Poetry to your lover?

[Shankara20]

Her sweet silky peach
Wraps around me warm and wet
Passion comes again​

While I take a short break from my dance lessons - a new thread I'll start.

Above is a Haiku I send my lover a few days ago.
I, alas, did not create it, I just stole it from the internet

Please, is there any poetry you have sent, received, read or created to express fondness / passion for a lover?


PS - I may well steal it, but will not claim it as my own.

Learn Haiku I must. Lets see, it is 5-7-5 with a cut word and a ...mumble...mumble...mumble

opps - time to return to the dance lessons - be back in a day or so.

 

[WriterDom]

Sweet worship of cock
Pussy thrills, yields, and squeezes
Nectar buries deep

 

[HottieMama]

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,
I love you simply, without problems or pride:
I love you in this way because I don't know any other way of loving

Excerpt from Sonnet XVII by Pablo Neruda

 

[the captians wench]

Under my writings here "Cufflinks" and "Whips and Chains" were written for specail people in my life at the time.

I tend to write erotica for my lovers more than poems these days.

 

[Netzach]

You bring
politics and religion
sun and the melting snows

I don't know what gets kindled
when your thighs rub mine
a sudden signal in the room
tense and possibly divine

terrible and not in our tether
whatever we become when we tremble

yet something soft and sacrosanct
we whisper without syntax


I feel all nakie and TMI like.

 

[@}-}rebecca----]

The submissive stood on the burning deck.........

I'm not a writer. This is one I am at least not embarrassed by...



His hands submissive abide inherent will

Instruments of love and pathos

Sadist so prominent in his desire to feed

Do I care, should I care. I will Sir

On seven days on seven shores I will Sir

Made of cold steel resolute . I think not Sir

Intense man, who are you , the brooding Shepard of my soul

No terror breathing. In this expression, he has his demons leashed

Armistice diffusing my chaos , effortless and generous he stands

No Scholar ever knew me better, No Virtuoso saw in me a finer art

Compliance a myth in his shadow , who would struggle ?

Emancipate. Should we care for words Sir? Then I listened....

 

[intothewoods]

Cool thread. I haven't written poetry since I was a teenager. I doubt I want to revisit those! But I am very much enjoying the contributions here.

 

[@}-}rebecca----]

You bring
politics and religion
sun and the melting snows

I don't know what gets kindled
when your thighs rub mine
a sudden signal in the room
tense and possibly divine

terrible and not in our tether
whatever we become when we tremble

yet something soft and sacrosanct
we whisper without syntax


I feel all nakie and TMI like.

Ohh Ohhh fabulous, see now that's how I wish I could write.

Genuinely love it Netz and I don't do sycophant.

 

[BiaTcHiNFiRe]

Ready For Love
by Ruth Kephart

Take my hand and lead the way;
tell me all you want to say.
Whisper softly in my ear,
all those things I want to hear.
Kiss my lips and touch my skin;
bring out passions deep within.
Pull me close and hold me near;
take away my pain and fear.
In the darkness of the night,
be my beacon, shine your light.
In the brightness of the sun,
show me that you are the one.
Give me wings so I can fly;
for I can soar when you're nearby.
Enter my heart, break down the wall,
it's time for me to watch it fall.
I've been a prisoner, can't you see?
Break my chains and set me free.
Strip me of my armor tight;
you'll find I won't put up a fight.
Release my soul held deep within . . .
I'm ready now, let love begin.

​

 

[EmpressFi]

it's not a poem.. but I found it very poetic.. it's in my signature line...

When I was at Malin's parent's house for Thanksgiving and came home, it was the message Master first gave me when I said hello...

And lo, a voice cried out in the night,
LORD please deliver me from this pain.
Bring forth the savior and tear back the night!


And then, she appeared

 

[Netzach]

Ohh Ohhh fabulous, see now that's how I wish I could write.

Genuinely love it Netz and I don't do sycophant.

Not shabby yourself there, miss modesty.

 

[Life_Noir]

Her sweet silky peach
Wraps around me warm and wet
Passion comes again​

While I take a short break from my dance lessons - a new thread I'll start.

Above is a Haiku I send my lover a few days ago.
I, alas, did not create it, I just stole it from the internet

Please, is there any poetry you have sent, received, read or created to express fondness / passion for a lover?


PS - I may well steal it, but will not claim it as my own.

