Best Siren Poems
You are a plus size model: sexy, hot
Emaciated woman, you are not!
You have the curves; you have the booty too
Those skinny girls don’t hold a shine to you
You know you’re fat and yet you have that flair
You’re beautiful; you make them stop and stare
You claim your rolls are good enough to eat
Your man, he sees you as a tasty treat
You’ve got tattooed Miss Piggy on your arm
I think that it’s delightful- quite the charm
You flaunt yourself In Big Girl style with verve
Make men just want to touch your every curve
Oh Tess, I do confess, you make me feel
That Big Girls too can have that sex appeal
Eileen Manassian Ghali
She came to me in the noon day sun..
her world wistful, longing for an unsung quiet.
But I would not remain still, nor silent,
though her hours in life, never meant for long.
Desperately I grasped her up in loving embrace..
And in her arms cried, please let her remain!
I offered myself in sacrifice to assuage,
but enchanted sirens called sweetly, come.,
and left me alone on an empty stage.
The Bewitching Call of the Siren
She ululates a forlorn desire for a human love;
She’s pure evil, not from God’s Heaven above.
This siren’s seductive melody is heard on all seas,
And even on the largest lakes and flowing rivers;
Bringing even seafarers near Die Lorelei to shivers!
Beguiling young sailors to such a ghastly death;
This vile creature’s venom is felt with each breath!
Her visage is one of true love and blessed pulchritude,
Yet Lucifer’s mask is dark with great evil certitude!
Her perfumed scent enlivens her victims’ senses,
Whilst her dark green eyes and deep wet kisses;
Mesmerize her prey, oblivious now to all consequences;
Now feeling her fatal bites and hearing her hideous hisses!
She taketh all pleasure in her world of this evil measure,
Enthralling all her sad victims to a most horrible death;
Now Lucifer counts with joy the lost souls’ treasure!
Always sans merci this siren be to those in her grot,
As her victims find their souls lost to Hell’s dark rot!
Beware say I to all good seafarers, do heed this tale well;
Be deaf to this siren’s call or your life shall end in Hell!
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved,
July 4, 2016 (Canzone)
I saw the undulating belly of the sea
Sensuous and beckoning me
Frilled dress of tides pulled up
Over white thighs of sand
Ripples of fingers from a caressing hand
My eyes took the portrait like a cup
My tongue lingered at its rim
The siren's lips singing seduced me to sup
And through the rocks my desires swim
My hunger could not leave her supple thighs
Softly whispering promising things to me
I cross the hesitant beach to joy in glory.
Belladonnic poison seeps from your eyes,
like an electric serum of Venusian alchemy,
one that paralyzes my sense of pride.
My mind oscillating,
alternating,
your gaze,
annihilating.
An infusion,
Uranium radiating me into half life,
as I look up small to thee.
How can you be my painkiller,
stretching rack,
healer,
and a killer clown surgeon
with a knack for stealing autonomy?
Your touch burns with the fires of Purgatory,
a solar cycle casting elemental ghouls,
in a rogues gallery of impish valkyrie.
Propheting in New Moon phases
of alignment's interferon mightocon cell mining,
beaming morse code anecdotally-
You dress me in the dark's fairie mood ring-collar- manacle- you cause me to wear in my captivity.
Endangered in the midst of your wilds,
from your strange type of phi
that echoes from the voids-
enchantress- third eye.
I flop like a fresh caught fish
in your net of silk, patterned telepathy.
You are a siren, a villain- bewitching
the stormy seas- to shipwreck adventurous souls
and harbor them on your oasiatic Isle, Circe?
So why do I feel saved, even in your captivity.
Turn me into a fattened pig, then,
do as you will,
but be the truffle of my descent
as I forage for delicacy.
She humbled them all with one song;
the powerful and grieving,
the hardened and thieving.
Her voice was gentling, a lullaby;
a love song, alluring.
For a moment they’re all believing.
They can’t breathe or pull away from
her flaming red hair and sweet disposition.
They’d wondered why he married her.
Though they might originally have thought
that she was the same as the evening girls.
The ladies and gentlemen - both;
the old and young, enthralled.
They can’t breathe or pull away.
She’s like a rose-scented siren. Touché.
And her husband, at that very moment
falls deeply in love, and would dive
into the ocean depths, as if seeking
a sacred treasure chest, a myth.
She is his, though every hifalutin body
is floating on cloud nine, and knowing;
why…why her… duly answered.
This angel, in a Christmas gown, holds
a potent candle, that their fancy
can’t blow out; all hearts above the fray.
Medusa Or Sexy Siren, Memory Debates
I felt it was time to just let the hell go,
walking away while you screamed and cursed.
There was no fight then made just for show
an instant decision, one I never rehearsed.
Whiskey had me ready to battle, fight a war
my nerves were shot but courage filled me.
I remember that day- it is still a bad scar,
evidence of the day you forced me to hurt me!
I walked out into a steamy hot August night,
knowing that move was to be set in hard stone.
You looked in awe at that unimaginable sight,
sat there and cried like a sad child all alone!
I look back at your face from memory I saved,
there was anger, fright and hate dancing there.
