Lust Poems | Lust Poems For No One In Particular


    Three times I had the lust to kill,
    To clutch a throat so young and fair,
    And squeeze with all my might until
    No breath of being lingered there.
    Three times I drove the demon out,
    Though on my brow was evil sweat. . . .
    And yet I know beyond a doubt
    He’ll get me yet, he’ll get me yet.

    I know I’m mad, I ought to tell
    The doctors, let them care for me,
    Confine me in a padded cell
    And never, never set me free;
    But Oh how cruel that would be!
    For I am young – and comely too . . .
    Yet dim my demon I can see,
    And there is but one thing to do.

    Three times I beat the foul fiend back;
    The fourth, I know he will prevail,
    And so I’ll seek the railway track
    And lay my head upon the rail,
    And sight the dark and distant train,
    And hear its thunder louder roll,
    Coming to crush my cursed brain . . .
    Oh God, have mercy on my soul!

    Lust Poem by Aparna Chatterjee

    Lust is what I speak tonight,
    Lust is what I see tonight,
    Lust is what I feel tonight,
    And I Lust You.

    Show me your Body
    inside out…
    no clothes on,
    no holds barred…
    bit by bit,
    part by part,
    give me your smells,
    and your sweat…
    give me what all you have
    every naked bit of yours,
    I want to see All of yours.

    feel my hands
    feel my legs
    feel my torso
    my body begs…

    Come on me
    and make me wet
    juices flowing…
    feel the heat…
    together, we’ll
    make ‘us’ meet.

    If Lust be sin,
    So be it…
    For I am a Woman,
    And you a Man.
    How can I love you
    and not lust you?

    For Me,
    Love and Lust,
    go hand in hand…
    for I am a Woman
    and you are my Man.

    Thou Art Indeed Just, Lord, If I Contend Poem by Gerard Manley Hopkins

    Justus quidem tu es, Domine, si disputem tecum:
    verumtamen justa loquar ad te:
    Quare via impiorum prosperatur? &c.

    Thou art indeed just, Lord, if I contend
    With thee; but, sir, so what I plead is just.
    Why do sinners’ ways prosper? and why must
    Disappointment all I endeavour end?

    Wert thou my enemy, O thou my friend,
    How wouldst thou worse, I wonder, than thou dost
    Defeat, thwart me? Oh, the sots and thralls of lust
    Do in spare hours more thrive than I that spend,
    Sir, life upon thy cause. See, banks and brakes
    Now leavèd how thick! lacèd they are again
    With fretty chervil, look, and fresh wind shakes
    Them; birds build — but not I build; no, but strain,
    Time’s eunuch, and not breed one work that wakes.
    Mine, O thou lord of life, send my roots rain.

    The Deceptive Eye Poem by Theo Williams

    Eyes are the windows to each and every soul
    That articulates a story in every perspective
    Seeping when sad and tightened when angry
    But can lie to us ‘cause they’re deceptive.

    For our eyes lie to each and every one of us
    Unable to fathom what we’re capable of
    No one has seen what our eyes have seen
    Which could vary from hatred to love.

    Eyes close and bring darkness upon us
    For some, a reality unseen
    This deception can cause misconception
    That traps us within a dream.

    Eyes can reveal a human’s personality
    But illusorily hide their story
    Misguiding reasons behind a tear
    By which the eyes lie is mandatory.

    But what if these eyes did not lie and only told the truth?
    Would pain befall everyone for the truth we all lust?
    Would all be revealed inside?
    Or would a young child’s eyes, be something you still trust?

    A Last Word Poem by Ernest Christopher Dowson

    Let us go hence: the night is now at hand;
    The day is overworn, the birds all flown;
    And we have reaped the crops the gods have sown;
    Despair and death; deep darkness o’er the land,
    Broods like an owl; we cannot understand
    Laughter or tears, for we have only known
    Surpassing vanity: vain things alone
    Have driven our perverse and aimless band.

