(anyone home?)

Once, My Lover We met, by chance, upon a Spring morn Was it then, my lover you became? You keep near me, watch from afar And it is that which burns me still. If, upon a Summer's day, we meet again, Continue what we silenced that day? Your face still I see every moment. But the shame in me wasn't yours We belonged, it was those that looked. And, if you, if me, we would be lost To the stars we counted that night. Harbor no inhibitions, take me Again to that day. Shall we plan? Oh, I ache for your touch from Fleeting memories in my dreams. If we meet by chance, a Spring morn, Would you again my lover become?

In the storm he would take me. His lips and tongue explorers In a jungle filled with wild flowers. I cry out to him again and He feeds me nectar and creme. We fly with our bodies entwined Within the sweet web of surrender And he meets me over and over. His touch is warm and commanding I cannot ignore the demanding fire Within my womb. He is the master. His trade is my passion.

Because I love; I wish to understand your heart. I want to feel your emptiness So I can fill it with kindness And mercy, because I love. But you steal it like a hungry child. Your voice is a hand on my skin. You have brought me grief, I come back like a fool to hear Your sound. Whisper in my ear. Because I love; I feed off the aura your words give. Encourage my voice so I may sing. Knowing how you hunger, truly, but you Are not ready for the feast prepared. And I want you. Speak to me in prose. Can I not be a Venus to anyone? You are so vain and pompous, yes. Love me like a hungry, greedy soul. So I give you kindness and mercy, Because I love.

Would I give to you my soul? And what proof would you give That my self will be kept safe? Would I give it to the Angel Who stays with me everywhere? And could I trust it in those hands? Mortal beings cannot be held in That high esteem, nor the angels, Subject to temptations like we. But if you ask me, I would give you My love. That would be a gift I would never ask to be returned.

Can I take myself a lover or two? Would they drown the sound of your name On my lips? With each love you take in your arms, Do they remove the wish for my kiss On your lips? And each time you hurt me, be my embrace, Would you want me then? Calling my name From your lips? Time and again I return to the fire for warmth And it blows out cold but again I call to you From my lips.

(you oughta go off on biz trips more often...)

am tired of them, really, what? you tired of seeing me here? *wink*

nope, you just always seem to have a bunch of new poems to post for our perusal...what do you think of the current changes around here?

hey... mind if i put something of mine in here? (not like any of youd really stop me, i guess...) in a winter- a body left bare laying numb on words, warmed to his touch flesh wrote in verse and i felt, deliriously- each of his caresses so hes breathed me, that very day, and ive lived in him since no other love within me, nor inside him dwelled, only i was only he was truly purely mine dared to Dream- a maiden but, no airy voice would peirce the thick of our sighs no eyes, no imagined embraces would pale the furious, holy red that clothed us drowning in the sugar sweet syrup of delusions. quietly shunning truth, she would recall a never was. and the wide eyed girl squints; chokes- in the mist and fog of pastel visions. she hated pastels and couldnt bear that they refused to see the bold, dark colours of an us, a we, that stole- the imperial violet from twilight the cold blue of stares and the honest red of an august sun i cry- hear it, though- see the heavens break in my shreik, see them fall in every whisper and watch the stars wince sharp to my thoughts and i would think, strong, i would think in a green eyed afternoon, id think; sweetie... he never was your lover.

you are more than welcome to post your work here paula, please do! wer: the stuff looks good. have been really tired so haven't done anymore work here myself (sorry y'all). and being away means i think too much so i write!

and to which stuff do you reference?

the bars at the top (did you do anything else i don't know about?)

not in here...

well, except center the full name/change it thing, but did that everywhere else, as well...

Check out the "Song of Solomon" in the Bible. ( in some translations, "song of Songs", or "Canticles")

been there done that. beautiful piece. even if you're not a believer, the Bible holds many wonderful writings and is an excellent source of history as well as common truths.

Very true, not to mention, it's great literature! Ever heard the song,"TURN, TURN, TURN"?.........Ecclesiastes Ch 3 first 10 verses.

indeed! a time for everything.....

That is one of my favorite songs!!

wow, has it been nearly a year?

Here's another topic that looks like it needs some revitalizing, so here goes: THE VINE by Robert Herrick I dreamed this mortal part of mine Was metamorphosed to a vine; Which crawling one and every way, Enthralled my dainty Lucia. Me thought, her long small legs and thighs I with my tendrils did surprise; Her belly, buttocks, and her waist By my soft nervelets were embraced: About her head I writhing hung, And with rich clusters (hid among The leaves) her temples I behung: So that my Lucia seemed to me Young Bacchus ravished by his tree. My curls about her neck did crawl, And arms and hands they did enthrall; So that she could not freely stir, (All parts there made one prisoner.) But when I crept with leaves to hide Those parts, which maids keep unespied, Such fleeting pleasures there I took, That with the fancy I awoke; And found (Ah me!) this flesh of mine More like a stock, than like a vine.

