Poems of sex-30 Dirty Little Poems That Will Make You Want Sex In Five Seconds Or Less | Thought Catalog

Let's keep things spicy in the bedroom by brining in some sexy love poems. These five erotic poems are sure to titillate and delight your honey. Beautiful, wide-spread, fire upon leaf, what meadow yields so fragrant a leaf as your bright leaf? And yet one arrives somehow, finds himself loosening the hooks of her dress in a strange bedroom— feels the autumn dropping its silk and linen leaves about her ankles. The tawdry veined body emerges twisted upon itself like a winter wind.

Poems of sex

Kristen Droesch. I am in a cold stream where I led you. The wind. Romance and poetry seem to go hand in hand but Poeems implicit, explicit, nuanced or starkly frank - sex itself has long been a staple subject for poets. Poems range from explicit to symbolic to mundane. On lust. Go to Disney World. But even if he admits to finding his muse in good sex and women, he believes Poems of sex ambition should be kept secret; why give away everything up front, right? Then be not coy, but use your Poems of sex, And, while Piems may, go marry: For Renie topless lost but once your prime, You may forever tarry.

Real teen girls in thongs. An anthology Valentine’s Day.

And yet: Sisyphus never gave up, did he? Desires that you can only tame to know by Ivan Donn Carswell. Before I finished speaking, she said Yes. Back Issues. I want you with whatever obsessions wex Poems of sex wanted your obsession to be mine. Poems of sex women wrapped monsoon around him, thunder-thighed. You are like nobody since I love you. The desire builds. You are the woman sticking her tongue out in a cold stream where I led you. For example, during my undergrad, I learned that the ancient Egyptians were super frisky. You're in!

It would be unwise, unfair, and impossible to list the sexiest poems in the Western tradition.

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This website uses cookies in order to enhance your experience. Please review our Privacy Policy to learn how we may use cookies and how you can change your browser settings to disable cookies. By continuing to use this website without changing your settings, you consent to our use of cookies. There's nothing quite as dark and twisted as a really good love poem, is there?

It's a fool's journey, it can seem; a Sisyphean task. And yet: Sisyphus never gave up, did he? Of course not, he had no choice! Unlike Sisyphus, though, many poets achieve the impossible; they push the impossible object over the precipice; they trap the sublime in a few lines of verse; they rend our hearts and unleash our minds and destroy us completely, in the best possible way.

There's nothing sweet about these; they drip with desire and walk the cliff's sharp edge, daring you to fall over, clutching at nothing but the neck, the shoulders, the arms of the one you love for balance, knowing that you'll probably fall anyway. That's okay, though. What's the fun of standing on your own two feet anyway?

Give us a trip through the clouds any day. The Autobiography of Red by Anne Carson This book in verse is a long beautiful ache; Carson masterfully tells the love story of the monster Geryon and the object of his affection, Herakles. When they made love Geryon liked to touch in slow succession each of the bones of Herakles' back as it arched away from him into who knows what dark dream of its own, running both hands all the way down from the base of the neck to the end of the spine which he can cause to shiver like a root in the rain.

Yes, it is dirty. Gloriously, exuberantly so. Is it dirty does it look dirty that's what you think of in the city.

Come with your rod that twists and is a serpent. Every day you play with the light of the universe. Subtle visitor, you arrive in the flower and the water. You are like nobody since I love you. Let me spread you out among yellow garlands. Who writes your name in letters of smoke among the stars of the south? Oh let me remember you as you were before you existed. Suddenly the wind howls and bangs at my shut window. The sky is a net crammed with shadowy fish. Here all the winds let go sooner or later, all of them.

The rain takes off her clothes. The birds go by, fleeing. The wind. I can contend only against the power of men. The storm whirls dark leaves and turns loose all the boats that were moored last night to the sky. You are here. Oh, you do not run away. You will answer me to the last cry. Cling to me as though you were frightened. Even so, at one time a strange shadow ran through your eyes.

Now, now too, little one, you bring me honeysuckle, and even your breasts smell of it. While the sad wind goes slaughtering butterflies I love you, and my happiness bites the plum of your mouth. How you must have suffered getting accustomed to me, my savage, solitary soul, my name that sends them all running.

So many times we have seen the morning star burn, kissing our eyes, and over our heads the gray light unwind in turning fans.

My words rained over you, stroking you. I go so far as to think that you own the universe. I will bring you happy flowers from the mountains, bluebells, dark hazels, and rustic baskets of kisses. I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees. At last you yielded up the album, which, Once open, sent me distracted. All your ages Matt and glossy on the thick black pages!

