"maidenhood" poems
Bid adieu, adieu, adieu,
Bid adieu to girlish days,
Happy Love is come to woo
Thee and woo thy girlish ways—
The zone that doth become thee fair,
The snood upon thy yellow hair,
When thou hast heard his name upon
The bugles of the cherubim
Begin thou softly to unzone
Thy girlish ***** unto him
And softly to undo the snood
That is the sign of maidenhood.
4.4k
From citron-bower be her bed,
cut from branch of tree a-flower,
fashioned for her maidenhead.
From Lydian apples, sweet of hue,
cut the width of board and lathe,
carve the feet from myrtle-wood.
Let the palings of her bed
be quince and box-wood overlaid
with the scented bark of yew.
That all the wood in blossoming,
may calm her heart and cool her blood,
for losing of her maidenhood.
3.1k
What is the sorriest thing that enters Hell?
None of the sins,—but this and that fair deed
Which a soul’s sin at length could supersede.
These yet are virgins, whom death’s timely knell
Might once have sainted; whom the fiends compel
Together now, in snake-bound shuddering sheaves
Of anguish, while the scorching bridegroom leaves
Their refuse maidenhood abominable.
Night ***** them down, the garbage of the pit,
Whose names, half entered in the book of Life,
Were God’s desire at noon. And as their hair
And eyes sink last, the Torturer deigns no whit
To gaze, but, yearning, waits his worthier wife,
The Sin still blithe on earth that sent them there.
2.4k
In melancholy moonless Acheron,
Farm for the goodly earth and joyous day
Where no spring ever buds, nor ripening sun
Weighs down the apple trees, nor flowery May
Chequers with chestnut blooms the grassy floor,
Where thrushes never sing, and piping linnets mate no more,
There by a dim and dark Lethaean well
Young Charmides was lying; wearily
He plucked the blossoms from the asphodel,
And with its little rifled treasury
Strewed the dull waters of the dusky stream,
And watched the white stars founder, and the land was like a dream,
When as he gazed into the watery glass
And through his brown hair’s curly tangles scanned
His own wan face, a shadow seemed to pass
Across the mirror, and a little hand
Stole into his, and warm lips timidly
Brushed his pale cheeks, and breathed their secret forth into a
sigh.
Then turned he round his weary eyes and saw,
And ever nigher still their faces came,
And nigher ever did their young mouths draw
Until they seemed one perfect rose of flame,
And longing arms around her neck he cast,
And felt her throbbing ***** and his breath came hot and fast,
And all his hoarded sweets were hers to kiss,
And all her maidenhood was his to slay,
And limb to limb in long and rapturous bliss
Their passion waxed and waned,—O why essay
To pipe again of love, too venturous reed!
Enough, enough that Eros laughed upon that flowerless mead.
Too venturous poesy, O why essay
To pipe again of passion! fold thy wings
O’er daring Icarus and bid thy lay
Sleep hidden in the lyre’s silent strings
Till thou hast found the old Castalian rill,
Or from the Lesbian waters plucked drowned Sappho’s golden quid!
Enough, enough that he whose life had been
A fiery pulse of sin, a splendid shame,
Could in the loveless land of Hades glean
One scorching harvest from those fields of flame
Where passion walks with naked unshod feet
And is not wounded,—ah! enough that once their lips could meet
In that wild throb when all existences
Seemed narrowed to one single ecstasy
Which dies through its own sweetness and the stress
Of too much pleasure, ere Persephone
Had bade them serve her by the ebon throne
Of the pale God who in the fields of Enna loosed her zone.
2k
Oh, because you never tried
To bow my will or break my pride,
And nothing of the cave-man made
You want to keep me half afraid,
Nor ever with a conquering air
You thought to draw me unaware—
Take me, for I love you more
Than I ever loved before.
And since the body’s maidenhood
Alone were neither rare nor good
Unless with it I gave to you
A spirit still untrammeled, too,
Take my dreams and take my mind
That were masterless as wind;
And “Master!” I shall say to you
Since you never asked me to.
1.9k
One writes, that "Other friends remain,"
That "Loss is common to the race"--
And common is the commonplace,
And vacant chaff well meant for grain.
That loss is common would not make
My own less bitter, rather more.
Too common! Never morning wore
To evening, but some heart did break.
O father, wheresoe'er thou be,
Who pledgest now thy gallant son,
A shot, ere half thy draught be done,
Hath still'd the life that beat from thee.
O mother, praying God will save
Thy sailor,--while thy head is bow'd,
His heavy-shotted hammock-shroud
Drops in his vast and wandering grave.
Ye know no more than I who wrought
At that last hour to please him well;
Who mused on all I had to tell,
And something written, something thought;
Expecting still his advent home;
And ever met him on his way
With wishes, thinking, "here to-day,"
Or "here to-morrow will he come."
