to be wantonly shed
An Envious Heart would bleed others till dead
Purple is the color of Passionate fire
An Envious Heart knows only Hate’s ire
Pink is a color where innocent youth may abide
An Envious Heart is tired and shriveled inside
Nor can Envy ‘s color be Black as night
For the star filled night is laced with light
Envy won’t wear Purity’s symbolic White
An Envious Heart does not own such a right
Envy cannot even lay its claim to Grey
(Muddled mix of color though be as it may)
Grey is the color of softness seen
An Envious Heart is hard and mean
What Envy wears best is Invisibility
So denuded of Soul none would wish to see
No color born of Heaven will suit it well
An Envious Heart will be naked in Hell
poem by Mary Havran
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