Learn Haiku I must. Lets see, it is 5-7-5 with a cut word and a ...mumble...mumble...mumble

opps - time to return to the dance lessons - be back in a day or so.

Damn...And here I just wandered through here to check my PM box.... But I'm in something of a mood so.... Here's something I started..But never particularly finished... About 3 or 4 years ago..


I wait for her.
Downcast of mien I wait.
Heavy of heart…I wait.
My whole life I have waited for her.
And chain slides through my fingers..
Each link…. distinct.
Telling a Rosary….. of contradiction.
Love in Pain
Freedom in Bondage


Some roses bloom only in moonlight
Some angels have raven wings
And all screams are not of pain.


Hmmm Needs work...

 

[BiBunny]

OMG, Life Noir sighting!

*Grope*

 

[BiBunny]

One of my favorite "happy" love poems

A Valediction: Forbidding Mourning
John Donne

AS virtuous men pass mildly away,
And whisper to their souls to go,
Whilst some of their sad friends do say,
"Now his breath goes," and some say, "No."

So let us melt, and make no noise,
No tear-floods, nor sigh-tempests move ;
'Twere profanation of our joys
To tell the laity our love.

Moving of th' earth brings harms and fears ;
Men reckon what it did, and meant ;
But trepidation of the spheres,
Though greater far, is innocent.

Dull sublunary lovers' love
—Whose soul is sense—cannot admit
Of absence, 'cause it doth remove
The thing which elemented it.

But we by a love so much refined,
That ourselves know not what it is,
Inter-assurèd of the mind,
Care less, eyes, lips and hands to miss.

Our two souls therefore, which are one,
Though I must go, endure not yet
A breach, but an expansion,
Like gold to aery thinness beat.

If they be two, they are two so
As stiff twin compasses are two ;
Thy soul, the fix'd foot, makes no show
To move, but doth, if th' other do.

And though it in the centre sit,
Yet, when the other far doth roam,
It leans, and hearkens after it,
And grows erect, as that comes home.

Such wilt thou be to me, who must,
Like th' other foot, obliquely run ;
Thy firmness makes my circle just,
And makes me end where I begun.

And one of my favorite "sad" ones

Monologue at 3 AM
Sylvia Plath

Better that every fiber crack
and fury make head,
blood drenching vivid
couch, carpet, floor
and the snake-figured almanac
vouching you are
a million green counties from here,

than to sit mute, twitching so
under prickling stars,
with stare, with curse
blackening the time
goodbyes were said, trains let go,
and I, great magnanimous fool, thus wrenched from
my one kingdom.

I have some I've written myself, but I think I'd be ashamed to share them.

 

[sinnocence]

My heart is burning to find You.
So many questions go unanswered.
Will You wait for me?
Will this joy last?
Will our dreams entwine?
Will You be true?

Your words continue to haunt me.
And I hunger for You....
In the worst possible way.
Not just for Your body.
But more for Your soul.
And Your heart above all else.
I need to be Yours.

So still I want.
And still I ache.
But still I wait....
To be called Your own.
To kneel before You and
fulfill Your every heart's desire.​

For my love.

 

[EmpressFi]

Under your spell again.
I can't say no to you.
Crave my heart and it's bleeding in your hand.
I can't say no to you.

Shouldn't have let you torture me so sweetly.
Now I can't let go of this dream.
I can't breathe but I feel...

Good enough,
I feel good enough for you.

Drink up sweet decadence.
I can't say no to you,
And I've completely lost myself, and I don't mind.
I can't say no to you.

Shouldn't let you conquer me completely.
Now I can't let go of this dream.
Can't believe that I feel...

Good enough,
I feel good enough.
It's been such a long time coming, but I feel good.

And I'm still waiting for the rain to fall.
Pour real life down on me.
'Cause I can't hold on to anything this good enough.
Am I good enough for you to love me too?

