Passion

Poems about passion are like thunder and lightning. They are powerful, striking, and memorable. You can forget the meaning of the words you read, but the mood of these poems will never leave you. After all, passion is an area where instincts prevail, and they fill the mind with sizzling desire and unbridled thirst. Poems about passion have no age, boundaries, or nationalities.

«A Last Confession» by William Butler Yeats

What lively lad most pleasured me
Of all that with me lay?
I answer that I gave my soul
And loved in misery,
But had great pleasure with a lad
That I loved bodily.

Flinging from his arms I laughed
To think his passion such
He fancied that I gave a soul
Did but our bodies touch,
And laughed upon his breast to think
Beast gave beast as much.

I gave what other women gave
That stepped out of their clothes.
But when this soul, its body off,
Naked to naked goes,
He it has found shall find therein
What none other knows,

And give his own and take his own
And rule in his own right;
And though it loved in misery
Close and cling so tight,
There’s not a bird of day that dare
Extinguish that delight.

***

«A Pastoral Dialogue» by Jonathan Swift

DERMOT, SHEELAH

A Nymph and swain, Sheelah and Dermot hight;
Who wont to weed the court of Gosford knight;
While each with stubbed knife removed the roots,
That raised between the stones their daily shoots;
As at their work they sate in counterview,
With mutual beauty smit, their passion grew.
Sing, heavenly Muse, in sweetly flowing strain,
The soft endearments of the nymph and swain.

DERMOT

My love to Sheelah is more firmly fixt,
Than strongest weeds that grow those stones betwixt;
My spud these nettles from the stones can part;
No knife so keen to weed thee from my heart.

SHEELAH

My love for gentle Dermot faster grows,
Than yon tall dock that rises to thy nose.
Cut down the dock, ’twill sprout again; but, O!
Love rooted out, again will never grow.

DERMOT

No more that brier thy tender leg shall rake:
(I spare the thistles for Sir Arthur’s sake)
Sharp are the stones; take thou this rushy mat;
The hardest bum will bruise with sitting squat.

SHEELAH

Thy breeches, torn behind, stand gaping wide;
This petticoat shall save thy dear backside;
Nor need I blush; although you feel it wet,
Dermot, I vow, ’tis nothing else but sweat.

DERMOT

At an old stubborn root I chanced to tug,
When the Dean threw me this tobacco-plug;
A longer ha’p’orth never did I see;
This, dearest Sheelah, thou shall share with me.

SHEELAH

In at the pantry door, this morn I slipt,
And from the shelf a charming crust I whipt:
Dennis was out, and I got hither safe;
And thou, my dear, shall have the bigger half.

DERMOT

When you saw Tady at long bullets play,
You sate and loused him all a sunshine day:
How could you, Sheelah, listen to his tales,
Or crack such lice as his between your nails?

SHEELAH

When you with Oonah stood behind a ditch,
I peep’d, and saw you kiss the dirty bitch;
Dermot, how could you touch these nasty sluts?
I almost wish’d this spud were in your guts.

DERMOT

If Oonah once I kiss’d, forbear to chide;
Her aunt’s my gossip by my father’s side:
But, if I ever touch her lips again,
May I be doom’d for life to weed in rain!

SHEELAH

Dermot, I swear, though Tady’s locks could hold
Ten thousand lice, and every louse was gold;
Him on my lap you never more shall see;
Or may I lose my weeding knife-and thee!

DERMOT

O, could I earn for thee, my lovely lass,
A pair of brogues to bear thee dry to mass!
But see, where Norah with the sowins comes-
Then let us rise, and rest our weary bums.

by Jonathan Swift

«A sense’s addiction to chocolate» by Saajida Gora

The sensual mouth’s craving desires

are finding sweet addiction’s rapid fires,

The enticing chocolate mounds of pure
pleasure,

melting in a fervent, passionate, river

appealing rugged hazelnut mountains,

swim in the oceans of chocolate fountains.

Sensations so pure, desires so dreamy,

A tantalizing taste, so eerily creamy.

The earthy, nutty flavour splashing around,

spreading sweet river all over the ground.

Endorphins ecstatic bring a hypnotic trance

while taste-buds are formed into a swirling
dance.

An intensive taste’s of the ultimate flavour

overwhelm senses in a frisson like shiver.

The seductive chocolate traps her heart in its
core

A chocolate taste much too good to endure

This sensual addiction she will try to escape

summoning all courage from under her cape

But then she thinks once more of the heavenly
bliss,

of the milky soft and tender kiss

brought back to senses at sound of the door

the persuasive chocolate now no more.

***

«A Wish» by Ehsan Sehgal

If you love me
Stand beside me
Hold me in your arms
Give your breathing flavour
Be my heart and soul
For love, forever
Trust and, believe me, alone
Never leave me alone
Never let me down
Be my love crown
If you love me
If you love me

***

«Addiction» by Walid Saba

I have a new addiction!

