Long Neckline Poems
Long Neckline Poems. Below are the most popular long Neckline by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Neckline poems by poem length and keyword.
Her pale, porcelain skin, a bright contrast to her raven hair
That fell about her shoulders, in a curly flair
Her bright eyes, that ensnared me so
Were they hazel, or emerald green, I do not know
Her ruby smile, those wicked lips, that kissed my heart
The turned down look, and the adventure did start
Her shoulder exposed, the neckline leading down
I remember so clearly now, her eyes were a golden brown
She had a curvaceous waist, that made me sway
I tried to see more, but at her belly, my gaze did stay
I forced my unwilling eyes, to embrace her shapely legs
They started at the rump, and led all the way to sex
My mind a haze, my world a daze
I remember now her wicked ways
Her arms encased me, while my world collapsed
Falling ever more, till my heart was trapped
Our love would last forever, it would seem
I remember so clearly now, her eyes were brilliant green
Her tender touch, was a cutting knife
Digging in her nails, she gave me life
And in a flash, our everlasting love was gone
After a year and a day, our precious time was done
Her soft and tender glow, was turned so soon from me
I remember so clearly now, her eyes were blue as the bluest sea
Forever until eternity, my heart lies entombed
Within the walls of a love, that is sadly doomed
Will it rise once more I ask, like the fiery phoenix
Oh I hope and pray, to my lady, the Goddess Nyx
Return to me, my raven haired girl
With the witchy eyes, and skin of pearl
Return to me, my angel of light
I pray, my Goddess of the night
When in having or showing a seemingly moderate,
most humble estimate of one's great merits,
and importance, free from ones vanity,
egotism, boastfulness, or grateful pretensions.
When free from ostentation or showing extravagance.
Can you a modest house,
white washed as new cotton picket fences.
When kind when in having,
or showing a proper regard for the decencies
behavior, speech, long fevered press,
and desert is best served:
when a modest neckline is not seen on that dress.
A demure young chorus girl.
Not being prudish could suggest an exaggerated,
self-conscious proper well fitting form of modesty
or propriety in behavior or lacking in conversation
when one whom like I, being thought of, as you wish
to be thought of,
easily shocked and who more often than not
is thinkingly tolerant.
Could a prudish objection to a harmless remark thus provoke.
When I am loving you, but you never me.
Bold, but coarse.
Often is the bread, when seeing the greenest sea.
I am but a small,
humble, low, slower, meeker version of thee.
A candle light woman.
Bright camera woman,
and a dream for he, comes true.
Can you not find,
this being this your modest of modest of styles today.
Can we not be ostentatious or kind of pretentious
without it being unseemingly, not extremely or excessively?
When it is modest and moderate,
decorous and or decent, when coming, I ask this of thee.
Love me and thou be art,
it is most often then, only when found by thee, is modestly.
Keeping due measure of your new found treasure.
It is a concentration of all of your riches,
and often one which is considered lost or forgotten
until being, you it is fire, 'rediscovered.
Of fine ripe women and wine, 'not improper or lewd,
Never once considered, a shrew.
'I will, ' therefore, with only thee...
Being that women adorned in themselves is modesty...
When beechen quickened red buds begin then to swell,
And the woods, far off this woman can see.
Being thus when this is, I have written
on this page.
It seems too me like modesty.
Evelyn was a gorgeous woman, sweet tempered and fun.
Larry knew that the second he began to date her, three months ago.
She seemed to be everything he wanted except for one small thing.
She was rather plain, not a looker, someone easily forgotten.
Thought this as he entered the French Quarter, for his afternoon snack.
Saw shoes first – they were sexy, sensual, red satin, with flirty ties.
Followed by legs that went up to the top of the Empire State Building.
He felt his cheeks redden. Had she seen him looking her over?
Stunning, with curly auburn hair, and a slender, glorious swan-like neck.
Larry watched. She was deep in thought, guarded by a collie like dog.
The dog stared daggers at him. They were a package apparently.
Maybe the dog was a shepherd; Larry did not understand dogs.
Dress was strapless, a sweetheart neckline; her breasts were perky.
Young, he thought; way too young to be wearing that much make up.
It was the Dad in him; he had a twelve-year-old daughter, Maggie.
The beautiful woman began to stir her beverage; the dog did not move.
A gorgeous pair, this woman wearing pearls at her neck and ears,
And impressively tall, protective, white dog with tan embellishments.
“Larry!” Evelyn sat down and noticed the young beauty right away.
“Look at that gorgeous hand-painted scarf in her lap!”
Larry pretended he did not know whose lap she mean. “Whose lap?”
“Oh, sure, you did not notice her?” She nodded in the dog’s direction.
“She is young enough to be my daughter!” He said indignantly.
Evelyn’s eyes danced, she looked prettier than she had ever looked.
It was another senior high school dance,
and it was you that asked me to go
the graduated senior home on holiday, in the know,
those old memories had made you miss your chance;
but it was me with two left feet
trampling toes on that floor in shame and defeat;
the well-worn gym was decorated for the fall festival
colors of autumn in passing, yellow, orange and brown
and your reputation revived as the old class clown
and I, loving you my high school crush back in town.
