Best Sultriness Poems
As droplets freeze half-breathed
From the mouth of Winter
Howling winds, foreboding
Bring gloom to pale landscape
Yet the Ice Enchantress
Conjures sultriness:
Fluttering tree lashes
Snow-covered ample breast
Her crystal lips invite
She burns despite the chill
And dares adventurers
To succumb to her will
Despite the threat of death
It's futile to resist
The cool invitation
Which glistens from her eyes
As she entrances those
Who cannot look away
But step so willingly
Into a blissful fate
First place in Constance La France's "Let it Snow" contest
Spring waltzes in with rosebud cheeks and swaying with a breeze.
She summons Sun and Rain to do her bidding; grace blossoms,
but she can’t compete with Summer’s sultriness; thus she takes her leave.
Summer spiritedly takes the stage as she tangos in with Sun.
As their passion scorches the ground on which they dance, storms may come,
cooling Summer off, but she leaves once Autumn sashays in.
Autumn is a playful sprite, brightening leaves for a while
and twirl-flirting with Wind as the days grow ever cooler.
Romantic at sundown, she slow-dances with shadows that lengthen.
Fall's sister, not as romantic, moves in a courtly way.
Winter enters Earth’s ballroom sometimes frigidly, yet can show grace
when she lets loose a white gown that glistens beneath Moon’s glow.
(Checked by Syllablecounter.net)
My sensuous scent will hover all around
And drive you mad and lift you off the ground
You’ll call for me, but I won’t make a sound
The vision of my face will tease your mind
You’ll strive in vain, my hands and heart to bind
You’ll search for me, but I won’t let you find
Sweet thoughts of me will torture you so much
A drive to kiss my lips, my hair to clutch
You’ll reach for me, but I won’t let you touch
Your fingers run along imagined waist
And circle places where your tongue once traced
You’ll crave for me, but I won’t let you taste
Your chance has passed; you see me now fly free
Sweet sultriness is what’s inside of me
You’ll wish for me, but I will let you be
The sorry truth is....I must let you be.
Eileen Manassian Ghali
a quickening naught I entered a forbidden space
just by stepping off the monorail
he'd beckoned my soul beneath thee garments
of my flesh eagerly I danced to the sultriness
of his willingness to explore mirth
his sudden rapture I suppose oh how selfish
he became wanting needing more and more
why there was no escaping his summons
no matter how I fought back he'd appeared
in familiar faces familiar souls unaware
that he was using their flesh to dance with me
a dapperness a calling charm arousing
my every whim effortlessly an yet sinfully
I adored his attention showering me
with a neediness a lustful gathering that began
with my departing Europe testing teasing prying
invading my thoughts i'd soon come to know haste
he'd bruised my immortal being tampering with desire
had he mastered me had he soiled me
I felt stained he was surely aware thee offering
something inside me emerged unleashing
emotional memoirs cunning tides rolled over
my aching joints I was but flesh in his presence
nothing more i'm afraid an yet
he wasn't at all amused he needed more pleasure
pleasure I tell you leading why surely to eternal death
calmness finalized in unconscious decisions
he'd daintily controlled this dance beckoning
my retchidness tainted by obstruction
pure obstruction of human matter as he bathed me
in a glorious light of confusion daunting task
thee ultimate tactfulness lessons of my living flesh
parched without death an yet a sanctity
quarreling about my emotional art form he'd given me
only rashins of such meaningless need
to feel anything away from my father's house
gravity soon began to empty this space
i'd wandered beyond the heavenly gates
entering a hideous submission I knew full well
would lead very quickly to only hell
entertaining this unholy host
catering to my flesh my soul my best
THUNDERSTORM
Thick oppressive sultriness all day
Then cool breezes, a cloud signals
The sails of a fighting Armada,
With massed grey galleons
Swelling with threatening guns -
The flashing of their watery cannon beats
Their terrifying cacophony
In the cross-trees and shivering sheets -
Hurled balls of rain, rain, rain
So thick the air is opaque;
Rain without end, Noah’s rain,
Making deck drain and scupper shake
Riddling the sea with bullet-hole spray.
Now empty cannon fall still and silent:
The Armada has drifted away.
The air is dry and clear and spent.
My hands are busy with today,
but my thoughts hang back
in the humid air of a deceptive
yesterday; to dinner and the jungle heat
congealed under umbrellas,
stained with the residue of city traffic,
too loud and too close for significant
atmosphere to stand any chance
in factoring urban style.
Paris, it wasn't, but the setting suggested
the delusional coolness of a sidewalk café.
The invisible sultriness that had seduced
the day forced rivulets of sweat
from even the chic-est brows tucked beneath
the shaded shadow of the backdropped skyscraper.
Heat had the upper hand, and with attitude,
flipped off the advancing breeze from the lake;
defeated, it proffered nothing more
than the stale breath of a probing lover.
The haricots verts were passable,
the whitefish with pesto-laced orzo -
commendable. The coffee? Ah, the coffee
was an invisible accompaniment
to a parody of authentic New York cheesecake.
It was a one sip, one bite affair, exchanged
for an iceless margarita in deference
to the science of cooling the body
with room temperature libations.