O somewhere, meek, unconscious dove,
That sitteth ranging golden hair;
And glad to find thyself so fair,
Poor child, that waiteth for thy love!
For now her father's chimney glows
In expectation of a guest;
And thinking "this will please him best,"
She takes a riband or a rose;
For he will see them on to-night;
And with the thought her colour burns;
And, having left the glass, she turns
Once more to set a ringlet right;
And, even when she turn'd, the curse
Had fallen, and her future Lord
Was drown'd in passing thro' the ford,
Or kill'd in falling from his horse.
O what to her shall be the end?
And what to me remains of good?
To her, perpetual maidenhood,
And unto me no second friend.
1.8k
the songs will remember you
as the ****** huntress
what the songs forget is that you were so much more
protector of young girls with their heads in the clouds
and hope in their eyes,
daughter of wolves and thunder
you were stripped bare and
the only thing that marked you
as important, was the name of your father
the only thing that they remembered
was the state of your maidenhood
no one warned you how their eyes would linger
and darken in lust,
untouchable, forbidden fruit
because that’s all they thought you were worth
you were three years old
when you refused to be reduced
to a state of being
you were three years old
when you refused to let
any man take what was yours
you were three years old
when you decided
you were to rule the mountains
you proved them wrong
Dec 26, 2014
Dec 26, 2014 at 1:10 AM UTC
One writes, that 'Other friends remain,'
That 'Loss is common to the race'--
And common is the commonplace,
And vacant chaff well meant for grain.
That loss is common would not make
My own less bitter, rather more:
Too common! Never morning wore
To evening, but some heart did break.
O father, wheresoe'er thou be,
Who pledgest now thy gallant son;
A shot, ere half thy draught be done,
Hath still'd the life that beat from thee.
O mother, praying God will save
Thy sailor,--while thy head is bow'd,
His heavy-shotted hammock-shroud
Drops in his vast and wandering grave.
Ye know no more than I who wrought
At that last hour to please him well;
Who mused on all I had to tell,
And something written, something thought;
Expecting still his advent home;
And ever met him on his way
With wishes, thinking, 'here to-day,'
Or 'here to-morrow will he come.'
O somewhere, meek, unconscious dove,
That sittest ranging golden hair;
And glad to find thyself so fair,
Poor child, that waitest for thy love!
For now her father's chimney glows
In expectation of a guest;
And thinking 'this will please him best,'
She takes a riband or a rose;
For he will see them on to-night;
And with the thought her colour burns;
And, having left the glass, she turns
Once more to set a ringlet right;
And, even when she turn'd, the curse
Had fallen, and her future Lord
Was drown'd in passing thro' the ford,
Or kill'd in falling from his horse.
O what to her shall be the end?
And what to me remains of good?
To her, perpetual maidenhood,
And unto me no second friend.
1.3k
There she bends her fluid form, milky skin dazzled with sweat,
to pluck the golden fruit from the marble earth.
It eludes her grasp, un-bruised from its fall till
she turns her back to the finish line, to her maidenhood, to her victories
and faces all her determination to catch beautiful and artificial
apple. Midas’ own greed pulls her into succumbing to the last of Milanion’s offerings and Aphrodite’s snare.
There in her crooked form, her robes still billowing from the momentum, sandals come undone so close to the finish line
Atalanta clutches, desperately, to win her freedom and the gleaming prize.
Yet the Gods know that only one can be won.
Aphrodite’s dove proceeds the victor as he barrels to the finish,
his wedding in sight.
Jul 23, 2012
Jul 23, 2012 at 7:47 PM UTC
i try to hide
the pink of my *******
but my hands are too small
as one is covered
the other is exposed
*(is there any point trying
to protect
this still purple heart of mine?)*
i take refuge in the bunker
from wandering eyes
my skin it burns
like heated orange flames
from their gaze
my soles are busted black
from running so long, so far
my shoulders are browned
from fighting the sun
*i am looking for a corner
i am looking for a hole:
dark solace*
as a child i imagined my maidenhood
to be a pretty pure pink
but now my thigh are rubbed raw
and red drips down the white canvas
i am so tired
i wonder if the little spark of yellow youth
remains hidden deep within me
*maybe if i follow the tunnel inside
i will find a reason to no longer hide*
my struggle is coming to an end
as they catch up to me
i see the little green of burnt meadows
it empties into the stagnant blue of the murky waters
instead of giving in,
i give up.
into the blue-green i fall:
deep
deep
deeper yet still;
the rainbow blooms
the sky is clear
i am gone.
Feb 1, 2016
Feb 1, 2016 at 5:26 AM UTC
His oaths were all crimson passion,
(Oh, fleeting, evanescent boy!)
