Long Lecher Poems
Long Lecher Poems. Below are the most popular long Lecher by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Lecher poems by poem length and keyword.
I just found out.....
Well, I don't know how to say it?
Would you think less of me
If I say just the way it is?
I thought I was a Macho man,
A rollicking Romeo,
A lusting Lothario, A libertine,
A Don Juan, A Casanova,
A raving stud, A flirt,
A prowling philanderer, A womanizer,
A playboy, A skirt chaser, A lecher;
But by golly, I am none of the above!
I found.....
I am .... Well, I am,
I am GAY!
Aha! Gotcha!! Not so fast!!!
I mean HAPPY!
I am a HAPPY MAN!
~A Brian Strand Contest.
"Make their jaws drop" contest by FJ Thomas
Lekker!
Oh, my! A lecher is near us, you say?
No, I didn’t use C-H. Lekker uses a K.
What did you mean? Was it *“Lick her” you said?
And just who should I lick? Are you out of your head?
NO! Lekker! It’s NICE.
How gross can you get? Licking some person that you've never met!
No, it’s just LEKKER. I didn’t say LICK.
Well, good! I’m not licking some girl. That’s just sick.
Am I hearing you right? Are you trying to say . . .
*“like her”? Just who do you like anyway?
Not “i” as in “like.” Is your head made of wood?
It’s LEKKER, a word which simply means GOOD.
Ok, cool your jets! You’ve gone red in the face.
Why didn’t you tell me this in the first place?!
* In American English, at least, if a person says "Lick 'er" or "Like 'er"
it is meant as "lick her" or "like her" since we often omit the H sound
of pronouns like him and her after a preceding consonant sound.
For the Lekker Contest of Suzette Crous
What is that? My comrade asked. I ignored her. She is not my friend.
No, really, she said scooting my way. The rest of the class smiled on whim.
The teacher had them on mute, so they could not speak. I was glad.
“Who is your friend?” the teacher asked; he is a lecher; I do not trust him.
Hey! You all really do look alike! My pal Sam texted in my private text box.
This irritated me; I never like stereotyping lambs or any other creature.
Shall I tell them my story? The intruder asked. The one about the fox?
This is an important class meeting I said; and you are being a leacher.
Well excuse me! She said, stomping off to be with the rest of the herd.
“Who was that?” My teacher asked me. He is all about mixed dating.
I had to will my eyes not to roll; this was inappropriate, quite absurd.
Her name I do not know, but she is pushy, I warned as he was waiting.
Can you please get her number? He asked. She looked interested in our class.
Annoyed, but trying not to show it, I decided to fix them up on a whim.
I know this seems weird, and it was, but I do have a bit of sarcasm and sass.
And a bit of gloat, would be horrible and awful pretty much for both of them.
I sailed an olive boat
into the center of the sea
alone
to find a cure for my loose heart
not the spring-back type, noble with elasticity
but leap-forward lecher-wild
binding to any skirted frame and drooping hemline
like friendly burrs in shrubbery lanes
sat in an olive boat
drifting mid-seas
unaccompanied but for Hope to land a cure upon my knees
to heal my lousy, narcissistic zeal
an insatiable human thinks like a possessed apiary
an overwrought dam
I tonsured my beatific locks
as bare as Samson
hoodwinked
by his pet Flytrap
tossed reflective surfaces, anything that would give my face
a way to self-seduction
safe in a roasted green-pea float
lost like dead at sea
to recover a voice that scarcely has been mine
its echo returns not
through bursting towns
busy at trade
hawkers cawing,
hucksters' crow delirious,
chattering cashboxes
traffic snakes wending
Nowhere do they end in time
always metal and rust
ferric towering towers, condominium pride,
noisome domiciles, toxic steel cages
barring the success of this voice~
the sound of your mind drowned inside the urban brawl
not a jot of space to reckon nor conciliate
blushing-rushing-golden consciences
an echo may not return to its sender then ~
a man with no name.
"All a man really wants, is a girl who looks good in a bikini."
- Jack Freestone
Bikini Betty's Beef
A randy surfer from Malibu Crest
Untied the bikini top off of Celest
You’re my Betty let’s hang loose
As he tried for her caboose
Celest slapped his hand away from her breast
Aloha Barney, this isn't your turf
A lecher you are who can’t even surf
Damn men with no brains, think again
Bet you’ve never even hung ten
I’m not your Betty, uncool stupid Smurph
by I Am Anaya
As striking as a Malibu Barbie doll
Gals in bikinis I love, summer and fall
But I'm classy and kind
And so drawn to their mind
That they need not wear a bikini at all
by Robert Gorelick