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What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why,
I have forgotten, and what arms have lain
Under my head till morning; but the rain
Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh
The dark wings of night enfolded the city upon which Nature had spread a pure white garment of snow; and men deserted the streets for their houses in search of warmth, while the north wind probed in contemplation of laying waste the gardens...
With this heart I'll meet you,
With this heart I'll greet you,
Anywhere you choose.
The red rose whispers of passion,
And the white rose breathes of love;
O, the red rose is a falcon,
And the white rose is a dove.
I have dreamed of you so much that you are no longer real.
Is there still time for me to reach your breathing body, to kiss your mouth and make
your dear voice come alive again?
Was this the face that launch'd a thousand ships,
And burnt the topless towers of Ilium?
Sweet Helen, make me immortal with a kiss.
Her lips suck forth my soul: see where it flies!
Now while my lips are living
Their words must stay unsaid,
And will my soul remember
To speak when I am dead?
As Hermes once took to his feathers light,
When lulled Argus, baffled, swooned and slept,
So on a Delphic reed, my idle spright
So played, so charmed, so conquered, so bereft
We have walked in Love's land a little way,
We have learnt his lesson a little while,
And shall we not part at the end of day,
With a sigh, a smile?
Your lips are like a southern lily red,
Wet with the soft rain-kisses of the night,
In which the brown bee buries deep its head,
When still the dawn's a silver sea of light.
Cover mine eyes, O my Love!
Mine eyes that are weary of bliss
As of light that is poignant and strong
O silence my lips with a kiss,
In the ancient days, when the first quiver of speech came to my lips, I ascended the holy mountain and spoke unto God,
Beautiful star with the crimson lips
And flagrant daffodil hair,
Come back, come back, in the shaking ships
Exiled on the isle of passion and shackled in the prison of craving.
Bottled up emotion - screaming and shouting and searching for an escape.
Like a dehydrated deer tracking water -Like a desert hunting an oasis.
Deluge of flames enrapture my being with the fervor of a thousand fire.
I have wrapped my dreams in a silken cloth,
And laid them away in a box of gold;
Where long will cling the lips of the moth,
I have wrapped my dreams in a silken cloth;
As we are so wonderfully done with each other
We can walk into our separate sleep
On floors of music where the milkwhite cloak of childhood lies
How oft, when thou, my music, music play'st,
Upon that blessèd wood whose motion sounds
With thy sweet fingers when thou gently sway'st
The wiry concord that mine ear confounds,
EARLY POEMS: JUVENILIA
by Michael R. Burch
These are my early poems, or juvenilia, most of them written between the ages of 11-18 and some published in my high school literary journal, THE LANTERN, and others in my college literary journal, HOMESPUN.
Delving into the space between spaces, I see the great complexities of creation, until within sudden elation I find within my revelation the understand that there in lies. That my heart may whistle to the tune of what I find inside the depths of not knowing and the space behind, in which my wisdom and intellect unfold, to come to fruition and that in my minds eye I behold. What is within me borne new and old the wisdom, of the understanding within my soul, and I feel within my depth until I come to the core, where I dwell within my center, and reside ever more, for I am a free within my understanding of knowing not, I feel alive as I thrive within the realizations of what is sought, and I am not, tempered by illusion, as I grow within sounded mind and heartfelt understanding I feel within grace, intellect resounding and in my mind I know the truth, that has dwelled with me since my youth, of the fruits of inner wisdom. My inner knowing abounds, and inner understanding resides deep within, and as I understand and realize the depth within I begin to contemplate the complexities that lie within and I know, that what is in my heart is truth, the truths upon which I dwell, as I wonder and rue, to what is within me, and what is unseen, what is before me, in the space between, and I know, that I do not know, and in my not knowing I grow. And as the seeds to why are sown, the answer to the questions are shown and the wisdom of truths answer resides in my blood and bones, for it illuminates my soul. Creating within me a resounding note, of an epiphany realized, within the coming sensation of intellect actualized, that I find within my heart the answers I seek, and in my answers, I find the truth to seek, that in seeking the truth I find the wisdom within, to find the