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Best Famous Disrobing Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Disrobing poems. This is a select list of the best famous Disrobing poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Disrobing poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of disrobing poems.

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Written by Robert Duncan | Create an image from this poem

The Song of the Borderguard

 The man with his lion under the shed of wars
sheds his belief as if he shed tears.
The sound of words waits -
a barbarian host at the borderline of sense.

The enamord guards desert their posts
harkening to the lion-smell of a poem
that rings in their ears. 

-Dreams, a certain guard said
were never designd so
to re-arrange an empire.

Along about six o'clock I take out my guitar
and sing to a lion
who sleeps like a line of poetry
in the shed of wars.

The man shedding his belief
knows that the lion is not asleep, 
does not dream, is never asleep, 
is a wide-awake poem
waiting like a lover for the disrobing of the guard; 
the beautil boundaries of the empire
naked, rapt round in the smell of a lion.

(The barbarians have passt over the significant phrase) 

-When I was asleep, 
a certain guard says, 
a man shed his clothes as if he shed tears
and appeard as a lonely lion
waiting for a song under the shed-roof of wars.

I sang the song that he waited to hear, 
I, the Prize-Winner, the Poet Acclaimd.

Dear, Dear, Dear, Dear, I sang, 
believe, believe, believe, believe.
The shed of wars is splendid as the sky, 
houses our waiting like a pure song
housing in its words the lion-smell
of the beloved disrobed.

I sang: believe, believe, believe.

I the guard because of my guitar
belive. I am the certain guard, 
certain of the Beloved, certain of the lion, 
certain of the Empire. I with my guitar.
Dear, Dear, Dear, Dear, I sing.
I, the Prize-Winner, the Poet on Guard.

The borderlines of sense in the morning light
are naked as a line of poetry in a war.


Written by Charles Simic | Create an image from this poem

The Bather

 Where the path to the lake twists out of sight,
A puff of dust, the kind bare feet make running,
Is what I saw in the dying light,
Night swooping down everywhere else.

A low branch heavy with leaves
Swaying momentarily where the shade
Lay thickest, some late bather
Disrobing right there for a quick dip--

(Or my solitude playing a trick on me?)
Pinned hair coming undone, soon to float
As she turns on her back, letting
The dozy current take her as it wishes

Beyond the last drooping branch
To where the sky opens
Black as the water under her white arms,
In the deepening night, deepening hush,

The treetops like charred paper edges,
Even the insects oddly reclusive
While I strained to hear a splash,
Or glimpse her running back to her clothes . . .

And when I did not; I just sat there.
The rare rush of wind in the leaves
Still fooling me now and then,
Until the chill made me go in.

Book: Radiant Verses: A Journey Through Inspiring Poetry