Best Stark Naked Poems
concerned about being upstaged
the glorious blue tinted rock
negotiated
sent in the puffy white wisps
to cover the vibrant coloured evergreens
the brown field in the foreground
felt offended
wondering out loud
"what about me?"
then added "beauty you know is..."
but never bothered to finish the cliché.
for my part
i was more interested
in what the mountain had traded the clouds
what could it possibly have offered?
September 23 2016
In the Throes of Dying Love
In the throes of dying love, you’re a
fallen angel, with no celestial saving grace.
Rose-tinted glasses shattered, you’re no longer
my hero, just a stark-naked zero.
You besmirch every passing season
that we shared…hacking them down,
one by one, like ugly unwanted weeds
in your garden. And my hope for a new you
faded with the waning silver of the moon.
You’ve lost your lissome, school-boy charms;
and the power to pinion me with your cold,
mesmerizing eyes, those squinting black holes
that once sucked me in…trying to suffocate me.
Your love is just as phony as your
painted-on smile, and that old forged,
water-color painting of a loving couple,
that I found buried under dust
and cobwebs in the attic.
But as that ancient, worn-out sun sinks to repose,
in the dense, oblivion of dark firmament,
so has our sojourn ended…and I’ve forgotten
why I loved you in the first place.
Sadly, like that cheap wedding ring you bought me,
you’re irrelevant…in the throes of dying love.
05-22-2018
Contest: Eight Word Challenge – 4 Poetry Contest
Sponsor: John Hamilton
Placement: 3rd
8 Words: throes, celestial, besmirch, pinion, lissome, repose, firmament, sojourn
I saw a man stark naked there unexpectedly,
who in his masculine fashion, though not apprehensively,
went gliding (or was he striding?)
down the center of the hall.
He did not glimpse me at all
as my gut called out, What gall!
So brazen, so reckless this peculiar entity
appearing as if from nowhere to step in front of me,
not elegant or slim as I’m fond of men to be;
but neither corpulent nor stocky -that cocky buck he
with a smooth protruding rump, rather like a girl’s,
yet by his gait betokened “straight” with nary a frill unfurled.
Frozen to the floor, gawking all the while,
I tried to surmise what could prompt in one
such imprudent, impudent style.
Was he merely meandering in some somnambulism state
as his simple sex is wont to do even while awake?
Or maybe this curious man had behind his head an eye
from which, though facing forward, did enable him to spy
the stupefied stranger staring at his rounded bare behind.
For he seemed to be parading his rear assets just for me,
which I deemed, as I beheld them, excelled in simplicity!
Though nothing was exceptional, I smiled begrudgingly
at a finely curved back with firm legs attached
in resplendent nudity!
11/11/16 for the Naked Contest of Anthony Slausen
Dimensions of truth
Spoken or unspoken ,
written or unwritten,
expressed or ever shared
Endless words ,numerous perceptions
and countless misconceptions--
are different dimensions to
the truth.
It makes many people wonder about what it is
and can anyone really define it?
Truth is something which pricks/breaks your heart
or makes you vulnerable.
Might be a light invigorating,
which calms and brings peace
An experience which tests your very own
self and existence.
Mostly a power which many cannot handle
and afraid to confront it.
An encounter which gives us new perspective
and a tough yet content choice to live with.
Its hard and rude when you speak/articulate
and aggressive when you write it.
one has to transcend beyond himself and his mind
to know its nature and its course.
Though the time changes
and people turning to different people
but the truth remains same.
Truth stands alone,may come many
tornados and is stark naked
even when facing temptations.,
with head held high and looking into the sky.
Truth may be alone most of the time
but it gathers true friends -honesty and bravery.
Two Rivers
Stark naked she slowly shrivelled her exposed vacant mind
shed dry viscous tears and filled the empty river in vain
Exhausted petrified her and the stream her inner self
bared to rugged contraction with one final squeeze flooded
the truth that she floated on sediment nevertheless
17th November 2016
5 times 14 syllables howmanysyllables.com
Silver-lined beckoning moon beams
dance along, disquieting sacred ground
unmasked by truth, barefoot unencumbered
broken promise-laden blue eyes.
You whispered flame into existence
as if a stark naked sheath of sparkling
midnight velvet skies, haunted in surreal angst
revealing the beauty I will never possess.
Lost in revelry, the tune continues to play
repetitiously, in tired mind and restless thought
raging ember pulse coagulating, until feelings whist
now eternally slowed, water breaks from horizon.
Restful reproach granted in heartbeat-time
the metronome of life, always captures its prey
succumbing in surrender, while the new dawn casts shadow
over an oyster-birthed pearl on a rainy day in love.
Republicans? Immoral! Lord, that's all there is to that!
Like in the song, "Their heads are full of cotton, hay, and rags,"
Though Democrats (not better) hate to stoop so low to win,
They feel Christ's death, seek brotherhood, at times admit to sin.
