Poetry that makes you bend...

[covetoys]

The Sick Rose

William Blake

O Rose, thou art sick!

The invisible worm,

That flies in the night,

In the howling storm,

Has found out thy bed

Of crimson joy,

And his dark secret love

Does thy life destroy.

Words can only describe....words can only describe...

[ReginaP]

When my love swears that she is made of truth

I do believe her, though I know she lies,

That she might think me some untutor'd youth,

Unlearned in the world's false subtleties.

Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young,

Although she knows my days are past the best,

Simply I credit her false speaking tongue:

On both sides thus is simple truth suppress'd.

But wherefore says she not she is unjust?

And wherefore say not I that I am old?

O, love's best habit is in seeming trust,

And age in love loves not to have years told:

Therefore I lie with her and she with me,

And in our faults by lies we flatter'd be.

Oh yeah that's Shakespeare...he's the man...lol

[covetoys]

Is this from one of the Love Sonnets??

Do tell, do tell.

[ReginaP]

I believe so, it's one of my favorites b/c of its many layers...

Keep em coming...

[covetoys]

Well, since we are on the sex board, I have to submit a little offering from Henry Miller. Anais Nin's lover and mentor.

Untitled,

I approach, beating so hard,

Her lips are waxing flames.

I speak to her breathe with my penis,

It is now I know she sings a sweet melody.

>>Blushing

Now I'll STFU, Fiery

[ReginaP]

Originally posted by covetoys

Well, since we are on the sex board, I have to submit a little offering from Henry Miller. Anais Nin's lover and mentor.

Untitled,

I approach, beating so hard,

Her lips are waxing flames.

I speak to her breathe with my penis,

It is now I know she sings a sweet melody.

>>Blushing

Now I'll STFU, Fiery

No! She didn't mean it

[covetoys]

Modern, yet pretty hot..

"Close your ears to the sound of my voice,

And through the thunder of a thousand cannons,

You will hear it calling your name.

Blind yourself to the light in my eyes,

And through the blackness of eternal night,

You will feel them piercing your soul.

Insulate your body against my hands,

And through blocks of ice,

It will tremble in response to my touch.

Turn your cheek away from my breath,

And through layers of rock,

You will feel it hot against your lips."

- Linda Goodman

[entheogen8]

AUTUMN PUSSY

There is a season,

a sadrabilliously sober season

that moves hollow crunchy cold

to smother out good green times...

And...

there is a pretty bitch broad

dat dances through

the leay woods with me

when each Fall falls down on us...

She is big an' woody-wild,

whirling, curling, and twirling her busty dances.

She is mine ten times a someday

under evergreen oak

and waving envious cat willow tails...

Autumn Pussy is found down deep into the dark dingy woods,

lolling and pining on dry moss beds

like a' orange tangle-haired household wholesome whore...

She see me comin', skippin',

an' she light up like a sex-stoked furnace in the night...

Her tits stand out to be licked up clean

of cold crystal dew...

She grab me up an' we commence to dance...

We dance down rank dank rows of forest and path

and we scare up a billion dead brown leafs to watch us go.

Vaughn Bode

[ReginaP]

"Buy from us with a golden curl."

She clipped a precious golden lock,

She dropped a tear more rare than pearl,

Then sucked their fruit globes fair or red:

Sweeter than honey from the rock,

Stronger than man-rejoicing wine,

Clearer than water flowed that juice;

She never tasted such before,

How should it cloy with length of use?

She sucked and sucked and sucked the more

Fruits which that unknown orchard bore,

She sucked until her lips were sore..."

Christina Rossetti...and they said she wrote children's poetry...ha!

[entheogen8]

HONEY ASS

Umph. Stumble. Step. Umph...

If i joggle her back and don't think on her warm parts,

if I grabs under her bottom to balance her wares,

if I minds to the path an' pitfalls of thought,

I can tote a big, buxom woman

forty times as far as the distance is long...

It's not easy goin' for a lazy, lizard libido...

it's heavy hard if she moo to do her windy flying hair

or paint her painted face while way up on top,

while I is dancing a balance beneath certain erotic motors...

I can lean onto a barky tree or rest under cliffside shade,

but burdens and burdens don't go away...

I pack on and on for a place to lay down

and make her do pay for the ride everyday...

I grumble on the turn in the extra long road,

no sign of bread or bed or tea...

If I shifts her some forward to shade under her tits,

I can manage da' sweet woman another while or so...

[covetoys]

Thanks ReginaP, Now I'm blushing again.

Wow!

It took a while but here is the best of the best of love poetry.

By TS Elliot

Let us go then, you and I,

When the evening is spread out against the sky

Like a patient etherised upon a table;

Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,

The muttering retreats

Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels

And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:

Streets that follow like a tedious argument

Of insidious intent

To lead you to an overwhelming question. . .

