Best Puckering Poems
I'm a little duck...I waddle here and there
A fat juicy duck, with lots of meat to spare
I'm a little duck...I jiggle when I walk
I still preen my features...in pond I am the talk
I'm a little duck; water rolls right off of me
my feathers ever shiny, a glorious sight to see
I'm a little duck; I'm not a swan full of grace
But passion, it exudes...in every curve a trace
I'm a little duck; I'd make succulent a meal
You'd lick your lips with glee; the taste so yummy...real
I'm a little duck, and in duck world that is fine
But Oh...to swim in swan lake, now that would be sublime!
Eileen
Quack Quack!!! Puckering up here!!!
A man in his later years enjoys a cigar.
He holds a fat brown rolled stogie with his fingers to his lips.
He puckers at the end of the stimulating stump, pulling a large puff.
He lights his vice with a blow torch.
Blue, red, yellow flame jets out the end of a curved steel tube.
He is balding and grey with whiskers.
Puckering and squinting casually his skin reveals fine wrinkles.
A dark green frame with round clear lenses sets on a large triangular nose.
His clothes are plain:
a button collar shirt with tiny blue checks,
a dark blue puffed coat, a tan denim bib.
His hands are large with fingers like sausages.
He holds his cigar and torch like a gorilla enjoying fruit.
At times only a moment matters.
The best things in life are not always sophisticated.
Experience and simplicity allow senses to be the only luxury needed.
People relish their vices
after youth and excess have revealed what is common and uninteresting.
It is the process of feeling what is familiar and different about the moment
which drives people in later years to enjoy an awareness of their senses
rather than any perception driven by language.
I love you better
than Cookies and Cream,
my lifelong favorite
more than seas playing footsies
with shore clams
in cuddly tropical sands
The warmth of enticing Caribbean
soothing waters
(billowy-sails...fields of overhead
stars...night's complicit fireflies
helping chart to a romantic cove
a beat-up heart seeking a paradise-like
new-start)
(a desire for tasteful, novel, cheerful effervescent
brew, a need to leave on the old dock past that settled for
impure bitters)
( navigate clear of thought defacing
apps like Facebook's and Twitter's
that falsely entice, tempt
a free-thinking, sacred spirit, to
express living solely on a mindless
uncaring device – not a true life, just a
wax slice
not abiding complete, but in fact,
manipulated into electronic defeat....)
Petals need firm attachment if to be
enticing blushing roses~ blooms for crinkly smiles,
puckering lips and playful toes-es –
Valentines of
perfumed hearts made of hand-laid,
lacy type paper, crafted by flirty eyes
in agreement with pheromone receptive
noses
A softly played harp...a bower of flowers...
Back lathering showers shared – which
requires a minimum of two daring
hearts...wantonly, lovingly paired –
Love is always trumpeted, openly, fondly, vociferously
musically declared....
Momentary lapse of reasoning
behind exemplary seasonings
give way to life's spicy habanero
awesomesauce.
Life's seasoning of sweet-&-sour puckers
Sweet puckering of every souring breath.
Life's wicked stammer nailing it
like a swift hammering blow
squashing pinpoint accuracy.
Strawberry daiquiris fruity liquor quicker
of tasty wines staggers a peaceful
drunken swagger.
Two lips on a single stick licking
twice mythical tricks in a single smooth
liquoring trick.
Heavy Metal rocking chairs speeds
of metal God's playing power cords
of metal's overlords.
Liquor upfront an poker in the rear
get that ass moving in gear boy's
she's my favorite toy I plan to employ.
Aesthetics of fruity colorful abstracts
pathetic when listening to rhetoric
of rhetorical circles in circumstances.
Forget the rest a single success
I double the best with sweet success
I can triple the doubling time taking
out the best molesting their rhymes
with my words committing felony crimes
in aesthetics of synthesizing
provocative unique exquisite
designs in rhymes sublime
line's in contemporary design
of these modern times.
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If desire crests from craven heart
On my duplicitous eyes won't chart
With clever guise will deliver Cupid's dart
From ducts, drain silt that lust does cart
Only sentient strain from dilated pupils impart
Through mind's eye, residual glare will kick start
If grifting ears strain only lurid rhythms to hear
To sift only the tawdry jingles that decorum jeer
With modular shift will Jove's hypnotic cadence sear
Melodic parlance with romantic vibes will ring clear
With only rational discourse your sterile drums cheer
If drooling lips seek with Venus's frothy dew endear
And impulsive lips cannot from sumptuous strips veer
A chapping balm on the puckering seams I'll smear
With arresting bitters saliva from taste buds shear
Onto comely face a dry, innocuous kiss will steer
I stand in front of the mirror
Trying to look a dish
Puckering up the lips
Practicing for a kiss
I half close my eyes
For the Greta Garbo look
I don’t look a bit like
the siren in a book
Looks more like I have myopia
Squinting like a fool
How can I look seductive
What's the golden rule
Lips all red and shiny
Rehearsals come to an end
Had plenty of practice
Courtesy of a friend
I stand here by the mistletoe
With what I hope is a seductive face
A wet juicy kiss smeared my mouth
Yuck what an utter waste.
