Quotes about cupped, page 6
Last Night I Dreamt Your Perfume
Last night I dreamt your perfume
While I held you in my hand
Last night I dreamt your perfume
You will never understand
The way you make me feel
The promise that you give
Last night I dreamt your perfume
Lost in those dreams I live
Last night I dreamt your perfume
Arched fingers cupped your breast
Last night I dreamt your perfume
Felt your warm breath brush my chest
With gel coat slide I gripped you
Sensation through my veins
Last night I dreamt your perfume
She who bears no name
Last night I dreamt your perfume
Your body meshed with mine
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poem by Bill Smith
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Dedication
LORD, on this paper white,
My soul would write
Tales that were heard of old
Of perilous things and bold;
Kings as young lions for pride;
Lost cities where they died
Last in the gate; the cry
That told some Eastern throng
A prophet was gone by;
The song of swords; the song
Of beautiful, fierce lords
Gone down among the swords;
The traffick and the breath
Of nations spilled in death;
The glory and the gleam
Of a whole age
Snared in a golden page,–
Such is my dream.
Yet thanks, if yet You give
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poem by Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall
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Boss Of The Nethers
The cupped cervix sat
on the coffee table.
We tried not to stare,
like our pupils would get fried by its brightness.
Perhaps my ex-wife left it as a reminder of the time
when human beings had hips, back when we had bodies.
Yes, that was fun-a cupcake of breeze disintegrating
on our cheeks, a banana muffin undressing in our nostrils,
but bodies broke down too,
and things are easier now.
Strange, how we see further without eyeballs. Our eyes tricked us
into thinking a wall was something not be seen through.
Mouths got in the way
of saying what needed saying.
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poem by Jeffrey McDaniel
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A Healing Love
So enchanting,
Watching,
As you begin
To steal my empty heart
Away from me
And fill it in
With brand new dreams
And memories
Where things lie dormant
You have awoke
With simple pleasures
And rekindled hopes
I am captured,
A butterfly,
In your cupped palms
Unafraid, I allow myself
To drift along
Your waves of calm
You help me breathe
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poem by Erika Wingo
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The Ditraction, S
To make you a word,
UN repulsive, soft alive,
sharp to cut, blush to rush, is experiment's,
half of life.
To holds you still, pinned as emo, boy, girl
cutting around up down, while the mirror,
calls your name.
You, ..your rose it's softness unconfined
in silks plush, cupped breath of hand,
you are it's name, it is what..tell me?
You Sir: chained to the wall, gagged muffled,
it's she, hears you SOB uncontrollably, as she in black
leather lays it on again, it's more again, than not.
It's OJ that you run our town, after all we golf together.
Disruptions, pour mad T.V..unremitances, eruptions
controlled guided, on preachers court, our time rushes
in on one last glorious,
round of applause, you know,
your show must go on, without pause.
Remember to smile at the usher, crushed verve's is back..
poem by Is It Poetry
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Larry Levis
My poem would eat nothing.
I tried giving it water
but it said no,
worrying me.
Day after day,
I held it up to the llight,
turning it over,
but it only pressed its lips
more tightly together.
It grew sullen, like a toad
through with being teased.
I offered it money,
my clothes, my car with a full tank.
But the poem stared at the floor.
Finally I cupped it in
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poem by Larry Levis
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The Poem You Asked For
My poem would eat nothing.
I tried giving it water
but it said no,
worrying me.
Day after day,
I held it up to the llight,
turning it over,
but it only pressed its lips
more tightly together.
It grew sullen, like a toad
through with being teased.
I offered it money,
my clothes, my car with a full tank.
But the poem stared at the floor.
Finally I cupped it in
[...] Read more
poem by Larry Levis
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Variation On The Word Sleep
I would like to watch you sleeping,
which may not happen.
I would like to watch you,
sleeping. I would like to sleep
with you, to enter
your sleep as its smooth dark wave
slides over my head
and walk with you through that lucent
wavering forest of bluegreen leaves
with its watery sun & three moons
towards the cave where you must descend,
towards your worst fear
I would like to give you the silver
branch, the small white flower, the one
word that will protect you
from the grief at the center
of your dream, from the grief
at the center I would like to follow
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poem by Margaret Atwood
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Unto one who lies at rest
Unto one who lies at rest
'Neath the sunset, in the West,
Clover-blossoms on her breast.
Lover of each gracious thing
Which makes glad the summer-tide,
From the daisies clustering
And the violets purple-eyed,
To those shy and hidden blooms
Which in forest coverts stay,
Sending wandering perfumes
Out as guide to show the way,
All she knew, to all was kind;
None so humble or so small
That she did not seek and find
Silent friendship from them all.
Moss-cups, tiarella leaves,
Dappld like the adder's skin,
Fungus huts with ivory eaves
Which the fairies harbor in,
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poem by Helen Hunt Jackson
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Retirement Sometimes Comes...
On a cold winter night
she sits by the fire-place
nesting her frail frame
on grandma’s rocking chair
listening to the burning wood
the crackling sound of embers
tickle her ears like a lover’s tongue
her brooding eyes focus in deep study
she is reading Dan Brown’s The Da Vinci Code
unmindful of Angel taking a nap
by the lamp post
with her cute manicured paw
balancing her milky face
empty of purr and punishment
ears twitching like a disturbed twig
on a potted plant
in a moment of broken silence
my padded feet screeched across
the oak-finished wooden floor
proximity of distance where she sat
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poem by Leonard Dabydeen
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