Republicans are arrogant, love "trickle down largess,"
To get rich, they'd leave others bare, stark naked, not a stitch,
The way to know Republicans? They idolize control,
While Democrat's may lust, they sometimes think about their soul!
Republicans say Dems enable poor to stay a mess,
No doubt of that! We think, at least, we ought to offer chance,
Good school for kids, a right to vote, and tools for basic health,
A job that pays a decent wage, slaves owned aren't proof of wealth.
Republicans, some Harvard trained, smoke existential snow,
Think they are free, there is no sin, the mind is only art,
God loves the rich; there’s just one hitch, their virtue’s just a mask,
Their s--t stinks too, their Waterloo, salvation from a cask.
The Democrats parse life with guilt, long for utopia,
In saving others save themselves, they won’t let justice be,
They think that they can honor God by pinning truth to mat,
It’s vanity when man attempts to woo Jehoshaphat.
Though ‘Right’ thinks Rich means they own God, I know God loves them still,
The ‘Left’s’ self-serving brand of justice proves they have no cure,
Both Left and Right think they must fight to prove the other wrong,
The love of others all day long is Heaven’s only song.
Long Tooth
August 3, 2017
Sir Henry was smoking cheroot
Stark naked in his birthday suit
But he did something rash
When he's flicking his ash
His pubes are no longer hirsute!
4th May 2015
In winter I wear cute pyjamas
They’re adorned with sweet little llamas
We’ve had snow storm after storm
I yearn to be somewhere warm
Like Nassau in the Bahamas!
In summer I just wear a smile
Stark naked, I sleep in this style
Towards the end of summer
Hubby thinks it’s a bummer ...
He praying the sun stays a while!
**** my PJ's have cute penguins on them ... as for the rest of the poem I am saying nothing lol****
6/16/18
Unquotable quotes – XII
To catch a monkey, you need a young coconut with three holes for eyes ; bore a hole in one and wait : the monkey will thrust its hand in to grab a mouthful and will not let go come what may.
To catch a false monk, you need an orphan.
To catch a thief, you need either a camera or a cobra.
To catch a bluffer, you need to make him believe ya.
To catch a fly, you need a spider with a parlour.
To catch a poisonous snake, you need a retracting loup on a long ten-foot pole.
To catch a giant, you need a sling with a stone.
To catch a Pharoah, you need his sister with a hisser.
To catch a priest, you need the advice of his Chief Geist.
To catch a stool-pigeon, you need another stool-pigeon.
To catch a plane, you need a valid ticket.
To take a train, you need a ticket-puncher.
To board a ship, you need to rise with the tide.
To catch the woman next-door, you need to wait until the paramour goes out the back-door.
To catch a ripe durian, you need to have a hard or an empty head.
To capture a girl in a burqa, all you need is another burqa.
To capture a rat in a hole, all you need is a secret service mole.
To capture a pirate ship in a canal, all you need to do is to lower the water-level.
To catch a polar bear and her cubs, all you need to do is to raise the level of your exhaust fumes.
To catch a lark on a bark, all you need to do is to click your camera.
To catch the sun in the morn, all you need to do is to sleep with your window open.
To catch cold, all you need to do is to stand stark naked bold.
To catch forty winks, you need to be full of drinks.
To get on peoples’ nerves, you need to step on their toes.
To catch the pox, you need to meet a certain lady who lounges around the docks.
To come to grief, all you need to do is to rob Fort Knox.
© T. Wignesan - Paris, 2016
If it walks like a duck and talks like a duck
It might be my mother-in-law
She was sitting stark naked in the garden tub
The scariest thing I ever saw
It was late one night when I got out of bed
'Cause I had to go visit the throne
I heard some splashing then my feet got wet
And I knew that I wasn't alone
Without her glasses she can't see a thing
So she asked me to shave her back
She must of been thinking that I was my wife
But all I could hear was quack
That poor rubber duck will never be the same
Who knows where that thing's been
I was thinking to my self he's going to hell
Just for floating in a tub full of sin
Well the very next day I shot that duck
For the evil things he did
So if it walks like a duck and talks like a duck
You better keep your bath toys hid
The young starlet is sacrificed.
She is stark naked on a 20 foot
crucifix.
Piss streams
run down her thighs
and the wood.
Nails thick as cigarette lighters
are pounded through the bone.
Blood seeps to the surface
and stains her pasty, chalky skin.
Once vital hair
drapes down
over a low head.
Ecstatic apes,
also naked,
ranging in all ages, from the youngest
to the senior,
dance a mad dance in a circle
around the crucified dame
in a ceremony of grounding.