Penned on the 18th December 2013
This whole left V right is starting to get boring
The only honest one is Jeremy Corbyn.
They convince the old he can not lead
Judge him on his character i do plead.
Debts or the people is the last thing on their mind
Its about protecting their way of life I think you'll find.
Hated by the media and both sides of the house
He's stuck to his morals he's not a mouse.
With all the elites pressure he refuses to kneel
A touch of Cromwell I do feel.
Vote after vote the people they decided
Yet the labour party is still divided.
Money grabbing leaches like snakes in the grass
All puckering up to kiss Blair's ass.
A true Red this country does need
Jeremy Corbyn, someone for the people, someone who'll lead.
Please do not listen to the lies media tell
They sold their souls, they're going to Hell.
The Gray
As I sat on a park bench on what appeared to be an ordinary day,
All of a sudden comes a change of winds and along comes the Gray.
As I sat alone in that dark deepening haze;
It felt cold, gloomy as if sealed in a granite wall maze.
The fog was so thick and dim it hung frozen in the air
There’s not a beam of light shining through; this Gray will not tare.
The wind whips up its pace into a devouring breeze that consumes me,
It's then I realize I am stuck in a Hell that's become reality.
As time slithers by, I hear a voice call out from the murky haze
“It’s my hands that strip the light from your brightest days.”
“Who’s there?” I cry, “Show yourself there’s no need to hide.”
“Foolish boy I’m what’s stored away in your empty heart ...
I am what makes you whole when you’re torn apart.
So don’t be afraid, for I will no longer hide
I’ll soon become your nothing inside.”
A silhouette of a female figure draws near,
I feel a foreboding of terror and tremble with fear.
A pale white face breaks through the haze of Gray
Her clouded eyes beam a message “With me you’ll stay”
“Who are you!” I demand. “What do you want from me?”
She drifts in closer hands extended, eyes beaming with intensity.
In that instant I become hypnotized by her eyes
My mind goes numb and body is paralyzed.
“Don’t be scared; this won’t hurt one bit.
It's a gift from me to you; life isn’t permanent.”
She leans in to my face, puckering her rigor mortis lips
When her cold skin touches mine my soul rests at her finger tips.
With her mouth over mine, she blows cold breathe into my empty lungs,
The air inflates my soul making it feel like it weighs tons.
Once she inhales, the weight lifts the pressure off my chest,
With my soul in her hands it feels like a soft caressed.
“I’ll be your warmth in the eternal blizzard of the grave,
Relax your worried heart; there is no way in Hell you’ll be saved.”
Sitting alone on that park bench I knew without her having to say,
That my soul would remain with hers bound forever together in the Gray.
You
You are still a thorn in my side
A burying pain I can never excavate from under my marred flesh
Like a stubborn octopus you cling, spreading your tentacles of despair
Into every trembling nook and cranny of my feeble form
Parasitic, you devour me from the inside out
Hollowing my bones and softening my resolve
Until my desire to shuck you off has been melted into a sludgy pool
And all that’s left is you
Everywhere
Colonizing my soul, dictating my every thought
Delving even into my most private dreams you choreograph taunting fantasies
And then rip away the cloak of sleep and reveal my yearning face
Caught in that pathetic stage between dreams and waking
My eyes, searching
My lips, puckering
Anticipating your smoldering kiss that could make all this suffering worthwhile
But no kiss comes
There is no sign of your face
Like a will o’ the wisp you have fled again into the gloom
Retreating behind broad daylight’s skirts
Until the night comes again, bringing with her my doom
Sitting in the bright morning skies,
the clouds white and glorious
and she right by my side.
O I hold her dear, soft hand
and she turns her lovely face
in my direction
and my heart melts into an iron pot
made for the evening passionate love
and I kiss her upon those pink lips
that bring such wonders to my
imagination that turns into reality
with a lean forward and the puckering of lips!
Love such a wonderful thing,
a single kiss that fuses two strangers together
and two hearts, which soon become one!
How love is such an adventure,
how love brightens ones' days in their darkest hours.
As we sit, watching the sun rise,
and sun set we venture out into the wilds of stormy realities
and I am not afraid of death;
for I am holding her dear, soft hand.
Her smile brightens such beauty in my soul
and makes a blind man see,
and a cripple walk,
and stops an ocean from destroying a fishing village
and keeps the demons at bay
and watch the spirit walk amaying;
such beauty,
O she brings to me.
Loving her,
with a single kiss,
a single, warm embrace
a rose for each day of the week I am with her,
a jewel for each month I am with her,
and a single innocent and pure child
for every year I am with her.