Oooh, Good one!!! Lusty, indeed! Thanks!

Wolfie, I never read this Topic before. You write incredible stuff! (Some of the old topics I do not read for my own sanity!) Thanks for your poems and I now see how very much your muse is worth to this enterprise. How could it dare desert you?!

Here are some little excerpts from some poems by Aphra Behn, which unfortunately I don't have the titles for: In pity to our sex sure thou wert sent, That we might love, and yet be innocent: For sure no crime with thee we can commit; Or if we should--thy form excuses it. For who, that gathers fairest flowers believes A snake lies hid beneath the fragrant leaves. ***** Though 'tis a mighty power must move The soul to this degree of love, And though with virtue I the world perplex, Lysander finds the weakness of my sex, So Helen while from Theseus' arms she fled, To charming Paris yields her heart and bed.

marcia *beam* thanks dearie! amy, thanks for posting some good stuff in this forlorn topic!

Hmm, how odd that a topic on poems of desire should be "forlorn"... THE LETTER by Amy Lowell Little cramped words scrawling all over the paper Like draggled fly's legs, What can you tell the flaring moon Through the oak leaves? Or of my uncurtained window and the bare floor Spattered with moonlight? Your silly quirks and twists have nothing in them Of blossoming hawthorns, And this paper is dull, crisp, smooth, virgin of loveliness Beneath my hand. I am tired, Beloved, of chafing my heart against The want of you; Of squeezing it into little inkdrops, And posting it. And I scald alone, here, under the fire Of the great moon.

I am tired, Beloved, of chafing my heart against The want of you; Amy, could we write volumes on this very subject, even though mine was so long ago? *big sigh*

KIDNAP POEM by Nikki Giovanni ever been kidnapped by a poet if i were a poet i'd kidnap you put you in my phrases and meter you to jones beach or maybe coney island or maybe just to my house lyric you in lilacs dash you in the rain blend into the beach to complement my see play the lyre for you ode you with my love song anything to win you wrap you in the red Black green show you off to mama yeah if i were a poet, i'd kid nap you (I love the line "lyric you in lilacs"--I use that phrase whenever I can!)

PIAZZA PIECE by John Crowe Ransom --I am a gentleman in a dustcoat trying To make you hear. Your ears are soft and small And listen to an old man not at all, They want the young men's whispering and sighing. But see the roses on your trellis dying And hear the spectral singing of the moon; For I must have my lovely lady soon, I am a gentleman in a dustcoat trying. --I am a lady young in beauty waiting Until my truelove comes, and then we kiss. But what grey man among the vines is this Whose words are dry and faint as in a dream? Back from my trellis, Sir, before I scream! I am a lady young in beauty waiting.

The first one is lovely even though I know Jones Beach and it isn't all that lyrical...but love the lilac line - my favorite flower fragrance from childhood. The second one is sad...

Thanks Amy. As ever, poems quite outside my experience, and fascinating. I am trying to work out if the lovely John Crowe Ransom sonnet is cryptic; although I might guess the "gentleman in a dustcoat" (a book) I can't assign the "lady young in beauty" to anything. Was it a subliminal pun to post a kidnap poem followed by a Ransom poem?

Ransome pun - Mark, how brilliant to note that! It had quite escaped me. The man is very clever and is readable on many levels.

Good grief, I posted those and I didn't even think of that! I have a tendency to do that--I make puns when I don't intend to, and people think I'm much wittier than I really am!

*lol*

I know this is a incredibly common and over-anthologized poem, but I was thinking about it because someone is playing coy with me, and it made me think of this poem. TO HIS COY MISTRESS by Andrew Marvell Had we but world enough and time, This coyness, Lady, were no crime. We would sit down and think which way To walk, and pass our long love's day. Thou by the Indian Ganges' side Shouldst rubies find; I by the tide Of Humber would complain. I would Love you ten years before the Flood, And you should, if you please, refuse Till the Conversion of the Jews. My vegetable love should grow Vaster than empires, and more slow. An hundred years should go to praise Thine eyes, and on thy forehead gaze, Two hundred to adore each breast, But thirty thousand to the rest. And age at least to every part, And the last age should show your heart. For, Lady, you deserve this state, Nor would I love at lower rate. But at my back I always hear Time's winged chariot hurrying near, And yonder all before us lie Deserts of vast eternity. Thy beauty shall no more be found, Nor in thy marble vault shall sound My echoing song; then worms shall try That long preserved virginity, And your quaint honor turn to dust, And into ashes all my lust. The grave's a fine and private place, But none, I think, do there embrace. Now therefore, while the youthful hue Sits on thy skin like morning glew, And while thy willing soul transpires At every pore with instant fires, Now let us sport us while we may; And now, like amorous birds of prey, Rather at once our time devour Than languish in his slow-chapped power. Let us roll all our strength and all Our sweetness up into one ball And tear our pleasures with rough strife Thorough the iron gates of life. Thus, though we cannot make our sun Stand still, yet we will make him run.

