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Federico Fellini

Money is everywhere but so is poetry. What we lack are the poets.

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Poems

William Shakespeare

Venus and Adonis

'Vilia miretur vulgus; mihi flavus Apollo
Pocula Castalia plena ministret aqua.'

To the right honorable Henry Wriothesly, Earl of Southampton, and Baron of Tichfield.
Right honorable.

I know not how I shall offend in dedicating my unpolished lines to your lordship, nor how the world will censure me for choosing so strong a prop to support so weak a burden only, if your honour seem but pleased, I account myself highly praised, and vow to take advantage of all idle hours, till I have honoured you with some graver labour. But if the first heir of my invention prove deformed, I shall be sorry it had so noble a god-father, and never after ear so barren a land, for fear it yield me still so bad a harvest. I leave it to your honourable survey, and your honour to your heart's content; which I wish may always answer your own wish and the world's hopeful expectation.

Your honour's in all duty.

Even as the sun with purple-colour'd face
Had ta'en his last leave of the weeping morn,
Rose-cheek'd Adonis hied him to the chase;
Hunting he loved, but love he laugh'd to scorn;
Sick-thoughted Venus makes amain unto him,
And like a bold-faced suitor 'gins to woo him.
'Thrice-fairer than myself,' thus she began,
'The field's chief flower, sweet above compare,
Stain to all nymphs, more lovely than a man,
More white and red than doves or roses are;

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The Floating Poem

Whatever happens with us, your body
will haunt mine—tender, delicate
your lovemaking, like the half-curled frond
of the fiddlehead fern in forests
just washed by sun. Your traveled, generous thighs
between which my whole face has come and come—
the innocence and wisdom of the place my tongue has found there—
the live, insatiate dance of your nipples in my mouth—
your touch on me, firm, protective, searching
me out, your strong tongue and slender fingers
reaching where I had been waiting years for you
in my rose-wet cave—whatever happens, this is.

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Bridegroom

Pity, O Bridegroom,
The perilous joy of the bride!
In the searching lights of her eyes,
In the fugitive flush of her cheeks,
In the fainting pink of her palm,
In the speed-mad pulse of her wrist,
In the throb and flight of her heart,
In the lifting foam of her breasts,
In her pale, excited smile,--
A dim flame, blown in a wind,--
See the perilous happiness,
Hid in the blood of your bride.

Eve alone
Of the generations of women,
Lacked the perilous joy of the bride.
Fully innocent, fully ignorant,
Gurgled her sweet child-laughter.
But to her daughters,
Down to the wayward moderns,

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Ivory and Rose

Here in this moonlit room, I watch you slip
One shoulder from your dress and turn to me;
A polished statue, flushing to the tip
Of marble fingers gradually.

And, like a ripe moon out of flimsy clouds,
Blossoms the shining fulness of your breast.
These curves conceal, this dear perfection shrouds
A soft, miraculous nest.

Your ivory body pulses as the white
Flesh catches flame and rosy tremblings move
Over this sanctuary of delight,
The last asylum of our love.

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Seduction

The Lily swayed coquettishly,
And the Rose,
Whom the murky night had left
Drunk with dew,
Was fired with desire,
And the passion burned his cheeks.

He bent lover-like
Over the virgin Lily,
And his green arms,
Quivering amorously in the breeze,
Slipped 'round her dainty waist,
And her lithe body shook with emotion.
She raised her drooping head,
And held her fresh young lips to his!

The lustful Rose
Now strained her close,
And the virgin Lily struggled
As though she were being violated,

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Terri Guillemets

The poem you know

I love you,
asterisk — lust.

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* * *

I will allow only
My lord to possess my sacred
Lotus pond, and every night
You can make blossom in me
Flowers of fire.

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Summer Storm

We lay together in the sultry night.
A feeble light
From some invisible street-lamp crept
Into the corner where you slept;
Fingered your cheeks, flew softly round your hair,
Then dipped in the sweet valley of your breasts
And fluttered, like a bird between two nests,
Till it lay quiet there.
My eyes were closing and I may have dreamed--
At least it seemed
That you and I
Had ceased to be but were somehow
As earth and sky....

The night grew closer still, and now
Heat-lightnings played between us and warm thrills
Ran through the cool sides of the trembling hills.
Then darkness and a tension in the black
Hush like a breath held back;
A rippling through the ground, a windless breeze

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* * *

You held my lotus blossom
In your lips and played with the
Pistil.

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He Maid A Bathing

Upon a Summer's day,
'Bout middle of the morn,
I spy'd a Lass that lay
Stark nak'd as she was born;
'Twas by a running Pool,
Within a meadow green,
And there she lay to cool,
Not thinking to be seen.

Then did she by degrees
Wash every part in rank,
Her Arms, her breasts, her thighs,
Her Belly, and her Flank;
Her legs she opened wide,
My eyes I let down steal,
Until that I espied
Dame nature's privy Seal.

I stripped me to the skin,
And boldly stepped unto her,

[...] Read more

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