poem: i like my body by e. e. cummings

i like my body when it is with your
body. It is so quite new a thing.
Muscles better and nerves more.
i like my body. i like what it does,
i like its hows. i like to feel the spine
of your body and its bones, and the trembling
-firm-smooth ness and which i will
again and again and again
kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,
i like, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz
of your electric fur, and what-is-it-comes
over parting flesh . . . . And eyes big love-crumbs,

and possibly i like the thrill

of under me you so quite new

The Way by Robert Creeley

My love’s manners in bed
are not to be discussed by me,
as mine by her
I would not credit comment upon gracefully.

Yet I ride by the margin of that lake in
the wood, the castle,
and the excitement of strongholds;
and have a small boy’s notion of doing good.

Oh well, I will say here,
knowing each man,
let you find a good wife too,
and love her as hard as you can.

Earth and Fire by Wendell Berry

In this woman the earth speaks.
Her words open in me, cells of light
flashing in my body, and make a song
that I follow toward her out of my need.
The pain I have given her I wear
like another skin, tender, the air
around me flashing with thorns.
And yet such joy as I have given her
sings in me and is part of her song.
The winds of her knees shake me
like a flame. I have risen from her,
time and again, a new man.

poem by Louis Simpson

As birds are fitted to the boughs
That blossom on the tree
And whisper when the south wind blows–
So was my love to me.

And still she blossoms in my mind
And whispers softly, though
The clouds are fitted to the wind,
The wind is to the snow.

Weekend Bathers by Kenneth Patchen

Sun on their naked shoulders
Like a sparkling hand;
Marge and her big-legged sweetie
Laughing to beat the band—
O glory in the Garden!
He finds her halter straps
And such pretties are exposed;
Yet, Wonder—now what is that?
Perhaps the water knows.
Thunder rides with the gnat.
Ah, each day a weaker bridge is crossed,
And nearer rush the wings;
Too soon all youthful swagger’s lost
In the dark hurry of things.

Since the Tiny Yellow Rose by Kenneth Patchen

Since the tiny yellow rose
In the vase beside the candles

And the single drop of water
Upon this leafs uppermost tip

—Proof of mystery? or just
Two meaningless occurrences from
A meaningless physical world?

And your lovely fingers lifting a cup,
Or smoothing a crease in the table cloth
—To me so beautiful that my heart cries
With joy and pride at their nearness

What There Is by Kenneth Patchen

In this my green world
Flowers birds are hands
They hold me
I am loved all day
All this pleases me
I am amused
I have to laugh from crying
Trees mountains are arms
I am loved all day

Children grass are tears
I cry
I am loved all day
Everything
Pompous makes me laugh
I am amused often enough
In this
My beautiful green world

O there’s love all day

“Hope” is the thing with feathers by Emily Dickinson

“Hope” is the thing with feathers –
That perches in the soul –
And sings the tune without words –
And never stops – at all –

And sweetest – in the Gale – is heard –
And sore must be the storm –
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm –

I’ve heard it in the chillest land –
And on the strangest Sea –
Yet, never, in Extremity,
It asked a crumb – of Me.