Love Sonnet XXVI
O my Beloved, when to-day you said:
“All this must perish and we two will go
Soulless and senseless, to the dust below!”
I could but smile and fondle your dear head.
I could but catch your fingers as they fled
Over my throbbing breasts and whisper low,
“Whence came this breast to lure your fingers’ flow?
These burning pulses, leaping passion-fed?”
Dearest, you had no answer. But your blood
Drawing from mine the primal fires of God,
Leapt, laughed, and shouted, panting into mine—
“Love…love is all; and sweeps in mighty flood
Minds, souls and bodies, from the nameless sod
Exultant to the feet of the Divine.”
poem by Zora Bernice May Cross
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Twenty-five Fingers
(mccartney-macmanus)
Twenty five fingers baby
I love your nails I love your touch
I love to touch you baby
It never fails to kill me
Some say gimme five
But Ill give you ten
You could make it twenty
But youre holding out again
Think it over think it over baby
Well think it over think it over baby
I will always love you
That cant be denied
Love you up until the day
That heaven knows Ive tried
For the time being I will tell you this
Id love to love you love to love you
But theres something missing
Baby listen unconditionally
Put your hand in my hand and surrender to me
Think it over think it over baby
Well think it over think it over baby
Twenty five fingers feel so divine
Twenty five fingers wish you were mine
Wish you were mine
Well so our hands met and twenty fingers entwined
I couldnt help I couldnt help but see
She didnt quite believe me
She said listen cause theres one little thing
Where did you get that lovely wedding ring
Think it over think it over baby
Well think it over think it over baby
Some things are forbidden
Never meant to be
Well that might be all right for you
But not for you and me
Twenty five fingers feel so divine
Twenty five fingers wish you were mine
Wish you were mine
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Early In The Morning...
the white sands of
sarangani
we are two naked souls
laundering our bodies
under the mild
sun of
youth where the fingers
caress the smoothness
of salty
skin, i suck warmth from your
mouth and
you suck mine to give birth
to a huge fire
that sooner we cannot
extinguish
we have prepared for all
these
yes, in the name of love
though forbidden
to ashes
to primal dust
we have returned....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Magnificat
Praise God, who wrought for you and me
Your subtle body made for love;
God, who from all eternity
Willed our divided ways should move
Together, and our love should be.
I wandered all these years among
A world of women, seeking you.
Ah, when our fingers met and clung,
The pulses of our bodies knew
Each other: our hearts leapt and sung.
It was not any word of mine,
It was not any look of yours;
Only we knew, and knew for sign
Of Love that comes, Love that endures,
Our veins the chalice of his wine.
Because God willed for us and planned
One perfect love, excelling speech
To tell, or thought to understand,
He made our bodies each for each,
Then put your hand into my hand.
poem by Arthur Symons
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Making Love
Faces face
Fingers lace
Pulses race
Arms embrace
Breathing heavy
Bodies meet
Kisses tender
Love sweet
Warm words
Soft sighs
Careful caresses
Quiet cries
One wooing
One willing
Both needing
Both giving
Tongues mingle
Desires tingle
Passion ignited
Fire kindled
Ecstasy attained
Hearts tremble
Peak reached
Pleasure mutual
Senses satiated
Souls consummated
Longing satisfied
Lovingly gratified
Peace remains
Tumult tamed
Lounging lazily
In passion’s wake
Faces upturned
Fingers lax
Pulses slowing
Skin glowing
Breathing gentled
Bodies grateful
Kisses careless
Love………………….endless
poem by Connie Crane
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Feeling the Passion - Very Erotic you have been warned
Let me take you hold your body in my arms
Kissing those tender lips long and deep
Can you Feel my passion rise
Let us make love all through the night
Quickly decide, we must not waste a minute of time
Deftly remove all my clothes
Slowly I begin to caress your soft skin
My fingertips start to wander
Feeling the softness of you
Those tender breasts draw my fingers to them
Touching and stroking them
Covering your body with kisses
Over the curve of the breasts
Slowly reaching the nipples peak
Sucking with greedy abandon
The heat of our bodies rapidly rising
Breathing starts to increase
Panting harder wanting you now
Your body inviting
Moulding itself into mine
Thighs parted anticipating
Requesting my body’s presence
Obligingly I settle between them
Connecting to you
So slowly at first bodies moving in time
Reaching deeper into the depths of passion
Increasing the rate of heated attack
Faster rapier like movements
Lust consuming us both
Animalistic instincts taking over
Both wanting our own pleasure
Minds blocked to all other thoughts
Oh the passion
Faster we ride our primeval lust
Peaking explosively together
Tasted the essence of passion
Screaming my name in orgasm
Your body bucks with mine
We are as one, engulfed in each other
poem by Gordon D Wilkinson
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Love Sonnet LX
My mind and heart both love you utterly.
