Best Bodice Poems
I find you alone
in your favorite room of sorrow and suspense,
the woman I cherish more than victory or divine sense,
long untouched, you stare into a sonnet of romantic sadness,
supple shadows dress you in stubborn, gothic passion, a quiet finesse,
they know that I am the speed of your tears and the lover in your trance,
as I see what your heart has wept for, tender acceptance
I understand why my soul seeks your emotional opulence,
with my powerful hands I hug those lonely, sexy shoulders of tired independence,
knowing by the ease of your neck's pining tilt, by the searching gap of your starving lips
no longer are you startled by our love, no more will you deny the lust righteous,
gliding the backs of my fingers up under your smooth chin skin, beauty so generous,
I find you passion thrown,
I undo your bodice and your soft feminine flesh opens onto me
radiating craving that glorifies yearning,
I entreat you to grab my hard affection, to feel the firm rush replete
to place the head of my love within you like a heavy heartbeat,
you obey with unquestioning need, eyes alight, thighs wide
I lunge in deeply, completely, pushing through you a pleasure tide
as you breathe in the handsome shock of your fulfillment
I kiss the soft space inbetween your sumptuous breasts and taste wild wonderment -
J.A.B.
Categories:
bodice, gothic, love, passion,
Form:
Epic
If you could relive one day of your life..
time lost, now retrieved for just a short while.
To thrust old scheming machinations knife,
or return healing to a lover's smile.
Such a fretted frittering those lost days,
though ones you and I will remember most.
Passions reared high in servile dewy haze..
soft breathe warm against skin from dearest host.
Moment waits untended a dreamer's call,
something I can never give you again.
Bodice caught on nail of new lover's wall,
though we may choose to return now and then.
Tarried too long look'g to horizon's edge..
promised heart unharmed, now pulled from a ledge.
Categories:
bodice, america, day, dream, heart,
Form:
Sonnet
luscious fruit of the tropics
sphere-shaped, tapered, oval-faced
beneath the sun dripping yellow;
tangy as cocktail's zest for happy hour- kisses
on lips that crave for its moist
sweet marrow... peeled
from its curved bodice; sucked
juice trickles from its base--
adding lime, mint to freshen stem glasses
that dangle and anchor the nape
for a voluptuous treat of mild
passion's heat: sliced, striped , tasted
by love's scent—the pulp bits ooze—like
varnished ochre mixed with light rhum
and wine filling hungry vessels
of tongues: the melting husk
cooled by ice as wedges circle around
to whip a luscious Mango Sangria drink!
A fruit like this entices my own
Summer delight, succulent as earth's nectar,
relishing every drool of a caressed,
early night's amber sensation.
For Alcohol Contest: Sponsor Thvia Shetley
Submitted 19/18/2107
Categories:
bodice, fruit,
Form:
Light Verse
Autumn teases the last cinnamon leaves
clinging to branches with amber fingers.
Seasonal change awakens Nature's thieves,
a wafting breeze that doggedly lingers,
stripping trees bare; a scene that sadly grieves.
Fall sings in a rhythmic glissando voice
announcing it's time that she takes the helm.
We acquiesce, given no other choice.
She reigns over Indian Summer's realm,
painting meadows and vales as we rejoice.
Acorns are gathered by hoarding squirrels
who scurry to find the tasty jewels,
cherishing them as valuable pearls.
As north winds blow, the temperature cools.
Chimney smoke drifts in white ribbons and curls.
Time for harvesting ripe apples for pies.
Halloween pumpkins are put on display.
Carefully, we watch Autumn's sullen skies
Clouds grow heavy, in shades of nimbus gray.
A gaggle of geese in migration, flies.
Autumn dresses herself in wrinkled gown.
Ruffled skirt in hues of crimson and gold.
Bodice in ochre, trimmed in walnut brown,
a russet cloak worn when a chill takes hold,
woven from wizened leaves that tumbled down.