But this one does not weaken me
And it will not cause my demise

This one has brought me back to life
I am now aging younger
Living life,
From end to beginning

Give me another shot,
I beg you

I need another sip of your potion
Another mouthful of your brew

Just another bite
A tiny nibble

Give me the last drag,
I beseech you

Let me go back to the womb

***

«All in green went my love riding» by E. E. Cummings

All in green went my love riding
on a great horse of gold
into the silver dawn.
four lean hounds crouched low and smiling
the merry deer ran before.
Fleeter be they than dappled dreams
the swift sweet deer
the red rare deer.
Four red roebuck at a white water
the cruel bugle sang before.
Horn at hip went my love riding
riding the echo down
into the silver dawn.
four lean hounds crouched low and smiling
the level meadows ran before.
Softer be they than slippered sleep
the lean lithe deer
the fleet flown deer.
Four fleet does at a gold valley
the famished arrow sang before.
Bow at belt went my love riding
riding the mountain down
into the silver dawn.
four lean hounds crouched low and smiling
the sheer peaks ran before.
Paler be they than daunting death
the sleek slim deer
the tall tense deer.
Four tell stags at a green mountain
the lucky hunter sang before.
All in green went my love riding
on a great horse of gold
into the silver dawn.
four lean hounds crouched low and smiling
my heart fell dead before.

***

«Behold My Treasures, Darling» by Endre Ady

Behold my treasures, darling,
they are less than a Biblical farthing,
behold the fate of a true and faithful life,
look at my grey hairs departing.
I didn’t wander afar
sadly I was proud to be a Magyar,
and I got a misery, woe, misfortune
and I have reaped troubles galore.
At loving I was pretty good
couldn’t be outdone even by a God
as I conceived of it as a child.
Look at me now, in pain, blood, and fever defiled.
If you hadn’t come mt way
my lamenting mouth would have nothing to say
behold the mockers of integrity
sending me into the coffin.
Behold me with your love, my darling,
it was you I found while fleeing,
and if there’s a smile left in this loathsome world
you are the smile of my heart.
Behold my treasures, my darling,
they’re less than the Biblical farthing,
let them be dark and youthful to you,
look at my grey hairs departing.

***

«Braga» by Walid Saba

I was on my way to nowhere
Tired, I unsaddled
It is Porto, I was told

O my!
This is where I was going,
Without even knowing

Every stone here deserves attention

Castles are old
Just like I was told
The Port is ancient
The beer is always cold
And everyone here smiles
All worries are put on hold

How can I join this festival,
When I foolishly
Think too much of life?

You do not grieve near the fire dance
You dance,
Aimlessly!
You rejoice,
While you have the chance

This fire does not last forever

I desperately needed someone
To save me …
From myself!

And there she was
Staring,
And curious

I looked lonely,
Said lady Braga

Like an ill child,
She treated me
And she treated me well!

We started another festival
Ignited a new fire
And we danced
And I was better …

But the fire has long subsided

BRAGA!!!
I am ill, again!

***

«Ever Give All The Heart» by William Butler Yeats

Never give all the heart, for love
Will hardly seem worth thinking of
To passionate women if it seem
Certain, and they never dream
That it fades out from kiss to kiss;
For everything that’s lovely is
But a brief, dreamy. Kind delight.
O never give the heart outright,
For they, for all smooth lips can say,
Have given their hearts up to the play.
And who could play it well enough
If deaf and dumb and blind with love?
He that made this knows all the cost,
For he gave all his heart and lost.

***

«Gifts of Passion» by Lucio Muñoz

The moon complained to the sun,
“He said he loves me,
Yet instead of giving me real roses,
He gave me fake ones,
He seems to be a cheap one”.

The sun replied softly and sweetly,
“When I myself felt in love,
I was given three fake
Dandelions, I smiled happily
As I knew, she knew, they would be with me
For ever. So much she loved me,
My priceless one”.

The moon learnt that day,
That a especial gift received is a expression,
That must be valued not in terms of money,
but in terms of passion.

***

«Hattered Heart» by Jeff Sprague

Looking in your eye’s has melted my Heart,
my mind races just thinking of you.
Broken, battered and torn completely apart,
Something deep inside is showing me the glue.

In life I have felt a lot of Depression,
Day in and day out not knowing what to do.
Just when I think love has no more lessons,
Things start to change, I am no longer blue.

Give me a chance to show you my worth,
Let me be the one you need to turn to.
For my heart has taken a new birth,
As of now it truly belongs to you.

