Best Fantasywoman Poems
The pricking sun starts to hide
when the stars unfurl their cloaks
The darkness starts to creep this evening
Oh I can feel my spirit rising
I stayed at the corner
And concealed by the dim
As I waited for them
With a see through dress
it reveals my fresh taut breast
and flaunt my crescent hips
Prowling, peering, peeping
like the voyeur moon
Scanning these passerby men
with a filthy eye
Ops, I spotted one!
"Pssst, pssst, pssst"
is an enchanting invitation
from this lovely siren
And I receive a glance
With a wink of an eye
he give in to mine
In my bed I prepared
sheets of smooth linens,
rose spattered floors
like a shattered virgin,
Sets of burning candles
weep my husband's leave
but their lights celebrate
my burning desires
He perfumed me with his breath
He oiled my body with kisses
fluids dripping in my flesh
Giving and receiving
Warm bodies colliding
Flesh against flesh
as this fire we unleash
Riding to pleasure
till we reach hell's depth
I'm a flesh huntress
who craves for flesh
I sling sweet talk
and bait my body
I need not snare
for that is man's desire
Don't dare to escape
As I cast sin's net
This poem is inspired by proverb's immoral woman...I am not pointing to a woman in
general...this is just a particular woman whom I also know....the point of view here is
shifting...
I have heard a tale of the darkest forest that is known for its whispering trees,
forbidden fruits, and its dancing roses all kept in touch by winter’s hand. I seek to
confirm these facts made by delusional men, but I, I seek an even more forbidden fruit,
and a more soothing whisper that is not of the trees to caress my ears. I seek a figure
whose peachy skin is bathed in the white satin of winter. A figure whose lips that are
flushed and soft, that they beckon for a mortals lips to embrace their own. I look and I
listen for a tempting whisper, I take note to every sound that floats by my ears. One
resonance catches my intention; it’s the sound of fracturing ice behind 7 trees I failed
to perceive. O was I mislead by these delusional fools, for such a beauty cannot be
described by mere and simple words. I was never a poet but the sight of her made
poetic lines flow into my head. It went like this: “A soft and delicate petal amidst the
sea’s darkness beacons for a stem, a stem to lift it up to the sun and thaw the chains
that bind”. The ice that I spoke of earlier was not fracturing; they were simply forming
beneath her feet as she elegantly strode along the rivers bank. I questioned myself on
whether to call her or not, for I could not recall a name by which she went. So I simply
said: “O, winter’s Goddess, satisfy this mortal with the visage that obscures the hearts
of men”. She simply turned around and glanced into my eyes then said: “Who is this
goddess that you beacon so much for? I am only a woman whose love is frozen in her
own tears. A woman whose eyes, are as vast as the sea that they can drown a man
searching for love”. I replied: “Your love maybe frozen in tears of sadness, but I seek
to thaw them out into tears of joy, your love cannot drown a man who has already
found what he seeks.” With these words said, I walk towards her slowly and embrace
her in my arms; I lean in to kiss this winter queen’s lips, but she suddenly vanishes in
my arms. The shout of a mother penetrates my ears telling me to get her a drink of
water in the middle of the night. Finished with the feeble task that mother set out for
me, I venture back into my bed to fall into slumber once more.
Watch her walk woman of the unknown
Leather boots heels on fire
Painted face lips powted red
A woman of confidence
A look that you desire
Her hips swing as they cross your path
Her dancing curls tempt your wants
Your thoughts drive you too wild to define
Inside your dream of seduction unfolds
Outside you stare with pounding veins
Rose petals to her feet
Sweet breathes to her smile
Perfumed swept trail surrounds your senses
She has a light that sends her to the rainbow edge
Colours from her aura as an easel is left
Her vision is an artists making
She does not know that you feel her spirit
Her soul is crawling to your hand
Your fingertips think of a touch of such delight
Of the woman unknown
Kelsuke de Eichmann was a man of little yet complex words.
He used the word translucent instead of the phrase see-through.
One thing he knew how to do well was break a heart:(
He would see a flaw in a woman and just turn away.
If her beauty was overshadowed her brains he would walk away and never come back.
"When," he thought " when will I find this perfect woman? I have dated the young. I have
dated the old, I have traveled alone.
I have hung out with women from the far East to the far West.
I have suffered frost bites for the women of the far North & the same goes for those of
the far South."
He tried to create a woman from copper the next day and called it Stacy but we know it as
the Statue of Liberty.
He thought it looked perfect until he saw a red dot on her face.
He thought it was a pimple but it was actually a bomb!
He did what he always did when he saw a flaw in a woman, he turned, picked up his heavy
rain coat, and started to walk.
But he felt something against his heavy,gigantic, sticky rain coat. He looked and there it
was the red dot that was on Stacy! With his strong arms he hurled the coat towards Hawaii!
It hit Pearl Harbor and blamed the Japanese because they just happened to be passing by.
She felt heat pulsing down her fingertips,
but suddenly it subsided,
hands at her hips,
after the sword, roared, and glided,
“ Help the demon...”
Was the gesture he made,
but she made that quickly fade,
and she drew thin satisfaction,
as the demon tried to re-converge,
the demon staggered, stumbled, tumbled,
she attacked,
he fell over,
crushing stones with his back,
the woman fought on,
stubbornly dodging the demon’s claws,
remembering that the beast thought humans,
had so many flaws,
now the defeated demon squeezed his eyes shut,
as he found out that the humans had something to show,
as that woman dealt the fatal blow,
that day,
it was the demon who became easy prey.
“Patri! Patri, where are you? Help me!”
Her voice rings in my head,
As I try to concentrate.
I know she’s not here,
But the voice sounds all too real.
It is the voice of the woman I loved.
The woman I could not save.
“I’m coming Tarina! I’m coming!”
Now I hear my own voice,
Even though I am not speaking.
I repel another attack,
But my concentration is slipping.
I could have saved her.
If only I had know then, what I do now.
“Patri, help me! Patri!”
I almost call out to her,
But I catch myself before I do.
If I speak, I fail.
All must be done by thought.
I know the voices,
And the memories they bring,
Are just part of the test.
They, like the attacks,
Come from the elders around me.
They were real once,
But are not now.
I must concentrate.
He rode the highways as a gypsy; never staying for too long;
And the women on the byways; would cry when he was gone.
His body moved to rhythms with a jagged sexual beat;
And the women that would dance with him; were encompassed by the heat.
His hair tied in a ponytail; with eyes a chestnut brown;
If you argued it was tooth and nail; with the words that he put down.
Riding in a caravan; while the bearded woman sings;
It soothed the monster in this man; till on the woman he saw wings.
Today he’s still the gypsy; but he’s old yet somehow new
And do you hope that some might see; that you want the same for you.