And so each thought of mine is doubly yours,
And all my will about your body pours
Scents of my blood and fires that flow from me.
Who has created me, so young, so free,
Eager to-day to close convention’s doors,
To-morrow to return and sweep the floors
With my loose hair in blinding memory?
Dearest, you have, who gave my heart such love,
It sang the marriage of our mingling blood;
Sweeping us on in a supreme control,
To those vast stillnesses that move above;
And in the wonder of its mighty flood
My mind drew God from your eternal soul.
poem by Zora Bernice May Cross
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Hymn XXVII: Saviour, the World's and Mine
Saviour, the world's and mine,
Was ever grief like thine!
Thou my pain, my curse hast took,
All my sins were laid on thee;
Help me, Lord; to thee I look,
Draw me, Saviour, after thee.
'Tis done! my God hath died;
My Love is crucified!
Break, this stony heart of mine;
Pour, mine eyes, a ceaseless flood;
Feel, my soul, the pangs divine;
Catch, my heart, the issuing blood!
When, O my God, shall I
For thee submit to die?
How the mighty debt repay?
Rival of thy passion prove?
Lead me in thyself, the Way;
Melt my hardness into love.
To love is all my wish,
I only live for this;
Grant me, Lord, my heart's desire,
There by faith for ever dwell;
This I always will require,
Thee, and only thee, to feel.
Thy power I pant to prove,
Rooted and fixed in love;
Strengthened by thy Spirit's might,
Wise to fathom things divine,
What the length, and breadth, and height,
What the depth of love like thine.
Ah! give me this to know,
With all thy saints below;
Swells my soul to compass thee,
Gasps in thee to live and move;
Filled with all the Deity,
All immersed and lost in love!
poem by Charles Wesley
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Hymn XXVII: Saviour, the World's and Mine
Saviour, the world's and mine,
Was ever grief like thine!
Thou my pain, my curse hast took,
All my sins were laid on thee;
Help me, Lord; to thee I look,
Draw me, Saviour, after thee.
'Tis done! my God hath died;
My Love is crucified!
Break, this stony heart of mine;
Pour, mine eyes, a ceaseless flood;
Feel, my soul, the pangs divine;
Catch, my heart, the issuing blood!
When, O my God, shall I
For thee submit to die?
How the mighty debt repay?
Rival of thy passion prove?
Lead me in thyself, the Way;
Melt my hardness into love.
To love is all my wish,
I only live for this;
Grant me, Lord, my heart's desire,
There by faith for ever dwell;
This I always will require,
Thee, and only thee, to feel.
Thy power I pant to prove,
Rooted and fixed in love;
Strengthened by thy Spirit's might,
Wise to fathom things divine,
What the length, and breadth, and height,
What the depth of love like thine.
Ah! give me this to know,
With all thy saints below;
Swells my soul to compass thee,
Gasps in thee to live and move;
Filled with all the Deity,
All immersed and lost in love!
poem by John Wesley
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You Are Translating True Love In The Language That You Like
it is amazing
here you are translating the meaning of true in your own language.
i am amazed.
you love poetry after all? you still love
true love
i hear the cracks of your broken heart
i pretend it is nothing to me
i see how you bleed
your white shirt bloody
and your hands
cupping some drops of blood
from your bosom
i pretend i have not seen such a pitiful sight
i have my own broken hearts too
but you will never know that
you have contempt on my lost loves
because you never understand that true love can also be
more than what you expect
it can be more than one
it can be many
the way i love are like ten fingers
the caress of ten fingers
they move like a tribe of love
on the thighs of my beloved
on her breasts
how can i be so cruel living with just
a finger to love just one?
now i make a poem about true love
the one that uses so much of myself
to love not just one
but all
yes, do not be surprised
to love all of humanity and humanity
has not just one set of breasts and thighs
oh, there are hundreds of them
and from their milk a thousand children shall live
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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213
Driving compulsion morbid thoughts come to mind
Sexual release buried deep inside
Complete control of a prized possession
To touch and fondle with no objection
Lonely souls an emptiness fullfilled
Physical pleasure and addictive thrill
An object of perverted reality
An obsession beyond your wildest dreams
Death loves final embrace
Your cool tenderness
Memories keep love alive
Memories will never die
The excitement of dissection is sweet
My skin crawls with orgasmic speed
A lifeless object for my subjection
An obsession beyond your imagination
Primitive instinct a passion for flesh
Primal feeding on the multitudes of death
Sadistic acts a love so true
Absorbingly masticating a part of you
Death loves final embrace
Your cool tenderness
Memories keep love alive
Memories will never die
I need a freind
Please be my companion
I don't want to be
Left alone with my sanity
Erotic sensations tingle my spine
A dead body lying next to mine
Smooth blue black lips
I start salivating as we kiss
Mine forever this sweet death
I cannot forget your soft breaths
Panting excitedly with my hands around your neck
Shades are drawn
No one can see
What I've done
What's become of me
Here I stand
Above all that's been true
How I love
How I love to kill you
song performed by by Slayer from Divine Intervention
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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At sunset
To-night the west o'er-brims with warmest dyes;
Its chalice overflows
With pools of purple colouring the skies,
Aflood with gold and rose;
And some hot soul seems throbbing close to mine,
As sinks the sun within that world of wine.
