As I answered her questions I was afraid your name would fall from my lips like a seed Take root and grow up through the floorboards. I slept, say: a snake Masked among black rocks as a black rock In the white hiatus of winter Like my neighbors, taking no pleasure In the million perfectly-chisled Cheeks alighting each moment to melt My cheeks of basalt. We were beautiful, I knew that. I wonder who I'd be If I'd done more than just watch you silently and smile. I have such an attachment Can't seem to let you go, Glad I don't have to hide to you Glad I can let it show. Jack Butler is one of my favorite contemporary poets. Eliot Stand on the highest pavement of the stair — Lean on a garden urn — Weave, weave the sunlight in your hair — Clasp your flowers to you with a pained surprise — Fling them to the ground and turn With a fugitive resentment in your eyes: But weave, weave the sunlight in your hair.
I realized, during a session already dedicated to realizations, how exhausting it was trying to live my reality to its current extent. I just wish it wasn't hard, To hold my only card. When stiff and sore and scarred I take away my hand From leaning on it hard In grass or sand, The hurt is not enough: I long for weight and strength To feel the earth as rough To all my length. Resilience is necessary, but hope exists. This is love and this is joy -- She's my man, and I'm her boy. We all have our moments of getting attracted to a lady She was my crush back in school Years have gone by everyone has moved on Somehow fate brought me back to her We got back in touch I was nervous but Looking into her eyes brought back the buried feelings and attraction I once had She held my hands I felt the warmth and calmness of her palms She kissed me for the first time It felt different in a good way A kisses that still pops up in my head That can't be easily forgotten She held and caressed me Her touch feels so divine She gave me goosebumps She planted a new feeling in this heart of mine She held me close and made sure I never leave her sight. But rain is still rain.
Who'd have thought to look for erotic poetry in the Bible? Blake was married but never had children, as far as we know, yet his love and compassion for the nameless sleeping baby are wonderfully evident in this very moving poem. I remember the day you told us why you wore shorts at the pool. It was bad enough being the one lesbian, but it became harder once the focus of the group turned to writing and performing erotic poetry. Happy birthday to 20th-century poet and playwright Edna St. One of their Gods by Constantine P. Sometimes they were bright blue, like those summer days when the clouds skip along the sky, pushed by warm winds and shattered by sunlight.
Sometimes I think you see it. After that, the task is language—seeking words, reading aloud, finding different phrases until it is time to say the poem is finished—and leave. Can we sing as if we were light, hand in hand sheltered in shade, under a strong sun? If I'd have let myself think such things about people back then, I'd have wanted to touch those long-healed cuts with my fingertips, Feel the smooth hills and valleys of a chaotic heart Made damaged flesh. I never even broached the subject with my parents. Lesbian Poems Sleeping Together As you slept I could not I stood trembling, lost in thought You on one side, me on the other Yet I blushed when I pulled back the covers I slid in carefully under the sheets Praying our skin would not touch or meet My heart racing out of control Wanting to have you, wanting to hold Feeling every vein in my body pulse with that relentless beat Like a volcano wanting to erupt, surging with heat Pulling the pillows and the sheets up tight Feeling the urge to flee or fight No where to run, no where to hide Trying to fight this need inside I've overcome this battle of pain and lust And won something more important, her trust. I think I made you up inside my head. Persuasion is needed because I need to prove that 'I' deserve the larger half of her heart.
They walked on laughing together Holding hands And I felt that familiar something- Not jealousy Not envy But. Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight, And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way, Do not go gentle into that good night. Let that little park with greenish marble busts In the pearl-gray light, under a summer drizzle, Remain as it was when you opened the gate. Tom Merrill is one of my favorite contemporary poets. The thing that gets me is that the story says that originally all people were really pairs of people, joined back to back, and that some of the pairs were man and man, some woman and woman, and others man and woman. That fear, that longing, that shame and joy.
I kissed her so that I could stop looking into them And not seeing you there. Sometimes I felt close to you And my heart would race. It is otherwise with us. She bought me a drink, And mistook my sadness for shyness. And onward, as bells off San Salvador Salute the crocus lustres of the stars, In these poinsettia meadows of her tides,— Adagios of islands, O my Prodigal, Complete the dark confessions her veins spell.
They turned to tears, Angels weeping over dull natures, But didn't convince me. The bailey beareth the bell away; The lily, the rose, the rose I lay. Now that I have your heart by heart, I see The wharves with their great ships and architraves; The rigging and the cargo and the slaves On a strange beach under a broken sky. A girl with soft brown eyes and long hair came up to me. That moment for her Was your fault. Sweet babe, in thy face Soft desires I can trace, Secret joys and secret smiles, Little pretty infant wiles.
Translated by Khaled Mattawa from the author's collections Ghuruf Ta'isha Dar al-Fikr, Beirut, 1992 and Satwat al-Masa Dar Bissan, Beirut, 1996. I love thee to the level of every day's Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight. Tell me who I am, And I'll hold onto my secret. I am a haven for your lips of desire. Let me believe, That He still wants me. Conrad Aiken, in his best poems, rivals Wallace Stevens and Hart Crane as masters of modern English poetic meter.
Believe in my heart, And I can cure your sadness. Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Great love poets in other languages include Dante, Kahlil Gibran, Czeslaw Milosz, Pablo Neruda, Ovid, Petrarch, Rumi, King Solomon and Rabindranath Tagore. All the dreaded cards foretell. The injustice is no little thing. I think I made you up inside my head. And I'm a Christian kid, I believe in Him, And if you think He hates me for my sins, Then go ahead, Let's settle this.