Long Dressed to the nines Poems
Long Dressed to the nines Poems. Below are the most popular long Dressed to the nines by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Dressed to the nines poems by poem length and keyword.
The prom has finished
Last dance done
This Ohio princess
To be his one
Hand in hand they leave the hall
Hearts racing as they had a ball
Heading home on a glorious night
Dressed to the nines, a wonderful sight
Full moon shining as they cruise home
This graduating pair want to be alone
A wooded clearing they know from their youth
Is to be where their bodies soothe
Parked and nervous as they climb in the back
This is no one of night, its more than that
She takes his hand, places on her breast
Her loved eyes full of zest
Now semi clothed her breasts bare
His hands walking, where before they would not dare
Trousers down, boxers too
Her hand slides down on Mr you
Her lovely gown adorns the floor
Her panties scented perfumed amore
Hard and wanting she guides him home
Their loving to be sealed, as their hands roam
They love in tandem as the car sways
Fondling touching in loving ways
Pulling him in as he hardens more
Head throbbing as he loves her core
Screams of joy as their love is mixed
They share their moment, eyes fixed
Warmth and desire fills the air
This young couple now a loving pair
Passions ease as they hold each other
In this moment they are both in clover
Dressed and dishevelled as they head of home
Thinking of how their bodies roamed
He walks her to her door
Where he's picked her up many times before
He holds her close to kiss good night
This loving couple, a lovely sight
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/love.php
Dancer
by Michael R. Burch
You will never change;
you range,
investing passion in the night,
waltzing through
a blinding blue,
immaculate and fabled light.
Do not despair
or wonder where
the others of your race have fled.
They left you here
to gin and beer
and won't return till you are bled
of fantasy
and piety,
of brewing passion like champagne,
of storming through
without a clue,
but finding answers fall like rain.
They left.
You laughed,
but now you sigh
for ages,
stages
slipping by.
You pause;
applause
is all you hear.
You dance,
askance,
as drunkards cheer.
NOTE: This poem imagines a dancer who appears onstage dressed to the nines, doing an elegant waltz. She then proceeds to perform a “bump and grind” striptease. The “stages slipping by” are the better stages for her talents and the stages of life. She is past her prime, deserted by her friends and relegated to burlesque. Keywords/Tags: dance, dancer, wine, women, song, sexy, burlesque, striptease, waltz, waltzing, applause, drink, drunkards, neon light, strobe, flash, flashing, crystal ball, chandelier, lap dancer, exotic dancer, stripper, peeler, strip, striptease artist, Moulin Rogue, passion, champagne, gin, beer, social
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i felt like a princess
going off to the ball
dressed to the nines
my hair all done up
in ribbons ‘n curls
glittery earrings
long silky gloves
ran up both my arms
i put on my glass slippers
hoped to be swept off my feet
and dance the whole night away
the length of my train sway and sway
i got to the venue the music delightful
soon i was spinning whirling and twirling
a prima ballerina pirouetting and waltzing
showing off all my very best ballroom moves
i swept the floor as wide and gracefully as i could
all night rock ‘n rolling in rhythm ad libbing freestyle
the orchestra was on fire with hits one after the other
out of nowhere the stroke of midnight did surprise me
so i picked up my dress finding the exit as quick as i could
executed a quick curtsy and reverence before disappearing
AP: 2nd place 2025, 3rd place 2020
Submitted on February 20, 2025 for contest POETRY COMES IN ALL KINDS OF SHAPE sponsored by VANYA EVANGELINA - Honorable Mention
and December 18, 2019 for contest N-A RERUN 4 sponsored by JOHN HAMILTON - RANKED 3RD
(presumably still alive
predicated on rumored sightings dive
ving fast as blazing saddles,
her blitzkrieg,
nothing but a blurry beehive.)
Swifter than Usain
(lightening) Bolt
Eden Liat
(thine eldest daughter,
a mixed hybrid breed
greyhound and whippet)
leaves in the dust
topnotch any racehorse
prompting speculation,
she harkens, and begat
from a long line,
sans award
(at trough feed ding),
many a cooly
winning super naturally
infused awk worded Colt
surpassing (with a flash,
plus even sub track ting
considerable handi
capped add halt
ting delay), thine
prestigious, princess,
and prodigious exalt
ting marathon running
smart lee zipping
as a whip lash heiress,
thru no fault
in the stars
of her astrological designs
oft times humbly declines
adulation, benediction, dedication
and deferentially finds
reasons amazingly, gracefully,
and mannerly deflects
self imposed grueling practices,
that she quickly grinds
into pulverized powder,
any high top custom made
high tech lines
brand name
threadbare sneakers saved
with countless
trophies that aligns
storied (and stuffed
animal bedecked)
bookshelf, even gag
me with a spoon
humor tinged competitions,
faux rotten tum ate oh
(John Heinz)
seeded "ketchup with me"
hash-tag game
opened to all kinds
of village people, including
some barenaked ladies,
where flashy Mainliners
dressed to the nines
(essentially for sound
garden variety public,
who generally favor squash),
that crop up during
Indian Summer salad days
punctuates the warm air,
where one after
another lover doth appear
oak kay embracing ephemeral
pseudo sappy romance
spine tingling
as sharp needling pines.