Jose winked from the glass
as I settled back in my chair
and began to paint a self portrait
for other people's minds.
It's what a poet does
on the avenue in Chicago,
in the heat, in July;
eat, drink and imagine
you're seen.
murder sang in me where the sultriness
of hot cotton fields consumed by
old carny folk gestures given any doubt
to a freedom that ole Abe spoke of diligently
why I never dreamt a better dream
where I'd giggled life's fortitude beneath a darkened
sky with brillant hues of wandering mirth beyond
a quaint timing of lemonade and broken slacks
why I'd began to simply utter faint whispers
of where I'd been through the gallows and gentle
memoirs of mi Irish pappy I'd exploded in a sensational
absolute glow covered in shamrocks I solemnly wondered
what gift shall I leave to mi irish pappy perhaps
the cream colered scarf or a pair of paisley socks
as the hanging moss spread sparingly over land
where he'd become to grow as old as mud pies
underneath the empty porch
you'd awakened my soul again
as my dying mind drifted beyond
the tall pines of perlarcher forest
I'd mingled aimously about
the falling leaves as my heart roared
of a distant thunder that henceforth
became a solemn song of solidarity
oh how wise my soul stood seperate
from my coarse being catering
to the rough edges of the Bavarian Alps
drawing the crisp daffodils
silently surrounding the bottom
of the snowcapped plains
only fragments of me were left
as my body became a tomb
that in cased all thy youthfulness
that once glistened with the coming
of winters briskness how eloquent
the mere barbarism how bloody crude
nature existing within
the sultriness of a sparrow's eye
How can one be in love with an image?
Although sultriness oozes from within
it is only a glossy photograph.
Yet it is the moment frozen in time
a moment of magic captured forth with
that intrigues this imaginary mind,
yet no matter what the mind calculates
the image is one of sheer loveliness!
© Harry J Horsman 2012
How can one be in love with an image?
Although sultriness oozes from within
it is only a glossy photograph.
Yet it is the moment frozen in time
a moment of magic captured forth with
that intrigues this imaginary mind,
yet no matter what the mind calculates
the image is one of sheer loveliness!
© Harry J Horsman 2012
You have tempted me again
a rather sinful plot beneath
the sultriness that beseech
my wretched soul
why it is nearly dawn already
oh how you calmly cater
to my parts toying with every
freckle tampering with even
the faintness notion that
I'd whither myself upon
your broad shoulders again
why I'm afraid to ask that
we shall do it again
that I'd but only secretly
fail to mention us
only by the writings
of my pastel diaries
oh come with me love
above a whisper let us
dance on the sunrise
daintily behind the loft
so well hidden within
the distant nook where I
shall summons your
manliness once more
i haven't forgotten
the sultriness of your lips
the infamous toss of my hips
the quiet haste the unfullfilled taste
that calm way the sun beamed
that warm way the breeze blew
softly over our bronzed form
connected two souls
creating another one
woven silver threads clinging
to my fountains lure raising tides
the bayou's dance over france
we both wore london fogs
dripping wetness of hidden
tangible desire's beckoning
spirit's beyond the bottoms hush
soft cheeks bare a pink blush
jasper gazed beneath teal stones
broken bread crumbs scrumptious skoans
the best part devouring a satisfying tart
a splash encounter red wines fine art
given birth to this tiny needy soul
on top of white linen
bathe in a porcelain bowl
Black Lilly:
The red sun sets as the crystal moon rises over the vast country side. Stars above glisten with perfection in bright arrays as the earth below them silently moves.
Her aging pale eyes look outward in wonder as she cradles a black book in her withered hands. Her wisdom beckons for reason but her heart yearns for change. Though she knows its wrong, she cant resist.
“Black Arcana, god of the forbidden art, hear my voice and grant my wish of eternal youth! Take these hands of a crone and blinding eyes, color my ice white hair and sweeten my voice with a sultriness.”
She gazes at the words written on the crumbling page.
“A maidens tongue, the sent of first love, and a true virgins heart.”
The older women known as black Lilly stirs her concoction carefully as the blood of her victim drips down the wooden ladle.
Blackness twists and winds as fog fills the tiny room with putrid smelling pink hues.
Slowly she is consumed by her witchery.
Lilly’s hair softly turns blonde as her large eyes dilate blue.
“Yes, make me beautiful!”
Her trembling voice cries.
Suddenly the old grandfather clock strikes two as the bells chime fiercely throughout her room.
She stands upright in awe no longer feeling the plaguing resistance of old age. Lilly smiles and giggles under her lovely breath.
Abruptly she is stuck by the sound of her voice.
“no, this cant be!”
She screams.
Her reflection stares back at her with a shocking realization.
“A child, I have been turned into an eternal child!”
She falls to her shaking knees and grieves, for her gift of eternity has become an everlasting curse.
~Oh, Gardenia Mine~
silk, soft hypnotism
such bewitching sultriness
intoxicating
June 5, 2020
4am PST
Poem# 1,224
Heat waves burn the Summer air
deceit makes it difficult to breathe;
Deplete my lungs of oxygen
beat like dog days lies beneath;
Rush of sultriness over and over
paintbrush colors a soft breeze;
Gush of flames constricting
hush now your pain can ease.