A selection of poems by China Hamilton
The Sweetest Breasts
Across the wastes of all imagination run the female breasts,
As varied as the rippling waters of an ancient stream.
My treasured Love has breasts that melt my sensual mind
As contemplation so rewards.
For they are so essentially,
The loveliness of her.
They have existence as twin possibilities.
In one they are her gateway to her wildest pleasures,
That to share them is as ecstasy itself.
To the artists eye they hold such dear intensity,
For I can never taste the bottom of this rare creative feast.
In their sweet totality, a joy to tongue and mouth,
Lies the full completion.
Of her cherished beauty,
Of the perfect union,
Of her naked self.
Of a Woman
Silence, calm normality pervades,
Then like by a distant light
The eye is caught and soon the mind,
As though by a trembling roses’ thorn.
Rich darkness feeds its fires,
With thoughts that test belief.
Yet you are real and come so close,
A woman known but still unknown.
Enigmas cry for explanation,
Destruction comes from expectation.
Tests to break the mind and heart,
Searching for that blissful moment,
Knowing she is more than all.
My art is built upon its darkness,
For darkness is my brightest light.
Her naked skin a thousand facets
Of the darkness of that light.
A shadow on the darkest day,
Hell’s union spawned her trembling soul,
Before my wondering mind I taste
The engulfing orgasm of her whole.
Her body twisting and still turning,
Erotic succulence, the lash upon its form,
Again, again and so returning,
A pain transmuted into yearning.
I must wait till I can see and hear and smell,
Examined through pained portals of sweet hell.
Do sit oh so very quiet,
For creatures small do take affright,
They can see and they can hear,
They can scent that you are near.
Then and only then my friend,
Will sweet nature’s wilderness return,
And feel at ease with your intrusion,
Enough to share its great illusion.
Mr. Vole and Mr. Rat,
Bright eyes perky, peaking out,
Cleaning paws and whiskered snout.
Then the fisher’s kingly flight,
The plop, the splash, the silver fish.
Captured in the summer’s light.
Bubbling water passes by,
High above a jackdaw’s cry,
The warm young breeze
Through verdant leaves
Emits its single sigh.
Taste oh taste that sweetest time.
Within a dry, dust dry mouth
For anticipation dries a gasping tongue
But wets another deeper place,
With fear and yet with deep desire.
Tension, tight tense tension,
Drawn as a hide is drawn.
To dry before the sun.
Yet here for you the sun has fled.
And darkness is the light in this allotted place.
A craftsman’s skills have spun a whip,
Of known intention and single so exacting role,
Caressed with oils to soften subtle folds,
As in turn it will again serve up its own caress.
So cheated would you feel,
If when so beautifully prepared,
You were denied its cruelest kiss,
To send you shuddering into sacred bliss.
Just a Moment Please
Can I have a moment of your time?
For there is a sadness to all love,
As life will part it always in the end.
So, just walk with me,
Just for now,
For we can never see beyond the bend.
How can such shades of childhood lurk.
Beneath this woman’s worldly cloak.
Has father time just passed her by,
Her youthful form time’s passage stopped.
Such tempting by this lustful form,
Does sow its seed for nature’s plough.
No subtle light’s deception here,
With beating heart as I draw near.
My searching lash,
Upon your twisting,
Opens tunnels darkness,
Anger’s fingers from your past.
So like the wind
Upon the water’s cleansing fall,
Stroke upon stroke,
Relives it all.
Your single Lover,
Naked as in union,
Sees the mirror’s clever skills
Washing all your histories tears
With the beauty of our Love.
Broken and rebuilt again
Cruel cutting leather,
Droplets of exquisite pain,
Droplets of sweet Nature’s rain,
Stronger, always stronger dearest one,
It’s all for you to gain.
The Dark Woman
Looking from my open window,
At the curled brown leaves of Autumn,
All my mind dwells deeply on you,
Feels a love so long awaited,
Yearning feelings not abated,
For my precious you.
Times so rare are often doubted,
For like sun rays soon departed,
Such gifts must slip away.
Yet through darkness storm and tempest
Love is there grown all the stronger,
Honed by testing foolishness
My arms reach out to hug and so caress,
The Love she gives me always,
To slowly and with care undress.
And so reveal our trembling union
Christened with sweet Nature’s rain,
Always, always to sustain.
The Man Upon the Path
Through my life I walked a path,
Through landscapes far and near.
At time there was upon that path
A single man no warning given,
The very same come sun or rain.
In time I did expect him
And knew him without fear.
He took a thousand forms,
But it was him a thousand times.
Good day, good day, good day,
Were all the words that he would ever say.
And in return I doff my cap,
Tell him all my silly jokes
Or boring little rhymes.
I think him always naked,
Nudity his well ironed garb.
He smelt of ocean’s seaweed,
Of camphor and bright light.
The man perhaps a fisherman,
And one day with a polished hook,
Would snare me with its barb.
The Wind of Time
Follow me says the wind.
The Witch steps naked from the shadows.
Follow me says the wind again.
She grabs at a tress of its curling force,
To feel and again, to know the strangeness of its strength.
Her smooth hard form,
Twists within the girdling wind,
And takes a step of innocence.
Follow me says the wind,
For I am old, so very old,
Born of a time before there was a time.
And I am young says the Witch,
Still to be born, still to grow.
She parts her legs eager to know the wind,
Invited it accepts,
It’s soft caress to enter her.
Follow me says the wind,
Without my swaddling arms
How can your wide wings fly?
Tell me not of Love,
For Love is but the knowing of the day.
An ache, a twist, a nod, a smell.
Times you are missed,
Times you are so sweetly known.
It refreshes like the day.
Birthed at the rising of the sun.
It walks with me,
Through morning noon and night.
It is replenished in the darkest hours,
And glows anew as rays spring past,
And if we grumble at a dank and rain swept morn,
It is still welcomed,
For in my heart again its joyest comforts,
Are in foetus form reborn.
You had to come as my evening came,
But come you did and nothing now,
Is quite the same,
My dying breath will speak your name.