Best Backless Poems
they met, once upon a time-
her silky hand melds with his
for but a moment
an exchanged glance, fleeting
chocolate brown orbs
swimming in pools of milk
ebony hair dancing across her
backless gown as she walks away
walked away…
swirling visions fill his head
dreams of her upon his bed
spinning, thrashing to and fro
stars put on an astral show
future bride on horse so white
sparkling jewels illume the night
speaks his name so sweet and low
eyes that cast a hopeful glow
calling, begging for his love
angels dance a waltz above
off they ride into the sun
forevermore they’ll live as one
‘twas the night they met
her heart stolen-
tapered black tie suit, cufflinks of gold
matching his golden locks
momentarily awestruck, diving into
piercing deep blue eyes
was all it took to set her blood afire
his seductive smile teasing
it’s way into her heart…
late at night when the world is asleep
she’s up thinking about him,
secretly hoping he’s dreaming of her too
when she finally closes her eyes
she drifts off, and in a moment of time
she’s with him, ready to love him
bands of gold glimmer like starlight
her silky gown drops gently to the floor
Andromeda turns her gaze
lost in love’s embrace
they burn like the midnight sun-
forevermore to live as one
she glances his way
her heart smiling, believing-
meeting him was destiny
she walks past his desk
drinking in another fill of him
if only she could tell him…
if only he could tell her...
he catches a glimpse
from his lonely cubicle
the nape of her neck beckons
a tender kiss, well-placed-
before long he's lost in a daydream
An honor to collaborate with July Morning
Categories:
backless, desire, dream, longing, love,
Form:
Free verse
SEX ON FIRE
She silently retires to his secret chamber.
Knowing he was waiting for her...
The doors were locked
the windows closed.
Her backless bodycon...
abandons her ...
as he removes all her layers...
she reciprocates his actions ...
he grabs a fistful of her hair.
she summons herself to his passion ...
perspiring profusely ...
he leaves his Mark on her...
And the mirror witnessed their SEX on fire ...
Always & forever
Red fiery @2017 copyright
Categories:
backless, desire, passion, sexy,
Form:
Free verse
Schoolboy
Can this be school? So dark and worn
a backless seat, walls of scorn.
Someone said, “We need a school.
This cement relic here will do.”
There sits a boy who’s come to learn.
See his human interest yearn.
He must write on several sheets.
The desk tells its own tale beneath.
By the naked light of day
the schoolboy makes his troubled way
among the dust and cobwebs here
with momentary gunfire near.
A busy mind and active arm
quiet protection from alarm
a child of turmoil and of woe
in sponsored clothes by UNESCO.
Where are the crayons, books and pens?
When does he share a task with friends?
Are there computers in his reach?
Does the adult know how to teach?
Will he have a nice warm meal?
What keeps up his schoolboy zeal?
Can he tell Mom what he knows?
Can she see what school bestows?
So, here’s to schoolboy, struggling hard
against the overwhelming odds
to break through to his excellence
with swagger and self-confidence.
In this place not fit to be
he will work most diligently
and in time get educated
by some teacher, dedicated.
11/7/17
Photostory - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Eve Roper
Categories:
backless, boy, poverty, school,
Form:
Quatrain
She stands there
Her heart all askew…
Backless dress
Russell Sivey
Form Modern Senryu
Categories:
backless, heart, life, woman,
Form:
Senryu
Oscars
Oscars night is here again,beautiful women and gorgeous men.
Play acting is what they do on the silver screen for me and you.
Some will win some will lose,the film academy will chose
Fasion statements galore with Gucci armani,and Christian dior
Rubies and diamonds shining bright,bringing sparkle to the night
Backless,strapless and shoulder less gowns some worn with a frown
Helen mirren as the queen looking quite pristine
Penelope Cruz in her Jimmy choo's
What a spectacle what a show and when they won wow
Categories:
backless, funny,
Form:
Free verse
Is this the weekend, by the way?
(I always think it’s Saturday!)
Load the kids up in the car –
country club (I hit the spa:
hand the kids to gay Adolphe –
calisthenics, crazy golf).
I spoil myself – it helps the stress –
the kids are having fun (I guess).
Fox News Tom Cruise
No Jews designer shoes.
Rufe’s so square, a diplodocus:
the kids will always be my focus.
Everybody needs a break
(we’re human too, for goodness’ sake).
We just do the normal things:
cabin in Borrego Springs,
week in Vegas, see the shows,
birthday dinner (Kiriko’s):
never noodles, only sushi
(table used by John Belushi) –
private beach in old La Jolla
(Rufe knows someone, bigshot lawyer):
cocktail bar, upholstered loungers
(razor wire keeps out the scroungers).
Juan’s the poolboy. My help’s Auxi
(Juanito’s neat, and Auxi’s mousey).
Wears my cast-offs, lives on chilli –
keeps her pay from getting silly.