July 13, 2022
2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 1 Contest
Sponsor: Mark Toney
Originally posted in September 2021
Categories:
bodice, autumn, beauty,
Form:
Quintain (Sicilian)
Oh how this bodice is dressed in taffeta,
Lined with hundreds of lavender pleats
Spiraling, drooping, whirling
All over my voluptuous contour …
Bare these limbs grinding on soft moss
To tap among rustled displays
From many a lovers’ heat to children’s romp.
I gaze at my long tresses hung by threads
Of July frills, combing the strands
Delicate as clusters in a spin that ignites
The evening air, the lush of daylight’s vine…
And like Kojin in a free-fall prance, I cascade
Through a mantle of grass, my arms floating
Over wisps of mildest pink, of boldest lavender;
Then to curtsy in a prayerful Shinto bow
Under heaven's marquee where my chants
about lonesome tales are hushed in secrecy.
At nightfall, stars circle my lit frame,
The aroma of wisteria's mint huffs
outside my pores and unto an earthy glow;
Young the nippled buds swelling in lusty dusk
Till I gently writhe as a mystical shadow of the woods.
......................
SPRINGTIME STANDARD CONTEST
~ The wisteria tree is packed with an assemblage
of purple blossoms, falling in tapered clusters
to symbolize a kneeling pose of honor and devotion
based on Asian folklore.
~ Kojin: Japanese Tree Goddess
Categories:
bodice, beauty, imagery, tree,
Form:
Personification
Late night summons madmen,
madams, bold streetwalkers,
picking pennies from the gutters
as the merchants close their shutters
and the homeless crouch in doorways
in their rags, against the cold.
Black or white, no compromise,
no colours clothe the empty streets,
as Bobbies tread their lonely beats,
the watchmen rub their crusted eyes
and settle into vigilance,
no accident, just circumstance.
Midnight passes.
Leila in her bursting bodice
lingers, guesses who I am
and flaunts her body, all the same
to her, a customer who'll pay
for twenty minutes' satisfaction.
Dressed in taffeta and lace
she'll never even see my face,
night's sweet anonymity,
the very definition of her name.
Later, as the moonbeams shift,
and cloudlines disappear and drift,
come images in stark relief
of twisted metals magnified
that catch the eye, suspend belief.
Abandoned building, hollow-eyed
and squinting in a death mask grip,
skeletal, once filled with pride,
now empty, and for ever tongue-tied,
cadavered, and condemned to drip.
Still later, the street-lamps spot
the cats a'creeping worldly-wise,
and rats along the quayside waiting,
ready for the avalanche
of waste into the yawning dumpsters.
I have seen the children sneaking out
before the dawn comes crawling,
dirty little ragamuffins forced
into leftover clothes,
weepy-eyed and snotty-nosed,
playing with a rotting carcass
or a broken bicycle.
Pre-dawn, and the street-lamp sputters,
merchants come to raise their shutters,
regard the fading moon, and mutter,
'yet another day.'
Begone, O Bride of Midnight!
favour us with not another glance,
put your spells away,
you'll not lead us in our daily dance.
Behold a wrinkled substitute,
a crone who likes to think that she's a queen;
with as much grace as she can muster,
she flusters, fidgets, lonely in her room,
feathered and be-furbelowed
and plays with her decolletage,
she's mutton dressed as lamb.
The smell of stale tobacco
and a whiff of old perfume,
no longer with her entourage
she dances out of rhythm to the tango,
rusty and unconstituted,
wraith-like, a phantom in her tomb.
At twenty past I'm home at last,
the brass plate spells my name;
come inside!
familiar and gratifying,
slippers by my bed still lying,
dressing gown and cap are crying,
here abide!
The sheets are turned and ready.
I leave the night and take a final bow,
grateful for the here and now.
Categories:
bodice, on writing and words,
Form:
Verse
If you go downtown early morning
You can see the shopkeepers setting
Old treasures on the sidewalk,
Writing their welcomes with chalk
On little standing blackboards,
Inviting you inside their stores.
Honeysuckle Antiques has its window
Filled with newfound things to show,
Local crafts and the latest junk,
A fringed lampshade and leather trunks.
Its storefront arranged with trifle clutter,
Metal lawn chairs and wooden ladders.
A rusted garden rake’s crooked grin
Begs you to come shop within.
