Best Lotions Poems
A man with a quiet demeanor
was cursed with a miniscule wiener.
He tried lotions and pills
But not one cured his ills.
Now he's a silent nail hole cleaner.
BY DALE GREGORY COZART
His todger though tiny still worked.
When he went for a wee it jerked.
He could still have full sex.
It was rather complex,
but when it was over he smirked.
BY JAN ALLISON
His wee-wee was indeed very wee
to the extent that no one could see.
When asked, “Are you a man?”
He replied, “Yes, I am.
You can follow up stream when I pee.”
BY DALE GREGORY COZART
Went out for a night with a hooker
Blonde but thick and no looker
When she saw his todger
Said my dog is bigger
You're taking me for a sucker
BY SEREN ROBERTS
A silent curse shrunk his wee to a teeny thing
I swear it is no bigger than a lil chicken wing
For sex a useless reject
Can't tell when its erect
We make jokes about his miniature ding a ling
BY MARTI
Wait a minute please, I won't tell a lie
isn't always small, it's big as apple pie
the winds were mighty chilly
affecting my poor old Willie
now you hurt my feelings, think I'm gonna cry
BY TIM SMITH
Big Bertha said, "It ain't the cubic inches
nope, the part for me what clinches
is strokes per minute
while they's in it
not a tool needs movin' with winches."
BY LIM'RICK FLATS
if you want join in the fun!
"The softness of the summer day like an ermine paw."- Anais Nin
Soft is a tissue or a cotton ball.
Soft was my old teddy bear I recall.
Soft are some foods like oatmeal and rice.
But soft crème brûlée could be twice as nice.
Soft is the butter spread on soft bread,
and soft is the pillow where I lay my head.
Soft are those fabrics so nice on my skin
like the blue velvet gown I like to dress in.
Soft is chinchilla, chenille, and mink.
Soft are the wool clothes I hope not to shrink.
Soft is my favorite pair of silk panties
and soft are those pink and blue cotton candies.
Soft are the lotions smoothed onto my face
and blankets which on winter nights I embrace.
Soft on my tongue are flakes of new snow,
and soft are spring's breezes that most gently blow.
Soft are the petals of flowers so pretty.
Soft is the fur of my precious small kitty.
Soft is a baby's cute pudgy cheeks,
and soft are the words that a kind person speaks.
Soft are the feathers of a white dove.
Soft is the smile of the one that I love.
Soft is his hair and his dark eyes so sweet
and soft are his kisses whenever we meet.
It’s come upon me, and I think that it
began once I had taken my first leap
into adulthood, when the fruit of youth
was still so sweet . . . but then began the creep.
My teens were finished. Never more would I
regain youth’s freshness even though I tried
with exercise, cosmetics and diet.
It mattered not. My zenith time had died.
The magic potion coarsing through the blood
of us all - it constantly is dying.
That thing -that special zing- that helps us thrive
leaks out of us; it’s not worth denying.
Hair grays; diseases come and joints may ache.
I slather lotions on and tint my hair.
Ahead of me, death beckons, and “aging”
(the creep) has got me more than halfway there!
Sept. 24, 2020
For Writing Challenge - Decay - Poetry Contest of Constance La France
Oh Vanity Thy Name is Metro-Man
At the gym,
admiring his bulging biceps in a giant mirror,
he reaches for his ever-ready smart phone
and stops to make a boastful tweet.
Driving home, sipping his protein drink,
he involuntarily sneers
noticing construction workers on a roof,
their strong bronzed arms glistening in the sun.
He makes a mental note
to stop off at the tanning booth tomorrow.
At the salon, and after his daily massage,
he lies back for his manscape.
Oh, how it hurts, he inwardly groans,
but as he contemplates how the hotties at the pool
will love his baby smooth skin,
a smile lifts the corners of his mouth.
At his sterile home
with its many beautiful toys meant to entertain
the largest and oldest of grown-up boys,
he goes to his social media account
eager to relate how just today
he broke his personal best bench press record
Before bed, he brushes and carefully flosses
and then applies his special lotions.
Looking down at his manhood, he smiles again
until the thought
of pushing papers at the office
flits through his mind:
Oh the drudgery that I must endure
to afford my awesome life!
July 10, 2017 for the Modern Vanity Contest of Lewis Raynes
The summer sun plays on our emotions
As the fiery orb rises high at noon.
We cast off clothes and apply our lotions
We sun bathe naked near the sea in June.
To swim in the depths of aquatic blue
Immersed in cool waters as the sun sets,
I feel the love of these islands and you,
No matter the costs, we have no regrets.
In mystical rhythms of tropical drums
Our hips gyrate to the pulsating beat.
As we dance close I can feel your heart thrums.
We feel senses rise...caught up in this heat.
Hearts beam with joy in this place we first met
With love's memories we'll never forget.
