Why?

BY MARY WEBB

Why did you come, with your enkindled eyes
And mountain-look, across my lower way,
And take the vague dishonour from my day
By luring me from paltry things, to rise
And stand beside you, waiting wistfully
The looming of a larger destiny?

Why did you with strong fingers fling aside
The gates of possibility, and say
With vital voice the words I dream to-day?
Before, I was not much unsatisfied:
But since a god has touched me and departed,
I run through every temple, broken-hearted.

Women are Different...

BY MARSHA PRESCOD

You dare not let your eyes meet theirs
for more than fifteen seconds.
Cos if you do,
You know what they're like
Liable to cross right over
to your side of the road,
and talk 'bout
"Daughter" and
"Sister" and
all that incestuous crap
You don't want to hear.
No,
You dare not let your eyes meet theirs.

However,
That's not to say that
Your gaze can't slide over
small, tight bums
And,
Thighs carved so strong and want to
weep,
Or,
That real dude and stylish swagger,
Or hands that make you wonder
how they'd feel on those parts of your body.
Um hum!

It's just that,
You got to make sure that
they don't catch you out
When it's your turn to look,
Cos,
Then...
They'd know.

Why Do I Love You, Sir?

BY EMILY DICKINSON

"Why do I love" You, Sir?
Because—
The Wind does not require the Grass
To answer—Wherefore when He pass
She cannot keep Her place.

Because He knows—and
Do not You—
And We know not—
Enough for Us
The Wisdom it be so—

The Lightning—never asked an Eye
Wherefore it shut—when He was by—
Because He knows it cannot speak—
And reasons not contained—
—Of Talk—
There be—preferred by Daintier Folk—

The Sunrise—Sire—compelleth Me—
Because He's Sunrise—and I see—
Therefore—Then—
I love Thee—

Wrestling

BY LOUISA BEVINGTON

Our oneness is the wrestlers’, fierce and close,
    Thrusting and thrust;
One life in dual effort for one prize,—
    We fight, and must;
For soul with soul does battle evermore
    Till love be trust.

Our distance is love’s severance; sense divides,
    Each is but each;
Never the very hidden spirit of thee
    My life doth reach;
Twain! Since love athwart the gulf that needs
    Kisses and speech.

Ah! wrestle closelier! we draw nearer so
    Than any bliss
Can bring twain souls who would be whole and one,
    Too near to kiss:
To be one thought, one voice before we die,—
    Wrestle for this.