Famous Short Sensual Poems
Famous Short Sensual Poems. Short Sensual Poetry by Famous Poets. A collection of the all-time best Sensual short poems
by
Dylan Thomas
Twenty-four years remind the tears of my eyes.
(Bury the dead for fear that they walk to the grave in labour.
)
In the groin of the natural doorway I crouched like a tailor
Sewing a shroud for a journey
By the light of the meat-eating sun.
Dressed to die, the sensual strut begun,
With my red veins full of money,
In the final direction of the elementary town
I advance as long as forever is.
by
Constantine P Cavafy
He's an old man.
Used up and bent,
crippled by time and indulgence,
he slowly walks along the narrow street.
But when he goes inside his house to hide
the shambles of his old age, his mind turns
to the share in youth that still belongs to him.
His verse is now recited by young men.
His visions come before their lively eyes.
Their healthy sensual minds,
their shapely taut bodies
stir to his perception of the beautiful.
Trans.
by Edmund Keeley and Philip Sherrard
by
Constantine P Cavafy
Like beautiful bodies of the dead who had not grown old
and they shut them, with tears, in a magnificent mausoleum,
with roses at the head and jasmine at the feet --
this is what desires resemble that have passed
without fulfillment; with none of them having achieved
a night of sensual delight, or a bright morning.
by
D. H. Lawrence
The profoundest of all sensualities
is the sense of truth
and the next deepest sensual experience
is the sense of justice.
by
Sir Walter Scott
Sound, sound the clarion, fill the fife!
To all the sensual world proclaim,
One crowded hour of glorious life
Is worth an age without a name.
by
William Henry Davies
when the body of a woman dissolves
within are the three feared faces
the man who dares to trace them comes
to grief - but nothing personal is meant
waves and particles transvest - vulva
breast and womb are sexless doors
beyond whose suck a sensual light
swings life round its little finger
by
Constantine P Cavafy
Let me stop here.
Let me, too, look at nature awhile.
The brilliant blue of the morning sea, of the cloudless sky,
the yellow shore; all lovely,
all bathed in light.
Let me stand here.
And let me pretend I see all this
(I really did see it for a minute when I first stopped)
and not my usual day-dreams here too,
my memories, those images of sensual pleasure.
trans.
by Edmund Keeley and Philip Sherrard
by
Peter Huchel
Sound, sound the clarion, fill the fife!
To all the sensual world proclaim,
One crowded hour of glorious life
Is worth an age without a name.
by
Constantine P Cavafy
The years of my youth, my sensual life --
how clearly I see their meaning now.
What needless repentances, how futile.
.
.
.
But I did not understand the meaning then.
In the dissolute life of my youth
the desires of my poetry were being formed,
the scope of my art was being plotted.
This is why my repentances were never stable.
And my resolutions to control myself, to change
lasted for two weeks at the very most.