Best Leggy Poems
A Tale of The Last Dance
It was the last dance ever
Orders from the Kingdom Come
The one with the most golden crown
A dancing queen announces
The last dance will be thrown
For all who want a chance
At the grandest gala ever known
The kind that never ends
They’ll wear tap shoes and dance
Hardwood floors stomped on
By flamenco’s fiery trends
To the rhythmic guitar
Bollywood prancers sing along
To music of the sitar
Ballerina’s leggy, their silhouettes long
Pivoting and pirouettes in all ten dens
Symbols clicking in their hands
Belly dancers do back bends
Glittered shiny dresses twirl
Day to night transcends
The sky angels are prancing
We need not have any fears
Feathery, white-pearled wings dancing
A grand illusion it appears
When in heaven we are two
You’ll play the flute of love
My arms above my head
Cries of happy tears
If it were the last dance
I’d want to dance it with you
Categories:
leggy, dance,
Form:
Rhyme
Splatter painted, Pollock blessed, leggy I stand,
among the green grass and healing Plantain
in a kaleidoscope of color panned.
A walking canvas in the meadowland
stems, humorously stippled to entertain
splatter painted, Pollock blessed; leggy I stand.
Blush brushed by daylight, a cheeky garland;
a stand bloomed within thin skinned constraints
in a kaleidoscope of color panned.
Pistils between petals unknown unplanned,
joyous the sound of honey bees restrained,
splatter painted, Pollock blessed; leggy I stand.
A plantigrade intrusion, a new brand
surface mounted digits adorned prearranged
in a kaleidoscope of color panned.
So bright the upright parts, so very grand
one can but dream the crown gloriously manned
splatter painted, Pollock blessed; leggy I stand
in a kaleidoscope of color panned.
Mused: Bella online Literary Review Winter 2015
Categories:
leggy, allegory, art, childhood,
Form:
Terzanelle
hold still, eventide ...
I am a capricious cad among wraiths,
waltzing with a mop in
a Marrakesh courtyard - catching stars
as they drip with waxy and
wild wonder, into the braids of my maudlin
noose, tightening
jangling, dangling ...
rose gold anklets, (wrapped 'round leggy perfection),
shimmer their hammered facets,
kicking smoke into toroidal hoops with
raw regard
while they spin, table-top, to a
Chaabi chant
candles waving their
flames to beckon the darkness close ...
notes from a punji weave
mystery thru the heavy heat, Henna-striped hands
cradling a bottle, jade green, as the
white flowers gush their cold, gold bounty
down a curvy thigh
wetly wrapping an unblemished
capuccino calf, Perrier-Jouët trickles off tender
toes to plop, warm, on my
tantalized tongue
I kiss the fuchsia-daubed nails to
show proper veneration, then spin back to
the murky music, mop-handle
lover in tow
down to the spinning
tie-dyed rugs and pillows, I surrender all to the
callow flesh there, wanting ... willing
her hair and hide and ebon eyes
dark as delirium, while the brass-headed
snake-of-a-hookah waits
for a kiss
long draws bring dizzy
dreams and hypnotic swirls from the lamp,
aromas and an opiate nirvana coiling
around my cares
lost as a lamb, to soft skin ...
and sweet smoke.
( Jemaa el-Fnaa Square in Marrakesh is one of the most active and exciting places on earth, with exotic foods, snake-charmers, clothes and antique vendors, magicians, dancers, haqle or street theater, storytellers, acrobats, musicians, comedians, water sellers, tattoo artists, carnival acts, even organ-grinders with monkeys, and yes, opium and hashish traders. It has remained largely the same for over a thousand years, and is indeed an important part of history, declared by UNESCO as a "Masterpiece of World Heritage" - if you're ever in Morocco, it is a MUST-see! )
Categories:
leggy, adventure, appreciation, celebration, travel,
Form:
Imagism
Kinky boots ...
kicking naked truth
Stripped bare
down to the nightshade roots
Temptress gaze ...
