Long Flirting Poems
Long Flirting Poems. Below are the most popular long Flirting by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Flirting poems by poem length and keyword.
Born of winter's snow and gentle spring rain
Remembering Willow Pond, where our dreams begin
Where wild geese swim, then fly away again
Beneath shaded coves, where other lovers have been
The fragrant smell of earth, green moss and peat
Where tangled grass and weeping willows lean
A crumbling bank, where cattails wash their feet
Our blanket spread upon the meadow green
Our campfire glows, playing flirting games
Ashes drift like feathers, smoke curls into the air
Burning embers, teasing flickering flames
And love smolders warm, a kiss in the evening fair
Trees sway and swoon along the bank
Leaves flutter in gentle evening wind
With each breath of warm summer breeze
It brushes my cheek, as daylight ends
Willow pond, the place where love came alive
We loved....under the stars of the twilight skies
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Water/Earth/Fire/Wind For Barbara's contest
If I had lied like everyone else who achieved their goal,
I could have spared myself an useless headache,
and it seems late to realize that my honesty caused a mess!
There was a table for two sweethearts
in the finest restaurant, my first date supposed to have been perfect
with all the enthusiasm and the sorrounding athmophere:
a boutique of roses and scented candles!
The girl's name was Amenda with big eyes of sapphire,
the boy's name was Andrew a little outspoken but funny;
everything went smoothly, the food was superb and the waiter
with an Italian accent was humorous and helpful,
but happened next is something nobody would believe.
Amenda had too much wine and started to talk non-sense
asking me, " What kind of work do you do?"
I promptly replied, " I am a chief ! " and boasting with pride,
silly words flowed from my mouth, " You should see me
in my uniform...everybody loves it! " Amenda with angry eyes
yelled, " Everybody...including the dumb blonde
and the red headed who order food just to see you? "
I jolted as if in a powerful earthquake, " How do you know that? "
But she with a malignant glance exploded, " I saw them
flirting with you while they waited for their order! "
" Oh, pretty boy, you brought me here to listen to your aspiration,
I must be stupid enough to believe everything you say? "
I stood up, pushing back my seat and swore, " I never intented to lie,
Amanda...I am sorry for getting you upset, and if my honest caused a mess,
I apologize with all sincerity. " Ah, you even mention the word sincerity:
here's you reward, fool! " And splashing a glass of wine all over my sharp suit,
she left...while the crowd started to laugh, thinking it was a movie scene.
Here's my deepest reflection on telling little, white lies,
" Guys, on your first date...don't say what you actually do for a living,
invent a profession that brings in tons of money, like a surgeon or attorney;
go ahead and have fun, and the more excited you get her,
the more she'll believe you...who wants to be a loser on his first date? "
a flick of the hair head tilt-
a little coquetish smile a teasing question
all part of the flirting game
tickling winking flattery giggling
speaking those sweet nothings
chatting up
flattering comments
long silly conversations
flirting can be just for fun or be more
friends co-workers total strangers
people flirt
its all in the body language the vocal tone
volume
intonation
feigned interest
the flirter sends out signals a touch a look
perhaps just playful or may be dangerous
a flick of the hair head tilt-
a little coquettish smile a teasing question
all part of the teasing game
can be flattering can be uncomfortable
or can be harmless fun or have more intent
blowing a kiss footsies under the table
raise an eyebrow a little hand touch perhaps
send a secret note
write a love poem
stage an encounter
flirters can be devious and relentless
the batting of the eyelashes old tactic
but it still works
next thing you know your
exchanging personal numbers
careful-
_______________________________
July 13, 2015
Free Verse
For the contest, Flirt, sponsor, Casarah Nance
First Place
This morning, remembering the end of times is not that far off
I sampled my cinnamon and sugar toast glad I did not have a cough.
The timer on the oven was showing me I had gotten up pretty late.
It was too late to do most anything, but time is frankly not my fate.
Words are all we offer as proof we existed, we poets and writers.
We come across as passionate, as big brave dope fighters.
In actuality, we are more frightening on paper, if you want the truth.
We can become pilots, astronauts, daredevils, and sometimes Babe Ruth.
I can write about kitchens, pirates, dragons, elves, and other crazy things.
A pear, its moisture sucked dry and wearing a lei of succulent apple rings.
I take down six pens in a row, but the ink is all dry, making me mad.
I am scribbling on empty, several times. It is irritating and sad.
Box of desire opened under the futility of trying to get something to write.
I throw down the pens and walk outside to encounter my garden and daylight.
The morning is salvaged when I see the butterflies flirting and flitting.
It is a fantastic day to sit and admire my yard. A day for porch sitting.
At nineteen she’s beautiful—
chic and slim
Legs as smooth as a king’s javelin
She’s gentle in her speech, like the flow of a stream
With a face, the glamour of a cloudless skyline
She wears the sexiest of silk garments
And the finest of beads in the world of ornaments
We gape at her from the backyard fence
And wish we could ever afford her bride price.
But Tonya is not your ordinary character
She lives in the farthest of distant worlds
With a book on her lap she travels Miles
Dating and flirting with invisible ghosts
Sometimes she smiles as she reads, we wonder!
Who talks to books? We ask in surprise
She raises her eyebrow, distracted and irritated
She shakes her head and shuts her book.
Her father is an old man of few words
A chief ever scorning the white man’s books
He drinks his wine and plays his harp
He sings his songs of the battles he fought
Her mother is the youngest of the chief’s wives
A remarkable diviner with an air of romance
She speaks highly of Tonya and the chief is provoked
‘That pair of pumpkin heads fool of books!’
