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| ISBN-13: | 9781577313212 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | New World Library |
| Publication date: | 10/04/2010 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 224 |
| File size: | 313 KB |
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Passionate Hearts
The Poetry of Sexual Love
By Wendy Maltz
New World Library
Copyright © 1996 Wendy MaltzAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-57731-321-2
CHAPTER 1
tender awakening
THE TREES THAT CHANGE OUR LIVES
When I was twenty I walked past
The lady I would marry —
Cross-legged on the porch.
She was cracking walnuts
With a hammer, a jar
At her side. I had come
From the store, swinging
A carton of cold beers,
And when I looked she smiled.
And that was all, until
I came back, flushed,
Glowing like a lantern
Against a backdrop
Of silly one-liners —
Cute-face, peaches, baby-lips.
We talked rain, cats,
About rain on cats,
And later went inside
For a sandwich, a glass
Of milk, sweets.
Still later, a month later,
We were going at one
Another on the couch, bed,
In the bathtub
And its backwash of bubbles,
Snapping. So it went,
And how strangely: the walnut
Tree had dropped its hard
Fruit, and they, in turn,
Were dropped into a paper
Bag, a jar, then into
The dough that was twisted
Into bread for the love
Of my mouth, so
It might keep talking.
gary soto
SHARING
outside
a moon starting up
over a warm summer meadow:
myriads of fireflies, quietly moving &
flickering their own type of light
to each other
are moving to the slowly increasing magic
of their closeness
with this first warm night.
inside
in the dusk light
of your kitchen
quietly talking over a table,
and moving closer to each other
with words,
& then to the first time of
touching hands.
the motion of our hands while talking,
starting up a beginning
place of sharing:
a first motion of touching
with a magic possibility
of keeping the closeness
of this night,
inside.
alan yount
SPRING STORM
I stood in the doorway
for the longest time
after you left
looking at the night
listening to the night
feeling the cold
against the warmth of my body
feeling your touch
ripening on my body
It would have been too easy
to welcome you inside me
succumb to the rhythm
of waves washing over me
As much as that would be
it wouldn't be enough
I would never know
who
was on the other side
of your skin
johanna rayl
THE RIVER
All the bright day I rode my bike along the river
gold flashing among the dizzy leaves
water clear and rushing over stones
the sound drawing me on.
All day I rode with the wind in my face
till I lost a shoe when I drank at the river
and turned to go home.
It was dusk when I entered the old
house on the hill
and you were glad to see me.
You showed me strings you had tied to a stick.
I watched you dip strings in hot tallow
again and again
while the long tapered bodies grew thick.
Then you lit two of your candles
and there in the flickering shadows we stood
between floors on a landing.
You reached to embrace me as I turned toward you
and gently your lips brushed on my lips
and gently your tongue entered my mouth
finding the way through the dark.
I stood open — river swelling inside me —
rising and falling —
walls breathing for me —
the sound of the river rushed in my ears
my legs were water (I might have fallen
if your arms had not held me).
Finally
you turned with a smile as though it were natural
and walked down the stairs
leaving me filled
with that long trembling.
When I could speak I said, Let's walk by the river.
Then I asked, Will you be loving?
and laughed at my words.
I meant to say, "Will you be leaving?"
and then you laughed too.
A slip of the tongue, you said.
Yes, I said, a slip of the tongue.
patti tana
PURPLE IS THE COLOR OF THE LONGING
Purple is the color of the longing
tucked into the folds of pulpy organs
soft and vulnerable.
A finger could pierce like a bullet
this swollen pulse,
an uncaring touch would tear to pieces
the soft fiber of its nest.
Defenseless it hides
in the soft warm dark
safe and alone
and dreams silently
of the most gentle hands,
hands that part the flesh with trembling care
inching open the egg,
hands that breathe, warm and moist
attentive to the quietest heartbeats,
slow, patient hands that touch
with no shadow of demand,
fingers that explore hinted textures
radiating wonder and discovery,
bridges delicate enough to join
one time
under the noise of aching lives
the being of one
with the presence of another.
david steinberg
TANGO'D LOVE
You approach
I stand erect
anticipate extended hand
guides me to the dance floor
slick and satin black reflects
sophisticated bodies glide
forward backward heads cocked
hip to hip we promenade
to throbbing music swells swelling
slow slow quick quick slow
thighs whisper push me pull me
surrender to the pounding beat
accelerates my lower body
undulates back and forth and back
to back vibrations ripple
skin on skin pulsating
face to face your mouth slides
onto into parted lips
connect the movements quicker
quicker now you lift me bend
me holding hold me while
the notes explode
Crescendo
j. b. bernstein
With you I begin
to find my body again.
Senses come slowly alive,
sphincters soften,
turtle head rises
inch by inch
out of shell.
With you I remember
the most basic pattern,
sense the warm pulse,
move closer
beat by beat.