***

«I am too close for him … » by Wislawa Szymborska

I am too close for him to dream about me.
I’m not flying over him, not fleeing him
under the roots of trees. I am too close.
Not with my voice sings the fish in the net.
Not from my finger rolls the ring.
I am too close. A large house is on fire
without my calling for help. Too close
for a bell dangling from my hair to chime.
Too close for me to enter as a guest
before whom the walls part.
Never again will I die so readily,
so far beyond the flesh, so inadvertently
as once in his dream. I am too close,
too close—I hear the hiss
and see the glittering husk of that word,
as I lie immobilized in his embrace. He sleeps,
more available at this moment
to the ticket lady of a one-lion traveling circus
seen but once in his life
than to me lying beside him.
Now a valley grows for her in him, ochre-leaved,
closed off by a snowy mountain
in the azure air. I am too close
to fall out of the sky for him. My scream
might only awaken him. Poor me,
limited to my own form,
but I was a birch tree, I was a lizard,
I emerged from satins and sundials
my skins shimmering in different colors. I possessed
the grace to disappear from astonished eyes,
and that is the rich man’s riches. I am too close,
too close for him to dream about me.
I slip my arm out from under his sleeping head.
It’s numb, full of imaginary pins and needles.
And on the head of each, ready to be counted,
dance the fallen angels.

***

«I Envy The Woman Whose Lips» by Faith Elizabeth Brigham

i envy the woman whose lips
your ample mouth has gently kissed
whose very look enslaves your soul
i ponder yet all i have missed

i envy her still whose arms
press you to her breasts so tenderly
who shares your secret hopes and dreams
and keeps your fire burning steadily

i envy the woman whose bed
your long lean body slumbers in
forgive my heart*s dear love desires
that which others consider a sin

i envy the woman i don*t even know
who possesses what i can only desire
to be empowered by someone so fine
i envy her body – her soul on fire

***

«I Guard Your Eyes» by Endre Ady

With my old man’s wrinkled hand,
with my old man’s squinting eyes,
let me hold your lovely hand,
let me guard your lovely eyes.
Worlds have tumbled, through their fall
like a wild beast chased by fright
I came, and I on you did call
scared, I wait with you inside.
With my old man’s wrinkled hand,
with my old man’s squinting eyes,
let me hold your lovely hand,
let me guard your lovely eyes.
I do not know why, how long
can I thus remain for you –
but I hold your lovely hand
and I guard your lovely eyes.

***

«I have found what you are like» by E. E. Cummings

i have found what you are like
the rain,
(Who feathers frightened fields
with the superior dust-of-sleep. wields
easily the pale club of the wind
and swirled justly souls of flower strike
the air in utterable coolness
deeds of green thrilling light
with thinned
newfragile yellows
lurch and.press
-in the woods
which
stutter
and
sing
And the coolness of your smile is
stirringofbirds between my arms;but
i should rather than anything
have(almost when hugeness will shut
quietly)almost,
your kiss

***

«Isabel’s Ode» by Robert Greene

Sitting by a river side,
Where a silent stream did glide,
Banked about with choice flowers,
Such as spring from April showers,
When fair Iris smiling shows
All her riches in her dews;
Thick-leaved trees so were planted,
As nor art nor nature wanted,
Bordering all the brook with shade,
As if Venus there had made,
By Flora’s wile, a curious bower,
To dally with her paramour;
At this current as I gazed,
Eyes intrapt, mind amazed,
I might see in my ken
Such a flame as fireth men,
Such a fire as doth fry
With one blaze both heart and eye,
Such a heat as doth prove
No heat like to heat of love.
Bright she was, for ’twas a she
That traced her steps towards me:
On her head she wore a bay,
To fence Phoebus’ light away:
In her face one might descry
The curious beauty of the sky:
Her eyes carried darts of fire,
Feathered all with swift desire,
Yet forth these fiery darts did pass
Pearled tears as bright as glass,
That wonder ’twas in her eyne
Fire and water should combine,
If the old saw did not borrow,
Fire is love, and water sorrow.
Down she sat, pale and sad;
No mirth in her looks she had;
Face and eyes shewed distress,
Inward sighs discours’d no less:
Head on hand might I see,
Elbow leaned on her knee.
Last she breathed out this saw,
– Oh, that love hath no law!-
Love enforceth with constraint,
Love delighteth in complaint.
Whoso loves, hates his life,
For love’s peace is mind’s strife.
Love doth feed on beauty’s fare,
Every dish sauced with care:
Chiefly women, reason why,
Love is hatched in their eye;
Thence it steppeth to the heart,
There it poisoneth every part,
Mind and heart, eye and thought,
Till sweet love their woes hath wrought:
Then repentant they ‘gan cry,
Oh my heart that trowed mine eye.’
Thus she said, and then she rose,
Face and mind both full of woes;
Flinging thence with this saw,
– Fie on love that hath no law.

***

«Lonely Poets» by Ndue Ukaj

Yesterday I met with the poet of great loneliness
Through the road of the sky was absorbing the sun
His head was wrapped with dreams
To avoid the exuberance of the verses

Yesterday met with the poet of the great love
Through the road to forest with unknows colors
His head was tied with the eyes of Eros
To avoid the exuberance of the verses

Yesterday met with the Poet of great loneliness
Through the dusty road was licking his own footprints
His head was tied with history
To clear all the lies just as the sneak’s head

Yesterday met with the poet of great loneliness
On the lonely metaphors road
Was naked outside
To intoxicate the world on his eyes

Yesterday met the poet of great loneliness
With the math of his heart
Was untying the unknown clews.

