A rose is a rose is a rose

I love these. Thank you. I have always been struck by this poem written by a bit of a tortured soul to his much loved wife. The quiet love and kindness just shines through:

And You, Helen

And you, Helen, what should I give you?
So many things I would give you
Had I an infinite great store
Offered me and I stood before
To choose. I would give you youth,
All kinds of loveliness and truth,
A clear eye as good as mine,
Lands, waters, flowers, wine,
As many children as your heart
Might wish for, a far better art
Than mine can be, all you have lost
Upon the travelling waters tossed,
Or given to me. If I could choose
Freely in that great treasure-house
Anything from any shelf,
I would give you back yourself,
And power to discriminate
What you want and want it not too late,
Many fair days free from care
And heart to enjoy both foul and fair,
And myself, too, if I could find
Where it lay hidden and it proved kind.

Edward Thomas

Wow Empress, that's incredible!

Ok, so it’s by a seventeenth-century clergyman (John Donne), but I’ve always loved ‘Sappho to Philaenis’. An extract:

Plays some soft boy with thee, O, there wants yet
A mutual feeling which should sweeten it.
His chin, a thorny, hairy unevenness
Doth threaten, and some daily change possess.
Thy body is a natural paradise,

In whose self, unmanured, all pleasure lies,
Nor needs perfection; why shouldst thou then
Admit the tillage of a harsh rough man?
Men leave behind them that which their sin shows,
And are as thieves traced, which rob when it snows.

But of our dalliance no more signs there are,
Than fishes leave in streams, or birds in air;
And between us all sweetness may be had,
All, all that nature yields, or art can add.
My two lips, eyes, thighs, differ from thy two

But so, as thine from one another do,
And, O, no more; the likeness being such,
Why should they not alike in all parts touch?
Hand to strange hand, lip to lip none denies;
Why should they breast to breast, or thighs to thighs?

Likeness begets such strange self-flattery,
That touching myself all seems done to thee.
Myself I embrace, and mine own hands I kiss,
And amorously thank myself for this.
Me, in my glass, I call thee; but alas,

When I would kiss, tears dim mine eyes and glass.
O cure this loving madness, and restore
Me to thee, thee my half, my all, my more.

Rachel Irischild. She’s brilliant.
Several poems at irischild.blogspot.com/?m=1 but here’s one of them.

Menstruator, and other words that rhyme with 'hate her'

if you wish to be inclusive
please amend your language usage
'woman' has now been disabled
this is how you shall be labelled:

ovulator, menstruator, gestator, incubator
procreator, lactator, child-curator, care-taker
homemaker, meal-maker, vacuum-cleaner-operator
titillator, conciliator, erotic-roleplay-stimulator

if a woman should resist
any title from this list
please ensure her full compliance
here is how to squash defiance:

moderate, invalidate, ensure that you re-educate her
irritate her, frustrate her, make sure you exasperate her
do berate her, denigrate her, obviously you castigate her
deprecate her, do deflate her, tell her you depreciate her

dominate, humiliate, and certainly manipulate her
subjugate, domesticate, and if you can, you abnegate her
penetrate her, impregnate her, all her life administrate her
regulate, incarcerate, and you shall incapacitate her

violate her, desecrate her, let your actions devastate her
decorate her, mutilate her, crush her and debilitate her
obviate, excoriate, and with your words eviscerate her
decimate, intimidate, until you can subordinate her

designate her, emulate her, mimic her and obfuscate her
appropriate, adulterate, mock and then impersonate her
exterminate, obliterate, and finally annihilate her
disintegrate, evaporate, replace and then eradicate her

just negate her
just negate her
just negate her

hate her