Pray for safety,
for open arms.
Test twice every reaching.
Hold open the possibility
so often impossible.
Reach shaking fingertips
out into the blackness
hoping for you to be real,
wanting to trust the touch of you
and afraid,
find finally
fingers that are not mine
also reaching
also afraid
also beginning to believe
again.
david steinberg
SHE TEACHES HIM TO REACH OUT
Give me your hand. Place it on my bare breast
and take the chance of merging skin with skin.
Your hand will hold the heat when you withdraw it,
leaving a cold, invisible handprint,
change for both of us. Who knows what comes next?
Desire, like any investment, means risk,
for decision is part of sensation
and not the least pleasurable element.
To choose is never a casual act,
nor is love, nor is any handmade gift.
I have unwrapped myself: If you hold back,
your hand will remain empty, a high cost
for no interest. With a single touch,
we balance gain and loss — the feel of choice.
martha elizabeth
I HAVE TOUCHED
your hair
with the palms
of my hands
I have fingered
the strands
around and around
your ears
with my words
I have tickled
with laughter
your neck
with my tongue
with my teeth
with my lips
I have kissed
your thighs
with my thighs
pressing between
ha! I have touched
your feet
your scars
you said you bleed hard
as I traced the soft flesh
your hands
with my hands
your chest
with my chest
and even your heart yes!
especially your heart
my cheek to your breast
as it rises and falls
my breath in your hair
the wind in the leaves
oh yes these
I have touched.
patti tana
DESIRE
Taking off
my clothes
piece by piece,
I turn to you,
unwrap my body,
feel you trace
its contours
with your fingers.
I am accustomed
to covering,
what I now bare,
watch you waken
and wash me
with your eyes.
I feel the cloth
of your skin,
uncovered,
inviting me in,
feel your breath
warm in my ear.
I lean closer
into you, feel
your blood surge
as you hold me
and I echo
the beat pulling
on us as I wrap
my legs around you
and open as morning
glories do
when the sun
warms them.
connemara wadsworth
FIRST NIGHT
You came into my life
with grace, giving me time
to want all of you. That
first night I couldn't say
whether your passion or
your gentleness moved me
more, the way we took each
other or how we talked
till dawn, our brief sleep a
ceremonial act
in the strangeness of love.
julia h. ackerman
REMEMBERING
Come here, closer, and fold
into the dent of my chest,
the crook of my shoulder.
In the open window the
candle betrays the wind's
summer breath and the
night settles down around us.
Don't move, not now,
let's be still, hold this moment
before we open our bodies,
and tell me, one more time,
how you came to find me.
stephen j. lyons
passionate pleasures
POEM FOR R.
Above, it's spring, I think,
and kisses bloom over every inch of skin,
each curve and lobe
our rosy lips moisten and shine.
Your body is a new country,
hidden landscape in cotton and chambray
that I want to travel with every vehicle I own:
hands, tongue, slide of silk.
Below, in the heat
and rush of wet, we're learning again
how summer moves through the deep canyons,
stirring grasses and honeying fruit.
How I love your trembling fingers,
given by the gentle ones
who taught you to crave taste and touch.
Under them, I am fully open.
kim ly bui-burton
SNOW CLIMBERS
we touch fingertips
climb feet against feet
toward Sierra peaks
where the air leaps
catch our breath that flies away
with rising birds
and then follow the crevice
where your flesh turns
a long line inward
clear to the small of your back
I move carefully
as a snow climber
near red mountain flowers
while you lead with hips
certain and gentle as a hand
steve wiesinger
TRANSFORMATION
The phoenix is rising:
I see her wings open before me
like a vast awning of light.
I see her feathered petals
begin their ceremony
like tulips opening,
each of their cups
curved upon curve
like the feathers of the great bird.
As if tulips could fly.
As if
the great bird bloomed.
I feel the curves of your fingers,
the ten smooth petals of your hands
as you cup me in front of you,
your lifting chest
curved into the curve of my backbone,
your feathered groin
brushing my two-pillowed rump,
your arms, a circle.
Your fingers circle
like small fledglings,
settle at the edge
of the purple nested flower
with its entrance of folds,
the multi-curved
overlapping, variegated transition ...
Flesh risen, warm blood,
our bodies
and the bird suspended.
adria klinger
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Passionate Hearts by Wendy Maltz. Copyright © 1996 Wendy Maltz. Excerpted by permission of New World Library.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Table of Contents
Contents
FOREWORD by barry mccarthy, phd,PREFACE by molly peacock,
INTRODUCTION,
CHAPTER ONE tender awakenings,
CHAPTER TWO passionate pleasures,
CHAPTER THREE varied dances,
CHAPTER FOUR deeper intimacies,
CHAPTER FIVE graceful transformations,
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS,
PERMISSION ACKNOWLEDGMENTS,
ABOUT THE EDITOR,