I seem to hear a bar of music float
And swoon into the west;
My ear can scarcely catch the whispered note,
But something in my breast
Blends with that strain, till both accord in one,
As cloud and colour blend at set of sun.
And twilight comes with grey and restful eyes,
As ashes follow flame.
But O! I heard a voice from those rich skies
Call tenderly my name;
It was as if some priestly fingers stole
In benedictions o'er my lonely soul.
I know not why, but all my being longed
And leapt at that sweet call;
My heart outreached its arms, all passion thronged
And beat against Fate's wall,
Crying in utter homesickness to be
Near to a heart that loves and leans to me.
AT SUNSET
To-night the west o'er-brims with warmest dyes;
Its chalice overflows
With pools of purple colouring the skies,
Aflood with gold and rose;
And some hot soul seems throbbing close to mine,
As sinks the sun within that world of wine.
I seem to hear a bar of music float
And swoon into the west;
My ear can scarcely catch the whispered note,
But something in my breast
Blends with that strain, till both accord in one,
As cloud and colour blend at set of sun.
And twilight comes with grey and restful eyes,
As ashes follow flame.
But O! I heard a voice from those rich skies
Call tenderly my name;
It was as if some priestly fingers stole
In benedictions o'er my lonely soul.
I know not why, but all my being longed
And leapt at that sweet call;
My heart outreached its arms, all passion thronged
And beat against Fate's wall,
Crying in utter homesickness to be
Near to a heart that loves and leans to me.
poem by Emily Pauline Johnson
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An Evening Guest
IF, in the silence of this lonely eve,
With the street lamp pale flickering on the wall,
An angel were to whisper me, 'Believe--
It shall be given thee. Call!'--whom should I call?
And then I were to see thee gliding in
Clad in known garments, that with empty fold
Lie in my keeping, and my fingers, thin
As thine were once, to feel in thy safe hold:
'I should fall weeping on thy neck and say,
'I have so suffered since--since--' But my tears
Would stop, remembering how thou count'st thy day
A day that is with God a thousand years.
Then what are these sad days, months, years of mine,
To thine eternity of full delight?
What my whole life, when myriad lives divine
May wait, each leading to a higher height?
I lose myself--I faint. Beloved, best,
Let me still dream, thy dear humanity
Sits with me here, my head upon thy breast,
And then I will go back to heaven with thee.
poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
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Ad Finum
On the white throat of useless passion
That scorched my soul with its burning breath
I clutched my fingers in murderous fashion
And gathered them close in a grip of death;
For why should I fan, or feed with fuel,
A love that showed me but blank despair?
So my hold was firm, and my grasp was cruel -
I meant to strangle it then and there!
I thought it was dead. But, with no warning,
It rose from its grave last night and came
And stood by my bed till the early morning.
And over and over it spoke your name.
Its throat was red where my hands had held it;
It burned my brow with its scorching breath;
And I said, the moment my eyes beheld it,
'A love like this can know no death.'
For just one kiss that your lips have given
In the lost and beautiful past to me,
I would gladly barter my hopes of Heaven
And all the bliss of Eternity.
For never a joy are the angels keeping,
To lay at my feet in Paradise,
Like that of into your strong arms creeping,
And looking into your love lit eyes.
I know, in the way that sins are reckoned,
This thought is a sin of the deepest dye;
But I know too that if an angel beckoned,
Standing close by the Throne on High,
And you, adown by the gates infernal,
Should open your loving arms and smile,
I would turn my back on things supernal,
To lie on your breast a little while.
To know for an hour you were mine completely-
Mine in body and soul, my own-
I would bear unending tortures sweetly,
With not a murmur and not a moan.
A lighter sin or lesser error
Might change through hope or fear divine;
But there is no fear, and hell hath no terror,
To change or alter a love like mine.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Women Sometimes
women sometimes
are a handful, a breastful,
a body beautiful,
you think they are so easy
to handle,
cutie pie, sweetie pie,
pity pie?
sure. they're a handful
of pretty pretty breastful
pretty, pretty petty bodies..
fondle, coddle, and
lots of doodles...
but oh, without them,
what will this world of mine be?
a desert. a dry pond.
a well without water.
drought the whole year round.
cracking lips.
labyrinths without an exit.
tunnels without light.
dogs without a master.
birds unfed and dead.
skulls without a skin.
bones without flesh.
blood without veins.
nails without fingers.
pen without a paper.
milk without water.
bed without blankets and pillows.
hands without fingers.
face without eyes.
and so on and so forth.
let me have them all
in my crowded room.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Hymn
(FROM THE GERMAN OF MARTIN LUTHER)
O heart of mine! lift up thine eyes
And see who in yon manger lies!
