Best G String Poems
They enter the strip
joint like the last
flurrie of flakes.
She hears the music,
hears the voice of the
D.J. Wind, enters on cue.
Her cold poles await her
as she moves to the beat.
One south, one north.
She works them both.
They call her Storm
she is the feature act.
Drawing her minions
in for months now.
Quickly the starkness of ivory
starts to melt off her body.
The long blanched gloves
covered those particular
patches are the first to go
revealing the fresh lustre of
bare skin once again exposed.
Sexy,
she's a professional!
She stares out
noticing the skeletal
frames once only
shadows,
now with a glimmer
of light.
She knows her time
is short now
feels a hint
of life in her
domain of
dead stares.
Hears sounds
that are telling.
Was that really a chirp
or just a whistle?
The pulse of warmth starts
to pump through her veins.
Now her shiny robe
falls to the ground and
you can sense the smell
of want in the air.
The flow of liquids
previously frozen stiff.
Storm the stripper
slowly teases the crowd.
Down to her Victoria Secret
garb she tugs at our groins
knowing her audience craves
more.
In this case that also
means less.
I personally will miss her
in this present form.
Her tidy white lingerie
against her tanned skin.
Covered peaks,
rounded mounds.
You just want to
ride up, and maneuver
your way down.
The timing is wrong.
I know she will strip bare
as first the top goes then
down to a G-String of snow.
Naked,
winter stands
in front of me.
She will meander a bit
shake with a breeze
of perfumed cold.
Slide onto the floor as she undulates
with her come ons that near a finality.
She saunters off the stage
and me I watch winter's end.
Spring, on winter's barren
ground starts to peek from
around the curtain,
with her touch of green.
Warm breezes.
Her array of pastel colors.
Ladies and Gentlemen,
Winter has left the building,
Spring is here!
01~19~2015
Sponsor: SKAT A
Contest: Winters End
A is for a**l
B is for balls
Share them or wear them
Tucked up in your smalls
C is for condoms
Of all shapes and sizes
D is for dicks
Made of chocolate for prizes
E is for enlarging erections
Oh wow!
F is for fig leaves
Worn you know how
G is for G string
Oooh very nice
H is for handcuffs
Double locked twice
I is for indecent
That sums it up
J is for juices
And not in a cup
K is for kinky
Whatever the weather
L is for lust, libido and leather
M is for mask, massage and minge
N is for naughty
Making me cringe
O is for oral
Taken at leisure
P is for pervert, ****, pimp and pleasure
Q is for quickie
If that is your need
R is for rampant rabbit
One you won't have to feed
S is for S and M
With shackles thrown in
T is for torture
Oh such a sin
U is for urinate
Some folk just love it
V is for vibrator
You know where to shove it
W is for whores, whips, willies and wellies
X is for x rated **** on your tellies
Y is for yeast
Well it does make bread rise!
And Z, well I'm f****d
So I'll say my goodbyes!
My guitar just called out your name,
I wasn’t even thinking of you.
I went to pick it up, brushed the guitar strings…..
And my guitar just called out your name.
Maybe I’m going insane,
But I even heard your name in the rain,
I've heard it on the wind, and I heard it once again,
When my guitar just called out your name.
I know that I will never get over you,
I still can’t believe that were through.
Memories remain, and I sure felt the pain,
When my guitar just called out your name.
I miss you so much that I could die,
But life goes on so everyday I try
to live my life without you but I’ll never be the same
and my guitar just called out your name.
Yes my guitar just called out your name,
I wasn’t even thinking of you.
I went to pick it up, brushed the guitar strings..........
And my guitar just called out your name........
(Most female names are two syllables so pluck the
Open B string followed by the open G string
for the finish of the song)
I
>>
I paint pictures with words.
[email protected]
Hot Sue, many guys sought to romance her
But she fell for a Chippendale dancer
Stuck bucks in his G-string
But found his wedding ring
Right next to his genital enhancer
*Entry for Miranda Lambert's "Burlesque" contest
Mist covers the landscape, whitewashed in moonlight
It seems I've been taken on a heavenly flight
The music surrounds me, envelops my soul
I'm lost in a dream-world where I can let go
I cannot distinguish, what's real or what's myth
There are no lyrics, to leave me bereft
Just sweet gentle heartstrings to sweep me aloft
The sound is so gentle, it takes all my breath
With fragile vignettes, and moments to rest
There are bittersweet edges on the tip of each note
Taking me forward, and backwards in time
Rapture I know like the back of my hand
Touches new places where I've longed to go
It calls me to sleepwalk through dreams in a fog
I'm free-falling backwards, releasing my breath,
as something releases white doves from above.
