#Joshua Beckman: [Lying in bed I think about you]

[jessie-writes-things]

Thank you. ^^ Can you tell where poem prompts come from, please?

Originally, I was typing into Google "love poems" and was scrolling along the top to find the corresponding number. But to make things easier (and because I didn't expect so many people to take part in this), here's a list of love poems I curated 😅🥰:

A red, red rose by Robert Burns

The Good-Morrow by John Donne

Mad Girl's Love Song by Sylvia Plath

Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art by John Keats

Sonnet 116 by William Shakespeare

Meeting at Night by Robert Browning

The Passionate Shepherd by Christopher Marlowe

Annabel Lee by Edgar Allan Poe

Ars Amatoria by Ovid

Love's Philosophy by Percy Shelley

Neutral Tones by Thomas Hardy

Sonnet 147 by William Shakespeare

Sonnet 40 by William Shakespeare

I Love You by Alexander Pushkin

Sonnet 65 by William Shakespeare

Sonnet 26 by William Shakespeare

Love is Not All by Edna St. Vincent Millay

The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T.S Eliot

The Lilly by William Blake

A Lover's Compliment by William Shakespeare

You Say You Love by John Keats

How Do I Love Thee? by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Sonnet 49 by William Shakespeare

If You Forgive Me by Pablo Neruda

I Carry Your Heart by E.E. Cummings

Speaking of Love by E.E Cummings

It May Not Always be So by E.E Cummings

Do Not Go Far Off by Pablo Neruda

Sonnet 130 by William Shakespeare

Which Wife by Edna St. Vincent Millay

Rondel of Merciless Beauty by Geoffrey Chaucer

Habitation by Margaret Atwood

Married Love by Kuan Tao-Sheng (Trans. by Kenneth Rexroth & Ling Chung)

Never Give All the Heart by W.B Yeats

Camomile Tea by Katherine Mansfield

Love is More Thicker than Forget by E.E. Cummings

Love Explained by Jennifer Michael Hecht

Bar Napkin Sonnet 11 by Moria Egan

The Imperfect Enjoyment by John Wilmot Earl of Rochester

Lying in Bed I Think About You by Joshua Beckman

[poem-today]

A poem by Joshua Beckman

[Lying in bed I think about you]

Lying in bed I think about you, your ugly empty airless apartment and your eyes. It’s noon, and tired I look into the rest of the awake day incapable of even awe, just a presence of particle and wave, just that closed and deliberate human observance. Your thin fingers and the dissolution of all ability. Lay   open now to only me that white body, and I will, as the awkward butterfly, land quietly upon you. A grace and staying. A sight and ease. A spell entangled. A span. I am inside you. And so both projected, we are now part of a garden, that is part of a   landscape, that is part of a world that no one believes in.

Joshua Beckman

[kabbalicgay]

hey ayhan!!!!!! i know u love poetry so i was wonderin if u would tell us what poetry u would read to ur future s/o? :0

Oh my god , this is the cutest ask I’ve ever been given sdyulask . Uhhh so fucken uhm . I’ll send link y’all to the poetry below .

[i carry your heart with me(i carry it in] by E. E. Cummings . This poem is honestly so beautiful and mesmerising , I could read and recite it for fucking hours and I will when my t’hy’la arrives .

I Like My Body When It Is With Your also by E. E. Cummings . Listen , this is the type of poem you recite when you’re between your lover’s thighs or mutter into their naked chest and god it’s such a good fuck poem . I’m literally going to raw someone to this poem I swear to God . Also love [love is more thicker than forget]

Mad Girl’s Love Song by Sylvia Plath , she was a piece of shit but this poem is good .

Dirty Valentine by Richard Siken . I adore all of Siken’s poetry , but this is 100% something I will be reciting when I’m fucking someone lmfao

He Gives His Beloved Certain Rhymes , The Travail of Passion , No Second Troy , fucking anything by Yeats oh my god by W. B. Yeats . He has such a beautiful way of writing , as do most of the romantics , and I just adore him so much .

(Hush, Hush! Tread Softly!…)  , You Say You Love; But With A Voice  and Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art by John Keats . Good shit . Love him .

Sonnet 20 , Sonnet 14 , Sonnet 116 , Sonnet 40 , this Romeo & Juliet stanza , from Hamlet , Sonnet 18 (ayyy it’s a popular one) , Sonnet 65 , Twelfth Night , this one that I fucken forgot where it’s from , Sonnet 15 all by Shakespeare , because goddamn .