collecting laundered money
off the dirty parquet
Her pay-for-play
get the tilted short cups
ice cubes rattling
See the lecherous throats
swallow the fermented, lewd offering
Let ‘em feel the venom sting:
Allow the paid, slow death foreplay
to snake swamp drain into their pee brain
Seduction Fay Wray eyes
swinging ‘round a metal pole
Medusa headdress affixed at the top
Turning men’s lusty ape bones
into limp chimp stones
Got a Cleopatra guillotine bed,
ready to give
scissor heads a mean Herodian lop
Liquor urging lip gallows to put
a tip squeeze between the bust
And a little rump jiggle
have ‘em groveling in the dust
Baroness Von Knaughty,
she-devil
of such enormous bosom beauty
Daughter of Baal,
Arch duchess of hell
Quenching taboo thirst
with another flesh set of sleaze
Shakedown the pockets
of the bottom feeders
with flimsy lingerie leggy tease
Baroness Von Knaughty,
she of buxom royalty
Vixen kitty, who shows no pity
Feline daughter of the first unveiled dancer,
who STD burned
every lost soul guest
at Hades inaugural purge orgy
Categories:
leggy, allegory, sexy, truth, wisdom,
Form:
Burlesque
She calls herself Bunny Boucher, but she was born Veronica Chermak. She’s tall and leggy with a body that looks tidy, yet lived in. She’s high and tight, but flexible like a strong rubber band in a tricked out pinball table. She reminds me of that actress Tracie Lumbar playing the actress Fern Hall in that old movie Iguana Sunset. Her topography leaves no room for global climate change. Her tropics are seductively torrid, while her poles remain perpetually cool; makes you want to straddle her equator with your meridian. She’s been to Mussel Shoals, Shucked Oyster, Bearded Clam, Moose Knuckle, Camel Toe, Beaver Falls, Cottonwood, and Rabbit Patch, just to name a few of her more well-known hangouts. Some would say she looks Greco-Roman, but I’d describe her as looking more like a Hellenized Phoenician who emigrated from Trans-Alpine Gaul, or maybe she looks more Etruscan, with a hint of Minoan when you see her by moonlight. They say she’s as pure as bloodstains on a purloined letter. She traded in her Biblical name soon after she left her home in Mississippi and never spoke of it again. It may be just routine housekeeping, but who could blame a girl for sweeping off her back porch. She recently had a front end alignment. They say her rearview mirror never lets her down. After arriving in New Orleans she passed her bar exam at Vaughan’s on Dauphine and kept the circuit judge disrobed till way past last call. She’s a sexy banshee when she’s in the catbird seat with her cherry basket swinging from a bungee cord. Last I heard she was sharing a dump with a couple Guatemalan dancers. Her room ain’t worth a dollar, but it cost a pretty penny. She pays the rent with a pickup truck full of contraband. She says she needs the space, but not the distance. Like most women, nobody’s ever been able to figure her out. But there is one thing I know for certain, her smoke may sometimes offer you a tempting indication of certain possibilities, but her fire has never been known to lie.
Categories:
leggy, sensual,
Form:
Prose Poetry
The Dark
If I were a color, I think I would be pink.
It is soft and sweet, the smell, the kindest treat.
Perhaps not…
If I were an animal, I think I would be a giraffe.
They are tall, and calm and leggy.
I am not…
If I were a plant, that may be the winner…,
A green; tree, a twig, a bush, a windward spinner?
Too much money gambled!
Dreaming in the park,
talking to a friend that is not there.
They went home to heaven yesterday.
I wish they would stay.
But…(whispered) they can not.
Everyone has a phone,
It is in their right hand,
While their soul is in their left?
How do they dare to stare,
straight into, the very face of death…
Sucked out of their insides, from the outside,
to a place that is not really “real” at all.
Trapped, unable to get back…
Scream out into the dark, (ever so silent crying instead…)
You are not alone, you are not.
Empathy, kindness, and faith,
honor, pride, and tradition.
Pray.
Categories:
leggy, anger, cry, humanity, innocence,
Form:
Free verse
dry white snow rasps the asphalt
attempting to reclaim the purity
of a metropolitan morning
coating the concrete pillars
brushing with tender touches
the grates and allies
dusting the bottom lands
of bordering belted swamps
with leggy aplomb
the icy shavings take flight
on the whoosh of winter
in hushed whispers they move on
First Published by The Tishman Review January 2015
Categories:
leggy, urban, wind, winter,
Form:
Free verse
In my eighteenth season, strangers used brotherhood as decorative
ribbons to gift me a feel and a truth that have stayed my life long. At a nature adorned ranch flowed a celebratory wedding reception upon soft
green field carpets so lush that they matched the gentle generosity of
my host's acceptance. I was a welcomed wanderer, a presence made
to feel I belonged and was valued. Old, wizen oak and willow trees
provided a poetic, scenic border for the velvet ground and shaded the
serene river on the other side of their mighty and graceful tree limbs.