The pleated dacron dress was a rounded neckline high
snug on my shoulders glowing with turquoise flowered sighs
that somehow matched your well-pressed suit and tie
as my father frowned seeing your hand upon my thigh;
Mom, however, knew the drill and simply said he should remember
and off we hurried to the dance that late November
what a story we could tell, those days of teenagers ready to rebel,
shortening my skirt as we left the old Chevrolet you loved so swell,
through the doors, we heard the music vibrating in quickened start
and I never once denied you any dance because of my heart.
We would do the twist, the watusi, and the mashed potato
and slow dances seemed so outdated
but with the stroll, I could always catch your eye
and we 'd saunter off together in the Lady's Choice
while you sang to me in a deepened voice
if only time could find its way
to return to those our best glory days
when you and I were young, unafraid and believed we could fly
dancing to the dreams we had back then
let's keep on dancing and believe we can do it all again.
Shake it, shake it, shake it baby.
for Kim Rodriguez's contest
Dance with Me back to the 60s girl.
3/12/20
His interest awakens as a young woman
sauntered in the pub as he laid eyes on her bosom.
Enticing from the moment he saw her.
Her skin purrs of warm weather
copper honeysuckle, her eyes
waves' deep royal blue skies.
She wears a black plunging neckline leather dress
hugging her form, outlining every wonderful
feminine curve. She's striking and beautiful.
His thoughts a blur while she leans teasing
with eloquent banter.
With a smile she kicked off her black patent five
inch heels, singing as the riff of the music came alive
filling the room. He sought her unable to turn away
her teasing resistance and her friendly, bantering play.
He heard the rhythm trying his hardest to keep his distance.
Her wavy red hair loose a riot around her face
as she listens and dances across the room,
while the rest of her long locks fell down her back.
With the music going she closed her eyes
and did a little spin, there was a delectable teasing,
bright smile when she opened her eyes.
You tease me so nicely.
2-3-2018
Greyhound but a vague puzzle piece
Included in this English School.
The cynophilist unearths fur
On the edge of the frame, the hunt
For the breed, the breadth of the pet.
Lace shawl nets cornucopia —
The lady’s pink, white, red petals.
The anthophile’s bountiful vase.
Roses on table, floor, in hand,
Bud’s obscure in her brunette hair.
Moon brightness of the centerfold.
The poet details full length gown,
Square neckline, sash about her waist,
The opalescent pointy shoes,
Her brows, pert lips and curly locks.
The backdrop assimilates to floor.
Blossoming crystal vase sparkles.
Felicity of bride in June.
An English garden brought inside.
Greyhound in artist’s servitude.
9/24/2020
Poem based on English School
Portrait of a woman and her greyhound
I often think
In darker times
It's pointless toil
Creating rhymes
For what do rhymes
Achieve, and such?
Perfection strives
For words to clutch
Some faint idea
Some headlocked chat -
It smiles, then fades
Like Cheshire Cat
Chasing thought
Down rabbit hole
Succeed or fail
No heads will roll
From bitter world
To jammy tart
Where sweetness lives
In printed heart
No grumpy queen
No neckline threats
Beguiling words
This soul begets
Perhaps, in time
Simplistic notion
Can be transformed
With the right potion
Perhaps, if time
Allows, we will
Through heartfelt words
Our dreams fulfill
The spiral staircase made her high heels sing
Descending in slow motion, a lovely sight to see
Graceful, ever so slightly lifting her flowing gown
Bare shoulders and plungent neckline
Emotional, he waited by the makeshift altar
Clutching handwritten vows and fidgeting
He wanted to capture every breathless millisecond
This mountaintop villa was truly a dream come true
From here the city churches pierced the mist
How long he had waited for this moment
For many reasons fearing it may never come
Sometimes life hangs but by a thread
And second chances aren’t always guaranteed
In a short ceremony he had married his goddess
As husband and wife, waving farewell through the door
He closed it, and, now smiling, crossed the square
By his side, the new bride he held proudly
Life offered now a million possibilities
And dreams of a fairy tale to write
AP: 2nd place, Honorable Mention 2020
Submitted on May 7, 2018 for contest ONE NINE AND SIXTEEN UPGRADE VERSION sponsored by VIV WIGLEY - RANKED 4TH
~Letting My Hair Down~
Feel the paper slightly rough between my fingers
Play with the corner before I turn devour the words thoughts do linger
Sometimes romance - sometimes to learn.
Bubbles popping around my neckline
Steam rising high, perspiration falling
Flicking pages this time is mine-there are no voices calling.
Stretch the full length and feel free not tied
No need to watch the clock
Minutes pass - but my time I bide, this time is mine no one will knock.
I feel clean, complete, renewed
A new vigour, clean body, clean mind.
Time to get out and stop the kids at feud, time to get back to the daily grind…
© ~GG~ 15/06/20,
Entry For Contest "Lettinng your Hair Down sponsored by Yasmin Kahn by Mandy Tams ~GG~
When top-heavy Trudy went drinking
She noticed the men were all blinking
Her low neckline falling
Dear Lord, it’s appalling
That Trudy’s own “three eyes” were winking
*Written June 11, 2014
Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2014
Celebrating Carolyn's Poetry: An Uncontest Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Andrea Dietrich
Carolyn was such a witty lady I loved her poems and learned so much about meter from reading her poems. The Top heavy Trudy poem is a perfect example of a bawdy limerick and I love the use of humour in the title . Carolyn always encouraged me to write witty poems especially the limerick form and the poem I chose mirrors my own sense of humour
08/30/21