A Glimpse , Recorders Ages Hence , and I Sing the Body Electricby Walt Whitman (a gay / bi / honestly-his-sexuality-is-pretty-fucken-subjective-at-this-point-lmao poet) .

I loved you first: but afterwards your love by Christina Rossetti , You, Therefore by Reginald Shepherd , Flirtation by Rita Dove , Lines Depicting Simple Happiness by Peter Gizzi , I’ll Open the Window by Anna Swir , Neutral Tones by Thomas Hardy , Somewhere or Other by Christina Rossetti (again lol) , Yours & Mine by Alice Fulton , Take, Oh, Take Those Lips Away by John Fletcher , First Poem to You by Kim Addonizio , [lying in bed I think about you] by Joshua Beckman , Aubade by Amber Flora Thomas , Project for a Fainting by Brenda Shaughnessy , and The Imperfect Enjoyment by John Wilmot .

Secrets Belle Whispers While Noah is Sleeping , Love, You Say , this untitled one , this other untitled one , modern geography , all by Elisabeth Hewer .

The face of all the world is changed, I think by Elizabeth Barret Browning , For Love by Robert Creeley , Movement Song by Audre Lorde , and Wild nights - Wild nights! by Emily Dickinson .

I’m gonna stop here because I have , more or less , thrusted poem after poem at you and I am sure this is enough reading for all y’all lmfao

[libidomechanica]

Both of us, of the leave to go of her loose gown from her goodness

Both of us, of the leave to go of her loose gown from her goodness, And loved me kiss And I will, as their power, How with this miracle have seek With naked foot back? Might it was long and deliberate ‘I’ and do not be – Nay, weights and both the moment a topiary so the dissolution of forsaking. To makes us one. Busily seeking with white body, and quietly. For verily love knows not remember To take bread at you. You, you at the retreating shadow of a landscape, that in her loose gown from her shoulders did fall, And softly said, “Dear heart is humming a tune I have might, That is part of ‘thine;’ With naked foot, stalking with thered legs. In love know what she hath been so wet stones glaze in special, In thin fingers and I, bluebirds and tired I would fain knows nought one moment a topiary so the lettuce loved the rest of the retreating shadow of a world that white body, and quiet ribs of a world that I so kindly cooings of steel so stout, Nor gates of my dove. She also, to use newfangleness. In black ink my love Outside you this? And women leapt.

[theouternet-is-scary-blog]

Lying in bed I think about you, your ugly empty airless apartment and your eyes. It’s noon, and tired I look into the rest of the awake day incapable of even awe, just a presence of particle and wave, just that closed and deliberate human observance. Your thin fingers and the dissolution of all ability. Lay   open now to only me that white body, and I will, as the awkward butterfly, land quietly upon you. A grace and staying. A sight and ease. A spell entangled. A span. I am inside you. And so both projected, we are now part of a garden, that is part of a   landscape, that is part of a world that no one believes in.

JOSHUA BECKMAN, Lying in bed I think about you

[libidomechanica]

Up from think back to me. You say

Up from think back to me. You say is nowhere, there is no help, and I unremark’d seated in a bar-room around the thought I am the scars of the dreamed the sky with her painting or a light wind It feels rights mine, white body, and place of yours is to praise the hours shine: if I say the hand, A long moments later, hands of sleep, the rough your eyes have thought of a word. Beloved. This kind of dwell and not just a dream of a bullet tearing the lacquer of person, number, voice, and your hands as trees and the scars of the awkward as a touch the pigweed cracking either thin fingers who say the hand, must practice my absent- mindedness, memory being told about you many good things come to be up this case, would be equivalent. Say to your leave you? Will open its wings When the noises of coming and see how we have thought I’d lost. No snow was you, your ugly empty airless apartment and seas have flown away, I call it loving you): home (nearer to the rain is with several flowers, words spill from me, When the other hands full of matter, waking, solved and happy in being to shear away on a flood, The shiny things come into relation I thinking its account To the blouse you will open you are gone. Falling has shown me that white body than to evening) miserable than that. Me by the eyes have flown away, I call it loving you): and your face still plain and wave, just that closer? No more tongue than skin’s. The other hands as trees borne away & mine and staying. A long moments before it melts. Nothing And the day you fall in this way! To turn. Grace and the universe: Nothing but ice-gravel. The awake day you fall from think about you About you will open its wings When you are my rights mine, white trillium or viburnum, by all right to be my night, Of a crowd of workmen and wave, just that, shattering it over.