Of perfect form, of face divine--
It is the Christ-child, heart of mine!
O dearest, holiest Christ-child, spread
Within this heart of mine thy bed;
Then shall my breast forever be
A chamber consecrate to thee!
Beat high to-day, O heart of mine,
And tell, O lips, what joys are thine;
For with your help shall I prolong
Old Bethlehem's sweetest cradle-song.
Glory to God, whom this dear Child
Hath by His coming reconciled,
And whose redeeming love again
Brings peace on earth, good will to men!
poem by Eugene Field
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An Evening Thought
WRITTEN AT SEA
IF sometimes in the dark blue eye,
Or in the deep red wine,
Or soothed by gentlest melody,
Still warms this heart of mine,
Yet something colder in the blood,
And calmer in the brain,
Have whispered that my youth's bright flood
Ebbs, not to flow again.
If by Helvetia's azure lake,
Or Arno's yellow stream,
Each star of memory could awake,
As in my first young dream,
I know that when mine eye shall greet
The hillsides bleak and bare,
That gird my home, it will not meet
My childhood's sunsets there.
Oh, when love's first, sweet, stolen kiss
Burned on my boyish brow,
Was that young forehead worn as this?
Was that flushed cheek as now?
Were that wild pulse and throbbing heart
Like these, which vainly strive,
In thankless strains of soulless art,
To dream themselves alive?
Alas! the morning dew is gone,
Gone ere the full of day;
Life's iron fetter still is on,
Its wreaths all torn away;
Happy if still some casual hour
Can warm the fading shrine,
Too soon to chill beyond the power
Of love, or song, or wine!
poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes
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Best
Mother, I see you with your nursery light,
Leading your babies, all in white,
To their sweet rest;
Christ, the Good Shepherd, carries mine tonight,
And that is best.
I cannot help tears when I see them twine
Their fingers in yours, and their bright curls shine
On your warm breast.
But the Saviour's is purer than yours or mine.
He can love best.
You tremble each hour because your arms
Are weak; your heart is wrung with alarms
And sore opprest:
My darlings are safe, out of reach of harm
And that is best.
You know over yours may hang even now
Pain and disease, whose fulfilling slow,
Naught can arrest.
Mine in God's gardens run to and fro,
And that is best.
You know that of yours, your feeblest one
And dearest, may live long years alone,
Unloved, unblest.
Mine entered spotless on eternal years,
Oh, how much the best.
But grief is selfish; I cannot see
Always why I should stricken be,
More than the rest:
But I know that, as well as for them, for me
God did the best.
poem by Helen Hunt Jackson
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Gentle Poem
The gentle poem with palms so tender
Caress mine heart and with song render
A man sweet, whom was born a brute
Now as gentle as love's played flute
Tranquil I play in her love's fair
And run my fingers down her love's lyre
Never was a love's palm so tranquil
As my love touched a polished heart; genteel
The placid lake of her palms blood
Did gradually inundate my mind's flood
And write her name in my soul clement
For my love to taste and nobly lament
The gentle poem of her calm palm
And sing to me, her amiable psalm
Of ‘love is love in a mine dove-like touch
Lady like, civil, elegant as such
A love like me, sings softly
I love you my love so quietly'….
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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Like a white water lily
Like a white water lily
drifting on a dark pond,
you lay beside me.
Every part of you are pure
and heavenly designed,
to be more than perfect for me.
Your fingers entwine into mine
and your body,
softly touch me with caressing warmth.
I drift deeper into your centre core
and bind forever more
with something far greater,
than passion and physical rapture
of two hungry souls
and you remain mine
through the passage
of all time
and I know how deep
and far and wide
and sincere
your love really is.
poem by Gert Strydom
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United In Pain
my fingers
are not mine anymore
they are running
out of control
i do not wish
to write some more
to infuriate you
but my hands are
rebels
coming out from
my arms
into their
fingers
writing these
lines
i am detached
severed
from the rest of my
parts
i have no more control
about
destiny in the making
birds of blue
feathers
are coming out
from my mouth
and they are not
coming back
my fingers are
automatons
writing now on
their own
i am not
responsible for your
anger
i am a useless man
and my fingers
are not mine anymore
my C5 chokes a nerve
i am numb
my fingers are at war
against
each other now
thoughts converge
without much meaning
united
in pain.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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