The pent-up emotions that cling to my breast
exhale with the notion that music is love
*________________________________________________________*
Poem Based on the music by Johann Sebastian Bach "Air on a G String"
2/5/16
My auntie wears 'Bridget Jones' knickers
But last week at tea at the vicars
She’d purloined MY lace thong
It was morally wrong
T’was the cause of very loud snickers
My thong’s wedged between her butt crack
Stuck firmly between front and back
But it’s not a surprise
As it’s not in her size
There’s no room to cut any slack
Aunt waddles around like a duck
Like a chicken she begins to cluck
‘Yes I took her G-string
Get me out of this thing’
Stop gawping, help me get unstuck
The Vicar say’s I’ll get my pliers
On reflection it’s what this requires
The vicar doesn’t shirk
As he gets down to work
But after an hour he tires
My auntie’s visage is not pale
(Her embarrassment is off the scale)
When my G string gets cut
It pings clean off her butt
It’s a shame she’s the tush of a whale!
For a ‘sweet’ friend BB xx
07/22/21
I’m cursed since I have a specialty that I can see,
X-ray vision is my power.
People often say one thing while doing another,
Preaching from their ivory tower.
“Man up!” we obeyed every command of our big English teacher,
The biggest introvert.
And he’d wear a bright red bra, invisible to all but me,
Under his blue striped business shirt.
“Live exactly by the bible in our great country”
Our priest would drill into us every Sunday.
And I could see his beautiful knickers he wore under his pants,
We all knew he was secretly gay.
And the local news anchor man loved to wear
His red garter belt beneath his black suit top.
I think it was the same brand my barber wore
When I got my hair cut at the local barber shop.
We all trust our local paramedic, saving our lives
When we are most in need of his care.
I can see he loves us dearly, loves to feel comfortable too,
With the silk stockings he chooses to wear.
And when we prosecute the deviates, whores, and filth
We entrust our judges in our courts.
Our local judge loves to prosecute wearing, beneath his gown,
Hot pink singlets and hot pink shorts.
And during his speeches, to our elected few,
About gays not marrying during his political reign.
He wears his G-string made of metal sequence,
The leader of our country looks sexy in chain.
I’m cursed since I have a special power I dare not tell anyone,
I have the power of x-ray vision.
It’s easy to see which men who say “don’t”, secretly “do”,
And which men need circumcision.
THINGS WITH STRINGS
Spider's web, strings of stars,
a weaver's loom, and old guitars.
Balls of yarn, and DNA,
string bikini, and crochet.
Cats cradle, spools of thread,
Tails on kites, and hairs on head.
Theory in music, or in science,
together making a string alliance.
Yo-yo, and Pinocchio,
harp, violin and cello.
Catgut bow, and strings of cheese,
or whiskers on a prized Siamese.
Silly String, and G-string,
an strings of birds on wing.
Math strings, "No strings attached,"
a roof that's been heather thatched.
String quilts, strings of pearls,
strings that tie to locks of curls.
Music staff, and balls of twine,
and tendrils from a sweet pea vine.
Heart, balloon, and aprons too,
and laced up in a tennis shoe.
Garland, hamstring, and quartet,
strings on fingers to not forget.
Braided rings, and strings of lights,
pulling strings, and fishnet tights.
Telephone string through tin cans,
woven blankets and knit afghans.
Brown paper packages tied up in string,
needle, lanterns, and wind chimes that sing.
Drawstring, bowstring, and baby's pull toy,
string, strung, and stringing, we're all overjoyed.
By Edlynn Nau
© January 25, 2015
Poor Pauline was caught unawares when she was in a rush
She ripped the seam of her jeans exposing her enormous tush
People started smiling when she had passed their way
For her tiny G-string panties were clearly on display!
She could feel a cooling breeze around her nether region
Thank goodness it was summer and not the winter season!
Jan Allison
24th April 2016
Poems, prose and roses
Poets hate politicians
Poets prefer poking pens at people
P-words, power and paupers
Poets love writing about love
Tears, the sky and meadows
Poets are prostitutes
They are sex vendors
They expose their naked thoughts
To the world
They talk dirt without apology
And care less about anyone's emotions
Poets are short-tempered like a mini skirt
Like a G-string, there's a thin line between poetry and bigotry
Poets flaunt their innermost secrets for attention
Poets are prostitutes
Because poets are deep
They spread carnal diseases
Such as satire, criticism, rebellion, revolution, philosophy and the worst diseases of all:
Human love and hate
Poets write out of need,
Self-righteousness, lust and malice.
