Men who love Curves
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Women are wonderful because their bodies are beautiful...an endless sea of softness and curves, hollows and hidden spaces, a natural link to the ocean from which they were born, each woman carrying a tiny salt-water sea inside herself where her child will grow
I want to tell you how beautiful you are
in such a true and unforgettable way
that you will never doubt it again.
It will be as though through the lens of a poem
you will suddenly see: yourself, truly
the whole you, naked.

It will be as though you are walking alone
in the woods when a great blue heron lifts
into the air, or a single wild orchid blooms,
or the moon shines down on still water,
and it is enough.
Your heart stops.
You are left
grateful, simply for being alive.

It will be your own beauty this time
taking you so suddenly and by surprise,
the mysterious beauty of your entire life
carefully inscribed in your body.

It will be as though the poem becomes
your dream lover, caresses your skin
with absolute tenderness, lights up
with its touch every cell in your body,
enters you with a gasp of astonished desire,
plunges deep into the secret
at the center of who you are.

River Malcolm
Solomon: "How beautiful are your feet in sandals, O prince's daughter!The curves of your hips are like jewels, the work of the hands of an artist.Your naval is like a round goblet which never lacks mixed wine; your belly is like a heap of wheat fenced about with lilies.Your two breasts are like two fawns, twins of a gazelle.Your neck is like a tower of ivory, your eyes like the pools in Heshbon by the gate of Bathrabbim; your nose is like the tower of Lebanon which faces toward Damascus.: King Solomon NRV Bible
Poem by Bill Critchley



Especially When Her Bum



Especially when her bum hides behind


That pale blue turquoise bikini, a slip
Of a thing, no more no less, which I can
Look upon with no desire other than
Vague longing for the harmony of forms,
Then men I see conquer with arms that point
Straight as the flying arrow leaves its mark
And buries in the bull's-eye in a flash.
Men love the direct, look straight in your eyes
And assume mastery with pike, spears, swords,
The burnished lance and gilded rapier.
They conquer with the hardened point, the sharp
Steel of a thing which aims its mark
Straighter and more deadly, perhaps Cupid
Knows why his arrows wound, pierce the bull's-eye
Of our hearts. Women are so different.
They conquer with big curves, sweet symmetries
All round and wound with silken slips, more is
Less and less is more and the whole world round
They spin embracing circles, wrap around
Our hearts some spun-sweetness like the bosom
In that middle, curved though oddly pointed
Too. Here there is beguiling and intrigue,
Roundabout go your passions as you cling,
Mothering Earth the mother of all curves.
Especially when her bum hides behind


That pale blue turquoise bikini, a slip
Of a thing, no more no less, which I can
Look upon with no desire other than
Vague longing for the harmony of forms,
Then I am soothed by the earth's long curving,
Any gracious curves to offset that lance,
Cold steel of the forging life inscribing.