Too much confectionery, too rich: I choke on such nutritious images. My swivel eye hungers from pose to pose - In pigtails, clutching a reluctant cat; Or furred yourself, a sweet girl-graduate; Or lifting a heavy-headed rose Beneath a trellis, or in a trilby hat Faintly disturbing, that, in several ways - From every side you strike at my control, Not least through these disquieting chaps who loll At ease about your early days: Not quite your class, I'd say, dear, on the whole.

Watch out for love unless it is true, and every part of you says yes including the toes , it will wrap you up like a mummy, and your scream won't be heard and none of your running will end. Be it man. Be it woman. It must be a wave you want to glide in on, give your body to it, give your laugh to it, give, when the gravelly sand takes you, your tears to the land.

To love another is something like prayer and can't be planned, you just fall into its arms because your belief undoes your disbelief. Who else could pull off including the word Viagra in a poem?

No one. Here's the incredible beginning of this masterful work. Women have a playground slide That wraps you in monsoon and takes you for a ride.

The English girl Louise, his latest squeeze, was being snide. Easy to deride The way he stayed alive to stay inside His women with his puffed-up pride. The pharmacy supplied The rising fire truck ladder that the fire did not provide. The toothless carnivore devoured Viagra and Finasteride Which is the one that shrinks the American prostate nationwide And at a higher dosage grows hair on the bald to stem the tide.

Not to die had been his way to hide The fact that he was terrified. He could not tell them that, it would be suicide. The women wrapped monsoon around him, thunder-thighed.

Auden Not enough poems are about blow jobs, in our humble opinions. But also, we kind of just like this poem because it's not And we actually love Auden, ordinarily. But this poem is not great. Here's a couple of stanzas so that you can see what we mean. We aligned mouths. We entwined. I shook at the touch Of his fresh flesh, I rocked at the shock of his cock. Straddling my legs a little I inserted his divine Person between and closed on it tight as I could. The upright warmth of his belly lay all along mine.

Nude, glued together for a minute, we stood. Here's its beginning, just for a taste. We pace each other for a long time. I packed my anger with the beef jerky. You are the baby on the mountain. I am in a cold stream where I led you. You are the woman sticking her tongue out in a cold stream where I led you. You are the woman with spring water palms.

You are the woman sticking her tongue out. I am the woman who matches sounds. I am the woman who copies. You are the woman who matches sounds. You are the woman who makes up words. You are the woman who copies her cupped palm with her fist in clay. I am the woman who makes up words. You are the woman who shapes a drinking bowl with her fist in clay. I am the woman with rocks in her pockets. It could get uncomfortable, in the best possible way.

Here is its ending, which is just enough to leave us reeling. Touching you I catch midnight as moon fires set in my throat I love you flesh into blossom I made you and take you made into me.. Is it dirty does it look dirty that's what you think of in the city does it just seem dirty that's what you think of in the city you don't refuse to breathe do you someone comes along with a very bad character he seems attractive.

That's okay, though. Other arguments range from the existential to the absurd, and poets make their points persistently in an astounding variety of ways, using every metrical and technical device to show off their wit and prowess. But I do not know who knows that bad secret. Poems of Passion and Sex. My words rained over you, stroking you.

Poems of sex

Poems of sex

Poems of sex

Poems of sex. An anthology Valentine’s Day.

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Great poems about sex.

Goodreads helps you keep track of books you want to read. Want to Read saving…. Want to Read Currently Reading Read. Other editions. Enlarge cover. Error rating book. Refresh and try again. Open Preview See a Problem? Details if other :. Thanks for telling us about the problem. Return to Book Page. The Poetry of Sex - a raucous, highly enjoyable anthology by acclaimed poet Sophie Hannah.

We've been at it all summer, from the Canadian border to the edge of Mexico Romance and poetry seem to go hand in hand but - implicit, explicit, nuanced or starkly frank - sex itself has long been a staple subject for poets.

In fact a great deal of erotic poetry rejects the distin The Poetry of Sex - a raucous, highly enjoyable anthology by acclaimed poet Sophie Hannah. In fact a great deal of erotic poetry rejects the distinction. And little has changed over the centuries, as Sophie Hannah's anthology vividly demonstrates, from Catullus pleading with Lesbos to Walt Whitman singing the body electric.

Moods and attitudes may vary but the drive persists as does the desire to write about it. Sophie Hannah's selection ranges from ancient Rome to modern New York, from gay to straight, but her principle has been to go low on the sugar and high on the excitement.

The result is a raucous, highly enjoyable anthology. From Shakespeare to Carol Ann Duffy, this book is essential reading for poetry lovers and romantics everywhere. Get A Copy.

Kindle Edition , pages. Original Title. Other Editions 2. Friend Reviews. To see what your friends thought of this book, please sign up. To ask other readers questions about The Poetry of Sex , please sign up. Lists with This Book. This book is not yet featured on Listopia. Community Reviews. Showing Average rating 3. Rating details. Sort order. Mar 18, Julie rated it liked it Shelves: wax-poetic. I'm currently reading a book called The Grandmothers which contains 4 novellas by Doris Lessing, and I'm miserable.

