Poems on the topic: desire

Poems on the topic “desire” on Poets.by.

RomanticCharles W. Bailey

The Salt Stone

I have licked the salt stone. Run mad as a mushroom cap bobbing in the rapids of a dark stream. Leapt up the oak ladder to circle the crescent moon. The wind lies languid in the ivory caves of your morning mouth.
RomanticCharles W. Bailey

Tide

You move like a winter tide rolling on a belly of sand. Swirling over me, fondling the broken shells of my sighs. Lick my skin with salt and silt before I die.
RomanticC.M. Crockford

Grind

Bright rising curves, disco ball glistens on a setting sun. The Shape is hidden under warm, wet fur. We are only bodies in transit, skin to skin. Filthy, sweating: involuntary rapture. A brief sinless violence Falling to exhaustion.
RomanticGerry Stewart

Ballet

Dwarfed by black yews you pirouette, a ruby shadow in green arabesque fern. Twirling like an autumn leaf you dance in the shade for a flute of birds. Beneath a quilt of fern your breasts bud and flower I glimpse the wind.
DreamyWilliam Stanley Braithwaite

Turn Me to My Yellow Leaves

Turn me to my yellow leaves, I am better satisfied; There is something in me grieves-- That was never born, and died. Let me be a scarlet flame On a windy autumn morn, I who never had a name, Nor from breathing image born. From the margin let me fall Where the farthest stars sink down, And the void consumes me,--all In nothingness to drown. Let me dream my dream entire, Withered as an autumn leaf-- Let me have my vain desire, Vain--as it is brief.
SadW. B. Yeats

A Song

I thought no more was needed Youth to prolong Than dumb-bell and foil To keep the body young. Oh, who could have foretold That the heart grows old? Though I have many words, What woman's satisfied, I am no longer faint Because at her side? Oh, who could have foretold That the heart grows old? I have not lost desire But the heart that I had, I thought 'twould burn my body Laid on the death-bed.
ContemplativeMaxwell Bodenheim

Minna V

Pain is a country cousin of yours. He flings buds of awakening desires Upon the stately weddings in your heart, And laughs. You must teach him better manners; Bind his mouth with pale sleep; Caress him with trailing hands That loosen the buds he has stolen, into flowers.
RomanticMaxwell Bodenheim

Minna XI

Your body was puzzling, like a half-made figure Till the final shaping of your voice came And riotous secrets of lines curved out And trembled upon your limbs. Then silence touched your body to motion: Your limbs released fleeing andantes of pain And your heart flung little crescents of budding caresses Into the waiting hunger of your eyes.
ContemplativeMaxwell Bodenheim

Advice to Maple-Trees

O little maple-trees, Slender and unkempt, looking with shaggy askance Upon the moon-spiked solitude; O little maple-trees, Growing a little toward the sky That touches you to all eyes save your own, You rattle insistently for wings, But wings could never tear The stain of earth from your feet: The earth that gnaws at you until Your wing-cries strike the autumn night. You see, with me, this crescent moon Juggled on the tawny fingertip Of a running cloud. The touch of your desire, or its fall, Would but be symbols of an equal death.
SadLouise Bogan

The Crows

The woman who has grown old And knows desire must die, Yet turns to love again, Hears the crows' cry. She is a stem long hardened, A weed that no scythe mows. The heart's laughter will be to her The crying of the crows. Who slide in the air with the same voice Over what yields not, and what yields, Alike in spring, and when there is only bitter Winter-burning in the fields.
RomanticJoseph Campbell

A Northern Love-Song

Brigidin Ban of the lint-white locks, What was it gave you that flaxen hair, Long as the summer heath in the rocks? What was it gave you those eyes of fire, Lip so waxen and cheek so wan? Tell me, tell me, Brigidin Ban, Little white bride of my heart's desire. Was it the Good People stole you away, Little white changeling, Brigidin Ban? Carried you off in the ring of the dawn, Laid like a queen on her purple car, Carried you back 'twixt the night and the day; Gave you that fortune of flaxen hair, Gave you those eyes of wandering fire, Lit at the wheel of the southern star; Gave you that look so far away,

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