Oh, do not ask, "What is it?"

Let us go and make our visit.

In the room the women come and go

Talking of Michelangelo.

The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes

The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes

Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening

Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,

Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,

Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,

And seeing that it was a soft October night,

Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.

And indeed there will be time

For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,

Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;

There will be time, there will be time

To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;

There will be time to murder and create,

And time for all the works and days of hands

That lift and drop a question on your plate;

Time for you and time for me,

And time yet for a hundred indecisions

And for a hundred visions and revisions,

Before the taking of a toast and tea.

In the room the women come and go

Talking of Michelangelo.

And indeed there will be time

To wonder, "Do I dare?" and, "Do I dare?"

Time to turn back and descend the stair,

With a bald spot in the middle of my hair -

[They will say: "How his hair is growing thin!"]

My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,

My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin -

[They will say: "But how his arms and legs are thin!"]

Do I dare

Disturb the universe?

In a minute there is time

For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

For I have known them all already, known them all: -

Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,

I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;

I know the voices dying with a dying fall

Beneath the music from a farther room.

So how should I presume?

And I have known the eyes already, known them all -

The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,

And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,

When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,

Then how should I begin

To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?

And how should I presume?

And I have known the arms already, known them all -

Arms that are braceleted and white and bare

[but in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!]

Is it perfume from a dress

That makes me so digress?

Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.

And should I then presume?

And how should I begin?

. . . . .

Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets

And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes

Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows? . . .

I should have been a pair of ragged claws

Scuttling across the floors of silent seas . . . . . And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!

Smoothed by long fingers,

Asleep . . tired . . or it malingers,

Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.

Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,

Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?

But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,

Though I have seen my head [grown slightly bald] brought in upon a platter,

I am no prophet -- and here's no great matter;

I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,

And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,

And in short, I was afraid.

And would it have been worth it, after all,

After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,

Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,

Would it have been worth while,

To have bitten off the matter with a smile,

To have squeezed the universe into a ball

To roll it toward some overwhelming question,

To say: "I am Lazarus, come from the dead,

Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all" -

If one, settling a pillow by her head,

Should say, "That is not what I meant at all.

That is not it, at all."

And would it have been worth it, after all,

Would it have been worth while,

After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,

After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor -

And this, and so much more? -

It is impossible to say just what I mean!

But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:

Would it have been worth while

If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,

And turning toward the window, should say:

"That is not it at all,

That is not what I meant, at all."

. . . . .

No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;

Am an attendant lord, one that will do

To swell a progress, start a scene or two

Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,

Deferential, glad to be of use,

Politic, cautious, and meticulous;

Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;

At times, indeed, almost ridiculous -

Almost, at times, the Fool.

I grow old . . . I grow old . . .

I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?

I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.

I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.

I do not think they will sing to me.

I have seen them riding seaward on the waves

Combing the white hair of the waves blown back

When the wind blows the water white and black.

We have lingered in the chambers of the sea

By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown

Till human voices wake us, and we drown.

Now for you ReginaP

S'io credesse che mia risposta fosse

A persona che mai tornasse al mondo,

Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse.

Ma perciocche giammai di questo fondo

Non torno vivo alcun, s'i'odo il vero,

Senza tema d'infamia ti rispondo.

..

[ReginaP]

I need to get some sleep, and I can't get off this thread...lol...Prufrock is one of my favorites too...and yes I agree, it's to someone that never returned...makes it all the more romantic

[entheogen8]

BOX GIRL

Who could itbeen that I feeled up

on wiley last Wednesday

just a day before thirtsy Thursday the first?

I can remember the summer sky water was all rained out

down to the ground in splashy cocoa brown puddles...

I was just stompin', squahin' home...

Slippin', slidein, decidin' if I can ever find

a pretty piece of pink pussy to do again...

All of a sudden, in fron, right there,

rooted smack into my very next puddle,

stood the thebiggest best box girl

I ever did saw with my tawny seablue orbs!

I combed up my lashes 'cause I don't got no hair

and I snuk up from behind her like a nimble stalking, bare...

"Hiya." I goes groovy-loud

and flings my grab round her big pink leg...

I thumb testily at her tasty super-best hair...

Agosh, the big box girl showered surprise

but moved just da way to show me

no hurt and no noggin lumps

for my copper brash grabs...

So I grabbed dis and dat and stuck at things too,

as we standed last Wednesday like a puddle of two...

Vaughn Bode

[fierydesire]

I think to ppl need to or a little bit of or um

[ReginaP]

Originally posted by fierydesire

I think to ppl need to or a little bit of or um

Gasp! Young lady for that you get TWO spankings!

[covetoys]

Originally posted by ReginaP

Gasp! Young lady for that you get TWO spankings!

One from each of us. Bad, bad, naughty girl!

Regina, you will have to do it for me, i won't be back in NYC until February.