Good poem...I have known the feeling, as well, but the guy in college lost me and I married another...!

His loss!

So I was told. Why did it take so long to get over the hurt inside if that were the case? (Rhetorical question)

Btw,...Thanks for the supporting thought! *hugs* Amy...you are ever there for me.

...as you are for me! *hugs*

this is brand new today: The Marble Halls of Light Dance with me, my Dreamer. Our footsteps fall like feathers. Your eyes a burning ember In the Marble Halls of Light. Your touch is my addiction Of moonlit Summer dreams, Of Spring and Fall and Winter In the Marble Halls of Light. To dance with you, My Dreamer, A wish to have come true. Our hearts follow the rhythm In the Marble Halls of Light. How my heart does yearn for Your heart to beat with mine. Meet me there, I pray you, In the Marble Halls of Light.

Oh Wolfie! You wrote my dream into your poem as well as others, I am sure. Viennese Waltzes in Marble halls with the tall handsome man who can do it in a straight line... Wow! Thank you!

i knew you'd understand it and surely others have dreams of their own marble halls!

Indeed! Mine has been since I was a little girl!

Too true! Thanks Wolfie.

wrote this last night: Temptation is questioned. Whose sin do we make, If you have the hunger And I've made the feast?

Ummm! Yes, I know...!

and this today: The piercing stare of your eyes Makes me weak in the knees And I'm made aware that I have your attention. The accidental touch Makes me draw in a breath And I'm made aware that It was no accident. The casual chatter Belies the agenda And I'm made aware that It's wrought with meaning. ******** Give a reason for my heart aflutter, For my weakness in standing, For the glow everyone sees. Validate the butterflies When you walk in the room and Whenever I think of you again. Let this not be for naught For wishful thinking, hopeful My affect be the same with you.

....*S I G H*..... Been there, done that; still there, doing that....

How long till Monday? Or is it Saturday?

*sigh* too long.

...I know...*hugs*

(I'm beginnning to hate these "FORGOT" buttons. They are beginning to make me feel bad ...)

Translating amorous couplets A labour of love BY MARK DRAGOUMIS CREDIT should be given where credit is due. A Greek-American Professor, Mr Stylianos V Spyridakis, translated and Aristide D Caratzas published the Mantinades. Selected Love Distichs of Crete. So what? You may ask. So the translations respect both the fifteen syllable metre and the rhyme. That is what. Written mostly during the Venetian period (their name comes from the Italian mattinata, or morning song) in the Cretan vernacular, they blend so successfully old Greek poetic motifs with romantic love that they are still being created and sung at village festivals, weddings, baptisms and other joyful events in Crete. This publication deals only with the 'love distichs' or couplets. The pain and sorrow of unrequited love is vividly portrayed: "�� ��������� ��� ������, ��� �� �� ������������ ������� ��' ������� �'�����, ��� ��� ��� ��������." (A lonely chapel on the hill, silent and forlorn resembles he who's in love, but from his love is torn.) Here the need to respect the rhyme damages ever so slightly the simplicity of the line about the quandary of the man 'who loves but is not loved'. Note also the assimilation of love with the practice of religion. The man whose love is shunned, is like an empty shell, a chapel on the hill where mass is never celebrated. In a clear reference to romantic love that pledges to last forever and does not even depend on frequent visual contact (this bit is somewhat lost in the translation) the Cretan lover identifies completely with his sweetheart. "����� �� �� �� ������ ��' �� �� �� ���������� ��' �� �� �� ��� ��� �� ��� �� �� ��� ��� �����." (Living apart, by no means, my love for you belies For I breathe with your breath and see with your eyes.) Interestingly, love is not portrayed only as the soul's tumult that sweeps everything on its path but also as the crowning of a long, close relationship that is more the mark of a successful marriage than the sudden explosion of a coup de foudre. The long, intimate relation between the sand and the sea on the seashore used here to portray a love relation of long standing is quite unusual in Greek folk poetry. "O������� ��' ��������� ����' � ������ ��� ���� ����� �� ��� ����� ��� ��� ����� ��� ��� ����." (The seashore draws to its lap the sand day and night Without you I'm miserable, I miss you my delight.) One should not miss the delights of this book. Professor Spyridakis merits a prize of some sort. Is anyone reading this column in the ministry of culture? http://www.athensnews.gr/athweb/nathens.prnt_article?e=C&f=&t=04&m=A43&aa=5

Hmmm wonder why I hated the "forget" buttons? It has been a while since I had anything amorous come to my attention. I would love to have that book!