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Rite
We lie still, she on me—effigies
making a great whispering,
satisfied and soon hushed.
Vice-tested, we sup
in the master bed.
Poems on the topic: whisper
Poems on the topic “whisper” on Poets.by.
Loose Lips Sink Ships
ruffled hair
lazy trails
ice burning skin
this is not my story to tell
hushed whispers
thundering hearts
citrus candles aflame
these are not my scars
acrylic nails
soft sheets
light melodic laughs
yet my nightmares are filled with nothing else
II Whisper
And,
I whispered lies to my own heart
Just to avoid more damage
Let It Be You
Let it be you who lean above me
On my last day,
Let it be you who shut my eyelids
Forever and aye.
Say a “Good-night” as you have said it
All of these years,
With the old look, with the old whisper
And without tears.
You will know then all that in silence
You always knew,
Though I have loved, I loved no other
As I love you.
Train Window
Small towns
Crawling out of their green shirts...
Tubercular towns
Coughing a little in the dawn...
And the church...
There is always a church
With its natty spire
And the vestibule--
That's where they whisper:
Tzz-tzz... tzz-tzz... tzz-tzz...
How many codes for a wireless whisper--
And corn flatter than it should be
And those chits of leaves
Gadding with every wind?
Small towns
From Connecticut to Maine:
Divide
Your lightest breath may fan my cheek
Your whisper stir me when you speak,
And yet—
The teeming planets play
Between your heart—and mine
Today.
Romance
To clasp you now and feel your head close-pressed,
Scented and warm against my beating breast;
To whisper soft and quivering your name,
And drink the passion burning in your frame;
To lie at full length, taut, with cheek to cheek,
And tease your mouth with kisses till you speak
Love words, mad words, dream words, sweet senseless words,
Melodious like notes of mating birds;
To hear you ask if I shall love always,
And myself answer: Till the end of days;
To feel your easeful sigh of happiness
When on your trembling lips I murmur: Yes;
It is so sweet. We know it is not true.
What matters it? The night must shed her dew.
We know it is not true, but it is sweet--
The poem with this music is complete.
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