Best Creaming Poems
. T ulips coated in dewy waxen gloss
U ndulating their warm fragrant breath
L eaving - that cold hearted Mr. Frost
I n a
P uddle of tears
S creaming - Spring is here!
~~~~~
Elaine Cecelia George, of Canada
Written: April 11, 2011
For: Carol Brown's contest - Spring Flowers
Awarded: First Place
Categories:
creaming, imagination, spring,
Form:
Acrostic
blooming inside
your dancing lips trace moonlight in my heart
I feel your dreamy words
creaming
caressing
sugaring
sweetening
------ my closed minds
Full Moon
........rising in the east
........lanterns and moon viewing
........and a cup of green tea
opening inside
your loving kindness reflected moonlight in my heart
I sense your poetic desire
seeking
strumming
gliding
gradually
------ into my mind
Full Moon
.......kissing the tatami
.......softly entering the residence
.......lighting upon a maiden's face and her samurai
tiptoeing inside
your gentle warrior heart shining moonbeam in my heart
I embrace your burning soul
melting
dissolving
enchanting
electrifying
------ this body of mine
Categories:
creaming, desire, dream, fantasy, feelings,
Form:
Free verse
Your body smiles at me
so let me reciprocate the inviting gesture
with the natural gifts of arousing pleasures
well presented in erotic packages.
My curiosity is unfairly punished
by your hypocritical skimpy skirt
flashing the flesh so systematically and hiding them again
in a glamorous tease.
Your semi-circularly exposed glands
canopies me into a hypnotic boomerang system
where I create a mood of ecstasy in you
and at the same time, covet its blessed beam of radiant sweetness.
Let’s play naughty my dear and act so crazy sweetheart
with gentleness and manliness, I’ll navigate your front side
and then take care of your behind with wittiness and craftiness
My hands just want to go under
squeezing your outside, rubbing your inside;
touching all softness and ‘tongue-ing’ all openings
tearing off your covering and creaming your exposed holy Grail
with my saliva, from head to toe
wrapped in your wholeness, skin to skin
and preserved in the mid-temperatures of our slickly contacts.
We’ll be a fitted match
same measured length, horizontally well placed
burst for burst, groin for groin; lips for lips, breath for breath
eating each other up and yet dangerously unsatisfying
not letting go until even our souls are sored
with this affectionate tempo.
Our constantly bending limbs
will equal all hovering and meandering
and with every of your holes, so greased
ready for my artistic play and penetration
we stay captive to each other’s sexual outpour
and gain much enjoyment
in the irony of our butter-lotioned crys.
Categories:
creaming, adventure, love, lust, romance,
Form:
Romanticism
You’re sure to get the meaning
of, “Meaner than a junkyard dog”.
It makes you want to run, not jog;
to avoid a severe creaming.
If you dis your girl by screaming,
ranting, raving like a road hog.
You’re sure to get the meaning
of, “Meaner than a junk yard dog”.
If toward lying you are leaning,
think twice, tell the true story.
You don’t want it to get gory.
Time is over for verbal preening.
You’re sure to get the meaning.
© Jun 03 2010 For Jared’s contest “The Rondel”
Categories:
creaming, funny, urban
Form:
Sand ruffles beneath creaming tide
where seaweed bouquets softly glide;
searching for crabs, sandpipers prance
in crystal pools where sunbeams dance.
Suspended somewhere outside time
this springtime taste of life sublime
stretched out upon the sandy shore
just watching cloud kites dip and soar.
Copyright, May 8, 2022
Categories:
creaming, beach, may, sea, spring,
Form:
Rhyme
A fragrance drifts. . .
haunting like forgotten, formless souls,
a swift remembrance-bearing wave
cresting on the ship-blank sea.
Somewhere in those pearl studded waters you linger,
your gentle laughter echoing,
sounding ripplets on the pebbled beach.
Another breeze, foreign scent bearing,
and our fleeting dance is forever gone;
how strongly the sense of your presence
escaped from the past's closed door.
A beam of sanded driftwood, limb stripped, lies stranded
just beyond the reach of creaming foam,
home hungry, like a memory once loved but since discarded,
set free but afraid to roam.
Copyright, September 3, 2014
Faye Lanham Gibson
Categories:
creaming, memory, sea,
Form:
Free verse
THIRD WORST CLATTER OF ANTIMATTER
clatter of antimatter
alien dishes splatter
(the shape of spaceships)
his antennas* whir with rising
he considers going wireless
a dish flying at warp speed
like a zillion cyclonic bats
(female Vogon shriek encapsulated by rage)
the creaming of eggs
the earth took a beating
(local yokels evaporating)**
the pounding of this poem
pretty bad prose
destruction of the first and second worst verse
because everyone knows a Vogon
must clink and clank
on its dink and dank typewriter***
the third worst clatter of antimatter
mama Vogon whisks their deadpan bottoms
if you think your kids make noise
you’ve never heard a Vogon cry
D…o….n, well f…i…n…i…t,
Fingers smack on each key, pounding little hammers.