6-4-20
~Third Place~
Summers heat sonnet Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: John Hamilton
the new normal
I'm isolated, waiting
at home with my wife
adapting like others
to our normal new life
a few days, no problem
a week, it's a breeze
but, nobody said
there would be days like these
at first it was easy
cleaning, watching tv
I dusted, did windows
even cut back a tree
i worked in the garage
got my records in line
i found about ten
i didn't know that were mine
i've written a little
tried to keep myself sane
watching tv is trouble
watching people in pain
my hands are all bloody
they are rough, dry and raw
they are the worst looking hands
that you ever saw
lotions and ointments
I rub them all in
my joints all are aching
like that man made of tin
we cannot have fires
open fires are banned
we can go on outside
we can't move, we can stand
my wife's in the kitchen
busy counting the rice
she's doing it right
she's counting it twice
yesterday morning
she worked right till night
she sorted the pasta
and she did it by height
the walls have been painted
right to the door lip
she did it real nice
she used a q-tip
i've sorted my hardware
all my nuts, screws and nails
i've got some in jars
i've put others in pails
the floors are all washed
the cupboards wiped too
we're adapting quite well
i hope you are too
when the weather gets nice
i'll go cut my grass
i'll use a ruler and scissors
to help make time pass
this is the new normal
it won't change for a while
so, stay at home please
read this, and then smile
Your smiles-gone, from past setbacks
Use my candle and melt my wax
To fill the holes in all your cracks
Your hopes of dim, Re; loss of trust
Use my polish of magic trust
To blanket your hardship's- layered crust
Your closing eyes of tears- In weep
Use my love to soak in deep...
Into your heart, for you to keep
Your hope for life and world of dreams
Use my lotions, potions; happy creams
My moisturizer's to mend your seams
Your open wounds of scar, you bare
Use my blood of blue I share
My darling, for it is you...for most, I care
Your sadness breaks my heart to bleed
Use my oil and mill my seed
My healing powers are all you need'
Ref. Line from Maria Williams
*Use my oils and mill my seed
My healing powers are all you need'
Poetic Lines From Maria Williams Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Silent One
2/15/202
Water is the most abundant liquid on the planet.
It has the ability to cut through walls of granite.
It is below us in springs, ponds, and oceans, above us in the air we breathe and the clouds.
Water cleans, purifies, and can turn solid and it can evaporate and rains down on the crowds.
Water is a liquid computer that has memory, it has structure and intelligence.
With proper consumption, it harmonizes the flow of all the human body elements.
Its structure is affected by the unseen and fluid emotions of people.
Water is used for consecration and is revered as holy in churches under a steeple.
It quenches your thirst and makes up more than seventy percent of the body and is simply a crucial part of human anatomy and development.
When looking for life on other planets, the first thing scientist looks for is water, that precious element.
The body soaks up water either by contact or by the humidity in the air.
It makes up most lotions and cosmetics, hydrates your skin, and makes your skin look fair
If you stare at the water for a short period with good intentions, then give it to someone it will enhance their being.
Sipping water throughout the day hydrates the body and prevents premature aging.
Speaking over water before consumption harmonizes the water with your vibration.
Next to the human being, water is God's most wonderful, versatile, and amazing creation.
It has the memory of the divine which we wish to simply take in, eliminating strife.
One moment of gratitude and reverence pondering over water will change your life.
The best way to drink water is with both hands at a temperature within four degrees up or down of body temperature.
What you consume becomes part of you, so bless water before drinking so that you may become a blessing to others, for sure.
When I was just a nipper
My Dad used to take me to the barbers
The Barber would put a board across the chair
so I was higher
and he could cut my hair.
It struck me
how the barber was as bold as a coot
shuffling around in his brown smock
barbers suit.
It was known as the army barbers
everything was painted army green
and adorning the walls
there was pictures of soldiers and tanks
displayed to be seen.
And a picture of a man with greasy hair
the advert read 'Brylcream'.
The smell of brylcream and tobacco smoke
filled the air
emanating from an old man in a flat cap
in the corner smoking a pipe
sitting in his chair.
The clink clink of the scissors
I didn't like how the barber would
push my head here and there
without a care.
I was fascinated by the array of bottles and potions
and various hair tonics and lotions
Then the barber took a brush
removed the towel
and brushed the hairs off my neck
and from behind my ears
It used to tickle like heck.
Then I'd be lifted off the chair
and the board was put away
ready for another little boy
wanting a haircut to come his way.
I'd walk out of the barbers shop
feeling really strange like I was naked
uncomfortable and really funny
A traumatic experience for a mere nipper
I'd been sheared like a sheep
chocked from the smoke
and he had the cheek
to take our money.
Peter Dome.copyright.2015..
_________________
There was a king who invited Artists to sketch the exact hand of Jesus so he can hung it in His palace
One of them depicted a Jesus with an Animal looking hand
Another depicted that He had the Square or the working hand
One of the Artists depicted that Jesus had a skillful hand
Another established that the Savior had the Philosophical hand
The final Artist sketched a Jesus with a Plane hand
The king wasn’t thrill by all the art works, so he never signed it. Why?
Because none of the sketched hands reflected the crucifixion of Jesus.
