Nakedness poems from famous poets and best beautiful poems to feel good. Best nakedness poems ever written. Read all poems about nakedness.
First, her tippet made of tulle,
easily lifted off her shoulders and laid
on the back of a wooden chair.
The power of charity sows deep in my heart, and I reap and gather the wheat in bundles and give them to the hungry.
Then said Almitra, 'Speak to us of Love.'
And he raised his head and looked upon the people, and there fell a stillness upon them.
And with a great voice he said:
When love beckons to you follow him,
Though his ways are hard and steep.
What is Africa to me:
Copper sun or scarlet sea,
Jungle star or jungle track,
Strong bronzed men, or regal black
I weep for Adonais -he is dead!
O, weep for Adonais! though our tears
Thaw not the frost which binds so dear a head!
And thou, sad Hour, selected from all years
There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream,
The earth, and every common sight,
To me did seem
Apparelled in celestial light,
The glory and the freshness of a dream.
I will give you a poem when you wake tomorrow.
It will be a peaceful poem.
It won’t make you sad.
It won’t make you miserable.
Far from me and like the stars, the sea and all the trappings of poetic myth,
Far from me but here all the same without your knowing,
Far from me and even more silent because I imagine you endlessly.
Far from me, my lovely mirage and eternal dream, you cannot know.
In seed time learn, in harvest teach, in winter enjoy.
Drive your cart and your plow over the bones of the dead.
The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom.
Prudence is a rich, ugly old maid courted by Incapacity.
Rintrah roars and shakes his
fires in the burdenM air,
Hungry clouds swag on the deep.
Come, madam, come, all rest my powers defy,
Until I labor, I in labor lie.
The foe oft-times having the foe in sight,
Is tired with standing though he never fight.
Fruit of My Being
Beautiful flower in my garden,
Infinite is the tree,
Late lies the wintry sun a-bed,
A frosty, fiery sleepy-head;
Blinks but an hour or two; and then,
A blood-red orange, sets again.
Life and Thought have gone away
Side by side,
Leaving door and windows wide.
Careless tenants they!
Twenty-eight naked young women bathed by the shore
Or near the bank of a woodland lake
Twenty-eight girls and all of them comely
Worthy of Mack Sennett's camera and Florenz Ziegfield's
Pellam the King, who held and lost with Lot
In that first war, and had his realm restored
But rendered tributary, failed of late
To send his tribute; wherefore Arthur called
Softly and humbly to the Gulf of Arabs
The convoys of dead sailors come;
At night they sway and wander in the waters far under,
Let us not talk philosophy, drop it, Jeanne.
So many words, so much paper, who can stand it.
I told you the truth about my distancing myself.
I've stopped worrying about my misshapen life.
These are my modern English translations of ancient Greek poems by the immortal Sappho of Lesbos…
With my two small arms, how can I
think to encircle the sky?
The Nudity Lost
The Nudity of Soul - does it work
Like Nakedness of Flesh in flashing World?
This shameless question worthy is of Talk
Baby I don't
want to see nothing
but your nakedness
I don't want to see
In my stupidity
I listened to silence
Whispering sweet nothings
I relented to its wish
From the time of Eve and Adam
We clothed ourselves with the veil of secrets
Covering our spirit with foreign materials
We hid from both the light within and outside
Parted souls walking through the streets
Speak of nothingness
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