Poets lurk in the twilight corners of solitude
Under the street lights of obsession
Poets are a minority group
Protesting for equal rights
And recognition of poetry as a profession
And they claim poetic license
Poets sometimes render their sensual services
To ingrates who refuse to pay attention
Poets are often sneered upon in a hypocritical society
And a critical clique of readers
Poets get arrested at night
As this is the time when the goddess of creativity is moaning with faked pleasures of expression.
Poets **** you up for fun.
Writers are whores
Who lust for the misery of others
Their pens drip at the orgy of words
They write from different positions
They milk rhyme and reason dry
They suck life's dictations
Until the truth 'cums' out in torrents
Poets at times endure penetrations of mediocrity
And implants of other people's labour
For the sheer ecstasy of public approval
And literary glory
Poets can rob you of your money
By sweet endearing words
So you have been warned:
Beware of these brutal bards
They can easily elope with your spouse!
Love, Wayne
Your skin glows like the Banana, blossoms sexy as the daisy in the purest hope of
spring.
My yearning heart rises to your guitar voice and leaps like a dog at the whisper of
your name, Wayne.
The evening ascends in on a great humming bird wing.
I am calmed by your g-string that I carry into the twilight of tablebeams and hold
next to my philtrum.
I am filled with hope that I may dry your tears of water.
As my knees falls from my hat, it reminds me of your bed.
In the hushed, I listen for the last holler of the spring.
My heated naval leaps to my jeans. I wait in the crystal moonlight for your secret
thrill so that we may dance as one, naval to naval, in search of the glorious red and
spiritual eyes of love.
From the love poem generator on poetry soup!! LOL
Fowl meadow grass - Glyceria striata - the striations
on the lemma. Drooping rachis
a weeping willow of a grass.
Recurring periwinkles, myrtle, Vinca.
Helicopter petals. Evergreen leaves.
Escaped from gardens, alien or native?
A little further by the spruce stand
a new mustard, cuckoo flower - Cardamine -
with pinnately compound leaves. What a find!
A good day turns bad.
After you've died, one of them dogs digs up your grave.
You may sit in the rain and think.
Maiden pink.
The dark circle inside the flower
a g-string or garter.
O to fail well. To lay low. To live long.
To run slow. Feel the hill. Pressing down.
Do less. Until one thing's done well.
High maintenance, Lots of patience
Trying to stay out of police stations
They drive you nuts, With their butts
You better have
A million bucks, I wish you luck
You know your stuck
Nice clothes
Expensive stores
That really blows
Nice cars, Fancy bars
G-string panties
In their drawers
High maintenance, Lots of patience
There's an explanation
For our fascination
Double d's, I guarantee
We all agree
That's what we need
To go broke, Let's try and cope
This ain't a joke
Let's take a vote
This song is dope
Guitar
mother plucker
rich, ripe g-string quiver
luscious melodious escape
Play me
I'm making this a special affair, so soupers, chant my name.
This site is about to witness a poetic warfare, my favorite game!
My words will be like bombs over Baghdad, the couplets like an airstrike.
With this pen and pad, I'm metamorphosing into something godlike!
What? You can't comprehend? Don't understand what I plainly write?
I thought you were a genuine friend, but you're just a poetic parasite!
I'm gonna slam you till you leave the soup, so you need to "kick rocks."
I'm throwing you in a chicken coop, and manifesting into the poetic warlock!
So like 50 cents "I'll get the magic stick," so what you think about that?
How bout if I sex you like a lunatic, but first shave that hairy pussycat!
Better yet, you need to wax, because your hair gives you a helluva odor.
Never mind, I'll put anthrax on your tampax, and blow up your stinkin motor!
Damn someone throw in the towel, I have this poetess punch drunk!
She has this whole site smelling foul, so I need to kill this nasty skunk!
Have I embarrassed you yet? Are you tired of my poetic abuse?
I'm gonna bend you over and burn you with a cigarette right on your caboose!
Every souper knows I'm slam king, no one can touch my rhyming skills.
For a souvenir, I'm keeping your g-string - so run naked and head for the hills!
I better not see you posting, or I'll degrade each poem you write.
Your poems will be like marshmellows roasting, and I'll reach out to you via satelite!
*M. T. Now let me show you "God's among men with this pen!"
- Can I get a standing ovation for this slam?