It was Fall, of course it was Fall, the season of lusciousness and breezes
that render promising tickles upon titillated flesh. As music flowed, love
in sincere smiles became hand-to-hand holding, loose swaying arms, and uninhibited kicks from dancing legs all moving carefree bodies in a spontaneous, jubilant circle of dance. In a flash-know, I felt harmonious sensations empower all to unite in the spiritual perfection from which
we had come and would, in time, return as brothers and sisters gone home.
sun rays pulse pleasure
when perfect harmony sounds ~
leggy spirits kick
Vibrating elations brightened the sun’s own light and dissolved all human egos’ need-feel to be acknowledged as right. I knew none of the faces, yet I knew them all, just as they knew me because a mutual dance
feel took us all inside core truth; all were one in the same from the same
one of perfect love. Such knowing elated my dance with soul-intoxication. The air continued piping in rock’s most poignant lyrics sung by genuine, emotive voices that grabbed us all while drums beat as one with our
hearts until our pulses ignited, and guitars glided on soared, radiating
nirvana highs through our inside-otherness. These sensations all led me
to know what I still know, dancing that unexpected afternoon was more important in establishing my life’s philosophical purpose than many of the priorities I had been taught were paramount to living a successful life.
songs swirl inner depths
lifting souls in all who dance ~
nirvana buzzes
Categories:
leggy, celebration, dance, emotions, faith,
Form:
Haibun
Acrobats in the center ring
Ballerina bears on balls and bicycles
Cavalcades of clowns with calliopes
Dancing damsels in glittery corsets and tulle skirts
Elephants parade in wrinkled suits
Fire eaters flourish flames
Giants on stilts wave ribbons and flags
High wire artists risk their necks to amuse us
Impressive strongmen pull rocks on sledges
Jugglers toss rings and pins and torches and make improbable catches
Knife throwers thrill us with speed and accuracy
Lion tamers in tights tease lions and tigers
Mimes in masks mimic monkeys
Nets cover the aviary of exotic birds
Ostriches with riders race in the far ring
Pink poodles in tutus ride on a tiny Ferris wheel
Quick stepping ponies prance through their paces
Ringmaster Robert in his red velvet frock coat and top hat looking debonair
Slack rope walkers dance and do splits on a swaying rope
Trapeze artists twirl in spangled leotards high above the crowds
Unicyclists on unicycles tall and short and zigzag form fancy formations
Velvet vixen contortionists fit inside tiny trunks and magic boxes
Winged women do a wild dance in the air
Xylophones play for the circus parade
Yellow silks hang high above while leggy aerialists dangle and spin on the web
Zebras perform in unison; feathered headdresses bobbing on their heads
Categories:
leggy, children, dance, children, happiness,
Form:
Abecedarian
Some days were made for legs to rest and do nothing in particular.
Days when lumps of muscle and fat and skin, sway with leggy hair
and seeds and mites from crops walked through; some days were
made for legs.
Categories:
leggy, introspection,
Form:
Free verse
Wrapped up in a suit of mandarins
playing hop-scotch with
a hillbilly from Enniskillen
whose left leg is filled with
soot and yellow dust
all wrapped up in a festering,
three week old banana crust.
A Marilyn Monroe figure
enters the fray
as a dinosaur named Ray
plays Russian Roulette
with a self-righteous pacifist
the day after he marries
his suicidal wife
whose mother was married
to the London gangster, Reggie Kray .
A libertine who fell in love
with a parody of nihilism
comforts a gay priest
whose real name is Marion Morrison
but you can call him ‘Big Leggy’
if it is your soul desire to molest
his world weary inner sanctum.
A carrot without a head for heights
falls headfirst into a bowl of
freshly ground coriander
on a wet afternoon in June,
the chef steps back, trips and
ends up with his fingers in
his Kenwood food blender,
‘oh you fluckin' 'anchor' screams
his dyslexic mum
as she kneels down beside her
now only six fingered son.
If only mummy hadn’t left me
alone in a dark cupboard
full of ghostly faces
with only an unhinged spider
named Mr Woof for company,
who frequently crawled up my nose
and inside my ears
on a far too regular basis!