***

«May I feel said he» by E. E. Cummings

may i feel said he
(i’ll squeal said she
just once said he)
it’s fun said she

(may i touch said he
how much said she
a lot said he)
why not said she

(let’s go said he
not too far said she
what’s too far said he
where you are said she)

may i stay said he
(which way said she
like this said he
if you kiss said she

may i move said he
is it love said she)
if you’re willing said he
(but you’re killing said she

but it’s life said he
but your wife said she
now said he)
ow said she

(tiptop said he
don’t stop said she
oh no said he)
go slow said she

(cccome?said he
ummm said she)
you’re divine!said he
(you are Mine said she)

***

«Men Loved Wholly Beyond Wisdom» by Louise Bogan

Men loved wholly beyond wisdom
Have the staff without the banner.
Like a fire in a dry thicket
Rising within women’s eyes
Is the love men must return.
Heart, so subtle now, and trembling,
What a marvel to be wise.,
To love never in this manner!
To be quiet in the fern
Like a thing gone dead and still,
Listening to the prisoned cricket
Shake its terrible dissembling
Music in the granite hill.

***

«Morning» by Mark R Slaughter

The eye came out –
A lust for scouting

Lips were swollen –
Geared for pouting

Over breasts
That hardly shouted
Loud enough
To catch the eye

That caught the curve
Traversing buttocks
Emphasising all that’s
Full and round
And smooth of skin

To usher in
The eagerness of closing palm
And animated fingers
Feeding on the flesh
To please

Then ease the legs

And seize the opportunity

To come inside
Another happy day.

***

«My Drug Of Choice» by Lee Foreman

Vulnerable to my drug of choice;
I see it sitting there in front of me-
Looking at me.
I get up and walk away, I feel it following me.

I run back to it; it sends me high,
High to an atmosphere nonexistent to mankind.
Feel the drug run through my body,
Making me so hot.

I fall back on my pillows no longer
A part of society.
“I have to quit!” I tell myself.
I get up and move my drug to the trash can.

I walk to the kitchen, it’s there,
I walk to my bedroom, it’s there.
I walk to the bathroom, it’s there.

My mind wants to be left alone,
But my body wants this relationship
To last forever.

I can taste it on the underside of my tongue;
Smell it through my burning nose.
I cannot resist the temptation that this
Drug has put upon me.

I sit indian-style on my bed looking at it;
Trying to read it.
It looks back; becoming an
Intrinsic version of myself.

I can’t keep succumbing to its hold
It has on me.
Apprehensive about rehabilitation;
Knowing I’m just going to relapse
Once I’m back in its presence.

I try to find fallacies in its reasons
To keeping a chain hold on me;
Have yet to find one.

Yet it continues to feed me logical
Reasons on why I can’t be without it.
Once again, I’m seduced into its
Everlasting love for me.

The hot rush creeps up my body;
Up, up from my toes to my calves.
Up, up to my thighs-
Up, up to my navel-
Up, up to my neck.

Never had a feeling so overwhelming
As this drug’s high.
I cannot part from it.
No never!
My man is some drug huh?

«My Man» by Tashana Bogatinovska

My Man,
ain’t like other Men
Can do what no
other men can

My Man,
so tall and strong
easily stole your
heart, to him
you proudly Belong

My Man,
The Man of his words,
never leave you behind,
Don’t wanna see you hurt

My Man,
He makes me smile,
and everything he does,
he does with style.

My Man,
He is so unique and rare,
In a desert he is a flower,
so wonderful and beautiful,
In a dusty environment,
he’s a diamond.

My Man,
Ain’t like Other Men,
Lying and with cheep
words he’s buying you,
He would never leave
you crying.

My Man,
There’s nothing I
wouldn’t do for him,
break the ice,
fix the dice,
There’s no price
For My Man

Cause My Man,
He’s My Man,
His lost I couldn’t bare,
I will love him with all
of my heart and care.

Cause There is no Other Men,
Like My Man.

***

«Passion Of My Heart» by Stevens Cadet

My passion is not reading this, or writing this poem, that’s not the care! 
Looking in the eyes of the listeners is the dare! 
Being here while our life’s intermingle, 
that is my one in a lifetime. 
While looking at those ladies that are fine. 
Have you ever been in love & let your feelings outbreak? 
Well I’ll tell you of a love, where hopefully you can relate. 
Your lives intermingle and somehow you know this is the beginning of all you ever longed for. 
A love you can build on and a love that can only grow. 
No need to tell or show. 
Four letters that you have begun to withhold. 
For your actions spell them out, 
because one definition seems to steep. 
For a feeling too deep can’t be weighed on one weep… 
Word, sentence, light touch of the lips or late night creep! ! ! 
Mere four words that can’t seem to be measured. 
A true passion, 
that people wouldn’t dare to come true. 
Being so compelled that would make you say…. 
I found my Once In A Lifetime with you! ! !