answers inside, from within from within, and in knowing the truth of the understanding within my soul I become wholly realized within the notes of my soul and I understand with clarity the passion beneath that inside my being, pulses with rhythm and seethes, of a poetry of a deeper intellect, in which I dwell. And in my words under my pen, I write and spell. The essence of the truth within my heart, that I dearly hold within my art, as I behold the power of the passionate play, in this conversive display in which I relay, my inner play of the deeper depth of spirit, in which I find realizations so strong, I am wizened, to the deeper heart of truth within the truth of my eyes and in the knowing of the light that burns within I hear the music of the flames of my inner heart, which beats with a sound so profound the beating of its drums pulses my blood into awakening that I am quickened by the drumming there of, and in my heart I find, strength, illumination and love, that I realize within my self the depth within me and and who I am as I become the strength within me and what I am as I behold, the truth of I am, the inner depth of my spirit as I see myself in the light of the colors that clothe my beautiful form, I am the center of calm, I am the expanding wilderness, I am the billowing storm. I am the maelstrom, the tranquility of silence, I am the center of understanding, and the truth of illusive perception. I am the integrated higher notes of the deeper self realized, I am the epitaphy, of sensually, passionately, unfolding beneath the warm breath of the life within my being. I am the centerfold of the this, in which in my I am I remain and persist, and it is not with cold eye I gaze upon the horizon, of my origin, in which I begin within the center of the first breath and the last, but it is the heartfelt heated kiss of mine soul upon creators lips that baers fruit of the soul in which I do not resist, for I am a kindred of the light within, a spirit, of the heights within, a child with loving grace, unbridled faith, who lusts with my senses after the taste, of the divine birthed within me, like a seed in the fertile soil of my deepest inner heart, which I am joined with in union not apart, and it is from this seed that the divine whispers softly into my soul, as the wisdom profound of the divines words water the seed and I begin to grow, as I plant a thousand seeds my love to sow that in the ever shaking breath before the next heated kiss I place my lips upon creators lips and with a shaking kiss, so eager with love I lock my lips upon him with love, and I am ever comforted by the warmth of his embrace, that wraps around me, like a light with warmth so piercingly profound it warms me to the very center of my soul, as my lips locked with his he kisses me in return, and every kiss I strive to earn, as I burn and yearn for another kiss still, feeling within me the longing for gods wine on my tongue I drink fully, I drink deeply, I drink greedily. Gulping down the smooth, sweet liquid of his love, of which there Is no wine sweeter, until I am drunk and deeply sated, by the thickest, sweetest wine that drips from my lips after a kiss divine, and I am wholly contentedly satisfied.
These are my lips.
They are big full lips.
They need more open space to
wrap them selves firm around.
These are my lips.
They are big full lips.
They need more open space to
Upon your lips the lilies lay for breath you pay the toll.
Feeling so much for a man because I have always felt for men. I have hidden feelings in my heart for man. Love is very hard to find and love of a decent man is really very rare. Someone, who cares about you and he will hold me in his arms by kissing everywhere.
kissing lips to lips as he slowly licks and sucks on my lips and then he will gently rub on my back. His hands will touch my butt and gently he will grab them to play with me.
(source: Sri Gita Govinda by Sri Jayadeva Gosvämé in Sanskrit in 12th Century AD)
For this collection I have used the original definition of 'sonnet' as a 'little song' rather than sticking to rigid formulas. The sonnets here include traditional sonnets, tetrameter sonnets, hexameter sonnets, curtal sonnets,15-line sonnets, and some that probably defy categorization, which I call free verse sonnets for want of a better term. Most of these sonnets employ meter, rhyme and form and tend to be Romantic in the spirit of the Romanticism of William Blake, Robert Burns, Lord Byron, e. e. cummings, John Keats, Sappho, Percy Bysshe Shelley, Walt Whitman, William Wordsworth and Dylan Thomas.
by Michael R. Burch
A word before the light is doused: the night
The search of the lips is very subtle - Samayavel Karuppasamy
The search of lips is very subtle
The learned brains can never understand.
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