Best Breasts Poems
I never missed you
nestled high upon my chest
lovely soft round pillows
full haughty globes.
Admired. Yes,
even by me.
Prideful I was,
blessed among women.
Even when you were gone
it was no tragedy . . .not then.
I never missed you in all these
years, twenty six and more
to be exact.
Not through nights with spouse
or after with that one lover
who never noticed or, if he did
I couldn’t tell.
I never missed you in all these years
well, maybe just the sensitive
erotic brown nubs that stood erect
like attentive soldiers when it was cold
or when I was hot.
And I’ve been hot,
so I’m told.
I never missed you in all these years.
No regrets for cut of scalpel
no second thoughts
for flayed flesh
until now.
Until Him.
I never missed you in all these years,
but I miss you now.
The sorrow of your loss
has come home to roost
but tears have no magic
to heal my scarred disfigured chest.
Every month, I loose blood.
My , abdomen, every part of my body - gives me pain..
For days.. I cry, I hardly move.
I'm a woman that owns a complicated body.
that bleeds and breasts that are hard to carry..
But does that matter?
when from my an infant comes
and when my breasts give milk and warmth.
Every pain comes to its minimal
then grows beautiful
when it comes to know its significance.
I share every part of my body,
giving its everything
..to such an extent,
that my body remains not mine
it shares its owner.
BREASTS
Growing
Attention holding
A mans kiss
I, the mans wishes
As I do the dishes
So the tree stood in the centre of the desert
mangled by winds of change and truth of joy
chains of dust and torrents of rare rain
Burnt black and senseless by an
unrelenting Sun of nightmare beauty
orange was the sand of scorpions
orange was the mirage of miracles
orange was her veil of innocence
As the tree stank of heavenly myrrh
itched to pour its oil over orange
nippled breasts and buttocks
stroke curves and carves
of luminous beauty with its
ancient branches of stony bark
as beetles made holy love in its
crevices of dark deep velvet depth
And the mangled magic of the myrrh
stood short and stumped and watched
the breath of a timeless desert
slow movements of noble camels
with long thick lashes speaking of
magnificent slowness in the lick of lick
a lip in a lip
Tree of a thousand loves
sprinklings in sparkles spaced
over a tent of chiffon on sand
slithering with patterned serpents
and eyes of dark magic, of long
limbs all in One
twine and twine and grow together
as all become One
with myrrh and magic
heavy beads of sweat and
amber laugh and scream
Moments of a tree of ugly love
as ugly melts into vacant beauty
irresistible wordless wrinkles ageless
Deep furrows of sweet scent
sent desert creatures weeping
to smiling stars as a tree of life
stood stock still to imbibe
eternal myrrh itself
When it came to chesty women, I was obsessed.
I wanted a woman who had large breasts.
Now I'm 75 years old and I have something to confess.
I am an old man and I've grown large breasts.
These aren't the kind of boobs that people want to caress.
I put on a 38D bra when I get dressed.
People stare at these big hooters that I've grown.
I no longer need a busty lady because I have big breasts of my own.
(THIS IS A FICTIONAL POEM.)
Most beautiful
body part.
Curved contour.
Perfect fit for
shape of hand.
Up front.
Proud and pleased
to be female.
Come hither
weaker sex.
Nipples soft.
Nipples hard.
Feed my child
big and strong.
Amazing breasts.
I could go on...
Every month, I loose blood.
My , abdomen, every part of my body - gives me pain..
For days.. I cry, I hardly move.
I'm a woman that owns a complicated body.
that bleeds and breasts that are hard to carry..
But does that matter?
when from my an infant comes
and when my breasts give milk and warmth.
Every pain comes to its minimal
then grows beautiful
when it comes to know its significance.
I share every part of my body,
giving its everything
..to such an extent,
that my body remains not mine
it shares its owner.
They say;
They can be milked to bring the flavor of life
Milk the breasts of a woman and you get loving adoration
They are also like a well of life
That nourishes young babies
From the womb
They say,
Breasts are a man’s balls
To play with in a game of love
It depends on who catches the ball and kicks
It right for a win only
Breasts are our mother nature
The source of life and wisdom
I was abducted by aliens and I'm angry, bitter and depressed.
They took me to a world where the women have no breasts.
When I was abducted, I was promised a life of happiness.
But how can I be happy when the ladies have no chests?
I'm pissed off and I want to cry because they were not honest with me.
The women on this world are so flat that they make Olive Oyl look busty.
When I was on Earth, I manufactured bras but they are obsolete here.
Coming to this planet has put an end to my happiness and to my career.
You may think that I'm lying to you, I know that it's hard to believe.
But if you're a man and you're brought here, you will want to leave.
(This is a fictional poem)
Finally, I came to know all men don't like breasts
Some say with women's flower are just like spike breasts
Traffic rules should be written on shirts of road girls
Perhaps there'll be no gaze which won't strike breasts
Tonight, I'm going to sleep with hundred fairies
Not just arms - and please don't mind if I so vike - "breasts"
Don't go rough - You ain't only one for me tonight
Many more have them so soft if you have tike breasts
Everyone has one's own choice but I've not special
Ah! brunettes with pinkish lips, young and with kike breasts!
Love in pairs becomes a boring habit at last
It does not increase with age as is unlike breasts
September 19, 2022
To be inspired, I suck the Muses' breasts;
and, like young babes that thirst for tender milk,
and for health from their mother's nippled chests,
I champ the teats sublime for strains of silk.
O god-like breasts from whence beauteous rhyme
proceeds and flows (which sustain with dulcet songs),
what swan, what bard, what poet can these feast-time
glands make go wrong!? Their nourishment makes them strong.
O thou bare-bosom'd Muses so divine!
Be all mine, and I'll be thine: for as heir,
I'll glut earth with breastmilk's rhymes, line by line,
so all men grow through verses everywhere.
O Muses! With potent breasts so nourishing,
soon all the world's souls will be flourishing.
Marble breasts, Translation of Etiemble’s poem: Les Seins de marbre by T. Wignesan
For Eugène Guillevic
(An eleven line poem of between ten and twelve syllables lines, with the following end-rhyme scheme: aaabbcddeec)
The breasts that you sculpt in marble or alabaster,
poets: antics! I laugh at all your plasters,
flat moulds stung by Cleopatra’s asp.
Mottled red and blue, smooth, shiny, over taut,
marbled all over ruptured vessels, minus epidermis,
that in one life the only ones in a generous sense
I have seen the night – felt the day –trembling in spasms,
more infinitely sensitive than during an ******,
crazed and charred by cobalt fire,
barbed, smarting, fixed within two blocks of basalt,
which during her death were those of a cancer victim.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
Breasts are wise
Only one thing they know of
Pointing at people
I live as orphan but I am not orphan
I live with mother but she is no mother
Her fingers cannot feed me, her child
As she is a mother without breasts
Whenever visitors come she gives all
And those in granaries she donates
Her resources feed other persons
As she is a mother without breasts
When I complain with tears in my eyes
And tell her to care for me as a duty
Her mind cannot understand the wisdom
As she is a mother without breasts
I sit alone under Acacia tree, eyes swollen
Stomach burning with pains of hunger
But Acacia is barren as a breast-less mother
To give birth to offspring gladly, willingly
Is a divine duty that motherhood prides over
But a mother without breasts to feed
Is a rare curse the earth sees once a century
A pumpkin that is not picked and cooked
in grandmother’s pot lived for nothing.
I hate when women have tattoos drawn on their breasts.
Why do women do that to their chests?
I've always seen breasts as works of art.
When women have tattoos drawn on them, it breaks my heart.