    Let us go hence, somewhither strange and cold,
    To Hollow Lands where just men and unjust
    Find end of labour, where’s rest for the old,
    Freedom to all from love and fear and lust.
    Twine our torn hands! O pray the earth enfold
    Our life-sick hearts and turn them into dust.

    The Freaks Poem by Kamala Das

    He talks, turning a sun-stained
    Cheek to me, his mouth, a dark
    Cavern, where stalactites of
    Uneven teeth gleam, his right
    Hand on my knee, while our minds
    Are willed to race towards love;
    But, they only wander, tripping
    Idly over puddles of
    Desire. …. .Can this man with
    Nimble finger-tips unleash
    Nothing more alive than the
    Skin’s lazy hungers? Who can
    Help us who have lived so long
    And have failed in love? The heart,
    An empty cistern, waiting
    Through long hours, fills itself
    With coiling snakes of silence. …..
    I am a freak. It’s only
    To save my face, I flaunt, at
    Times, a grand, flamboyant lust.

    *** Love Or Lust *** Poem by Sulaiman Mohd Yusof

    The drought kills the thirst
    Harvest is a rarity
    Dry winds dance in skin deep heat
    Leaves abandon trees
    Grounds crack in branches
    I walk in pain
    As needles climb up my feet
    My lungs shiver of dryness
    My heart pumps like a drum beat
    Somewhere under the canopy
    Of the velvet sky
    A woman in tan
    Waving to me
    To join her party
    Dig and cover
    A gravely game
    Insecurity permissible
    Immaturity formidable
    When you incline
    Rose isn’t dead yet
    But for you to grow them
    In a killing field where
    Love and lust

    PS: Love and lust come from the mind.Its all in the mind and from the mind.Heart is only to make love look so nice and beautiful.Heart only function as a generator to supply nutrients and oxygen to our bodies.If the heart stops, we die.Love and lust is a mind game.It will remain in the brain depend on how serious or critical the amount of love that we have recieved.
    Remember it takes two to tango.Love can not fly with a single wing.

    A Poet For A Lover (Adult) Poem by Cj Heck

    Give me a poet for a lover
    whose words stroke me like velvet hands.
    Word-tender caresses more reaching
    than the caress of a mere mortal man.

    A poet’s light touch is so gentle.
    Word-fingers probe deep every time,
    arousing me, haunting me, wetting me,
    seducing me, body and mind.

    Oh Lord,
    give me a poet for a lover.
    Lust and fire burn in his heart.
    A silver-tongued devil whose words make me ache
    to be on my knees in the dark.

    Word-foreplay making me want him,
    only mind-loved, I want to be free
    to feel just one time, my poet inside,
    where only mind-lust up to now has loved me.

    Anarchy Poem by John McCrae

    I saw a city filled with lust and shame,
    Where men, like wolves, slunk through the grim half-light;
    And sudden, in the midst of it, there came
    One who spoke boldly for the cause of Right.

    And speaking, fell before that brutish race
    Like some poor wren that shrieking eagles tear,
    While brute Dishonour, with her bloodless face
    Stood by and smote his lips that moved in prayer.

    “Speak not of God! In centuries that word
    Hath not been uttered! Our own king are we.”
    And God stretched forth his finger as He heard
    And o’er it cast a thousand leagues of sea.

    A Dead Boche Poem by Robert Graves

    To you who’d read my songs of War
    And only hear of blood and fame,
    I’ll say (you’ve heard it said before)
    ‘War’s Hell! ‘ and if you doubt the same,
    Today I found in Mametz Wood
    A certain cure for lust of blood:

    Where, propped against a shattered trunk,
    In a great mess of things unclean,
    Sat a dead Boche; he scowled and stunk
    With clothes and face a sodden green,
    Big-bellied, spectacled, crop-haired,
    Dribbling black blood from nose and beard.