So take care what you ask of me,
'cause I can't say no.​

("Good Enough" by Evanessence)

 

[HottieMama]

Seems so far
That I have gone down this road
Only to find that it ends
But lookin' back
There is one thing that I know
I can't make it all alone again
'Cause I'm too weak to stand on my own
But all I need is you

So lead me
Guide me
Hold me
Hide me in love
With all that you are
And all that you do

Hear me
Take me
Mold me
Break me a god
Just fill all of me
As I fall into you

Just catch me as I fall
But all this time
I have felt so alone
Losing myself in my despair
With loving arms
You were waiting for me to let go
With every step
You were there
'Cause I'm too weak to stand on my own
When all I need is you

So lead me
Guide me
Hold me
Hide me in love
With all that you are
And all that you do

Hear me
Take me
Mold me
Break me a god
Just fill all of me
As I fall into you

Oh my child
How I have longed
For you to come home
To where you belong
All of your life
If you could just see
All of my joy
When you are here with me

Oh my child
(Lead me)
How I have longed
(Guide me)
For you to come home
(Hold me)
To where you belong
All of your life
(Hide me in love)
If you could just see
All of my joy
(With all that you are)
When you are here with me
(And all that you do)

Hear me
Take me
Mold me
Break me oh god
Just fill all of me
As I fall into you
​

David Hodges featuring Amy Lee...

If you have never heard this song...Click here to go listen to it... No matter how many times i hear it, it never fails to bring me to tears...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=myJmHgqEG-8

 

[NALA CAYENNE]

Please, is there any poetry you have sent, received, read or created to express fondness / passion for a lover?


:

I adore you because you’re you.
I adore you because you encourage my naughty side.
Because of your honesty. Because of your openness.
Because you walked into my life at the right time.
Because you didn’t walk away. Because being yours seems so right.
Because you’re my sunshine & rainbows, my support when I need it.
Because you know when I need a firm hand. I adore you. I adore you. I adore you.

Written by me...for Him...today

 

[Netzach]

This is one of my favorites on a much maligned, much misunderstood subject close to my heart.

Sharon Olds

Sex Without Love

How do they do it, the ones who make love
without love? Beautiful as dancers,
gliding over each other like ice-skaters
over the ice, fingers hooked
inside each other's bodies, faces
red as steak, wine, wet as the
children at birth whose mothers are going to
give them away. How do they come to the
come to the come to the God come to the
still waters, and not love
the one who came there with them, light
rising slowly as steam off their joined
skin? These are the true religious,
the purists, the pros, the ones who will not
accept a false Messiah, love the
priest instead of the God. They do not
mistake the lover for their own pleasure,
they are like great runners: they know they are alone
with the road surface, the cold, the wind,
the fit of their shoes, their over-all cardio-
vascular health--just factors, like the partner
in the bed, and not the truth, which is the
single body alone in the universe
against its own best time.

 

[subkitty72]

This is one of my favorites on a much maligned, much misunderstood subject close to my heart.

Sharon Olds

Sex Without Love

How do they do it, the ones who make love
without love? Beautiful as dancers,
gliding over each other like ice-skaters
over the ice, fingers hooked
inside each other's bodies, faces
red as steak, wine, wet as the
children at birth whose mothers are going to
give them away. How do they come to the
come to the come to the God come to the
still waters, and not love
the one who came there with them, light
rising slowly as steam off their joined
skin? These are the true religious,
the purists, the pros, the ones who will not
accept a false Messiah, love the
priest instead of the God. They do not
mistake the lover for their own pleasure,
they are like great runners: they know they are alone
with the road surface, the cold, the wind,
the fit of their shoes, their over-all cardio-
vascular health--just factors, like the partner
in the bed, and not the truth, which is the
single body alone in the universe
against its own best time.

Netz, you're a goddess.

This was a poem that caused me great discomfort in a college poetry course. And one of my very favorites in any language.

Thank you.

 

[Luna_Wolf72]

Two Souls~ by me..

(published on DeviantART)

A moment
that first touch, flesh to flesh
mouth to mouth, heart to heart
Eternity trapped
between joined souls

A kiss
that leads to love, a memory
of cherished, unforgotten treasures
Remembrance of joining

Two souls
......made......

whole.

Touches
which grant peace, a depth of ease
an end to the misery of loneliness
my soul sings
a thank you for pleasure.

And yet,
kisses begin touches,
touches beget dampness
which slides down moistened thighs
Eternity

Trapped between two souls
......made forever......

whole.

 

[subkitty72]

Another contemporary favorite, Li-Young Lee. He writes often and beautifully of the complicated relationship between sons and fathers, but this poem below is pure love-sexy and sensual and sweet. *sigh*

This Room and Everything in It
by Li-Young Lee

Lie still now
while I prepare for my future,
certain hard days ahead,
when I’ll need what I know so clearly this moment.