A copper cowbell rings above the door
As dust scurries across a creaking floor.
Greetings from a curvy dressmaker’s bodice,
Empty coke bottles sold by the case.
The moment you enter you’re lost in time.
You never know what you may find;
A stack of old suitcases eager to travel,
Tiny dishes all the way from China,
A basket full of skeleton keys
Or an old black Singer sewing machine.
So many things lost and forgotten;
A lady’s hat pin, hundreds of buttons
Peer through the green glass of Mason jars,
A boy’s prize collection of toy metal cars,
Polaroid cameras and a reel to reel,
A pair of broken red wagon wheels.
Everyone’s favorite, a brown Teddy bear,
A no-longer-needed baby high chair,
Piles of silver spoons, a tarnished pocket watch;
Its workings inside have ground to a halt.
Someone’s keepsake once shiny and new,
Time of death; twelve thirty-two.
Overhead, a beautiful lead chandelier
Sparkles “I don’t belong here.
Take me with you when you go.”
Shelves lined with items needing a home.
Cramped, dusty isles you wander around
Through all the lost and all the found.
Then persuasive orphans catch your eye;
A porcelain doll sitting way up high,
Sad, in her torn and faded dress
Next to some pink Depression glass.
“Take me with you when you go.”
Beg the doll and the bowl.
Categories:
bodice, adventure, america, nostalgia, remember,
Form:
Verse
9 KISSES IN THE LIBRARY
First kiss meandered through Sci Fi by the purple
wall. The tender second kiss arrived around the bend.
mumbling 3rd and 4th excuses as she frog jumped
twin matrons chatting with their dead and absent friends.
Sweet and slow-- the next three left her breathless--
Zinged and knocked her senseless to her bony knees.
She braced herself--for just two more--oh, please--
At 9pm she's startled by a subtle shoulder tap,
Bodice ripper pages shuddered with a final schoolgirl snap.
Categories:
bodice, on writing and words,
Form:
Lyric
Nightscapes
...inspired by 'Rhapsody On A Windy Night'
by T.S. Eliot
Late night summons
madmen, madams, bold streetwalkers,
picking pennies from the gutters
as the merchants close their shutters
and the homeless crouch in doorways
in their rags, against the cold.
Black or white, no compromise,
no colours bathe the empty streets,
as Bobbies tread their lonely beats,
the watchmen rub their crusted eyes
and settle into vigilance,
no accident, no happenstance.
Midnight passes.
Leila in her bursting bodice
lingers, guesses who I am
and flaunts her body, all the same
to her, a customer who'll pay
for twenty minutes' satisfaction.
Dressed in taffeta and lace,
she'll never even see my face,
night's sweet anonymity,
the very definition of her name.
Later, as the moonbeams shift,
and cloudlines disappear and drift,
come images in stark relief
of twisted metal, broken things
that catch the eye, suspend belief.
Abandoned buildings, hollow-eyed
and winking in a death mask grip,
skeletal, once filled with pride,
now empty, and for ever tongue-tied,
cadavered, and condemned to drip.
Still later, the street-lamp spots
the cats a'creeping, worldly-wise,
and rats along the quayside waiting,
ready for the avalanche
of waste into the yawning dumpsters.
I have seen the children sneaking out
before the dawn comes crawling,
dirty little ragamuffins forced
into leftover clothes,
weepy-eyed and snotty-nosed,
playing with a rotting carcass
or a broken bicycle.
Categories:
bodice, on writing and words
Form:
Verse
Your warm hands hold mine,
That with desire both shine and shiver.
Like the moon, looking for a silvered river.
Oh, how long for you I pined.
Sparkling burgundy wine, in tinkling crystal glass.
Hypnotized by your Arcadian, invasive eyes.
This moment, under clear San Francisco night skies.
That time still lives eternally, which nothing can surpass!
Your sweater, soft and dark, green like a sensuous forest.
Stop time in this place~ no, there is far more ahead for us.
We, in love, so totally, eternally obsessed.
I felt like your goddess in a golden, Greek, love-!bodice!
