English Poem – My Mother Is Full Of Kisses – John Chizoba Vincent

When she gave birth to me, she welcomed
Me with kisses on my lips, cheek and body.
She gives me a kiss when I make Her proud in the Public eyes.
A kiss when I wake up in the morning;
A kiss when I go to bed.
A kiss when i burn my fingers and cry;
A kiss when I bump my head and weep.
A kiss when my bath is over
A kiss when I appreciate her dimples
A kiss When I tells her she cooks well
A kiss when she sees my report card
A kiss when I eat her food and smile
A kiss when I tell her ‘Mummy I love you’
A kiss on my birthday, a kiss on a shopping
A kiss when the world clashes on me
A kiss under the life pleasure,
Though I may be an adult, but I am not
in mother’s eyes, even in my wife’s face
She always leave a rewarding kisses on
My face through her smiling lips.
The sea is blue, The grass is green
The sun is yellow, The Sky is blue
But mother’s kisses are as white as the snow
My mother is as full of kisses
As a teacher is full of books

Poem – A Woman Waits For Me – Walt Whitman

A WOMAN waits for me–she contains all, nothing is lacking,
Yet all were lacking, if sex were lacking, or if the moisture of the
right man were lacking.

Sex contains all,
Bodies, Souls, meanings, proofs, purities, delicacies, results,
promulgations,
Songs, commands, health, pride, the maternal mystery, the seminal
milk;
All hopes, benefactions, bestowals,
All the passions, loves, beauties, delights of the earth,
All the governments, judges, gods, follow’d persons of the earth,
These are contain’d in sex, as parts of itself, and justifications of
itself.

Without shame the man I like knows and avows the deliciousness of his
sex, 10
Without shame the woman I like knows and avows hers.

Now I will dismiss myself from impassive women,
I will go stay with her who waits for me, and with those women that
are warm-blooded and sufficient for me;
I see that they understand me, and do not deny me;
I see that they are worthy of me–I will be the robust husband of
those women.

They are not one jot less than I am,
They are tann’d in the face by shining suns and blowing winds,
Their flesh has the old divine suppleness and strength,
They know how to swim, row, ride, wrestle, shoot, run, strike,
retreat, advance, resist, defend themselves,
They are ultimate in their own right–they are calm, clear, well-
possess’d of themselves. 20

I draw you close to me, you women!
I cannot let you go, I would do you good,
I am for you, and you are for me, not only for our own sake, but for
others’ sakes;
Envelop’d in you sleep greater heroes and bards,
They refuse to awake at the touch of any man but me.

It is I, you women–I make my way,
I am stern, acrid, large, undissuadable–but I love you,
I do not hurt you any more than is necessary for you,
I pour the stuff to start sons and daughters fit for These States–I
press with slow rude muscle,
I brace myself effectually–I listen to no entreaties, 30
I dare not withdraw till I deposit what has so long accumulated
within me.

Through you I drain the pent-up rivers of myself,
In you I wrap a thousand onward years,
On you I graft the grafts of the best-beloved of me and America,
The drops I distil upon you shall grow fierce and athletic girls, new
artists, musicians, and singers,
The babes I beget upon you are to beget babes in their turn,
I shall demand perfect men and women out of my love-spendings,
I shall expect them to interpenetrate with others, as I and you
interpenetrate now,
I shall count on the fruits of the gushing showers of them, as I
count on the fruits of the gushing showers I give now,
I shall look for loving crops from the birth, life, death,
immortality, I plant so lovingly now. 40