Long G string Poems
Long G string Poems. Below are the most popular long G string by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long G string poems by poem length and keyword.
Your tight-fitted, neon-pink top glows in the dark surf,
While your fluorescent G-string sparkles in my brown eyes.
Each, firm buttock, the well-rounded quarter of savory Roe,
My raised shaft in mock-tandem salutes each, titillating swivel.
Your silver bangles reflect the golden sun beams:
Your silver locket refracts steam from my eyes.
Your lubed pigments with drying sun strokes bind;
My doting fingers carefully brush refinished surface.
Your silky, ebony locks morph into a shimmering frock,
Availing breeze bristles thread-ends against my chest.
Your polished legs are flossed by the foaming tides,
Tethering to my brawny sinews, coarse hairs lather.
Your tiny, nimble feet sweep the satin granules;
The winnowed seeds tenderly fondle my arched heels.
I’m cursed since I have a specialty that I can see,
X-ray vision is my power.
People often say one thing while doing another,
Preaching from their ivory tower.
“Man up!” we obeyed every command of our big English teacher,
The biggest introvert.
And he’d wear a bright red bra, invisible to all but me,
Under his blue striped business shirt.
“Live exactly by the bible in our great country”
Our priest would drill into us every Sunday.
And I could see his beautiful knickers he wore under his pants,
We all knew he was secretly gay.
And the local news anchor man loved to wear
His red garter belt beneath his black suit top.
I think it was the same brand my barber wore
When I got my hair cut at the local barber shop.
We all trust our local paramedic, saving our lives
When we are most in need of his care.
I can see he loves us dearly, loves to feel comfortable too,
With the silk stockings he chooses to wear.
And when we prosecute the deviates, whores, and filth
We entrust our judges in our courts.
Our local judge loves to prosecute wearing, beneath his gown,
Hot pink singlets and hot pink shorts.
And during his speeches, to our elected few,
About gays not marrying during his political reign.
He wears his G-string made of metal sequence,
The leader of our country looks sexy in chain.
I’m cursed since I have a special power I dare not tell anyone,
I have the power of x-ray vision.
It’s easy to see which men who say “don’t”, secretly “do”,
And which men need circumcision.
Hear me,
I’m going to try and be cheery
Cheer me,
Chirp like a bird when you wake up in the morning
you ain’t murdered there's no wake no mourning,
You’re alive and kicking,
stop kicking, ice cream licking
in hot hot summertime
it’s not not undercover time,
Feel the breeze, admire the trees, the cold rescind,
sunglasses see the wind lift up a skirt,
G string, wonderful thing eyes don't divert,
a fun pass sees us strip and bathe in sun, umm pervert,
turn red, geees lobstering, now that's gona hurt,
smile, some have one testicle,
vile, and one undetectable, laugh,
you full sacked, not half.
I told you I’m happy,
This a cheery attack,
hands together clappy,
clearly a happy chap,
rhyme well angry,
happy, I'm crap.
You’re locked up, in the dark, forsaken and forlorn,
All alone with nowhere to go.
When every ounce of your being only ever wants to create
A dazzling musical show.
Your master thinks you’re comfortable resting,
Laying quietly in piled feather down.
And you lay there dreaming of the days and nights
You made music all over the town.
You want your neck to be held, taken and controlled,
Then caressed all along its length.
And you want your body to be worked, rhythmically strummed,
And plucked with all of his strength.
And when this happens you’ll let out a purr
Then get rowdier and louder with each strum.
And then you’ll scream, igniting the crowd,
As your G-string gets buzzed with his thumb.
You don’t want to be locked up, alone in the dark,
Dreaming of happiness that you can share.
You’re a beautiful guitar, you should be out and about,
Spraying your love all over everywhere.
Mist covers the landscape, whitewashed in moonlight
It seems I've been taken on a heavenly flight
The music surrounds me, envelops my soul
I'm lost in a dream-world where I can let go
I cannot distinguish, what's real or what's myth
There are no lyrics, to leave me bereft
Just sweet gentle heartstrings to sweep me aloft
The sound is so gentle, it takes all my breath
With fragile vignettes, and moments to rest
There are bittersweet edges on the tip of each note
Taking me forward, and backwards in time
Rapture I know like the back of my hand
Touches new places where I've longed to go
It calls me to sleepwalk through dreams in a fog
I'm free-falling backwards, releasing my breath,
as something releases white doves from above.
