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Romantic chemistry
love could experiment
with her two bodies
could discover the way of milk
coming into the breasts
could invent tastes
or find a way to ferment a kiss
like a poet who never saw
a heart at rest
Poems on the topic: milk
Poems on the topic “milk” on Poets.by.
Breastfeeding
a dinner of convenience
a deep expedient bread
from a dug like a white dolphin
O mouth
O trusting life
Surveillance
inching over the house like a staircase
the crow spent the morning
looking in on us
and our paper
our melancholy milk
Kenosis
Mid-January, & the bear
who hasn’t had
a meal in two
months, & won’t for
another three, half-
wakes to chew
sticks into soft
chips—bedding
for the cubs who
will soon be born
& squall
& nurse.
She may leave the den
to eat snow or merely
dream of it.
Her heart beats
Demonic Cornflakes
Black dragons
in my cornflakes
jump out of milk
and snap at me
demonized cereal
makes breakfast
like a horror picture show
scarring me
like a kid
puking like a drunk
I want to scream but can't
as nutritious corn
from a demonic head
and reaches for me
alarm rings
waking me for the day
Milking Time
When supper time is almost come,
But not quite here, I cannot wait,
And so I take my china mug
And go down by the milking gate.
The cow is always eating shucks
And spilling off the little silk.
Her purple eyes are big and soft--
She always smells like milk.
And Father takes my mug from me,
And then he makes the stream come out.
I see it going in my mug
And foaming all about.
And when it's piling very high,
And when some little streams commence
To run and drip along the sides,
He hands it to me through the fence.
Winter Milk
The milk drops on your chin, Helga,
Must not interfere with the cranberry red of your cheeks
Nor the sky winter blue of your eyes.
Let your mammy keep hands off the chin.
This is a high holy spatter of white on the reds and blues.
Before the bottle was taken away,
Before you so proudly began today
Drinking your milk from the rim of a cup
They did not splash this high holy white on your chin.
There are dreams in your eyes, Helga.
Tall reaches of wind sweep the clear blue.
The winter is young yet, so young.
Only a little cupful of winter has touched your lips.
Drink on ... milk with your lips . . . dreams with your eyes.
Home Fires
In a Yiddish eating place on Rivington Street . . .
faces . . . coffee spots . . . children kicking at
the night stars with bare toes from bare buttocks.
They know it is September on Rivington when the red
tomaytoes cram the pushcarts,
Here the children snozzle at milk bottles, children who
have never seen a cow.
Here the stranger wonders how so many people remember
where they keep home fires.
My Lady Surrenders
How did she abdicate?
Was it with soft sighs
And pretty feignings of a lover's state,
Or was it solemn-wise,
With altar offerings and rapt vows?
O no! when Love himself was there.
Most housewifely she bound her hair
And went off across the field to milk the cows.
Spoken to Adonis
Have you observed that one can measure
Poetic worth of words in terms of pleasure?
Honey and milk have been sweet food so long,
These words are naturalized in Song.
And from my joy in you the time is ripe
That I find lyric value for your pipe.
What tender pleasure do your lips invoke,
Moving in gracious meditation as you smoke!
Cow Song
Klang! Kling! the cow-bells ring
As the cows come home at night.
Slowly they pass over the grass,
Black and brown and white.
Sleepy and slow each one will go
With daisies and clover in her;
At the milking stall she'll give them all
As milk for Kenton's dinner.
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