Best Miniskirt Poems
Sue lurks in the shadows of the night
She stands on the street corner in the red light area of town
Her body is silhouetted by street light flickering through the naked trees
Wrecked by years of drug abuse she craves her next fix
Skin-tight clothing outlines every curve of her aching body
High-heeled shoes and fishnet tights complete her seedy outfit
It's a bitterly cold November night; Sue pulls her jacket around her body,
it only just skims the hem of her miniskirt, giving no protection from the elements,… she struggles desperately to keep warm
Eventually a car pulls up,
A guy rolls down the window and she saunters over
After a brief conversation she gets in and they drive away
He’s in the market for sex
Desperation forces her to sell her body
Inspired by but not for contest
3/23/18
Spiked Drinks Got Them All So Rolling Drunk
Universe spun out of control and died
The planets sputtered out and then fell
The southern boy liked his chicken fried
And preacher's young son rang the old church bell
Hope lost its heart and thus began to cry
The throng laughed away, nobody cared
High sheriff asked, did anybody die
Mike gathered rabbits he had snared
Janet put on blue gown for that night's ball
As her older brother Bill dosed the keg
While white mouse in the corner saw it all
Kelly in miniskirt showed her legs.
Spiked drinks got them all so rolling drunk.
Most f'ed up of all was the local monk.
Robert J. Lindley, Sonnet,
1973
"A prom night to remember"
You realize your wild side is no longer napping
Fully aware you are trying to sneak away
Leaving her in a suitcase or closet
With the fancy miniskirt she loves to wear.
You realize your wild side is listening when
She flings your thigh-high-look-at-me-boots
Onto the bed and sneers at you,
And you cannot stop looking at your make up case.
You realize you are out of your depth when you look
In the mirror and you are wearing your "come hither"
smile and your Wild Side is laughing maniacally
As you prance out the door, ready to party
In all the ways you said you would never party again
After the Wild Side did the same thing to you last night
And the three nights before that. She has you, and you
Have never felt more sexy.
i see you strutting
your long flowing hair
miniskirt and heels
swaying with swagger
content with your lot in life
i try to picture you
twenty or thirty years from now
and can’t help but hope
life never drags you down
AP: Honorable Mention 2021
Give me that old skool love, a groovy throw back
kind of love that is black and white like the first TVs.
A tapered leg acid washed jean trouser and a crop
top feeling sexy.
A striped miniskirt with leg warmers and go-go boots
to swirl on the dance floor.
Give me a classic kind of love, a ride or die commitment
that means so much more than being called, “boo” or “bae”.
A mature relationship where i am the only girl you chase.
Write me a love letter and create a mix tape for me.
Dedicate to me a song on the radio and fill my ears with
sweet loving endearments as we get lost in a deep embrace.
Give me the Love Jones, a jazzy soul under the moonlight.
Serenade me by singing my favorite song.
Put some money in the jukebox and spin with me like
quilts of silk.
We will set the dance floor on fire as our favorite old
skool jam plays.
Dim the lights and caress me in a slow dance as our souls
intertwine and bodies sway to the fading rhythm of the night.
Give me that sensual vintage love, the barbecue parties,
movie nights and a night cap.
The kind you don’t see in these times, the type of love
that’s a mystery and a craving to many.
The love that was groomed under the stars and bloomed
during the Harlem renaissance.
A deeper and more tangible connection than video chat
on the internet.
A strong bond that built relationships and kept families together.
So, give me that real old skool love.
The kind fabricated in romantic movies, visualized by poets,
painted by great artists and reproduced by sensational
soul musicians like Gerald Levert, Luther Vandross, Teddy
Pendergrass, Anita baker, Chaka Khan and Regina belle.
Make it sensual and sexy, deep and mind blowing, as tasty
as chocolate, and smooth like butter.
Create a carnival procession in my mind and feed me
with romantic vibes.
Let’s fill the streets with our own mushy public display
of affection.