Notes: Not to be taken seriously. I simply love words and what my imagination
allows me to do with them. Pete
Categories:
leggy, funny, satire,
Form:
Free verse
In numerous locales countrywide, they hold sway
Pirouetting at intervals like ballerinas from Bolshoi
Beauteous, feline and very feminine
Slender to the point of emaciation, not quite
Cultivating the undernourished look on a frugal diet
Decidedly austere for a longer tenure in the limelight
Basking in the fleeting warmth of an adulatory audience
A gathering of the doting kindred and the upwardly mobile
Some dirty old men on the sly, dirty young men too
Glued to their seats craning for a better view
By and large captive by choice, a handful perforce
Sitting through to pen their weekly column
Giving those they fancy their due in the sun
Witnesses to a parade of demure eyed lasses
And a few with flashy looks walking tall on stilettos
Essentially female and contoured though not prominently so
At least not to a marked degree, yet with excellent muscle tone
Opulence, no longer deemed a career necessity
Once considered right stuff, now rejected as wrong size
An hour-glass shape belonging to an age bygone
But hardly so, from the viewers’ mind, in retrospect
Enchanting and alluring yet not overtly titillating
Each in a state of dress and undress
Willing tools of designers flaunting their creations
Sporting dresses and hats and shoes, and lingerie too
In black or white and loud or subdued hues
Displaying formal wear, casual wear, swimsuits and sleep suits
Some scanty and figure hugging, others flowing and loose
A bony look required for some, others fulsome
A voyeur’s paradise, to be sure
Indulging a fetish without stooping too low
Chilly weather was never reason enough to cancel a show
Heat of arc-lamps taking care of goose pimples
Or brandy taken neat infusing the needed heat
Harbingers of tomorrow’s fashion and pall-bearers of today’s
The strobe lit platform of the pageant
Serving to launch new faces or is it legs?
The leggy look personified by Twiggy of yore
Carried through in the interim and sustained by the new genre
Captivating without doubt, and thorough professionals
Displaying unruffled demeanour and tutored bearing of thoroughbreds
Exuding confidence with every graceful step they take
Cool as ice despite the harsh glare of stage lights
And callous catcalls from boorish males
Performing in a backdrop of future fashion trends
Money and fame finding some, eluding others
Be it centre stage or in the shadows
It is bread on the catwalk for all
Categories:
leggy, tribute, men,
Form:
Free verse
Beyond the leggy palm trees you can hear them calling out
Through the diffused light and thin curtains called home-
Are a people in need
Brought to there knees with infelicitous faces-
Filled with confusion and doubt
Broken hearts in broken places, loss of life-
In an atmosphere of raw humanity
Through there dusty desperate lives they plea for substantial means
Tested beyond their capacity resting in squalid conditions-
Praying into their Christianity
No mortal man of compassion could stand by
And be witness such devastation
Sparse medical means in a land crumbling from the inside
Many impoverished brave men waited by the loud white gates
For a voice a glimmer or hope from their leader guru
To the victims the questions remains why?
Everywhere in every corner tears pooled into hands
Contentious people begging for water and pointing to their bodies
I was brought out to the edge of my chair from what I viewed
An act of God has taken some many lives and left me in a state of stupor
I said a prayer for the people of Haiti
Categories:
leggy, black african american, confusion,
Form:
Free verse
Double G, Grace,
(or Leggy),
was the talk of town
and her legs in black-seamed stockings
were put out in ads
in London's parks
Women thought of these ads
on the Metropolitan
and thought how their legs might lead them
into fancy ways
with certain boyfriends
gathered after dark
How they thanked Leggy!
So Leggy had letters
from all over London
giving lurid details of
legs' adventures on mattresses
in London playtime larks
4/23/2015
Categories:
leggy, clothes, london,
Form:
Narrative
Each day playing with a girl with hairdresser allure
I live in a blond poem of air, near the timid azure:
Counting the legs walking in the park of my spring,
I tell you sweet nothing, to exclaim: how interesting!
So, I play with the days laughing of me, in the rye:
Leggy girls drawing a shining horizon of their thigh.
In my cradle of wishful thinking, the fugitive Albertine
Escaped from Proust, still smiles in the same scene.
In which, I really am the catcher of each invented joy.
So, I play with the sun running the long clouds convoy.
And you keep your hand on my shoulder and smile,
Like only a sunny day knows: at distance of a mile,
Far away from the young tempest jumping the rope.
Some days borrowed the perfume of Miss Hope...
Categories:
leggy, art, beautiful, feelings,
Form:
Carpe Diem