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T

Lovely Lady Love

Oh my lovely lady love
your light frock flowing
chills fever frantic visions
of sun drenched paradise

ah, those inviting valleys
and sweet contoured rises!
It’s like a magical dream
to see the shimmering flow

as the sweet silvering mist
of your lightly kissing dress
over such landscape clings ...
how beautiful your body sings!

My one wish is that I recline
amongst such succulent fruit,
and feel more the man
at your sun drenched hand

About This Poem

Editing Stage: Editing - rough draft

About the Author

Country/Region: The Nederlands

Favorite Poets: William Butler Yates, Wallace Stevens, Giuseppe ungaretti, William Blake

More from this author

Comments

Rula

Rula

7 years 2 months ago

Hello tyro

I'll be back to this. You know how I fall in love with tender romantic poems, or so I think .

Rula

Rula

7 years 2 months ago

I'm back

I still like it though I agree with Gee in every word in his comment, however I didn't get the subtext till the second read which I think makes it a really subtle read. How much I wish to write such a subtle piece or somehow with a twist. I still have a lot to learn
Thanks for sharing.

R

raj

7 years 2 months ago

tyro

I would rate this as not just romantic because with the choice of words [gentle strokes of brush] you have created a portrait of a sensuous woman...being a rough draft I will follow this to see the finishing strokes you would be giving ...

pleasure to read and pleasing to the eyes..
..................................................................................

Geezer

Geezer

7 years 2 months ago

In certain...

societies, in some times, this probably would have been deemed slightly pornographic. I particularly liked the third quatrain, in which it makes clear that this poem is about the lust for a beautiful body; but not necessarily love. Great work! ~ Geezer.
.

T

tyro

7 years 2 months ago

Hello Geezer, it is not about

Hello Geezer, it is not about lust but about appreciation. In stanza three I had in mind the first stanza of a poem by Robert Herrick.

WHENAS in silks my Julia goes,
Then, then, methinks, how sweetly flowes
That liquefaction of her clothes.