But were simply passing fashion,
Discarded like some broken toy
Put on or off as he saw fit
(Not employed for some higher good:
The fondling of some harlot’s ***
The plucking of some maidenhood.)
Prolifigate in the bedroom
In constancy, he remained chaste
Cast in the role of a bridegroom
The play’s ending he brought in haste
(I say this without levity;
Forever is but brevity.)
Mar 1, 2017
Mar 1, 2017 at 10:49 AM UTC
Night beckons
and moon, full of restive temptation
answers fruitfully—
Incline yourself
upon the seal of my soul
and bend my ear
that I may again
hear the gentle murmurings
of earth’s heart
beat in time with my own.
O tender, tender moon
you leave the imprint
of your maidenhood
as you salve
the dry earth
your moon’s blood bestowing.
Sow your seed
in the time of new moon
and yield,
again and again
to the carpet of heaven’s door.
Dec 29, 2011
Dec 29, 2011 at 7:29 PM UTC
Over the hills of Lough,
The boys go now
With their pockets
Full of promises;
And their heels kicking
The dust from their feet,
Like fathers pushing away
The years shown in their greying hair.
Listen. The voices carry.
The boys have shouldered
The labours of centuries;
And now over the hills of Lough
They go now,
With their caps
On their heads
And over the brow;
Leaving the girls
To their maidenhood
And the old men
Who once climbed
The hills, but soon
Came back again.
Aug 6, 2013
Aug 6, 2013 at 10:34 AM UTC
medusa stands proud.
happy and proud and peace filled.
sisters in arms held for worship,
sisters in arms disappeared from grasp.
medusa stands small.
hurt and small and shame filled.
maidenhood stolen and high priestess to athena no more,
maidenhood stolen and cursed with protection.
medusa stands weary.
cold and weary and anger filled.
isolation has become her paradise of silence and stone,
isolation has become her graveyard of silence.
medusa stands tired.
worn and tired and sorrow filled.
awaiting the blow to her neck by perseus' sword,
awaiting the blow to end her suffering.
Mar 5, 2021
Mar 5, 2021 at 10:15 AM UTC
What's it, what's it that makes me smile-
when I think of thee for a while?
Let t'is sunshine, balmy and dry-
warm our hearts as it walks by.
O but today my heart gladdened-
yet as we stared my cheeks reddened!
Upon my journeys down, downstairs-
'midst th' morning and evening airs.
Thy handsome face came into view,
made my feelings dance like white dew.
Th' moment thou showed me that grin-
I knew that my heart thou would win.
Thy presence was but a rhythm,
th' best that my heart could employ.
One a tempest could not destroy-
one destiny could not fathom.
Thy being is th' love I wish,
in my wild dreams and fantasies!
Ah! and thy soul just what I outta please;
a fate my maidenhood shan't miss.
I'll wait for my victorious night-
when no-one else is within sight.
Thy arms opened awide for me;
as I swing outside to find thee.
And I but hope later that day;
thou wilt no longer leave and stay.
To own th' lips I'm fated to kiss,
and wed our love in sacred bliss.
Feb 8, 2013
Feb 8, 2013 at 1:47 PM UTC
♥V♥
Here, the bifurcated portal
gateway of expanding life
smiles rebirth – transcends the Mortal . . .
splits the double you of wife.
Hail the great democratizer;
let us all salute the Queen –
Mankind’s rosy equalizer:
She Whose Splendor Reigns Unseen.
Treasure trove of procreation,
tunnel of love and fleshly muse,
membrane of illumination,
countryside’s exciting views . . .
***** played to heights celestial,
bio-rhapsody exposed
proving that our best is *******
and our earthly home foreclosed:
Grant us now behold thy beauty,
worship at thy humid throne.
Let mankind discharge his duty
in your sacred pleasure-zone.
Though Somali blades despise you,
though your maidenhood offends,
Egypt’s night will not disguise you
nor separate you from your friends.
Sep 12, 2015
Sep 12, 2015 at 10:36 PM UTC
The young man he had wandered many a mile and more
Cross foreign lands and countless seas, to reach a distant shore
Driven by the hope's he held implanted as they'd been
Deep within the wickerwork of life's eternal dream
Though warm of flesh the heart was cold, no love had 'ere he known
And look he must for one sweet maid to melt his heart of stone
To feel upon his fevered brow the softness of her touch
The closeness of her being near, his cry for love too much
And to an isle he came at last, a jewel upon the sea
And landed on its glittered sands of sparkling diamante
He wandered through a forest, each leaf of emerald shone
And waterfalls of crystal gleam, reflections of he alone
And then, a vision seen, a pearl so bright and full of fire
That took the shape of maidenhood, and filled his heart's desire
Of golden hair and amber lips that parted with a smile
And beckoned come you hither and lie with me a while
He knelt before the maiden and to her heart be sworn
To worship at her alter, and kneel before her throne
She looked upon her suitor, her smile had all but gone
For 'ere his young heart melted, the maiden turned to stone
May 1, 2017
May 1, 2017 at 9:55 AM UTC
oh, lost childhood
innocent, sweet, and vain
i traded away my maidenhood
for a life of listless pain.
although reckless naievity
assuredly slipped away
so did the warm festivity
of existing without shame.
no longer can bedside fables
enchant a wonderous mind.
for i have traded my maidenhood
and left all past behind.