Let’s talk for hours on the telephone, cab and travel
until anywhere, fill my head with talks of forever as we
sail swiftly on our own old skool yacht.
Continued from Part 2
Some kid is spraying Clearasil,
He wants to make his pimples nil;
He paints his breath with chlorophyll;
I’m in the dream of someone ill
I’m fleeing but I feel a goose,
Behind me grins a guy named Bruce,
His velvet miniskirt is puce
Why can’t I even call a truce?
There’s Billy Graham on a binge
His holy words do make me cringe;
If nonsense were a door with fringe
Then Billy Graham would be the hinge
I hear some Wallace words unkind
How has our race so soon declined?
His thoughts should be in sheit enshrined;
Thank god my eyes are color blind
The Beverly Hillbillys pace the street
The crowds are lying at their feet
While Petticoat Junction joins the fleet
And Green Acres makes it complete
I guess I know that something’s wrong
I haven’t yet met old King Kong,
They say ‘he went back to Hong Kong
For that is where he do belong’
Now I’m pausing in the gloom
And watch the reruns they exhume
They still do stink, I smell the fume;
To run away I must resume
Here comes Mitch, he’s singing songs
While Lawrence Welk, he beats the gongs;
I need to buy some racing thongs,
Instead they sell me three Ding Dongs
Behind me now there grows a tree
While Howdy Doody bends his knee;
I haven’t lost my sanity,
I’m merely tuned to Channel Three
End
I saw a pal of mine in town
all dressed up to the nines,
hours of preparation and
the result was divine.
Crop top, Denim miniskirt
jet black killer heels,
feet at forty-five degrees
God knows how that must feel.
Sashay past the building site
wolf whistles and remarks,
they all got no acknowledgement,
reaction? Not a spark.
Cool, aloof, just striding on
the pace really unhurried
I honestly do have to say that
Colin- you've got me worried.
JUST SOULS
I use to walk down the Cafe Street.
The place of my reminiscence is in the South.
The jooking was heard throughout this section of town.
Leland, Mississippi is so quiet now.
Walking through Uptown finds peace from the noise that made the City sparkle...
The wigs were beautiful that women wore.
The men in their Stacy Adams shined on the dance floor.
An A-line dress or maxi maybe a miniskirt you would wear.
You were dressed to kill.
Turn your man's head with jealousy.
He would shout and tell you that you are with him.
You were as jealous when you lost his attention.
An argument may start if he was not so careful.
However, you would make-up because he would defeat the purpose.
This is your long-term relationship - nothing more in it!
You bleached your hair and put aside your wig.
Striking features, this gave.
He had matured as well.
You are now a couple for fifteen years.
Not married just don't see a reason to do that.
You laugh and say if people talk who gives a damn!
Our love stands the test of time.
The ending is not told, just souls.
To the lust of wine, he has been judiciously celibate
exactly the mark of four decades is a reason to go gaga
taking the road of this pleasure, even if it is once in a lifetime
he sees five percent on a bottle so attractive but it’s actually twenty five
walloping in the mood he asks for number two but it’s already four
on his way to heaven he thinks but under the street light he walks
on his doorstep he sees an energetic Miss Minaj
not at all knowing it is tired, sweaty grandma
takes the nearby perfume for an unusual spray
loh and behold it is an insecticide
searches with the slider, for frequency on the stereo
Lord, it’s the gas turner he operates
sounds of no signal he converts from the aggressive fleeing gas
impossibility embraces his mind
from the observation of his non-living room
is that the cat on a miniskirt? Or his wife oiled around her body with ketchup?
he speaks of tasting a dog’s breast milk
and inscribing a permanent tattoo on his tongue
right in his front, Rihanna twerks
he grabs with all pleasure but with arms around the TV
on his way back to the kitchen with a cigarette
party screams he hears but are disturbing panics
just half a minute ago, smelly diffusion hints on a fishy joke
lights the match stick in a room full of gas
or consciousness to come back with nothing to remember
lies in the midst of standing angels
as the nurses care with so much anxiety and pity
wrapped all round by white sheets of healing
he blames others for not undoing his carelessness.