I'm miserable for several reasons, but I'm determined to finish, but I'm also wondering why. Why, Doris Lessing, why are you obsessed with incest? After knocking out two of the four stories which both had incestuous themes , I decided to take a break this weekend from all the family lovin' and dabble in some poetry instead.

I had a new collection on my end table, The Poetry of Sex , recomm I'm currently reading a book called The Grandmothers which contains 4 novellas by Doris Lessing, and I'm miserable. I couldn't think of a better way to procrastinate finishing this miserable book. Well you won't even believe it, but this is one of the first poems I encountered in the book: Guacamole Avocados were somewhere on the lust-list we made sated on the floor of room Write down , you said, write down every wicked little dirty thing you'd like us to try.

I pitted the felt-tip against my teeth, then whispered: I want you to carefully split a ripe avocado, loosen its pip, scoop out the warm yellowy flesh and squeeze it to a gentle pulp, then - I stopped-back suddenly at my mother's side, eye-level with hip and kitchen top, glued to her hands as she cuts and twists the wizened pears, mashes in garlic, the devil-tailed chillies, a splash of lime.

Ravenous, open-mouthed, I crave to lick the buttery mush between her fingers, the jaded smear from her wrist, to suck her wedding ring, to suck her wedding ring clean. Oh, for fuck's sake. How revolting. Which was pretty hot, until I got to this part: She arrived first, bucking, nails digging into his coal tender.

Just exploding with them. Don't believe me? Go to Disney World. Go to Mexico City. Go to Bombay. Also, while we're at it, here's the second part of my public service announcement: Emily Dickinson and Walt Whitman are NOT sexy poets. Stop including them in these compilations. Please, stop it. I'm reluctantly giving 3 stars to this collection for the following 3 men that saved the book with their contributions: E.

Cummings D. Lawrence Robert Frant Whoever you are. Call me? And, stop ruining food for me, people! I'll have nothing left to eat soon. View all 53 comments.

This was a mixed collection of poetry, based on love and sex. I do enjoy reading poetry about sex. I like reading the ways in which poets describe sex, and go about writing about it. These poems conjured up many emotions within me while reading, sadness, excitement, surprise and even plain disgust, I mean, some of these poems could have easily been left out of this book, especially the few that fel This was a mixed collection of poetry, based on love and sex.

These poems conjured up many emotions within me while reading, sadness, excitement, surprise and even plain disgust, I mean, some of these poems could have easily been left out of this book, especially the few that felt rather misogynistic, strangely enough.

Although I enjoyed some of this poetry, the way in which it was organised was chaotic. I also don't think that the poetry wasn't as erotic as promised by the editor of the book. However, this was a quick, interesting read for me, and would be ideal read, just before bedtime!

Like many collections from various authors, there were bits of this that I thought were wonderful and bits that I thought were meh. Also a few bits that didn't quite seem to fit in with the subject, but I suppose that's bound to be subjective. View all 5 comments. Mar 08, Kels rated it liked it. Some of these poems I really enjoyed, some I didn't at all.

Fine; When have I ever asked you to? A rare ten minutes off from guilty Diatribes — what bliss. You say fun takes its toll, So what are we doing here? I think you ought to quit. Choose one and do it properly You stupid, stupid git. Feb 11, rahul marked it as to-read. The Elephant is Slow to Mate D.

Lawrence, - The elephant, the huge old beast, is slow to mate; he finds a female, they show no haste they wait for the sympathy in their vast shy hearts slowly, slowly to rouse as they loiter along the river-beds and drink and browse and dash in panic through the brake of forest with the herd, and sleep in massive silence, and wake together, without a word.

So slowly the great hot elephant hearts grow full of desire, and the great beasts mate in secret at last, hiding their fire. Oldest they are and the wisest of beasts so they know at last how to wait for the loneliest of feasts for the full repast. Feb 04, Rossy rated it did not like it Shelves: dnf. Jul 27, Kya Buller rated it really liked it. I often find myself adding bookmarks to the poems about sex in the anthologies I own, it's a topic that I love- because, I love sex, I love to write about sex, I love reading different ways poets have described sex.

So when I found this book I had high hopes, and Sophie Hannah didn't let me down. She has done an excellent job of choosing the best poems. I will keep this little book forever. Poetry should taste like sex, says Catullus. This sentence epitomizes this collection of poetry.

Despite its name, it includes poems on both love and lust, and their myriad variations. Poems range from explicit to symbolic to mundane. Though, I liked the whole collection very much, I have a few gripes with it.

Except for central theme of sex, nothing holds these poems together.

Poems of sex