***

«Phantasm» by A.C.Zenner

largo…….

Limbs twisting decadent, slow
smooth rolling water skin caress
gilded phantoms, dreams long left
ever does nothing churn more my soul

andante crescendo…….

warm silk enshrining whispered blush
fermenting spirits ascendant pleas
rapturous drowning in wanton seas
Spring’s course raging incessant must

adagio diminuendo…….

Still now, leaden angles repose
rivulets forging errant lanes
torpid dust fragrant, sweetly strange
Interlude pulled by rosined bows

al fine…….

***

«Raw Silk» by Vinita Agrawal

When at last we meet
do not say hello

That greeting for strangers…
We’ve shared too many moons on the palettes of our nights

When we meet
Leave the race behind. Face me

Become scent
Stretch my lungs

Become jaggery
Color my tongue

When we meet
Come undone like a silken knot in the wind

Me the shuddering threads
You the hunger for silk

When we meet
Make sure I die of love
*********

***

«Remnants» by E.Vishnupriya

I saw world of distant land
from memory map
like drunkard in bad temper
scribbled I hasty words
often deformed,
in contorted meanings
passionate lover for a kiss
I write to be poet.
My thoughts limp in crutches
and look mournfully into tired eyes.
In eerie I wake up
among nights
evaporated ink,
skeletons of words
laugh at me. I know I would start it
all again.

***

«Sea Dream» by Stanley Wilkin

She noticed the basking shark was wounded,
weeping vaginal blood.
The tall man in a fedora whispered as he passed,
and she blushed.
The horizon was a hazy green line dipped in red.

She had been there since morning
searching for love,
and found it
from a six-pack merman offering solace
as he rode on the silvery
back of a ray.
As he approached, the sun at his back,
she moaned and threw out her arms
like a supplicant.

Complete at last, the sand grasping at
her shoeless feet, she sank
towards the earth’s distant core
using her arms as uncertain ballast.
She awoke with a shiver
brushed away the sand
and headed back home.
The shark had turned belly-up,
scavenged by seagulls.

Another day-dream enjoyed in the
empty hours between lunch and dinner
between her third cup of tea
and fourth cigarette,
her children snoozing in
the back bedroom. Half-slumbering
in a town barked at by bothersome seagulls
where an unencumbered sun
set on a postcard shoreline.

Planning the rows of petunias to be
planted by the hedge,
making shopping lists,
writing novels, never to be published,
staring out of her windows at the sea
she waited for her husband’s return,
tedious evenings of T.V.
and coition under the brightly coloured duvet.
The waves that overwhelmed her, flooding her senses,
were her own. The man
in the fedora had made her smile.

***

«Songbird» by Pamela Griffiths

Listening to the songbird
The heavenly sounds reverb
Sounds expressing lover’s thoughts
The songbird must be conserved

Singing with its warbling cry
The songbird sings of love
Filling the air with music
From a lovebird or a dove

Magical moments created
From a songbird in a tree
Two lovers hear the chorus
The songbird sings for free

Nature’s enchantment is working
Love is in the air
The bird has acted like Cupid
Now the love is everywhere

People look up to the trees
Sweet chirping can be heard
Melodic tunes of love and hope
All thanks to the lovely songbird

***

«Sonnet of the Sweet Complaint» by Federico Garcia Lorca

Never let me lose the marvel
of your statue-like eyes, or the accent
the solitary rose of your breath
places on my cheek at night.

I am afraid of being, on this shore,
a branchless trunk, and what I most regret
is having no flower, pulp, or clay
for the worm of my despair.

If you are my hidden treasure,
if you are my cross, my dampened pain,
if I am a dog, and you alone my master,

never let me lose what I have gained,
and adorn the branches of your river
with leaves of my estranged Autumn.

***

«The Arrow» by William Butler Yeats

I thought of your beauty, and this arrow,
Made out of a wild thought, is in my marrow.
There’s no man may look upon her, no man,
As when newly grown to be a woman,
Tall and noble but with face and bosom
Delicate in colour as apple blossom.
This beauty’s kinder, yet for a reason
I could weep that the old is out of season.

***

«The Fifth Season» by Shahida Latif

Though the world is hazy obscure,
Smoke envelops its spheres,
Humanity grapple, wrestle for minor causes,
Blinded by the ghosts of impatience,
Intolerance has pushed into the marshes,
Yet I see the world glaring gorgeous,
The gentle winds bring flakes of white clouds,
The first shower emits the smell of earthen scent,
The fresh flowers bloom at each moment,
And with their brave colours,
Make the world magical enchanting,
The sweet melodies of the birds,
Come through the porches of the ears,
Trickling founts produce silvery chink,
The whole world seems,
A compact composition of symphony.