Neither’s legal – which is good:
they stay grateful, like they should.
Minimum wage would tie a noose to it:
anyhow, they’re plenty used to it.
She breastfeeds, Juanito hustles
(fine-boned body, high-toned muscles).
He’s moonlighting, pumping gas
in San Diego, humping ass.
Rufe’s no idea what good taste is.
Parties with them friends of his.
I can’t stand them business folks –
Steaks and beers and dirty jokes.
I won’t go to meets or meals
if I can’t wear my strapless heels
and backless dress (Yves St Lauren)
it’s not about impressing men
(who cares what they think?) – it’s the wives
it matters what a woman drives
who fixed her hair. What’s Satan’s curse?
To show up toting last month’s purse.
Categories:
backless, satire,
Form:
Couplet
A poem to close your eyes
"I close my eyes and see a flock of birds. The vision lasts a second, or perhaps less; I am not sure how many birds I saw. Was the number of birds definite or indefinite? The problem involves the existence of God. If God exists, the number is definite, because God knows how many birds I saw. If God does not exist, the number is indefinite, because no one can have counted. In this case I saw fewer than ten birds (let us say) and more than one, but did not see nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, or two birds. I saw a number between ten and one, which was not nine, eight, seven, six, five, etc. That integer—not-nine, not-eight, not-seven, not-six, not-five, etc.—is inconceivable. Ergo, God exists."
Jorge Luis Borges
I
My name is Shannan Gilbert,
as the night befalls,
an angel or a creature.
I smell like pricked stems of roses,
silently gnawing in your ears.
My name is Shannan Gilbert,
backless,
flipping leaves
stuck in my throat,
they rattle,rattle, rattle
like a strange broken toy.
II
The dagger of the day dazzles
pierced pale lids dangling in the balance,
attentive, the birds stopped their crying,
light and shadow.
My name is Shannan Gilbert,
an escort gifted with an angel's voice.
wide-eyed, what I?
My name is Shannon Gilbert,
-envoy-
the birds have taken flight.
Categories:
backless, angel, bird, cry, flying,
Form:
Dramatic Monologue
Put your blue dress on
and let your hair down too-
your hair that is so beautiful
you need no fancy “do.”
That gown a royal blue -
you know the one I mean!
The sequins on its bodice
make you glitter like a queen.
The backless part of it -
a large X made of lace
exquisitely reveals
your shoulders’ white bare grace.
I’ve bought for you a bracelet
of diamonds for your wrist.
Wear it too; it’s fashioned
of bright stars heaven-kissed!
I’ll wait out in the car
while you don your blue chiffon,
afraid I’ll want to take it off
once you have got it on!
Dec. 27, 2019 for Anthony Slausin's Blue Dress Poetry Contest
Categories:
backless, beautiful,
Form:
Quatrain
Hot In Havana.
.
It was a sweltering hot sticky Havana summers
Velvet star-studded night
I was sat enjoying the scene
In a dance bar
As someone played the piano accordion
And guitar
.
Suddenly I was aware of a shapely silhouette
Stood at the door and I was transfixed by what I’d seen
And slowly she sauntered in swaying her hips
As sultry as a feline in her tight figure-hugging backless dress
Figure of a dream the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen
With a red rose tucked in to her glossy raven hair
With eyes that smoldered and could light up the night
And smooth tanned skin and pouting sensual ruby lips
Long legs in fishnet tights
.
Out to thrill and out to kill
All eyes were on the unknown stranger
As she stood poised at the bar
The room filled the ceiling fans spun
As men smoked their Cuban cigars
.
As the room got fuller the heat got hotter
And couples took to the floor
Suddenly out of nowhere
The was stood in front of me
I had seen stood at the door
.
Without a word she grabbed my hand
And led me to the dance floor
My heart was beating so fast
And I was sweating from every pore
Her scent was heavenly and heady
As we swayed and spun around
To the bands delightful sound
Her eyes beckoned me as a siren
To come even closer and hold her tight
Her lips were full sumptuous and pouting
The butterflies inside me were fluttering
And I was melting with euphoric delight
Like a moth to a deadly flame our lips
Almost met then she pulled away
She was just a tease and we could only play her way
Even though I was on fire
Both drenched in sweat
She let me kiss her bare shoulders and long neck
I could taste her perfume
As we swayed across the room
Other men tried to flirt with her
But she only had eyes for me
And I was drowning in ecstasy
.
We were both getting thirsty
So I weaved through the dancing couples
And headed for the bar
Through the haze of smoke from the cigars
When I came back cocktails in hand
She had gone and left the red flower
And a note saying
Thank you love Edwardo
She wasn’t a she
But a man.
.
Peter Dome©©2020.