I'm dressed to the nines, do I look fine, Defiantly not demure.
I see you on the dance floor a picture glamour, in fact to die for,
I'm mesmerised as you dance by, a portrait of lissome grace,
just one of your smiles could cure all the worlds wiles, a panacea for the human race.
The mellifluous sound in the background makes me want to get on that dance floor
As I join the dance floor and for sure Im the cynosure of the rooms attention.
I ask to dance, and you say yes ,that's me ineffable for the rest of the night.
You're not an ingénue girl, as you send me wild with the moves of a temptress
That dance will last in sempiternal, your the prettiest I have ever seen
The disco lights reflect of that dress and the sequins shine with a chatoyant lustre
Then you turn round, and without a sound you disappear into the night .
the story of my life lol
She was lady of Charpay.
She dressed formally every day.
Most of us called her Great Grandma Doll.
At one time she had been a gangster’s moll.
Swing that skirt, Grandma D.
Flash those gams, and wink at me.
Go back to Chicago, you sweet young moll.
Your gangster is waiting – handsome and tall.
Charpay had nothing on Great Grandma Doll
Dressed to the nines, so brassy and tall.
Her jewelry was totally glitzy
Her clothes pranced forth so ritzy
Swing that skirt, Grandma D.
Flash those gams, and wink at me.
Go back to Chicago, you sweet young moll.
Your gangster is waiting – handsome and tall.
Close your eyes for a moment and pretend life is a backward chugging ride
watch the virus disappear from sight, feel the weightlessness of a new day
Yesterday is forwarding away and covid cases are waving one last goodbye
as they fall to the ground and die...
Cardiopulmonary relief you can breathe
Openly without a mask,
Veer to the future with hope now
Invite your friend over and celebrate
Dormant and still making fast retreat
Take your ears off the locomotive sounds of yesterday's news then smile
as you catch the eyes of your neighbor, measure not the miles between you
Today is a gift borrowed from past, don't let it slip away from your grasp
its time to re-teach your heart to fly
Can you imagine what a beautiful reunion it will be when you arrive at the station
wholesome and dressed to the nines waiting for your mother's kiss to bless you
Close your eyes hold the memory, cuz soon the train will move again forward
and you will be left holding the parcel she gave you the day you left for Canada
Bless the soil of your imagination writer, she gave you the heart
that you are pumping today, come away....
Jan 24, 2020
Our first date was late
He had made me wait
I dressed to the nines
but my clothes were not refined
my sandals were made of plastic
and anything but fantastic
and my pants were very white
and sadly a bit too tight
As we headed down the walk
my sandals started to balk
so I stuttered in my gate
but alas it was too late
As I teetered on the edge
I foresaw the pending ledge
where my dignity and grace
would leave without a trace
Save the green smear on my caboose
and the strap that had gotten loose
no real damage was physically done
but Oh yes- he did run!
Never to return again
to anything but friends
and the misery of that first date ...
on my ego does forever grate
The End
For First date contest 1-16-2018 Brenda Chiri ( but not submitted as it is not a sonnet)
Fat bellied man
It seems we have a
Miss
Under
Standing
What you huntin?
Nothin in here for you
The safe is bare
How dare
You
Not
Be aware
that
I was inclined
To go out and dine
Dressed to the nines
The corner fish fry was nice
just a bit of advic
I don’t do tartar
Only tar-tare
I thought you understood
The rules of this game
Those steam-sealed pockets
I don’t choose
to purposely inflame
But
Everything is a process
A test
Now was that really your best
Aside from clutching your leather so tight
If you had looked up from the pennies
You stowed away with that key
You would have recognized my grace
And would have known
There was no need to angst
The night was on me
The Luck of the Irish never fails,
Whether Belfast or the Dublin scene.
Their tried and true spirit prevails,
Dressed to the nines in emerald green.
Though past history seems so unfair,
When cursed by unforgiving rule.
Land and people fraught with despair,
And burdened by laws ever cruel.
Too many years they suffered the plight,
Till the day they severed the ties.
While rising tall for freedom's fight,
Cut their tormentors down to size.
Now one and all will surely agree,
Either standing or kneeling to pray.
Here's to an Ireland forever free,
So raise a glass on St. Patrick's Day.