Your Favorite Poems

Martina · 04-15-2010, 12:08 AM

just my favorite for today -- that's all i'll ever claim.

The Kiss
by Stephen Dunn

She pressed her lips to mind.
—a typo

How many years I must have yearned
for someone’s lips against mind.
Pheromones, newly born, were floating
between us. There was hardly any air.

She kissed me again, reaching that place
that sends messages to toes and fingertips,
then all the way to something like home.
Some music was playing on its own.

Nothing like a woman who knows
to kiss the right thing at the right time,
then kisses the things she’s missed.
How had I ever settled for less?

I was thinking this is intelligence,
this is the wisest tongue
since the Oracle got into a Greek’s ear,
speaking sense. It’s the Good,

defining itself. I was out of my mind.
She was in. We married as soon as we could.

daisygrrl · 04-22-2010, 08:56 AM

The Shirt
by Jane Kenyon

The shirt touches his neck
and smooths over his back.
It slides down his sides.
It even goes down below his belt—
down into his pants.
Lucky shirt.

Jet · 04-22-2010, 10:32 AM

Quote:

Originally Posted by daisygrrl

The Shirt
by Jane Kenyon

The shirt touches his neck
and smooths over his back.
It slides down his sides.
It even goes down below his belt—
down into his pants.
Lucky shirt.

Great poem.

evolveme · 04-24-2010, 05:12 PM

The wound cannot close; language is a formal exit
is what exits from the wound it documents.
The wound is deaf to what it makes; is deaf
to exit and to all, and that is its durable self,
to be a mayhem that torments a city. The sound
comes ﬁrst and then the word like a wave
lightning and then thunder, a glance then a kiss
follows and destroys the footprint, mark of the source.
It is the source that makes the wound, the wound
that makes a poem. It is defeat that makes
a poem sing of the light and that means to sing
for a while.

04-22-2010, 08:56 AM	#2
daisygrrl Member How Do You Identify?: mouthy but adorable; kinky Gerbera Preferred Pronoun?: hey, cutie (or dudette) Relationship Status: xoxo Join Date: Dec 2009 Location: The South (Gooogia peach) Posts: 475 My Photo Gallery Thanks: 2,157 Thanked 524 Times in 223 Posts Rep Power: 1065210	short but sweet... The Shirt by Jane Kenyon The shirt touches his neck and smooths over his back. It slides down his sides. It even goes down below his belt— down into his pants. Lucky shirt. __________________ You can’t change that system by just getting your own rights, tinkering with the engine and leaving. You have to take on the whole machine. --Riki Anne Wilchins Hold on to the lessons, let go of the pain. --Leslie Feinberg

04-24-2010, 05:12 PM	#4
evolveme Member How Do You Identify?: honeysuckle venom Preferred Pronoun?: a pistol and a sugar cane Relationship Status: I promise to aid and abet Join Date: Nov 2009 Location: in between poems where ceilings are floors and joe ghost floats achromatic toward day Posts: 514 My Photo Gallery Thanks: 229 Thanked 735 Times in 228 Posts Rep Power: 503699	from Dear Michael (2) - Mark McMorris The wound cannot close; language is a formal exit is what exits from the wound it documents. The wound is deaf to what it makes; is deaf to exit and to all, and that is its durable self, to be a mayhem that torments a city. The sound comes ﬁrst and then the word like a wave lightning and then thunder, a glance then a kiss follows and destroys the footprint, mark of the source. It is the source that makes the wound, the wound that makes a poem. It is defeat that makes a poem sing of the light and that means to sing for a while. __________________ Class, race, sexuality, gender and all other categories by which we categorize and dismiss each other need to be excavated from the inside. - Dorothy Allison

04-15-2010, 12:08 AM	#1
Martina Senior Member How Do You Identify?: * Join Date: Feb 2010 Location: * Posts: 4,999 My Photo Gallery Thanks: 13,409 Thanked 18,283 Times in 4,166 Posts Rep Power: 21474854	just my favorite for today -- that's all i'll ever claim. The Kiss by Stephen Dunn She pressed her lips to mind. —a typo How many years I must have yearned for someone’s lips against mind. Pheromones, newly born, were floating between us. There was hardly any air. She kissed me again, reaching that place that sends messages to toes and fingertips, then all the way to something like home. Some music was playing on its own. Nothing like a woman who knows to kiss the right thing at the right time, then kisses the things she’s missed. How had I ever settled for less? I was thinking this is intelligence, this is the wisest tongue since the Oracle got into a Greek’s ear, speaking sense. It’s the Good, defining itself. I was out of my mind. She was in. We married as soon as we could.