But I know well these components,
Are very rare in the world of civilized savagery,
Now spring, autumn, winter and summer,
Are devoid of their grace, elegance,
It is merely the fifth season that I experience,
The flavoury season of the heart.

***

«The Life Colours» by Ehsan Sehgal

That’s the great
And beautiful
In the journey of life
If someone becomes
Realistic and fair companion
To spend with happy
And pleasure
All moments together

Life will go peacefully
If we keep honestly
An eye on every event
To guard ourselves

You are as like a flower
I am as like the dew
Naturally connected
Each other

Dew falls on the flowers
As like the pearl
I wish that
I pray that
The life stays
As beautiful
As like dew and flowers
Far from the evil hands
until our life journey ends.

***

«The Midas Touch» by Atul Chandra Sarkar

Yours was the Midas touch,
That made me priceless,
Secured me in the casket
Of your heart,
Cooled my sultry summer,
Blossomed my autumn,
Moistened my parched lips;
I gazed at the stars,
Pouting for dewdrops,
The night tightened me,
With hugs and cuddles,
Dark and tender,
The breeze, cool and fresh,
Inaudibly whispered love;
The woven reluctance,
That had wrapped me for years,
Slipped to my feet,
The tang of blown off candles,
Whet cravings,
Unhesitant desires through open,
Malodorous secrets of youth,
Rejuvenated electrolytes;
The recharged sun,
Filtered through the pane,
I was more than just golden,
The fire of passion,
Had burnished me.

***

«The passion» by Kritika Bhatia

Whatever you are good at,
Do it.
Don’t hesitate,
As it might become too late.

Whenever you are alone,
You do an activity that you love the most.
For some it may be writing or music,
And for some, it may be dance or showing magic.

Passions differ,
From person to person.
Never ignore your passion,
As it gives this busy mind some relaxation.

Passion and interest,
Go hand in hand,
Your passion will make an identity,
Your art will gradually create history.

***

«The Travail Of Passion» by William Butler Yeats

When the flaming lute-thronged angelic door is wide;
When an immortal passion breathes in mortal clay;
Our hearts endure the scourge, the plaited thorns, the way
Crowded with bitter faces, the wounds in palm and side,
The vinegar-heavy sponge, the flowers by Kedron stream;
We will bend down and loosen our hair over you,
That it may drop faint perfume, and be heavy with dew,
Lilies of death-pale hope, roses of passionate dream.

***

«The Tree in the Mist» by Kem G. Lowery

In the mist dark and deep there stood a tree on a hill not too steep.

His limbs out to every side. The limbs knotted as they reach way up high.

The story this tree could tell of strangers who have taken this misty trail.

In the middle of the trail it stood firm and strong as one that had decided this is his home.

I stopped to pause and stare as the mist began to settle in my hair.

My story is not as fair as like this tree’s limbs lifted in the air.

Though, I might not be as firm and strong I know one day my heart too will find a home.

***

«The Truth» by Ehsan Sehgal

The truth is that
And it is bitter
O, my beloved
I am neither your destiny
Nor you are my fortune
The wisdom is that
We should leave
And forget each other
You have not the courage
To fight with society
I am not in position
To conflict with people
Let us say goodbye
Though
O, my beloved
I love you so much
I love you so much.

***

«The Valley of Passion» by Cara Vermaak

I linger in the valley of passion
Hand in hand with my desires and dreams
As I walk down the secret passage of adoration
With silence as my reminder

I recall the time of love, the time of beauty
The sacred wish, the forever mysterious pledge
That brings faces of loving moments together
Taking even the merest wish to that passionate edge
Light touches of desires exchanged

Are these the keys to my secret pleasures?
That chimera offered in devotion to unseen yet known
the beauty of me and the dream lover
The adventure of a touch, the gift to nurture
As all becomes one in this perfection
Willed to the passionate embrace of magick
the self soaring past the dream?

***

«This Velvet Glove» by Jim Kirby

she sits astride my body moist and hot
her eyes aglow with only she knows what,
upon my neck marks made by her with love
and on her hand she wears this velvet glove.

the room is stifling hot with no fresh air
sweat and tears have wet her long blond hair,
her burning eyes look on me from above
and on her hand she wears this velvet glove.

she lightly moves upon me lips apart
the only sound I hear is from her heart,
her touch a feather like a small white dove
and on her hand she wears this velvet glove.

she shudders once and gives a tiny cry
smiles down at me and breaths a sleepy sigh,
lies down beside me eyes so bright with love
and on her hand she wears this velvet glove.

***

«To A Young Beauty» by William Butler Yeats

Dear fellow-artist, why so free
With every sort of company,
With every Jack and Jill?
Choose your companions from the best;
Who draws a bucket with the rest
Soon topples down the hill.

You may, that mirror for a school,
Be passionate, not bountiful
As common beauties may,
Who were not born to keep in trim
With old Ezekiel’s cherubim
But those of Beauvarlet.