@Asiimwe Simon
THE BEAT POETS BEAT
In the heart of San Francisco, Beat poet and publisher, Lawrence Ferlinghetti's City Lights bookstore shines bright, where words dance like shadows and the Beat poets ignite the night/
October 7, 1955 history takes a breath and five souls step onto the stage at Gallery Six, defying convention, flirting with death/
Allen Ginsberg, with fire in his eyes, unleashes “Howl” with a thunderous cry, a manifesto of madness and a rebellion against the lie/
Philip LaMantia, haunted, reads to his dead friend, his poetry, weeping, echoing a voice that refuses to bend/
Michael McClure paints images, Gary Snyder sings with the trees and Philip Whalen whispers wisdom, each line a gust of the breeze/
Jack Kerouac, a slick cat, the pulse on the side, cheering from the sidelines at the Six, his heart a drum, a ride, his “Beatitude” was full of pride/
Man, he was having a poet’s blast and wrote about that first gig of Beat poets at Gallery Six in The Dharma Bums/
Dig it people, Kerouac was a hipster and juicehead all rolled into one, his words will last into the beat of a new jazz thing/
The rhythm of jazz where poetry flows and grows, drunk poetry fans are lost in the haze, sipping inspiration, caught in the craze/
So, dig the jazz of Charlie ‘Bird’ Parker, Miles, Diz, and Monk where each note is a heartbeat, each beat a junkie’s funk/
Bebop intertwines a new vision in the structure of their poet dreams, crazed improvisational jazz solos are a tapestry of spoken word screams/
So let us raise a glass to words unchained, to the Beat Generation, where poetry reigned/
The echoes of City Lights, let their legacy shine bright, for in the lines of their verses we find our voice, our fight/
==============================
There's an active young lady who swills
every drop that adventure's cup spills.
If it's filled to the brim,
she will start at the rim
and swim down til she's in to the gills.
Only flirting with danger fulfills
her addiction to trembles and thrills.
Any risk will suffice
if it helps feed her vice.
She pops perils as if they were pills.
She makes mountains where there were molehills,
tempting fate just to sharpen her skills
If she skates on thin ice
and it breaks...GOOD. That's twice
the excitement - the risk AND the chills!
Penthouse windows? She favors the sills.
Peaceful valleys? Just show her the hills.
Faced with any pitfall,
she'll go balls to the wall...
Got a porcupine? She'll take the quills!
As this lifestyle eventually kills,
she wastes no time on planning or bills.
So, you think you'll be set
when she's gone? Don't forget -
this includes life insurance and wills!
==============================
11/04/2015
Fall flourishes with flighty flair,
a lilting song upon the air.
Symphony of fading cinder
all in spirit, rhythm, and timbre.
In Her heart a mild melody
flirting with a sweet revelry.
She has not sung this song before,
an unearthly, uplifting score.
Morendo a niente, fades out,
catching Her breath in subtle shout.
Crescendo of color escapes
in multidimensional shapes.
Catching currents, Her breath has blown,
paves the path with scattered seeds sown.
Her name is carved on every tree
She has conceived her canopy.
Dulcet, the voice of Autumn sways,
Presto agitato, She plays,
Leaves flutter in a rustling dance,
taking part in russet romance.
What sweet music tingles the trees!
Baring bold birches, blows the breeze,
Arias aired in harmony
with woods akin bleeding honey.
Enjoy Fall's vibrant banjo beats,
as she raps with hued leafy sheets,
whispering soft kisses and dreams,
Refrains released in umber streams.
Foliage tanned and tinted brown
tango with harvest's golden gown,
Autumnal chorus slow tingles,
Join in with Her joyful jingles.
The love of my life looked me in the eye
As if I was dreaming, he understood
Like the beat of an eagle's wing
I felt his pupils expanding in gentility
It was the very first day
I held his hand in mine
He remembered
He called me kind
The love of my life looked me in the eye
Like sun beaming from encompassed gloom
A feather flirting the fingertips
A splash of refreshing water
He understood. . .he understood
And every word was so clear and new!
It was the very first time
The connection sparked
The love of my life looked me in the eye
And then was gone in a week's time
His spirit slid away in bits, like sand
Returning to distant lands
He never said goodbye
Those green eyes still ponder and shine
Leaving but remembering
All that was said
The love of my life looks me in the eye
As tears flow down my cheeks
I miss the gentle beat of the wing
I miss the way he speaks
The treasures we did share
Are now only a memory that I wear
The love of my life looks me in the eye
Only through a photograph. . .
Valentines Day always found me quiver and bowed over
Ring with no feather in my cap only envy
at handsome man drakes with bucks,
who could bank on "hot chicks" willingly
aligned in arrow emitting clucks
fluffing their respective tail feathers amidst
loud squawking out quacking
establishing pecking order like ducks,
or any other foxy fowl billetted
within walled din noisy hen house
(yepper blame pandemonium on the fox)
preening, each be solder self flux
sing wings and waddling, flirting, casting...
webbed wide good lucks
at the growing flock
including male friends relatives,
minus yours truly, whose presence,
would merely generate a yawn,
though even a distinct black swan
received royal carpet treatment
particularly one named Shawn
encompassing another honorable guest
with illustrious surname Rawn
guests underwritten by Cupid,
whose presence surreptitiously withdrawn
(invitations distributed widely explained,
just beak cuz gerrymandering redrawn)
even provoking deer interest
of stray doe eyed fawn
hence lacking bravado and brawn
this bird den some seedy,
yet dove out crow kissing Avocet
trundled off to parts unknown you bet
far from boys stir russ, raw cuss, diss-cuss
sing demerits of being in debt
ting clacking clique, and thus this solitary fret
full ostracized, rejected, unwanted egret,
who heron there experienced many a let
down, not simply because of stork disparity
with the Aves and havenots,
but I never met
any other species so set
in their ways, hence off
on a wing and prayer
in search of other gulls,
whom this dodo bird they will coe vet!