Pick Up Poems, Part III: The Rise of the Perverse

Once again, here's a mess of sexy poems. As before, most of these were suggested by you. If I haven't included your poem, I certainly will do so in the future.

Glamourpuss suggested that we take a peek at "Don Juan," "I Watched Thee," and "She Walks In Beauty Like the Night" by Lord Byron; "Upon the Nipples of Julia's Breast," by Robert Herrick; "Her Voice" by Oscar Wilde; and "She Lay All Naked on Her Bed," an anonymous poem.

In the interests of brevity, I included one Byron, the Herrick, and "She Lay All Naked on Her Bed." I got rid of the rest because, frankly, they didn't turn me on. The Byron poem is, I think, terrifically atmospheric, and could be used to great effect in the right circumstances:

She Walks in Beauty
George Gordon, Lord Byron

SHE walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellow'd to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impair'd the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!

Of course, you'd have to leave out the whole "innocent" part, lest you end up with a kiss on the forehead or a sturdy handshake. Still, imagine someone writing that for you!

Herrick, as always, can be counted on for some seriously fun sexiness:

Upon the Nipples of Julia's Breast
Robert Herrick


HAVE ye beheld (with much delight)
A red rose peeping through a white?
Or else a cherry, double grac'd,
Within a lily centre plac'd?
Or ever mark'd the pretty beam
A strawberry shows half-drown'd in cream?
Or seen rich rubies blushing through
A pure smooth pearl and orient too?
So like to this, nay all the rest,
Is each neat niplet of her breast.

God, I wish I'd known this one a long time ago. It's the perfect playful, post-prandial poem, almost guaranteed to make someone relax and giggle. I love Herrick!

"She Lay All Naked on Her Bed" is fantastic! It's another poem that I wish I knew years ago, as it perfectly describes my sex life from about 15 to 23 or so. For that matter, it should give Odat a serious laugh.

She lay all naked on her bed and I myself lay by;
No veil but curtains about her spread, no covering but I.
Her head upon her shoulder seeks to hang in careless wise,
And full of blushes were her cheeks, and of wishes were her eyes.

Her blood still fresh into her face, as on a message came,
To say that in another place it meant another game.
Her cherry lip moist, plump and fair, millions of kisses crown,
Which ripe and uncropt dangled there and weighed the branches down.

Her breasts, that well'd so plump and high, bred pleasant pain in me.
For all the world I do defy the like felicity;
Her thighs and belly, soft and fair, to me were only shown:
To see such meat, and not to eat, would anger any stone.

Her knees lay upward gently bent, and all lay hollow under,
As if on easy terms, they meant to fall unforc'd asunder;
Just so the Cyprian Queen did lie, expecting in her bower,
When too long stay had kept the boy beyond his promis'd hour.

"Dull clown" quoth she, "Why dost delay such proffer'd bliss to take?
Canst thou find out no other way similitudes to make?"
Mad with delight I, thundering, threw my arms about her,
But pox upon't 'twas but a dream, and so I lay without her.

Judith offered a couple of classics. First off, she suggested Goblin Market by Christina Rossetti. Unfortunately, the poem is really long. The gist of the story is that two sisters, Laura and Lizzie, are wandering home one day when they see the goblins selling fruit at the Goblin Market. They try to avoid looking at the goblins, as they don't want to be tempted. However, Laura can't resist the goblin call, so she looks. She's snared, and agrees to trade a lock of her hair for some goblin fruit, which she lustily consumes:

She clipped a precious golden lock,
She dropped a tear more rare than pearl,
Then sucked their fruit globes fair or red:
Sweeter than honey from the rock,
Stronger than man-rejoicing wine,
Clearer than water flowed that juice;
She never tasted such before,
How should it cloy with length of use?
She sucked and sucked and sucked the more
Fruits which that unknown orchard bore,
She sucked until her lips were sore;
Then flung the emptied rinds away,
But gathered up one kernel stone,
And knew not was it night or day
As she turned home alone.