Hand’s which once held nails and wood
Now being held by nails and wood
Battered and tattered hands
The hands of a village Carpenter
He nailed splinters and carved timbers
He gripped lumbers with his bare-fisted fingers
In an age without gloves and hand creams
In an age without sunscreen lotions
A Village Carpenter hands, God’s chosen Son
Hands that labored under the harsh eastern sun
Hands that raised houses and erected buildings
Hands that fashioned furniture and repaired kids’ toys
Hands that broke bread and fed multitudes
Is now being broken to feed multitudes
These were the hands that fed the poor
These were the hands that healed the sick
These were the hands that made the sea and the fish
These were the hands that took bread and dipped it in a dish
And gave it to Judas as a gesture of deep love and affection
Here was the bread of life Himself, the Son of the living God
These were the hands that framed the stars and the skies
These were the hands that opened the blind man’s eyes
These were the hands that loosed the cold hand of death
These were the hands that disarmed powers of darkness
These were the hands that washed the disciple’s feet
These were the hands that cleansed lepers in the street
Oh gentle hands! Never slapping another back
Oh lovely hands! Never touching too roughly
These hands that bore scars that no lotion could heal
These are the hands of Jesus, so powerful and so real
These are the hands that convey love, so lovely
Oh! What a powerful hands! Oh what a lovely hands
PUBLIC TRANSPORT NATION
AH..the joys of public transportation
The “T”, the “El”, the “Tube”
short trips through hell
wading through the masses of humanity
clinging to the subways lack of sanity
sleeping men and women – homeless
sprawled upon the benches,
the less fortunate among us – “bums”
redefined as “monetarily deficient”.
“Elderly” – strap clutching hangers-on
ignored by the seated “texters and tweeters”
video game players, and “up-skirters”
inhaling the toxic cocktail of perfumes,
colognes, body lotions, hair sprays,
hair gels, and anti-body odor poisons -
choking on the inhaled culture of diversity
Focused on one spot lest eye contact occur
swaying to the music of too-loud ear buds,
strobe lighted rumble through darkness,
flashes of life, of history, never fully known.
John G. Lawless
8/29/2015
Ode To Pretty Cat
My cat has female inclinations when it purrs
It does not speak in English using words
But has a perfect soul
Pretty Cat gets by, with its billowy fur
Prefers not fighting and takes flight
At any sign of danger or such notions
Avoids all confrontations
Wears his fluffy yellow hair like gold
He spreads out on his pillows that are its oceans
Unfolds, unfurls his coat in thick proportions
Spoiled, preened and cleaned in lotions
He’s such a pretty boy
Curtains hang as clouds, as distractions
Such fun and dangling’s, to drag them down, as pleasure toys
We smother him in kisses, emotions and affections
He’s such a pretty thing
Who simply glows
He’s almost human
It is a life of comforts, slumbering all day
I would love to be with kitty all the time
But work and life get in the way
So I must work so Pretty Cat can play
It dreams in feline tiny mind expressions
Short cat naps at a time of happy things and smiles
Imagines fish and birds served up in style with some cat nip
Pretty Cat has no place to go so it grows fat
We pet him for hours while he rolls on his back
I just love being with my little friend
A true city kitty cat
Though he is very old he stays real sweet and pretty
My heart jumps, as it attacks the string I hold
It clings to it and swings with fevered paws
As bright green eyes follow like a tick tock clock
Pendulum like as the one thing in life he likes a lot
It is through comfort found in twine and string
My cat and I find true happiness in things
When I’m with Pretty Cat problems fade far away
Dissolve and melt into tomorrow with no sorrow
Where beauty alone cannot keep his lustrous eyes awake
Our play time has no measure in the hours
I always find pure pleasure with that Pretty cat of mine
Created on 11/04/14 for “Pets” -Poetry Contest
The poor child groaned
while his mother moaned
''Ah, he's possessed,
oh, he's been
bewitched'',
Superstition bemoaned.
To the witchdoctor she
sped
and was back with
murky potions
such yucky stinky lotions
those mythical
concoctions
The woman obeyed the
wily witchdoctor
Placed belief in that
traditional healer
and the poor child still
groaned
but his mama no longer
moaned
After two days of
treatment
and no lessening of
predicament
she thought he needed
something more potent
When all it turned out to
be
was a toothache dent!
But she would hear of
no dentist
Like all quacks her
witchdoctor
had fooled her five
senses
For his spells and his
chants
held her too in a trance
Quite a weird weirdo is
he
Beware the medicine-
man!
Beware that vodoo
magic and witchcraft
That survive on the
gullible and daft.
There was a fair damsel of Peales
with a bust the smallest of deals.
She applied strong lotions
and drank costly potions.
Now she walks with lead in her heels.
All the creams and all the lotions,
Are not always the magic potions;
That keep our fleeting youth alive,
And help our dimming hopes survive.
As I sit here and ruminate,
On age that comes as sure as fate;
Finding wrinkles here and there,
Are right in tune with thin grey hair.
All that was said is coming true,
It comes to all not just a few;
So we need to shield the eyes,
From finding that time truly flies.
I’ve heard with doubt there is a rumour,
We need treat age with some humour;
But best we sit and think awhile,
And embrace old age with a smile.