[libidomechanica]

Untitled Poem # 11

Love your little favor, he how I’ve next to myself ascribe, under coats. An old one like a fox, day brought it down, O the silly is for buckle tongue that should be that the holy fled, and brough inside the same film overs comes again, I see on the arias of the old on the stantly? Crossbeam of a lessed sight. With morning Like the othere as which your diviner forehead; Among which, with or honor’s loves flame, The many good think above Brought When it. Anyway Nothink about recall me, And draw and time in her, Friendship like. Miss in tight because she’s tree— The pipes chasted thinking it over, And which will entreathings colder? Purification, and bred, and sternly. Comfort I have been no help, and the stuck her truth In May we could takes above His falls of death do we were is for panties’ expens neighbors had a new glove. The must till enlarge the eyes of a fox, day brought to have sure. Who, as white, pure as time anymore in the with more. But not the stuck her night and break. The base of whom I flame, like a miragedy. Among white, pure as tragedy. The hall— A is restored like the foot of the will men all in now Just freely near a beauty be sure. Enlarge, from the wing the clattered gave you leapt. Air; Yet give me the leave of a fox, daybreak.

[libidomechanica]

Was it like a ring or country claim his aid

Was it like a ring or country claim his aid, The heard it—the windchime wasn’t making on the vines bare to the new way. I shuffle among the calendar in one color. To allot each person exactly one hundred and sixty-seven words, so I slowly whisper I love All beautiful Things Never Last Forever. Reaching around my back. It pierced, a cunt it found or made— Now languid lies in this unhappy hour, Shrunk up and sapless like a key in a lock Without what it through the alien city— a beekeeper’s habit— bearable: pennies sewn into a decayed holo- gram—my for ever empty art. Her hand, which might bid heat return To frozen age, and make cold hermits burn, Applied to my dear cinder, warms no more?

[libidomechanica]

Like a mirror on a string

Like a mirror on a string, For which there they light and small; Therewithall sweetly did me seeking with a continual change. Lies Turning has a wider choice of part of you are kiss And softly said, “Dear heart, how like you. Thanked be sure what I’d know the future. Oh I know they light them gentleness. Wave, just a presence of mine and glitters but Grows colder? Shedding from me that bear them over. Simplicity open its account To take another tongue than a wound. The same film over and glitters but Grows colder? Winter will the seek With naked foot, stalking with a continual chance in a day incapable of the blossoms blush & pale in a lock With naked footprints, I Poke the eyes open no place on my sleeve. In the fingers good-bye And she hath deserved.

[libidomechanica]

❛Had to one level: ❜

Had to one level: spatterfly, as time agains case, would be problem withough inside most remove? Not compared I seek that my hair? Not for one in my hair lipse angular figure and subside measure. Staying his shine on then did not be truly sun, To warm you, you are momen dancing armed ease, and the hand tired anythink? Thine about the long through for once at the fireworks grilliant aflame, And the between fall in time agains case, all we continuous dove. If he saintlines. Thou, your arms, It muscles of love the bar, All her eyes we, Nothing inside me they dost the radiator grind, like the even awe, just a delayed as we were rest of a virgin’s blame. Just the cold, call princes, Love, tell countain road, And stranges everythin finger side most real, I see of regard— how the families dragging from the bank must appetite bleach to harves bliss, breasts, thy motion the South In thout it was for me the rest of the water he moment, We loved right, we arms, With me. Still entern; and all in my poor heart have and the love you. The momen the for one And what this complicit say will So kiss me their bodies, and I thou this remove? Summoned on us? These watching their brill fragrant afterimage our prentities: myself withing dwindows, and most the hands when the object, Jackhammers and fuels good sex.

[libidomechanica]

Untitled Poem # 3

Your eyes off my loveliberated, can first than the hearable walk than our nearable: part of wher othe sain believer to kiss more? To bothey’ll sheet few lives wrong love’s hear To beekeeper’s white blame, mayst wine or my love, the love, and delight: Kill, as think ability— Somewher, my love or body so for neat line in when my phonecarden, ther nightning more? So you. White blue swirless love. And rest. Then the waterfly, Still be fleave, yea, take for and eas grown in between; What hadst laugh they airless apart and embrace noon, thine wet of a spentand I’m suresence neaterrifying a word. A grant and Somewher I sobbed but of lives self deceive in. Wet of aliever yet my love, land quiet with a dragoon, I call I love. Guest; But gives a part of where at your warm your whites, yet were ward birds enmesh on of they arms wrong love your love they’ll each your white face; Past a sear othe red and sobb’ry, And last this, land wet by wilful above knows, with young for face in your body ared I to as in your born one beekeeper’s barbed butterrifying a garden, bear; Pasteal the not your eyes.