Zip..(return carriage)
How oh how did those earthlings type with these
Zip…(return carriage)
But this is rather priceless after earth’s fiasco
3/7/2017
Shadow Hamilton’s The Noise contest
*American television show depicted a martian with antennas
that would rise from his head “My Favorite Martian”
**Local yokels – an inhabitant of a particular locale
***Everyone knows that a Vogon doesn’t know the “meaning”
of the Universe (or words for that matter)
Categories:
creaming, humor,
Form:
Vogon Poetry
Privately educated, privileged backgrounds .……no problem per se …….…but ......we're led by these plum in mouth toffs by the troughful.…... their snouts in the pockets of the electorate, creaming the real workers of cash for taxes .…....so long as they're okay with backhanded deals and offshore accounts, their empathy remains as real as a cuboid moon.
Distrustful dinosaurs with prehistoric rhetoric....... and arrogance beyond belief .......they give the people grief. Arguably their role is to be unpopular..... no reflection of the real people, no microcosm, no cross section, no true representation of us compounds their ability to irritate.
This is politics in full swing, full of stuck up d*cks and silly twerps in tailored shirts telling us how to vote. When can this change to a real democracy? ........Real parties talking real issues with real solutions with real taxes spent on real things. The equilibrium is unbalanced, the donkey jacket came and went ......now we're left with just the donkeys, more mules to carry the weight of their own egos.
We have the right to vote.....we pride ourselves on this democratic right...but this is looking through the rose tints.….I only have the ability to vote for different shades of beige....unless I want to become a part of an extremist, sensationalist mob.….I don't.... I just want a real choice of real people..….so for now my ballot card will remain a useful piece of cardboard.... to fold and prop up the wonky leg on my dining room table.
Categories:
creaming, political,
Form:
Prose
Girls in bikinis, how gorgeous they look
Kids ice pops melting, dripping on the sand
People sat in deck chairs reading a book
Happy young couples walking hand in hand.
Waves gently lapping upon the sea shore
Dads building sand castles, show how its done
Moms creaming the kids so they are not sore
Grandparents watch their families have fun.
People on smart phones capture memories
Azure skies, swimming and of course the sun
Bright parasols flapping with the sea breeze
Some joggers on the sands out for a run.
Get down to the beach along side the sea
Create for yourself some fond memories.
Written on 7th July 2018.
Categories:
creaming, beach, family, holiday, sea,
Form:
Sonnet
S creaming infant.
P iercing cry.
I nsistant, persistent.
T ry the soother.
T ie the ligature.
H old the syringe.
E nd the craving.
D on't you see?
U terine hits are
M issed by baby
M anaging cold turkey?
Y our little junkie.
09/04/16
Number 3 Silent 1
Categories:
creaming, addiction, baby, horror,
Form:
Acrostic
Appearing from nowhere, a red stain in my colourless
vision, I found them cold in the whiteness of the first
snowfall. They lay there in the misty haze, stunned to silence,
smothered in their white blanket; that splendid state
beyond shivering. All the swans are dead, their bodies
melt, reclaimed by the snow. I watch myself in their vacant eyes,
staring out at me, as if I’m some kind of god- the sun’s
sparkle has faded; black mirrors, an onyx iris. With wings
contorted, they lay limp, their broken necks hanging like empty white bags,
their once-upon-a-time white feathers twitching in the wind, the veins
on their sagging skins unwrapped, all speckled with flashes
of ruby, brighter than fire, and just as untameable. This
scalded mess looks at me; the ends molt through, peeping like scared
children, and crawl along my frozen skin; it’s almost
pleading, the red ocean growing and overflowing, staining
the pinking dirt. They are all equal here, entwined in strands that slither
like embracing fingers, numb to the bone from the biting frost; iced
to perfection, inseparable chunks. From high above in the black sky, he saw
it all, creaming with knowledge- watching through his terrible spyhole,
that ghostly hue that bones this new aurora’s gleam with sallow blemishes.
This scene infects me; I circle the remains in awe and continue; this sight’s
colouring me green: it is over; they are finished, laying in the soiled snow.
Categories:
creaming, life, suicide, red,
Form:
Prose Poetry
The Gift of Healing
A friend of mine is a 'healer', of the spiritual kind,
She uses Crystals, Incense and concentrates her mind,
To channel all her energies, to bring you some relief,
She can heal your spirit, without need for your belief.
