~ a bawdy and somewhat artistic frolic...

a blog by ~ antelucanhourglass.tumblr.com

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I hold my skirt, sash untied and stand before the window with unpainted eyebrows. Silk clothes fly open so easily. If my skirt opens, I'll blame the spring wind!

~ Zi Ye

My slender waist and thighs are exhausted and weak from a night of cloud dancing.

~ Huang O

Spring forest flowers are so charming. Spring birds pour out grief. Spring winds come with exuberant love - they lift up my silk skirt.

~ Zi Ye

When I think of you, fireflies in the marsh rise like the soul's jewels, lost to eternal longing, abandoning my body.

~ Izumi Shikibu

You held my lotus blossom In your lips and played with the Pistil.

~ Huang O

I let down my silken hair over my shoulders and open my thighs over my lover. ~ Tzu Yeh, translated

I will allow only My lord to possess my sacred Lotus pond, and every night You can make blossom in me Flowers of fire.

~ Huang O

her seven button
blouse…
three undone
~
when she stretches –
too hard to look away from the sun
tattoo
~
we return from
the fields – her hips still stained by the
scent
of violets
~
the purple
of plums shows through the linen – her rain
soaked shirt
~
stripped bare
she closes the blinds
to the leafless tree

To the Tune of “Magpie on the Branch”
Her peony is raised high and dewed
with fragrance
but his legs are too short to reach,
so he uses a small table
like a man climbing up a cloud ladder
or an old monk beating the temple
drum.

His vast and gentle squashy passion,
is like a swing
swinging up and down in the courtyard
till the urge is uncontainable.
When the tree falls down,
monkeys scatter everywhere.
~ from Flower Encampment and Battle
Formations (Ming Dynasty)

My handsome fatal foe,
why are you gone so long?
I can’t stop my heart from trembling,
missing you.
You put some sugar on the tip of my nose.
I cannot lick it,
though it smells so nice.
You leave something sweet behind
and let me think about it slowly.
~ Anonymous Poetry Collection by
Feng Menglong (1574-1646)

The Poem of Huizhen
A thin moon pierces the window lattice
and firefly lights appear in the jade sky.
Where the far sky begins is all silky distance.
The low trees emerge as a dark blur of green.
Dragon songs swirl through the
courtyard bamboo
as phoenix songs touch parasol trees
by the well.

Thin fog descends like silk gauze.
In slight wind the sound of jade rings is heard.

The Royal Mother of the West
trails a dark red train.
Her maids carry cloud-shaped jade in
their hands.
Deep in the night, people all are quiet.
Our meeting is like dawn, though rain
is drizzling.
Pearl light shines from her decorated shoes,
flowers peek from her embroidered clothes,
her jeweled hairpin is a colored phoenix,
and her silk shawl covers a red rainbow.

She says she’s from Yao Hua Garden
and is on pilgrimage to the Jade
Emperor’s palace.
Because she took a tour to Luo City
she happened to come here, east of Song family.
When I flirt with her she resists at first.
but soft feelings already secretly connect us.
When she bows her hair it seems the
shadows of cicadas move.
As she walks about her jade stocking are gilded with dust.
When she turns it’s like snowflakes swirling.
On the bed we embrace through silk and like Mandarin ducks dance with our necks twined.
Like two kinds of jade, we go well together,
though her dark eyebrows knit frequently in shyness.
Her warm red lips feel like they are melting.
I taste her breath like a fragrant orchid,
her creamy skin, her full jade flesh.
She feels strengthless, unable to move
even a wrist,
though she’s so sensitive that her body tenses.
The light of her sweat is like pearls.
Her tangled hair is loose and black.
Happiness like this comes once in a thousand years.
But now we hear the fifth beat of the night drum.
We want to stay, but time is scarce,
We are so close that it is hard to stop.
Her face is sorrow
and her words promise faithfulness.
She gives me ring to remember this time,
ties a knot, to say our hearts are twined.
Her tears drop on the mirror
and around the guttering lamp insects swirl.
The dawn light comes slowly
and the rising sun starts to show.
She flies back to Luo on the back of a crane
and plays a vertical flute on Song Mountain.
My clothes are fragrant as if dyed with musk.
There are red stains still on the pillow.
Standing in front of the grass in the pond,
my thoughts are floating far away.
I hear a harp crying and complaining
like a crane.
gaze at the clear River of Stars and
hope to see her crane returning.
But the ocean is too broad to cross
and the sky is too high to soar above,
so like a floating cloud with nowhere to go
I walk back inside the tower.
~ by Yuan Zhen (779-831)

poems translated from the original Chinese by Tony Barnstone and Chou Ping