Best Stockinged Poems

“ANTE BELLUM”


BEIGEBest served where it can’t be seen
On Stirling Silver platters
With redruM narcotics
Delivered by sharp Blood-Red
Well-mannered talons
Strutting in sleek wet rolling tight-skirted
Long French Silk Stockinged legs all the way down to 
Lethal Six Inch stilettos -
Manolo Blahniks -
Shiny Pearls of cream glisten
Around the Chanel Milk...

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Ladies leather shoes
adorning stockinged feet
Clip clop
upon the catwalk
of the city streets.

Tired and aching after a long day
I bath them 
then pamper and massage 
to sooth those aches away.

The smell of those shoes
and her stocking feet
A feminine alluring treat
my tender loving lips
and warm mouth
find so wonderfully...

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Kissed by the rebel mouth of Dionysus

set tight against their fulsome lips;

lapped into shapes by intoxicant tongues,

arms fused in a chain of swaying hips.



Tiptoe this sisterhood of Athena,

this trio in bright synchrony;

blown back on Acropolis stilettos,

risen skirts above the stockinged knee.



Aphrodite waged love at closest...

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The poor man on the street
With threadbare dress and blistered feet 
'Tis his slogan, he howls,
"I feel hungry, my stomach growls."

The rich man sits to eat
With silken dress and stockinged feet
Tells after his plateful,
"I'm not hungry, my stomach's full."

The poor man sits and begs
For some...

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Things

Things . . . 
Things?
Things!
Just ordinary
Things.
Familiar Things.
Everyday Things.
Obvious Things.
Even trivial Things.


Things seen
Front on or 
From an angle.
Things glimpsed.
Things touched.
The smell 
Of Things.
The feel 
Of Things.


Things?
Yes just Things.
But all Things
That remind 
Me of you.
Some Things
Cause a smile
Some Things
Even a laugh.


But other Things
‘Touch’ me more,
Moisten the eyes
And...

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outside
inventoried oval-stoned
cathedrals appealing
chiming crimes of passion
woke citronella
fog
hung in cement-hamocked snowdrifts
cloaked slow on slick-stained windowsides
tenement sheets
with the pomegranate notes
of rhythms unrhymed
   while all the uptown laundromarts
rising up
from insomniac-scrambled sidewalks
corked-copper moon tumbling earthward
like a sweet
sweatshredded pennants
   of sun-saliva silks on rain-dribbled cotton
then
cherry-flat footsteps...

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Oh, Youth—naïve days lost,
Just learning life
In baseball cleats,
With soccer balls,
Days school bells rang
And girls, girls, girls:
Light lilting laughs,
Smooth budding curves
In sweaters tight,
Lean stockinged legs,
And perfumed air
Enshrouding each …

Oh, Youth—long, restless nights
When life knocked hard—
Those turned-down dates,
My anxious heart,
A stolen glimpse,
Small hand in mine
And, then, that...

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Red bulb
casts sultry shadow
across the 
room 
spilling onto the
street 
air heavy with 
illicit
night scent
rain smog weed and
jack 
clinging 
along for the ride
blurry eyed
distorted reflection dares you
“look up”
shoes
high with painted toes
pulse quickens
stockinged legs the
pathway to shapely hips and 
white lace panties
silk 
skims navel and 
cups breasts
dark
hair...

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In 1950 the boy's world
was mostly populated by women.
Men were there as well
but they were like forces of nature
dark, incomprehensible, moving around
making deep sounds.

Women had red painted nails,
they had permed hair,
they had bosoms
smelling of babies.
They spoke often, mostly pleasantly,
their words left a dryish lipstick taste
on...

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One cold Sunday morning 
I walked across the road
Cold wind striking my cheeks, leaving its bleeding marks
Hands stuffed in my pockets, feet peeping through my socks
I sat on the cold steps outside an old church
I had no other place to shelter.

People came and people went
Carrying...

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Trod softly with stockinged feet
hallways of righteousness 
echo the sound of
mendacity

Ringing hollow on hallowed walls
the brides of yesterday
cry out in mourning
their excuses

Wed in white their vows falling
sweetly through lips tarnished 
with lies overflowing
in laughter

While purity longs to be gleaned 
on the morning of truth
passing in...

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While meditating earlier today,
a flashback leapt
     clear for me to assay,
those ever receding

     early boyhood daze,
     now subsumed within fifty,
plus nine shades of gray
blissfully innocent naivety,

     (though blessed) no...

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I walk a knife the sharp side,
With stockinged feet.
My soles meet
The bloody shark, my bride.

Cut deep, spread the wound,
Find the sick in here;
Heal the fear;
Keep my fleeting mind tuned.

Find the illness, cut it all out.
Give me solid ground
All year 'round.
Give me my blood, without

Knives, without...

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Summer Haze
by Michael R. Burch

The hazy, smoke-filled skies of summer I remember well;
farewell was on my mind, and the thoughts that I can't tell
rang bells within (the din was in) my mind, and I can't say
if what we had was good or bad, or where...

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THE ELEGANT ECHO

On the busy walkway of the city shopping center
In the air of elegance ruffling her well-set auburn hair
She walks in style on her stockinged slender legs
With delicately encased feet reclined on the golden stilettos
The beat of high heels echoes in the throb of...

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