I am making use
of the one thing I learned
of all the things my father tried to teach me:
the art of memory.

I am letting this room
and everything in it
stand for my ideas about love
and its difficulties.

I’ll let your love-cries,
those spacious notes
of a moment ago,
stand for distance.

Your scent,
that scent
of spice and a wound,
I’ll let stand for mystery.

Your sunken belly
is the daily cup
of milk I drank
as a boy before morning prayer.
The sun on the face
of the wall
is God, the face
I can’t see, my soul,

and so on, each thing
standing for a separate idea,
and those ideas forming the constellation
of my greater idea.
And one day, when I need
to tell myself something intelligent
about love,

I’ll close my eyes
and recall this room and everything in it:
My body is estrangement.
This desire, perfection.
Your closed eyes my extinction.
Now I’ve forgotten my
idea. The book
on the windowsill, riffled by wind . . .
the even-numbered pages are
the past, the odd-
numbered pages, the future.
The sun is
God, your body is milk . . .

useless, useless . . .
your cries are song, my body’s not me . . .
no good . . . my idea
has evaporated . . . your hair is time, your thighs are song . . .
it had something to do
with death . . . it had something
to do with love.

 

[unpredictablebijou]

What a lovely thread! I like the John Donne (that one's a personal favorite) and the Sharon Olds particularly, though it's all gorgeous.

Shankara, I've picked out a couple of mine that you might find appealing. I love to think about someone saying to a lover actual words I've written. To a great extent, it's why I write.

As to attribution, my deal is this. I don't write for fame or publication or even attribution. I write for anonymous lovers in tiny rooms, people I will never meet or hear from. I write with the deep hope and aspiration that someday someone might get laid, get lucky, get off, because of some assortment of words that I've personally created.

But if you find you're saying my particular arrangements of words to lovers and it's being wonderful to do so, it's my best daydream that perhaps someday, at the peak of a breathless and wild orgasm, you will say my name. (alone is fine - wouldn't want you to get in trouble with anyone - grin) That is the highest payment I can imagine, and far more important to me than any popular recognition could ever be.

Here's one piece, and a couple of links. I hope they serve you well.


Waiting I

Waiting I kept thinking of one crystal-black
smoky drop of the oil held to the light on
one soft fingertip
then touched down like a kiss to the salty
small tongue, the fuse,
the tip of the red world, trembling berry
and in moments I am shaking
on the desperate edge, hungry so
hungry my body
breaks, taut in electric arcs, red current
shocks and I try
sliding one slick fingertip in
where he likes to be skin to skin
and in sliding is friction in friction catch fire and
in arcing beat the flame to
a rage and in sliding, explode, in sliding, explode


Here are links:
Try this one
or this one
or, oooh, definitely this one.


Enjoy. I mean that with all my heart.

bijou

 

[Shankara20]

wonderful - each and every one
thank you all

they will be revisited tonight and savored slowly like a rare red wine



I sent this to her yesterday

romantic and kind
intelligent and clever
irresistible​

oh oh, I think I hear the music starting to play again, I guess it is time to return to the dance lessons....

 

[subkitty72]

Galway Kinnell-After Making Love, We Hear Footsteps

i love this poem, though i do not have children and can't say i have ever been in the narrator's peculiar, sweet predicament. i have been spied on by cats while in compromising positions, and i guess it sorta compares (not really, i think).

This poem is such a beautiful ode to familiar love, familial love-makes me smile and sigh and hope to be one of a threesome like the one portrayed here:


After Making Love We Hear Footsteps

For I can snore like a bullhorn
or play loud music
or sit up talking with any reasonably sober Irishman
and Fergus will only sink deeper
into his dreamless sleep, which goes by all in one flash,
but let there be that heavy breathing
or a stifled come-cry anywhere in the house
and he will wrench himself awake
and make for it on the run - as now, we lie together,
after making love, quiet, touching along the length of our bodies,
familiar touch of the long-married,
and he appears - in his baseball pajamas, it happens,
the neck opening so small
he has to screw them on, which one day may make him wonder
about the mental capacity of baseball players -
and flops down between us and hugs us and snuggles himself to sleep,
his face gleaming with satisfaction at being this very child.

In the half darkness we look at each other
and smile
and touch arms across his little, startling muscled body -
this one whom habit of memory propels to the ground of his making,
sleeper only the mortal sounds can sing awake,
this blessing love gives again into our arms.