3/5/2021
~6 ~
Quatrain
A,B,B,A
Categories:
bodice, happiness, imagery, love, romance,
Form:
Quatrain
La vie en rose - Seeing life through rose colored glasses
La-la-la-la-la-la
La-la-la-la-la-la
—My Cherie Amour, refrain, sung by Stevie Wonder
A song in my heart; we’ve all been blind to love,
until it appears. Love at first sight, sound, touch, scent
or taste. The masquerade is over; a song in my heart.
—quote by poet
My Cherie Amour
Smooth la-la’s embrace a mysterious love,
One that must find its way in the dark café
Or in a silver cloud, or crowded rue de Bac.
The heart beats for that perfect stranger
Scented with Estée Lauder’s Azurée
Or a Parisian accent - sexy and decadent.
The wonder of a smile, appealing to her,
His eyes hidden behind shades; blinded
By an elusive love, a petite cherie amour.
Intangible, unattainable, a Summer flower,
The warmth of a bodice, yet seen. Galaxy,
his, but so far out of his range, silky cream.
Smooth la-la’s embrace a mysterious love.
Stevie croons ‘he’s confident,’ blinders off.
Someday wishes will emerge, ‘la vie en rose.’
Categories:
bodice, love, mystery, senses,
Form:
Free verse
Suspended with roses, a garter and courage.
Her wispy white costume blows in the breeze.
Silky vibrations as she sways her bodice —
the Rapunzel-princess of the swinging trapeze.
Brunette hair and outfit bound with pearls and lace.
High with Magellanic clouds, marvelous outlander of earth.
Slender fingers wrapped around the seraphic twine.
Daughter of the heavens, from the day a trouper gave birth.
One...two...three, the excitement sounds, the air surfeits
about like maddening faerie dust. The open sky burns
with eccentric flame - crowd applauding like cherry bombs.
The darling of the sky, entices every cent she earns.
This rapturous virgin makes love to the dawn.
Her stupendous feat goes on and on, drawing
in oohs and ahhs...the climax as her knees
hang vaingloriously from the seat, outlawing
the silver and gold wings that flutter about
outside the circus tent, as this beauty shines
upside-down like an albinotic bat, frenetically
stirring the breeze… waving from the vines.
7/29/2019
Categories:
bodice, beauty, imagery,
Form:
Rhyme
Nature changes her gown
to gossamer chiffon
pastels to welcome spring.
Daisy wreath in her hair
when finch and robins sing.
Nature changes her gown.
A bright yellow sundress.
Fabric print with flowers,
blooming when well nourished
by afternoon showers.
Nature changes her gown
to dark shades of mourning
for all the falling leaves,
windswept from bare limbed trees.
For their loss, Nature grieves.
Nature changes her gown
as she dances o'er earth
in frock of winter white.
Snowflake crystal bodice
sparkling jewels each night.
Categories:
bodice, nature, seasons,
Form:
Monchielle Stanza
under the tall mushrooms', in the day of gloom
I carried my fork and broom to run of the chick a boom
from my whom; darn morning sickness, that dragon's zoom kiss
as he reminisce and baked a swiss brownie bodice
as the cat in the tree miss a hiss and a p i. s... s... : )
9/7/2021
Nonsense Rhyme Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: charles messina
Categories:
bodice, fun,
Form:
Rhyme
I soak in his charcoal fingers drenching my buds
when nightfall rips the hem of my skin,
a coral fire glazes upon our mouths
and the lion in him kneads flammable
grinds: that the soaring heat in lilac glare,
in fragrant sweat of navajo curves;
ripen the mounds along a bodice trembling …
Once, twice, thrice with gentle fondness
crawling on outstretched harlequin dome--
in the lure of amber moon dipping—we
could not speak beyond walls in ash etches …
and like hungry souls let loose by sapphire mist,
the ginger sweetness of craving
finally explodes on hammock’s ruby-like gyre.
Silent One’s United Colors: Colourfication
................
Charcoal, coral, lilac navajo, harlequin,
amber, ash, sapphire, ginger, ruby
3/16/2016
Categories:
bodice, devotion, romance, sensual,
Form:
Romanticism