The pent-up emotions that cling to my breast
exhale with the notion that music is love
*________________________________________________________*
Poem Based on the music by Johann Sebastian Bach "Air on a G String"
2/5/16
My auntie wears 'Bridget Jones' knickers
But last week at tea at the vicars
She’d purloined MY lace thong
It was morally wrong
T’was the cause of very loud snickers
My thong’s wedged between her butt crack
Stuck firmly between front and back
But it’s not a surprise
As it’s not in her size
There’s no room to cut any slack
Aunt waddles around like a duck
Like a chicken she begins to cluck
‘Yes I took her G-string
Get me out of this thing’
Stop gawping, help me get unstuck
The Vicar say’s I’ll get my pliers
On reflection it’s what this requires
The vicar doesn’t shirk
As he gets down to work
But after an hour he tires
My auntie’s visage is not pale
(Her embarrassment is off the scale)
When my G string gets cut
It pings clean off her butt
It’s a shame she’s the tush of a whale!
For a ‘sweet’ friend BB xx
07/22/21
I met her at a biker bar
(C) 2025 by Russ Dodson
I met her at a biker bar
somewhere in midtown Monterrey.
She said she was a topless dancer,
working fifteen shifts a day.
She handed me a well-worn token,
said her name was Daisy Mae,
said if I learned to play the game right
I would never have to pay.
I placed the token on the table,
waited for the song to play.
When it started, she stood up;
I watched her body start to sway.
She headed for a dressing room,
looked back and said, "Don't go away."
She returned wearing a costume
meant to lead a man astray.
In pasties and a beaded g-string,
everything was on display.
Her eyes said, "This is all for you, love."
There was nothing more to say.
T'is urgent Mr.Moon,
You don't want to be a slacker;
Respond to me ASAP
Regarding my mere matter.
No resentment in my bones,
No anger and no fury.
Time is ticking on the clock,
Before I face the jury.
Me- I'm small and You- You're big and
Every single night,
Forever looking up at you
For you can expedite...
Approval for my freedom,
Am ageing like a prune.
You can change my future,
So c'mon Mr.Moon.
Know that you're THE moon,
So wave your giant wand.
Offering a treaty...
If only you respond.
Press once more the urgency,
This all that I require-
Answers to my questions,
For here I may expire.
Help me Mr.Moon,
The nurses and the doctors-
Speaking very loudly,
Sounding like the choppers!
Help! Help!! the doctors and the nurses,
Have got me! Yes they've got me
They've got me with
Vexed verses.
Don't touch me, Don't dare touch me,
My friend he sees you all.
You may be big but he is huge and
You you're very small.
I tell you all he's up there and
watching everything,
Oh my gosh did you see that?
A flying large g-string !
Save me Mr.Moon,
Wait, I can see a placket,
Oh no, Oh no, Oh my gosh...
This is a tight straightjacket!!!
A straightjacket they have on me,
This your fault old moon.
Can't believe what you've done-
Be seeing you real soon.
You don't care and you don't care,
Swear I have no air...
Cannot breathe, gonna heave,
the moon he's everywhere.
Laughing at you all,
He looks like a cartoon...
There he is behind that cloud,
Swear it is the moon!
Listen to me all,
Listen ! Listen !! Listen !!!
This the truth; I speak the truth,
Fact and this not fiction.
The moon has stalked me all my life
This like a steel cocoon,
Get me out of here...
I swear it was the moon !!!
This is a joke I swear it is,
In fact against the law.
You and me it's on I swear;
Moon and I to war.
It was the Emperor's birthday.
The Coliseum was sold out.
All over the Cityyou could hear
The people laughs and shout.
First came on the animals
In the early evening heat'
Not much fun once They’d had
enough Christians to eat.
The came on the gladiators
All dressed up to thrill,
Because it was Caesar's birthday
They weren't allowed to kill.
Then came the speciality act,
The deflowering of a hundred maids
All tastefully laidout
Under transparent sunshades.
Out strode the proud Nubian
Dressed In G string and sarong
Eager to get started at
The clash of the gong.
First three dispatched with ease
He stiffened, clasped his head
And without further ado
Fell down stone deaded dead.
In the stunned silence
The promoters was heard to stay
He was fine at dress rehearsal
Earlier on today.
It being a little early
To send the crowd home
They had a little riot
And they burned down Rome.
The Emperor got excited
And quickly joined
Swaying to the flames as
He played his violin.
That's how the Empire ended
By contemporary description;
How different it could have been
With Viagara on prescription.
Fowl meadow grass - Glyceria striata - the striations
on the lemma. Drooping rachis
a weeping willow of a grass.
Recurring periwinkles, myrtle, Vinca.
Helicopter petals. Evergreen leaves.
Escaped from gardens, alien or native?
A little further by the spruce stand
a new mustard, cuckoo flower - Cardamine -
with pinnately compound leaves. What a find!
A good day turns bad.
After you've died, one of them dogs digs up your grave.
You may sit in the rain and think.
Maiden pink.
The dark circle inside the flower
a g-string or garter.
O to fail well. To lay low. To live long.
To run slow. Feel the hill. Pressing down.
Do less. Until one thing's done well.