I know what wages beauty gives,
How hard a life her setvant lives,
Yet praise the winters gone:
There is not a fool can call me friend,
And I may dine at journey’s end
With Landor and with Donne.

***

«Toying with You» by Glen Martin Fitch

First ears: I would like two.
One either side,
I’m not a cubist.
Eyes:
the same as mine
though others have their charm,
however dyed
and all if spied
reveal a soul’s design.
A nose:
but often that’s the problem part
(there are so many),
Lips: both fine and full,
to make a smiling face
to move my heart.
Desire’s ever vigilant
amid the push and pull.
How many of us are consumed,
obsessed, with other,
secret parts,
and private glands
and drool at genitalia,
butt, or breast?
Yet having all the pieces
in your hands
(and none of them impaired)
the real trick?
to find that
not yet rotten spud to stick.

NOTE: MR. POTATOHEAD by PLAYSKOOL ™ now
includes a plastic potato, which says something, doesn’t it?

***

«Vagina Envy» by Nin Andrews

1. Listening to the women laugh and chat at the end of the day, a man feels he is left out, alone, stranded. He is but an afterthought in her life, a period at the end of her day, or a mere after-dinner mint.

2. Whatever bliss a sufferer feels, he loses it too quickly, sometimes by tiny increments, often in a flash. His life, he fears, is meaningless.

3. You must learn to swim, a therapist suggests. But many who suffer from vagina envy are afraid of drowning. They dream of being pressed underwater, unable to surface, as sharks pursue them amid schools of shimmering fish.

4. Highly contagious, the disease spreads like bad news, starting in street corners and traveling quickly up and down neighborhoods before entering into bars and restaurants, schools and sanctuaries, and finally consuming entire towns.

5. A common cause: a man is left by a woman he loves. Every woman after reminds him of the first. She has the same hair color, eye color, the same giddy laugh. Every woman after reminds him of his failed attempts to win back the first, though he loved her only when she was leaving him forever, only when he knew he would never see her again.

6. The sickness gives off a distinct odor. It’s as if the air has been singed, and everyone should be wearing masks over the nose and mouth.

7. While most folks write of love and desire as blissful events, the men who experience vagina envy feel only resentment, sorrow and bitterness, as if there is an ongoing party of earthly delight to which they have never received an invitation.

8. There is no cure known by the traditional medical community, but the healers assure these men that they need not worry. Suffering is normal on Planet Earth. If they perform kind deeds, say their prayers, and accumulate good karma, they will be reborn as women in their next lives.

***

«We Do Not Write About» by Faith Elizabeth Brigham

we do not write about
what we do not know
the so-called visionaries
in a frantic world
savoring chances taken
mourning lost opportunities
advancing with unmatched passion
a mere reflection of our double-life

we do not write about
what we do not know
but of the esoteric
world inside our heads
of displaced bullets
or the bothersome sometimes
bull-headed black holes in our souls

we do not write about
what we do not know
but of pain and suffering
or pleasure (possibly pure ecstasy)
and sometimes someone listens
to the stirrings of our souls

***

«What We Leave Behind» by Robert Saltzman

STELLA!! He screamed this Brando guy…. in a Street Car Named Desire,
Mr. Dean he died in a crash… of twisted metal and fire.

We had John Wayne…Superman they were our heroes of the day,
when we were 18 we knew it all…. we were going to do it our way.

We grew, we learned, or did we really think,
we could change the world, with nod and a wink.

We marched for civil rights and against your stinkin war,
the latest fad that was us… hoola hoops, and more.

Peace and love, oh that was our daily fare,
we lived our lives for the day with nary a care.

Cops chasing pushing making us feel small,
we aged we learned some of us grew tall.

The years went by so fast it seemed,
the world went on as it does but not as we… dreamed.

Now in our culture and in our ways we indeed are set,
Looking back over decades do we all have some regret?

Hate runs deep ten thousand years of strife,
tension so thick… you could cut it with a knife.

Is there hope for the future we really don’t know?
We teach our children then we let them go.

Some will drop on the spot some will fade away,
remembered by the living for that is the world’s way.

But this my friends…this… is oh so right,
like McQueen in Papillion we keep trying to escape into the night.

Don’t take my kindness for weakness I’m no fool,
after all it was my generation that invented cool.

I’ve seen it all before of that I am fairly sure,
I write… I think…all to be left behind

***

«Why I Write» by Muhammad Shanazar

When indelible memories of the past,
Torment my heart and mind; I write.

When mist floats in front of the eyes,
The light comes from behind; I write.

When the men of the callous world,
Compel me to be confined; I write.

When my heart weeps wailing upon
The wise being led by the blind; I write.

When in self schemed distribution I see
The deserving limping behind; I write.

***

«Words» by William Butler Yeats

I had this thought a while ago,
‘My darling cannot understand
What I have done, or what would do
In this blind bitter land.’