Categories:
backless, dance, fantasy,
Form:
Free verse
THE LAMENT OF A PENNILESS BLOKE
For want of avocation, I became a poet
To bleed my misery on paper calling for an eye,
To see me in my tattered footwear and backless shirt,
But no hear have I got even with my wildest cries.
I sought for love but that eluded me for lack of capacity,
To wine and dine in places only people in purple afford,
Ask me not to write to you as I cannot read later on write,
The tongue twisting speech style I have not learned
Of me they think I have no fashion sense.
How can I when dolce & Gabbana is a name I only see
In chanced movies with people that woo lovers and hunks.
Intelligence have I none; wisdom maybe
But that cannot lure a sensible Tiffany-ier
All I have is me; about me I cannot lie.
Copyright © July 2012. Nsamu Moonga. All right Reserved.
Categories:
backless, lost love, social, me,
Form:
Sonnet
Now, in her solitude she sits draped in mock fur,
As the movie spool ends, silver lights begin to fade,
So, she slurps on her sorrows with a soft bitter slur
‘The sheer backless organza’ – a red-carpet stir,
The true benefits of fame, featuring a chauffeur and maid,
Now, in her solitude she sits draped in mock fur
In ‘Wuthering Heights’, the Protagonist connoisseur,
Violated when the ‘Sirs’ want favours repaid,
So, she slurps on her sorrows with a soft bitter slur
Her fluffy companion gives a discontented purr,
Along with diamond wedding rings, her only accolade,
Now, in her solitude she sits draped in mock fur
Missed out on an award – an offering greater than myrrh,
Behind a painted smile, a cut-throat tool of the trade,
So, she slurps on her sorrows with a soft bitter slur
Then the dreaded moment, as quick as a blur,
At thirty-five, replaced by youth, promises betrayed,
Now, in her solitude she sits draped in mock fur,
So, she slurps on her sorrows with a soft bitter slur.
13/11/22
Third Person Villanelle Contest
Sponsor: L Milton Hankins
Third Person Villanelle Contest
Judged: 23/11/22
Writing challenge - X'd poems second chance poetry contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
Categories:
backless, career, emotions, heartbreak, pain,
Form:
Villanelle
Sixteen she became more of a sexist.
With her skin smooth to reek the care
of her mothers touch.
Sixteen in a black backless dress,
a mistress look,yet a woman to every
men passing on the street corners.
Men with no back bone, i call then spineless.
Those that made her every breath heavy,
when life was at ease.
Breath under nudity the scenary behind her.
Sixteen missing periods and window period.
Cometh was a life of prescribtions and mother hood.
A used up beauty at sixteen, nolonger useful to them.
They saw only a usedfool with beauty nolonger in use.
Beautiful to bloodyfool with a child to call every man on the street corner father.
Sixteen on the street corners
Categories:
backless, lost,
Form:
ABC
Small stadium built in the late forties,
minor-league once, but has been left behind,
built with girders and backless, wooden seats,
a local relic of an older time.
The players look so young, barely can shave,
the pitching is rough and some balls are dropped,
a few have been drafted by big league names,
one has promise, at ninety-four was clocked.
Young kids run around, and between innings
some do wacky races upon the field,
but have fun even if they’re not ‘winning,’
and the high-fives from the players are real.
So far not a hit has yet cleared the wall,
but six bucks is still good for live baseball.
Categories:
backless, america, appreciation, baseball, imagery,
Form:
Sonnet
Choices
Should I have the low cut dress?
My décolleté set out ready to impress.
What about the long backless number
It shimmers and shines, no man will slumber.
I could have the short one to show off my legs
But too many out there will get down and beg.
What about the push up bra that he likes to see
Then again I think I have enough about me.
What should I buy on this shopping expedition?
It goes against the grain and every tradition.
I am not used to this I think I’ll do what I do best
I’ll stick on my jeans and my old sleeveless vest.
I do not need anything new to make me feel good
I have a husband for that and he does as he should.
So I won’t go shopping for new things today
Why break the habit of a lifetime I’ll stop in this day
I can’t remember when I last had some new things
But I bet it was before I had my wedding ring.
Categories:
backless, funny,
Form:
Couplet
White lips curl furiously as warm hands reach for the mouth that speaks so loud.
Swallow—swallow.
Gracious god falling from the sky; there dies my warmth, there dies my youth.
Silently rushing, chasing—gulping. Lips curling kissing the soft, demure land.
From this window I’m perched to picnic and think.
White lips—kissing—such fizzle frazzled as salt spread thinly, plainly across her bare
back...she needs a hand to smooth her lines of fault.
Oh the age she hides!
...the years she’s gone without a crank to lift her bare boned backless face.
Sinking, sinking---SANK.
Green illumination garnished the canvas sky.
A flash, a bulb, another shard of life to wake.
I fog---I fold and yet they curl! they snarl.
Categories:
backless, nature, sea,
Form:
Blank verse