The less we show our love to a woman,
Or please her less, and neglect our duty,
The more we trap and ruin her surely
In the flattering toils of philandery.
For, as usual, cold blooded, lechery
Obtains its fame from the science of love,
Always trumpeting to the skies above,
Enjoying itself without a heart.
But this most solemn, serious pastime,
Was fit for baboons of long ago,
Such as were praised in grandad’s time:
The fame of Lovelace is withered now,
Along with the fame of scarlet shoes
And wigs which up to the ceiling rose.

~Alexander Pushkin~

Published in: on April 30, 2008 at 3:38 pm  Leave a Comment  
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Dance Me To The End Of Love

Dance me to your beauty with a burning violin
Dance me through the panic ’til I’m gathered safely in
Lift me like an olive branch and be my homeward dove
Dance me to the end of love
Oh let me see your beauty when the witnesses are gone
Let me feel you moving like they do in Babylon
Show me slowly what I only know the limits of
Dance me to the end of love
Dance me to the wedding now, dance me on and on
Dance me very tenderly and dance me very long
We’re both of us beneath our love, we’re both of us above
Dance me to the end of love
Dance me to the children who are asking to be born
Dance me through the curtains that our kisses have outworn
Raise a tent of shelter now, though every thread is torn
Dance me to the end of love
Dance me to your beauty with a burning violin
Dance me through the panic till I’m gathered safely in
Touch me with your naked hand or touch me with your glove
Dance me to the end of love

~Leonard Cohen~

Published in: on April 29, 2008 at 12:24 am  Comments (1)  
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From childhood’s hour I have not been
As others were – I have not seen
As others saw – I could not bring
My passions from a common spring –
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow – I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone –
And all I lov’d – I lov’d alone –
Then – in my childhood – in the dawn
Of a most stormy life – was drawn
From ev’ry depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still –
From the torrent, or the fountain –
From the red cliff of the mountain –
From the sun that ’round me roll’d
In its autumn tint of gold –
From the lightning in the sky
As it pass’d me flying by –
From the thunder, and the storm –
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view –

~Edgar Allan Poe~

Published in: on April 28, 2008 at 1:39 am  Comments (1)  
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The Little Boy Found

The little boy lost in the lonely fen,
Led by the wand’ring light,
Began to cry; but God, ever nigh,
Appear’d like his father in white.

He kissed the child & by the hand led
And to his mother brought,
Who in sorrow pale, thro’ the lonely dale,
Her little boy weeping sought.

~William Blake~

Published in: on April 25, 2008 at 12:39 pm  Comments (3)  
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Your body –
Swollen like a river
In spate.

Your tongue –
Moving all over
Ferreting out little secrets.

Your lips –
Moist, pliant,
Urging me in.

Your eyes –
Half closed, Half open,
Seeing in me
A silhouette from the past.

More often,
It is not the body
But the mind
Which commits adultery…

~Ramendra Kumar~

Published in: on April 24, 2008 at 1:13 pm  Leave a Comment  
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