As I hold gently her dear, soft hand
I am not afraid of the dark secrets that lurk around dark corners
of crowded and bustling evening walkways,
and I hold her close to me,
(I hold her close to my heart)
and I smile,
for happiness is such a beautiful gift
and simple, yet glorious gift wrapped in gold wrapping paper
and tied with a crimson bow
put under the Christmas tree of my own heart
kept for safe keeping there,
and I retire to my bed of roses with her,
gently holding her dear, soft hand!
and we sleep together, like that
and we dream of what is to come in the near, blessed future
of our love together.
Wearing the pearl necklace and that golden bracelet
of such beauty that takes her smile and takes it sky high
to a different place, unlike this one.
We such two lovers in, sharing love,
and I holding her dear, soft hand forever and ever.
I remember those late late nights.
with you running in my head.
no technology, just dimmed lights.
just me and that rosary.
I heard you were in desperate times..
Made me shed a tear and cry.
You adore the puckering sour of fresh limes
My heart yearned for you; yet you couldn't hear me.
So I prayed softly at night.
holding that dear rosary.
each deca, each bead, *dribble*
Hoping, wishful thinking
Stoned faced, but cracked easily by your water.
Rain pours out from missing you
Each drop a dribble *flash* memory.
never stoping to haunt me.....
Each deca. with a wish for success.
your striving... holding on... Staying strong.
-silence-cuts deep.
I knew I had you, yet I doubt you.
Your smile is my joy. Your tears were my pain.
What will i ever do? except be
thankful we have met,
The sense of fresh cut limes set free.
The last feeling i have felt,
from you is the warm of your grace.
That would pucker my lips and
express my face.
-Ems'ilverscripts.
-Poet's note.-
Calmed by minty memories. My grandfather was a family value man, and the sweetest to my grandmother. Vintage photographs and fresh summer breeze, held tight,-slice- green shades ripples on a wooden board. dropped in clear glass, poured over ice.
Thank you taking the time in glancing in my eyes, enjoy the warmth of the next sunrise.
He hath become religious of late
prostrated before the virgin Mary
Cornflower blues blown to wild violets
and thin lines puckering in concentration
Prayers spilling in loud sputters from his mouth
She hath listened a time or two
to testimonies led by callused hands
Run lukewarm holy water upon him
Coaxing gentle promises from cold maidens
candlelight vigils by the goose feather altar
Ordered 10 Hail Marys, and 5 Our fathers
and she bled for both of their sins
Shared my list with God today
the pros and cons of the season:
how fond I am of blossoms, despite
all the sneezing – how showers cleanse
the air, refreshment of a spring drenching;
how orchids abundance bear, how perfect
nights are for strolling, loving couples
hands assuring – puckering in leafy shadows,
beneath endearing folds of canopies, stars all a-blush,
beaming deeply brighter
from such intimate exchange –
Shared my list with God today – more
pros than cons; not grading His Season,
nor His Methods nor Reason...just wanting
to say about this one, of Rebirth and
tasteful Sharing, I find no other, delightful
enough for affectionate comparing....
Majestic purples glow
brilliant dark reflections in the sun
Crocus
blooming unattended wayfarers
strewn throughout the pale beige grass.
Daffodils stretch up
tall and gangly inching toward the rays
holding tight yellow white buds ready and willing.
Tulips barely peek through the gray dark earth
tipped red upon the bladed greens
teased by the early spring warmth.
Hyacinths squeeze tight their buds
puckering snug and low
amidst the hint of change in time.
The sun holds steady
pale yellow rays glistening in the clear blue sky
reminiscent of a faint young sun's return.
Spring arrival, far too early on the calendar
ends February with seventy degree temperatures
and blasts March starts with wild restless chilled winds;
Blustery the day
revealed in magenta fired hues unmatched
by spring's past and welcomed in sudden early rebirth
Spring Tease.
Cruising sunrise highway
Got the sun beaming bright
the T-tops are open wide
and the hamptons are in sight
a Benz is in the left lane going too slow
Speedometer says eighty as we push him through the door
The peddles to the metal as the engine begins to roar
Pushing him over ninety before he hits the police radar
Suddenly lights are flashing and sirens blaring
Mr Ritz was sure pissed when he was pulled over to the side
Because we were riding his ass and heavy on the gas
He just wouldn’t let us pass and shook his fist at us as we sped on by
Adventure highway
No slowing down speeding right along
Adventure highway
Left our worries far behind
Adventure highway
Dusk till dawn we’re cruising on
Adventure highway
Ripping up the road rocking all the way
Adventure highway
Taking our chances living wild through the night
Twelve hours later met a girl in a bar
closer and closer french kissing by the door
Her fire brought me higher with lust in her eyes
Puckering with delight she played the flute all night it felt so right
Adventure highway
Dusk till dawn we’re cruising on
Adventure highway
Ripping up the road rocking all the way
Adventure highway
Taking our chances living wild through the night
Ron Flatow © 2006 November 16, 2006