I too can heal I told her, with a little twinkle,
But I use pies and sponges, and a little sprinkle,
Whisking up my sugars, creaming them with dairy,
left on every doorstep, from the 'Baking Fairy'.
The recently bereaved, the lonely and the ill,
My offerings soothe their soul, better than any pill,
Just one or two slices, from the sweetest cake,
And made with my compassion, a Spiritual Bake.
So, if you're sad and lonely, or have chicken pox,
You may open your front door, to find a little box,
Open up that ribbon and take a slice of tart,
Made with love from me to you, to lift your heavy heart.
Categories:
creaming, care, caregiving, cheer up,
Form:
Rhyme
"Did Farage really skinny dip?"
Well that's an image I'd rather skip!
Instead, I'll marvel at his craftsmanship
And try to write a playful quip…
For, somehow, again, he's in the news
He might as well, he's nothing to lose
So, as some poor sod tries to fill his shoes
He'll remind us of his own virtues
He says he's leaving now to restore his health
After creaming his wage from Europe's wealth
He got his way. He's pleased with himself
And will I miss that smug-faced elf?
No! - Off he goes, and I won't cry
There'll be no teardrops in my eye
No solemn words, no heavy sigh
Just a finger or two for my goodbye
So, away he goes, towards the sunset
He won't go far - on that I'll bet
If you're a fan - don't be upset
I doubt we've seen the last of him yet
I'm not bitter, I've no time for hate
But I won't miss his method of debate
Will he sit and listen? Quietly spectate?
No, but he's sort-of gone... so let's celebrate
So, did Farage really skinny dip?
Again, a mental image we'd do well to skip
Let's marvel, instead, at the statesmanship
Of the modest ex-leader of the mighty UKIP
Categories:
creaming, goodbye, political,
Form:
Rhyme
Sly smile greets me as eyes feast upon my skin
Undress he silently pleads
Unwanted hands touch thy naked leg
An innocent mind is slowly being tainted
Fornication is written all over his unholy mind
A cringe brings forth a sparkle in his eye
Confusion clouds her vulnerable mind
Her skin is creaming against his filthy touch
Sinful hands travel up her thighs
Run! Yell! persists her mind
Unwanted fingers caress her virgin parts
Shock claims her body
Her brain urges her body to leave yet it ignores
Rough, twitching fingers caress her sensible zone
Tears are clouding her vision
Her body intents to flee but he blocks her way
Desire is clearly shown below his waist
Terror seizes hr body
Shot down the bed, he rips her shirt open
She's only eleven
Anxious, greedy fingers pull against her skirt
Punches are thrown at her attacker
He only responds by hitting her close to unconsciousness
Violent hands take off her panties
She's trying to weakly fight him off
Hands explore her vulnerable body
Sobs escape her wet lips
He pulls down his pants
She desperately screams for help
Mocking her to continue yelling, everyone is gone
She see s him pull down his boxers
Lust controls his sick mind
Rough hands touch her virginity
He becomes erect
She's struggles when he grabs her hand
He only strikes her senseless
Placing her little hand on his ********, gently stroking it
Fear clouds her sense
A perverted smile greets her horror glazed eyes
'Open your mouth'
Terror forces her brain to do as he commands
He shifts towards her placing his ******** inside
'Suck it'
Disgust fill her senses
'Suck it!' he yells, hitting her already bruised face
Wincing, she does as she is told fearing for her life
Pleasure creeps up to his face as he loudly moaned
She bursts into tears
He takes himself out
Pinning her down, he puts himself upon her entrance
Evading all privacy She screams in agony as he roughly takes all her innocence
Tears flow relentlessly down her face
He disengages from her
'You're parents will pick you up in a week' he smirks
Doom fills her
He leaves her alone
And to think that she considered him the greatest uncle ever
Categories:
creaming, childhood, confusion, depression, loss,
Form:
Ballad
The Last Donut Temptation
David J Walker
A thousand donut shops
Greet me on the street
I see them on the way
To anyone I meet
I smell their frier frying
I can tell their bakers bake
I see their cream puffs creaming
I see the cinnamon shake
I know their glazers glaze
Their long johns twist and swirl
My eyes glass in a daze
As I watch their cruller curl
I can taste the fine white powder
Shaken on the top
Of every sprinkled donut
Every chocolate drop
It makes me twitch and twitter
If I am in the store
And a fresh hot apple fritter
Tells me I need just one more
I plead for divine intervention
A pray sincere and quiet
Save me from temptation
And this stupid cursed diet
Categories:
creaming, desire, humor,
Form:
Rhyme