The old, the new barely meet on the street of Bardstown road, yet diversity so unique, from Cherokee to the rarity, stepping forth in time with the antique structures surrounding you, from magnetic tape recordings to punk truly a highland of culture. The Victorian and the shotguns the two guns blazing an electric mix of the streetcars undesired prelude to hate Ashbury a lower height, thinking how Hunter S. Thompson may have mumbled a few gonzo words, on the way to decadent and depraved Kentucky Derby but where was I. The greasy spoons all in a row, out wrestle the dining rooms but the salons collage with saloons, somehow the college student gets passed the culture shock. A young man sits at the bus stop his guitar propped on the glass, maybe he is writing a hit single or maybe just hung over, as a young girl in a miniskirt with a quick flip of long hair and a glance over her shoulder hurries somewhere. My friends just want to look at girls and crack a joke or vice versa.
On a white board scribbled meet the author of Cornbread Mafia sometime in November. There is just a strange feeling about this road, as the politically correct are begging to slay the political satirist, like a living far side cartoon, making a statement, about which is more corrupt.They say, it takes one to know one but even more to know what you are not . Will corporate media continue to slowly suffocate journalism, with wet rice paper slowly, layer upon layer until journalism is dead? Then they will come for individual’s rights of free speech like a snail over a razor blade until the sword rusts with mucus. This began about Bardstown Road but ends as a Bard, a Town and a Road.
Pivotal not to pivot a pickled pig. Playing in a plait. No no plastic garments. Ha said a garden ornament. Release of structure. Sky dance. Planes move like a huge whale. Motionless static of a hairy bee. Leaning on a gate. Harlequins have hairy horses humping hyenas hastily happily.vandals van hop. And a ship waves at a passing tray full of blooms. Go in the oven then. One two three. Pod of podiums. Hahahaha said a field mouse. Oh to the wandering tree bark who makes it's bed in a vestibule of yogurt. But it is best to be a wire basket than a sealed basement cat as caps can be launched from very tall beams and dogs say hello to a tiny worm in a miniskirt. Hahahaha. Cornish crabs craving crayons. Nefarious nun neighing. Investigations into an ants nest is akin to jumping into baths full of baked beans and tomatoes. But with timely cue a fashionable basketball wears a hat and speaks a sentence of one hour. A centipede of iron is never happy with a sandwich of onions. Yet one must extinguish a large burning combustible fire with an ice lolly. Indescribable atomic orbs gathering grapes. Slinging a bowling bow then. Wisdoms of wheels. Rolling a duck egg. Very very heavy toil. And brush a yard with a toothbrush. Hahahaha epidermisation xxxx z. At a 0 % * gone. Xxxx. Domestic dome. Xx
V1
Connie was a looker, forty years ago.
Connie's still a looker, she looks like cookie dough.
You'll often find sweet Connie, talking to a mirror
Sayin, "Mirror mirror on the wall, please shrink my saggy rear!"
Chorus:
Connie, Connie camp queen,
Queen of the motor home park.
V2
Earl was a looker, forty years ago.
Earl's still a looker, though you wouldn't know,
By looking at old Earl cause you're blinded by his nose
and just like Rudolph Reindeer's, you'd even say it glows.
Repeat Chorus
V3
Well Connie married Earl, back in sixty-six,
some would say the both of them had passed up better picks,
but to this very day, they're very much in love,
they stick together firmly, like fingers on a glove.
Repeat Chorus
V4
Earl drives the motorhome, Connie rides along,
With her with dog menagerie, what a throbbing throng,
of Pekinese and Poodles, a Pit Bull and a Pom,
Now tell me this, Amigos, what could possibly go wrong?
Repeat Chorus
V5
When campin' at the RV park, Connie soon takes charge,
of anything and anyone, ain't bigger than a barge.