Ache—
Let it sink
Deep
With quiet and unfathomable rage, every word shown
Black ink, black intent,
Yeah, she was done
The black nail polish on her nails chipping
Stupid, cheap crap…
The color black burned through her soul,
Giving her slight satisfaction in her furious state of mind
Always angry
Always sad, and hollow
She wanted desperately to get back at the wretch
Because of him, she wished she never existed
Lying there cold,
Stark-naked on the bathroom floor…
Standing outside the chipped, wooden door
He wanted more
Waiting to feel her flesh upon his own
The demon…
The monster…
You’ve heard the tale
It’s nothing new
Hearing him breath heavily,
Listening, his ears pounding with his heart
A beast awaiting his prey
Cornering her, despairing her
Nose pouring forth snot and blood
He had hit her very hard,
And there was surely more to come
But she had to resist the monster.
She just had to
Glancing at the boarded window in agony and despair,
No one would ever know and there was no one to tell
He’s a good man…
It’s her who’s the bad one
God is mad at her…not him
It’s always that way
Her fists slammed on her desk
After it all, he was coming back for her
She kept telling herself he was going to forget
He was going to leave her alone,
But he soon would be back for more,
Just like the old days
He didn’t give a damn about the ache she endures every day of her miserable life
In a frenzied fury,
She tore up the paper with the short poem on it
He would never feel the ache…
It would never seep through his marrow
Her phone rang loudly, startling her
She let it ring three times and then begrudgingly answered it.
“What?” She spat, clenching her teeth in irritation.
“It’s Mr. Rickman. We are ready to see you in.”
She gulped. The time was upon her. “Now?”
“Yes, of course. Everything’s going to be alright”
She hung up the phone.
She put on her darkest of shirts
She slipped on her black, studded sweater and her spiked collar
Black boots
Black gloves without the fingers
Black skinny jeans
She wanted EVERYTHING to be black today.
So many sick rivers
Of pain, shock and shiver
Flow from longstanding wounds
Of soul-chopping depression that surround
Many islands next to you and me
As a consequence of the malady
Our development system is trapped in
Because of the flaws within
In Kolkata the other day
Collin in sheer dismay
Accepted the unacceptable truth
That his son cannot have the fruit
Of higher education in a star college
As he cannot afford the package
He could have been
Another Stephen Hawking
Phillip in Nairobi
Is forced to lobby
With corrupt controllers of the system
For his free cancer treatment
Nevertheless stays encumbered
His days are numbered
He has no wherewithal
To go to a better hospital
In Mexico
The blue sky of girls destitute
Get imprisoned in dark cells
No, actually sheer hell
Of flesh trade
A huge global population Is demented
The world is fragmented
Gravely disproportionately
Right from the ages of amoeba
Till today’s human ova
Trees are stripped of their bark
Stark naked a major part of the world
In frustration I sometimes do scream
Nevertheless dream too
For a perfect world
Enabling all to unfurl
Leaving none deprived
Of a health-packed miniscule yellow sun
On every breakfast dish
And no hashish
May be it will take
Many more centuries to make
An even ground
For Prometheus unbound
------------------------------------------
with noticeable burgeoning bosom in the offing, ahoy
this baby faced blubbery bosom beastie boy
fast becoming a bra man,
and might hire himself out
as a male wet nurse for employ
ment, cuz when stark naked on shark tank,
I behold two bopping, brewing, busting
flap jacks in search of a frying pan,
which change in my physiognomy doth annoy
but, suddenly spurring,
this ordinarily calm, cool, and collected chap
positing even a more radical income idea
changing ma name to Chester, letting hooters
get suckled, though,
methinks they qualify as milk duds
tit two siamese twin guys christened ell and roy
offering accompanied with serving of cookies,
where adipose floppy blimps
rank popular as novel cheap toy
where art though washboard stomach,
where brestworks didst sprout
as if overnight a markedly increased
from flat “Joe” six pack chest did an about
face, with squishy, mushy, and doughy
sprang up without doubt
suddenly forcing a sexual identity crisis,
which freaky phenomenon makes me wanna pout
for weird, wicked woebegone
affects the psyche of this lviii aged lout
wondering what other transitions,
this fellow may indeed be on the look out
feigning to traverse (in me mind) badgering
rugged hormonal secretion terrain akin to a girl scout
on the prowl targeting a peeping tom,
whose foolery demands clout,
thus this imposed unfair punishment,
as some half assed irreversible decree
maybe hints of other surprises,
yet tubby revealed, which haint no fallacy
possibly being brewed up by a brood
of bruiting imps of the pervert with glee
some bot sized microscopic
anti bosom buddy hood stolen the genetic key
analogous to a pesky malware,
virus, trojan horse secrete lee
scheming to transform the sexual identity of me
perhaps waking up tomorrow minus
my little peppy ***** , and behold a pussy
should such an outcome prevail,
where media papparazzi
stake out this freak of nature re:
doubling efforts erecting fortifications
in a big old sassy tree,
especially if the press
(i.e. particularly meaning Wikileaks)
discovers ability to experience infinite orgasms
converting sexual predilection into electric utility.