Aug 25, 2018
Aug 25, 2018 at 2:23 AM UTC
April is the cruelest month, so some poet said,
Likely vexed to the breaking point by its coquettish nature,
Alternately promising and withdrawing
Sweetness of the warm sun, rustling green blankets of leaves,
The flirtatious, intoxicating perfume
Of the violet and lily of the valley.
For all its coy fluttering of eyelids,
April may delay but never denies,
Yielding its lover’s bounty and then some
To suitors ardent and otherwise.
Its forerunner of two moons prior promises no such delights,
No flora-and-fauna maidenhood as recompense for devotion;
It is the time of purification, of the purge,
A time where light is at a premium,
Often coveted but rarely apprehended, its fleeting manifestations Matters of obfuscation as opposed to illumination,
Soon to be supplanted by fierce meteorological harpies
Short on subtlety but long on effectiveness,
Carrying away those not equipped to resist its peculiar charms
(The too-early runt calf, the aged and nearly-blind collie
Trotting to an unfamiliar field or wood lot,
The newly-solo grandparent acquiescing to the song of the abyss),
The unfortunates consigned to some crypt
Or undisturbed corner of barn or basement,
Proper farewells set aside for some indeterminate time
When it is feasible to block out the knowledge
That the springtime is promised to no man or beast,
Especially at such an interval
Where so little seems to separate one from the other.
Feb 13, 2018
Feb 13, 2018 at 9:57 AM UTC
Above the Arctic Circle, where the Laplanders dwell,
A place where sunlight never melts the tundra’s icy shell
And Beelzebub himself eschews, strongly preferring Hell.
Yet evil is no stranger here
Due to a beast the natives fear:
The dragon of Parikkala.
The provincial church was burgled, a most confounding case
Church poor boxes relieved of gold and scattered ‘round the place
The cleric who resided there was gone without a trace.
‘Twas nothing the good priest would do
The evidence all pointed to
The dragon of Parikkala.
The sheriff was a bruiser by the name Jyl Purrakut
Rumored to be the owner of a house of ill repute
Such assertions (quite naturally) he’d angrily dispute:
Not down to me, he’d all but hiss,
*You know who is to blame for this
The dragon of Parikkala.*
Banker Aric Toskala charged outlandish interest rates,
And those who did not pay on time met most unhappy fates,
Tossed rudely from their homes and forced to sleep on sewer grates
Confronted, Aric explained why
It seems his brain was addled by
The dragon of Parikkala.
Young Jana Makkarainen, from a fine family in town
Was victimized unknowingly, her life turned upside-down
Resulting in a swelling underneath her simple gown.
My maidenhood, the girl would cry
*Was cruelly stolen from me by
The dragon of Parikkala.*
In this cold, humble northern burgh, sin is the soup du jour
Although the town folk, one and all, are wholly chaste and pure
And so a host of gloomy fates they stoically endure
Yet they are blameless in the least
The fault lies wholly with the beast
The dragon of Parikkala.
Dec 21, 2016
Dec 21, 2016 at 11:16 AM UTC
#ACT VI
EXEUNT Hafez the Turk with Borbognoni.
Eratocles to Lesbia as he faces the other occupants:
'Mad passengers on Life's untimely main
With boarding pass, who signal to the plane,
Such sad and paltry virtue as you're due
Would yet an airport's tower misconstrue;
That pilots and their air-controllers may
In congress, or in *********** delay
(Desirous yet of wings they fain possess)
To mount the air—with each bright stewardess
Their forms and then their maidenhood address . . .
Out, Out. Such trash ennobles none but thee;
'For craft shall ever land as birds must fly—
Checked luggage fill the hold when drinks are served;
And whether prey or falcon take to sky,
The crew must make our passage well-deserved;
Though lightning rend the night all 'round th'plane
And flame, as to a spleen, thy fevered brain.
Perchance you hope the pilot to dissuade,
Whose path through trackless wastes your flight directs.
Your shamming virtue tarnishes your blade
And though your flight be cut, it fain connects
That shining port of entry that you seek
Where love's most noble strength is rendered weak.'
'Away. Methinks the cabin crew I hear:
Fair Lesbia—have you my passport ?'
Apr 16, 2019
Apr 16, 2019 at 2:38 PM UTC