No one's crossed ol' Connie up and lived to tell it yet.
I wouldn't cross ol' Connie on a million dollar bet!
Repeat Chorus
V6
Earl likes to disappear, he heads off to the bar,
But Connie keeps a tight leash, he don't get very far.
Keepin' Earl's sanity requires many beers.
I think it's a miracle, he's made it all these years!
Repeat Chorus
V7
Connie went commando one day, went back to her roots,
wearin' nuttin' 'neath her miniskirt, above her GoGo boots.
Someone hollered: "Go find Earl, I think he oughta know,
his favorite girl Connie is puttin' on a show!"
Repeat Chorus
V8
Well listen little doggies, you never more will roam.
'Cause Connie and old Earl are in an old folk's home,
but Earl is just as happy as if he had good sense,
when he wants to drink a beer, he climbs the wire fence.
Repeat Chorus
Susie teetered into Bill’s office, wearing a skintight miniskirt
Sat on Bill’s knee for dictation. She was an outrageous flirt
Soon Bill was smitten and couldn’t resist her ample charms
He forgot about his wife and kids and fell into Susie's arms
That was the lusty beginning of their clandestine love affair
Young Susie is a man-eater and calls Bill her "Honey Bear"
Bill’s wife discovered his deception and asked for a divorce
She’ll keep it out of the media for a huge settlement, of course!
As soon as his divorce was finalised he made Susie his wife
Susie’s only twenty. Bill wanted a carer for the rest of his life
Bill’s eighty-five years old and Susie stroked his thinning hair
and denies her attraction to him is that Bill’s a multi millionaire!
They say age doesn’t matter, especially when you are ‘in love’
That depends if you’re the ‘secretary’ who's married to ‘the ‘guv’!
Within a year Bill was dead and Susie worked for another VIP
I've heard she takes dictation while sitting naughtily upon his knee
Age doesn’t matter when you’re in love Contest
Sponsored by Julie leigh Rodeheaver
12-16-17
My closet, since you ask, is a cramped space,
Chosen and cherished fashionable base,
Essential part of my enchanted place,
With charm and chic to complement my face.
Shows off all hues of my life if I may -
From baby pink to darkest shades of grey,
Reflecting the intended role I play,
Engaging gaily in Societe.
Levi’s slim fit - my favourite by far,
Red miniskirt to storm a local bar,
Sleek diva dress as karaoke star,
Extra large sweatpants, running chores by car.
Stylish business suit for formal dinner,
A little black dress, my boss’ head spinner,
Bikini thongs as hot summer sinner,
Levi’s slim fit still my all time winner!
My closet caters to the latest trend,
Adjusting to occasions I attend.
I love all walks of vogue but in the end,
Levi’s slim fit - my easygoing friend!
Wide range of footwear I wouldn’t omit,
But shoe department in one poem won’t fit.
(The arsenal of bags, a dazzling hit,
So is the lingerie, I must admit).
But if a pair of shoes I ought to pick,
Without moment’s hesitation real quick -
I would grab cowgirl boots, sexy and slick,
Vibing with my Levi’s through thin and thick!
If I had a sad broken heart
Not because you died dear
But that you chose another bride
Who's so limited I fear
She posseses only twenty
Percent and I eighty
Chosen in my youth gifted blessed
God prepared me for thee
Now that I'm aged unable to work
Not able to serve you
You seek a twenty percent girl
Unintelligent shrew
Wish you well in your endeavor
You're getting just desserts
Twenty percent's offerings small
So small just miniskirt
This one is based on 80/20 principle
This is not an original idea
I heard it in a sermon by T.D.Jakes
When a person marries, gets a new job,
or a new home, etc.., everything is great.
Then the new wears off and fault finding
begins..Nothing is a hundred percent
usually about twenty percent imperfections..
Thanks for the challenge:
HGarvey Daniel Esquire
Contest entry....