My leaving was an act far too damn long delayed.
Like a Medusa, you gave me that hideous stare!
Yet at times, that face clears and is replaced.
By your beauty, dressed up and all in sexy lace!
R.J. Lindley
Jan 23rd, 1988
WAR SIREN
On the battlefield, the ruby blood,
is caked to warm dusty brown to dry.
Bedraggled women calls the living,
she, with pleasure, makes a soldier cry.
Lady in red, whore of the regiment,
her life spent, intently but corruptly.
She will subtract the soldier from the war,
and seduce him softly but abruptly.
Eerie soldiers of death seek the war whore,
she turns them inside out and to her will.
The men will knock, knock, knock upon her door;
because not every soldier's dressed to kill.
They have removed their blunt minds to fight,
and advance but cannot kill to win.
This femme fatale, siren of the trench,
aspires to take the war out of men.
By Edlynn Nau
© June 21, 2016
----Ad for a Siren----
job hunting siren
swims from cove to cove--
shark bosses need not apply
**Sept.16, 2010
Siren, send my check in the mail ;)
----Ad for a Siren 2----
tired of zim dollars,
siren's on the prowl~
oops wrong habitat
**King Triton must be**
thirty to forty-five--
loaded
with laughter ;)
must pass through
Sunlight first--
stingrays need not apply
Ms. Siren -- sorry no more ham sandwich, I ate it all,
sorry this is the best I could do on a full stomach *burp*
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Siren,
your fluid
hymn lures
me past tense
gray gulls
who eye me,
anxious
for my safe
return
They circle,
keening...
and the tide
moves to
free me of
my moorings
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tarkay lids of merlass
Royal purple hue
Smooth glass surface
Sea of gemstone blue
~
Siren sisters taunt the sailors
Weaving in and out of looms
Seductive creatures with lyres
Luring the lustful to their tombs
They didn’t heed the gentle merlass
The whispers of the foamy sea
Their greedy eyes now single minded
Caught in a seaweed net - not free
Courageously the merlass tries to cut the ties
Siren sisters just increase their blinding noise
A plectrum choir captures lolling tongues
Ahoy sailors! They're no longer men - but boys
Mild merlass looks away from the frenetic fish
Her wild rose eyes notice a face, sweet as a kiss
One who's not succumbed to the scum of the sea
Like an ear to a clamshell, her heart pounds out bliss
~
Tarkay lids of merlass
Royal purple hue
Smooth glass surface
Sea of gemstone blue
4/21/2017
9th place/Premier contest
Poems Written in April Poetry Contest (not for contest)
u a w e
x l p r o s
e s
S beautiful siren woman of his dreams,
Magically feminine, a paragon of sensual
overload, wonderful in her pure innocence
having no idea how appealing she is just
in being herself, laughing at no one,
Giving everyone a chance to be
their best, ready always to
champion the underdog,
doing what is necessary
to show kindness and
love to strangers, and
non strangers alike. She
has spiritual awareness, raging
through her. She knows so much
and yet does not feel in any way
superior to her family or peers. She
is a ready helpmate just by being her
unique fabulous self, listening to her heart
she is helpful and kind, and she is revered
and truly appreciated by those who earn
her trust and especially by those
who have loved and cherished her.
Beautiful siren woman, hear her now.
Written 12-18-2018 Contest: The Shape of My ART
Sponsor: Line Gauthier
I’ve seen her out there stretching and reaching
Word flights of whimsy ire and fire bare and brazen
Whilst I down and clumsy totter to reason’s edges
Full of envy wishing and craving for her way with words
Standing on Fancy’s nightly beach
Looking up into thousands of twinkle light stars
Clouds of them filling the void of black with light
All suns planets galaxies all past no now no future no life
I look down at my wet feet
Cold wet feet
Sand and salt water running between my toes
Toes that carry more life than all that up there
Nails need trimming again
Where does the time go
Half naked ash stand in brown carpets
While red gold swamp maples laugh
At the sumac’s yellow clouds of tiny tossings
It’s time to shine and shed again
Swell roots with winter sap
Let the wind blow through in wasted fury
Let new branches feel the air go by
Stand fast and watch the leaves in flight
Ablaze in danced delight
(a green eyed lady needed a lift .................tizzit)
I'm these deep waters, I feel shallow.
Within hand's grasp, but without heart's Halo.
Then came the lightning, shine, warmth and Ray.
Yet, why do I feel siren's tear ready to lead me astray.
I gain pain, feign drain, hail rain.
All to perish, to cherish, to uphold and refrain.
I question myself, "Why all this trouble?
Why so much strain?"
Only to answer, What wouldn't I do for YOU?!
FOR ME. FOR US.
- Dearest Fanny
The waves roar.
But you can't drown out the voice.
You can't handle any more.
See you have a choice.
Down to the depths of the churning sea.
Or up the sky's where you can be free.
She sits on a rock.
Not an inch to be moved.
Her gaze you have locked.
But your heart's yet to be soothed.
Her call beckons.
And you know you've lost.
The rocks are your reckoning.
You're life is the cost.
See this is what happens when you mess with.
Death.
This is your fate if you listen.
To the devilish sirens song.