Having tasted the forbidden fruit, Laura is filled with unquenched desire and, over the next few weeks, she starts to waste away. Lizzie, realizing that her sister is going to die, goes to the Goblin Market to get fruit to save her. The Goblins welcome her with hugs and kisses, but they become abusive when she refuses their hospitality:

Their looks were evil.
Lashing their tails
They trod and hustled her,
Elbowed and jostled her,
Clawed with their nails,
Barking, mewing, hissing, mocking,
Tore her gown and soiled her stocking,
Twitched her hair out by the roots,
Stamped upon her tender feet,
Held her hands and squeezed their fruits
Against her mouth to make her eat.

One may lead a horse to water,
Twenty cannot make him drink.
Though the goblins cuffed and caught her,
Coaxed and fought her,
Bullied and besought her,
Scratched her, pinched her black as ink,
Kicked and knocked her,
Mauled and mocked her,
Lizzie uttered not a word;
Would not open lip from lip
Lest they should cram a mouthful in;
But laughed in heart to feel the drip
Of juice that syruped all her face,
And lodged in dimples of her chin,
And streaked her neck which quaked like curd.
At last the evil people,
Worn out by her resistance,
Flung back her penny, kicked their fruit
Along whichever road they took,
Not leaving root or stone or shoot.
Some writhed into the ground,
Some dived into the brook
With ring and ripple.
Some scudded on the gale without a sound,
Some vanished in the distance.

I love the imagery here, and Rosetti's rhythm, which flies all over the place, is a real joy. Judith also offered a poem by Emily Dickenson:

Wild Nights--Wild Nights!
by Emily Dickenson

Wild nights--wild nights!
Were I with thee
Wild nights should be
our luxury!

Futile the winds
To heart in port--
Done with the compass,
Done with the chart!

Rowing in Eden--
As the sea!
Might I moor, tonight,
In thee!

Personally, I'm not a huge fan of Emily Dickenson. It's hard for me to get excited about her poems when I imagine her knocking around her house, all alone. Plus, she uses WAY too many dashes. On the bright side, though, most of her poems can be sung aloud to the tune of Gilligan's Island. If you don't believe me, check this one out:

There is no Frigate like a Book
To take us Lands away
Nor any Coursers like a Page
Of prancing Poetry -
This Traverse may the poorest take
Without oppress of Toll -
How frugal is the Chariot
That bears the Human soul.



Ramo offered this original piece. In return, I am including another picture of Joseph Fiennes.

Poems and Poems
All sparkling gems
But there is a stud among them
Joseph Fiennes is his name
May he tear apart his shirt
And show us all that covers his heart.
Then we can go further down
And discover the hidden crown!

Anyway, Cranky here had good intention
The evil Me is doing contravention.

Misanthropster offered a poem by "John Lillison, England's Greatest One-Armed Poet," which Steve Martin used to such effect in his movies:

O pointy birds, o pointy pointy,
Anoint my head, anointy-nointy.

Somebody has gotten so excited about this little poem that he created this.

"Lillison" also wrote this one:
In Dillman's Grove, our love did die,
And now in ground shall ever lie.
None could e'er replace her visage,
Until your face brought thoughts of kissage.

Once again, this post is running a little long, so I'll leave you with a creepy one. When I was a kid, my parents bought me a book of poems for children. This one was my favorite. I didn't realize that it was about necrophilia until much later.

Annabel Lee
by Edgar Allen Poe

It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of ANNABEL LEE;--
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.
She was a child and I was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea,
But we loved with a love that was more than love--
I and my Annabel Lee--
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud by night
Chilling my Annabel Lee;
So that her high-born kinsman came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in Heaven,
Went envying her and me:--
Yes! that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of a cloud, chilling
And killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we--
Of many far wiser than we-
And neither the angels in Heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee:--

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise but I see the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling, my darling, my life and my bride,
In her sepulchre there by the sea--
In her tomb by the side of the sea.