And I grew weary of the sun
Until my thoughts cleared up again,
Remembering that the best I have done
Was done to make it plain;

That every year I have cried, ‘At length
My darling understands it all,
Because I have come into my strength,
And words obey my call’;

That had she done so who can say
What would have shaken from the sieve?
I might have thrown poor words away
And been content to live.

***

«Writer’s Pen» by Sahiti Siddharth

A pen, when a writer holds
A brand new chapter unfolds
A few lines can make him the king
It can make him fly on a single wing

A writer without his pen
Is like a leader without powers
A writer without his pen
Is like a garden without flowers

A writer’s pen
Makes him complete
A writer’s pen
Can make him compete

A writer’s pen
Never stops to write
It puts down everything
It beholds in sight

A writer’s pen
Is his own pride
He gives it special importance
Everything else is kept aside

A writer’s pen
Can show him the right path
A writer’s pen
Can control his wrath

A writer’s pen
Is what he needs
A writer’s pen
Is on what he feeds

***

«Yearning» by Gregory Snyder

The desires I have for her are indescribable…
Lust – A craving, a primal instinct…
A thirst & hunger all of it’s own kind.
NO!! No, I am not fine.

A yearning taking over completely, consuming me deeply…
As I would like to be consumed in the depths of her.
To pen this indomitable urge will no way portray what it rightfully deserves.
NO!! No, more words.

We met with the fury & force of a raging hurricane… but we feel no pain.
Down her side dance my fingertips… As I kiss her mouth & caress her lips.
Making my way inevitably inside… Ecstasy neither her nor I can hide.
Thrusting hips… Night blue colored nails draw blood as she rips…
A Trail of fire in my skin as she came – She feels no pain… I feel no pain.

***

«Young Soul» by Al Mutanabbi

A young soul in my ageing body plays, Though time’s sharp blades my weary visage raze.

Hard biter in a toothless mouth is she, The will may wane, but she a winner stays.

Spare me to win glory’s forbidden prize, Glory in hardship, sloth in comfort lies.

Em’nence is not with cheap comfort bought, Hear the honey gath’rers bee-stung cries

No indolent dreaming dawdler am I, Nor am content, while riches I descry.

Life’s heaving tides of woe shall spare me not, Unless I, its unblocked courses defy

Softly do town girls their faces adorn, But Bedu are from garish colours shorn.

Town beauty is with pampered softness sought, The Bedu are with unsought beauty born.

Grave harm have lovers to themselves done, Loving, ere understanding life begun.

They, with with’ered and wasted souls, After vile, though pretty-faced creatures run.

Beauti’ful women, as experienced men know, Are but darkness wrapped in dazzling light aglow.

A life of friv’lous youth and worried age, Its futile course to futile death will flow

When my hands from brimming cups weakly shook, I awoke, ere sense my wined mind forsook.

Shunning choice wines, as rich as purest gold, I, of spring showers silv’ry draught partook.

Secrets I keep no companion can discern, Nor to it can wine its potent way burn.

Soft women I have for an hour, and then, Deserts I roam, never more to return.

Courage to reason second place must take, For valour should not balanced judgment shake.

But if both in a hard soul united are, Then Glory’s realms their own demesne shall make.

Defiantly live, or in honour die, Midst slashing blades and banners flapping high

Rage is best dispatched by lances’ points, and Spearing spiteful chests shall their spite deny.

Face with cool, carefree calm life’s caretorn climes, As long as your soul with its body chimes.

Your joys of yore have passed beyond recall, And sadness can summon not bygone times.

A charger’s saddle is an exalted throne, The best companions are books alone.

Without hardship everyone would prevail, The generous are poor, and courage kills its own.

One’s ill-conduct brooding mistrust will breed, For dark thoughts on darker suspicions feed.

Sland’ring friends with what foes have slandered one, Thus in black nights of doubt one’s life will lead.

Fie’ry rashness may as valour be seen, And nervous anger may cowardice mean.

Arms are carried by people everywhere, But not all claws are lion’s, nor as keen.

Cowards see vapid impotence as sense, Such is treacherous villainy’s defense.

Each of valour’s divers forms enriches, But valiant wisdom is of worth immense.

Our dead we mourn, though we very well know, That but Vanity they leave ere they go.

Reflection upon life’s hard course shall teach, ‘Tis one to die as be slain by a foe.

Shoreless you would be of you were a sea. If rain, earth unable to contain ye.

Country and people of you I could warn, Of that which only Noah could foresee.

Misfortune’s arrows do upon me rain, Countless arrowheads does my heart sustain.

As more shafts at my studded heart fly, Steel upon Steel shatters the hardy twain.

At times in Bedu tents a home I find, Often, home is atop the camel’s hind,

My body a target for the brigand’s lance, To scorching heat my aching face unbind.

Though a noble lady and highly born, ‘Tis your unfeminine wisdom we mourn.

True spirit is from softer self distilled, As potent wine from sweeter grapes is drawn.