Long Nubile Poems
Long Nubile Poems. Below are the most popular long Nubile by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Nubile poems by poem length and keyword.
Modeled by the skilled and clumsy hands
of artists and artisans into an ideal state of she-ness,
a penniless waif appears on a stool
last week a stranger called her Mona Lisa.
Statuesque upon the betrayer
warmed by the lemon-lolly light from
bays of north facing windows, blinded;
she can but blink.
Surrounded by a
cog-notched cyclical wheel of nubile artists—
blooming buds of wildness, vertical sprigs
flail softly on the breezy bounty of
illumination.
Brush and trowel, thick and thin,
the artists stoke her—semblance
canvased by millennium brush biters
maudlin Mary is returned to the pre-historic stew
by the likes of Claude
polished to a pearly perfection
by type A, Hieronymus’.
They were all strangers to her posers,
every bit as much as she.
Royal pretenders in a world
where only the artless
are paid.
Moneylenders rise on their discarded carapaces
beauty sucked dry by the doers and shakers
who spread like choking bittersweet through
the lollypop-light from the bay windows facing north
consuming Mona.
Julie ford Oliver - Famous Models
Ekphrasis
First Appeared in Illumen Magazine Fall of 2014
I’m hot in a careless way,
Like a barn fire, or a stolen Mercedes.
I’m the B-side of a 45
That never got much air play
Except at the request of lonely girls
Sitting home on prom night
With thin slivers of moonlight
Slipping through their drapery
To caress their disappointments.
I’m an organ grinding gypsy,
A vendor of cognitive provocations,
Subliminal symbolism,
And academic totems.
My vagrant delinquencies
Have accustomed me
To settle my accounts
With handy lay about cash;
My ledgers are always well balanced.
So, when I need a little bodily love,
When I need a little bodily love,
Yes, when I need a little bodily love
I summon that sylvan nymph coven
Of nubile forest vixens
To witch their carnal spells
With dirty talk and tongue lashings
That cleanse my insecurities
And teach me the usefulness of emptiness.
She keeps wasting strength, rattling her cage.
Begging to be freed, immured for her age,
first sign of nubile growth- they all want a ‘piece’,
gorging on her oppressed spirit; calling it a tease.
None see the child locked within her form.
A woman from the day she ‘bleeds’. Such is the norm!
Forced now to enshroud all her slow-swelling bits,
jeered if she stands too straight, judged if she sits.
Her rights and choices are twins locked in cells.
Hushed if she laughs too loud, horse-whipped if she yells,
the year-older brother is left loose to grow,
unrestrained he plays while she gets a ‘No!’
Young minds do wander, she finds catharsis in love.
She bunks school in secret to 'make out' in the grove,
he is young too and breaks the pact, talks to a friend,
who promptly tells all to get in on the trend!
Her plight is prude gossip, the school calls her kin.
Bad grades and reticence are blamed on her 'sin',
the boy gets a knuckle rap and is asked to behave,
he nods leaving her alone to mope in her cave.
She is beaten until all the brown turns blue.
Her story is an anecdote, a warning, a clue,
she’s worse than before from losing her pals-
whose folks have told them to steer clear of 'bad gals'.
She scrapes through school with her average grades.
Reduced to shabby clothes and well-oiled braids,
she sticks to the schedule, keeps her head up,
pinning hopes on a job to pick her out of this sup.
Near-tasting liberation she hollers in joy.
Alas! She can’t take the job they have found her a boy,
maybe he would set her free if she says 'yes' to this,
they don’t want her anymore; she’d at least be his.
He spins tales of love to get her in bed.
She's not wise yet to see through his head,
his doll in ‘fancy’ clothes- she sates his lust,
colored lips can’t coat brains corroding from rust.
He’s signed the lease! They own a house!
She smiles and slowly unzips her blouse,
stuck feeding their child, she has not a life,
he sees ‘apathy’ and wages war on the wife.
Older from enduring, she doesn’t earn yet pays.
‘Your brother has moved out. It’s been ten days!’,
she waits in bated breath for her 'gilded' locks to turn,
there’s no freedom for compliant girls- will she ever learn!
For half her life, she has been taught to 'shut up and listen’,
now she forces the bars open, to raise her girl like a son.
A nubile young vicar named Jude
Was seen swimming, totally nude
The bishop said WOW
Just look at you now
Your assets - they need to be viewed!
Fiction write!
07-05-17
Invited him home for a drink
A toast as their glasses did clink
Robes down on the floor
Performing a chore...
How far will this story now sink.
WRITTEN BY TIM SMITH
The vicar bent over to pray
The bishop could not look away
So for his protection
Took up a collection
A robe now conceals his display
WRITTEN BY CHRIS GREEN
I think this story about being nude will sink low
I will tell on those guys, all I know
Those two men are not holy
The bishop's roly-poly
And the vicar used to be in a nude girly show
WRITTEN BY LIN LANE
The bishop was feeling romantic
The vicar thought the man pedantic
When the vicar turned around
To give the bishop a frown
The bishop gasped, "Lord, you're gigantic!"
WRITTEN DALE GREGORY COZART
Said Jude, will we both go to hell-
Said bishop, you never can tell
But please will you turn
I've got carpet burn
And my knees are beginning to swell
WRITTEN BY GARY SMITH
As the bishop continued to stare
He thought such a body's not fair
To see the nude vicar
was hard on his ticker
and soon he had to change underwear
WRITTEN BY ROGER ADAMS
Mother Teresa told me so
In the heaven we’ll dance too slow
If you want to come
Bring us some Rum
Otherwise you may stop and go
WRITTEN BY PASHANG SALEHI
btw... What would the Pontiff say?
Would there be hell to pay?
Or would the Pope
just drop the soap
and hope he'd be invited to play
WRITTEN BY LIM'RIK FLATS
When suddenly a knock at the door
they decided they'd rather ignore
in walked the pope,
joined in the group grope
next day they were all saddle sore
WRITTEN BY DANIEL TURNER
The pope thought it not at all freakly
when asking the other men meekly
that if they were game
and would do the same
they could set up appointments weekly
WRITTEN BY DALE GREGORY COZART
Jude's assets developed so well
As the bishop could obviously tell
But you might be surprised
How it grew to that size
Well, he used it to ring the church bell
WRITTEN BY RAY GRIDLEY
07-06-17
When fate decides to bring you love.. smile..
for fickle fate oft omits the finer things,
bless the ground, stay enamored, yet, awhile.
Love, ah love, it is beauty without guile
and when gifted so your hearts will take to wings.
When fate decides to bring you love.. smile...
There is no emotion more versatile
bringing happiness to squires and King's
bless the ground, stay enamored, yet, awhile.
See the faultless features which beguile
and join your woven fingers with a ring.
When fate decides to bring you love.. smile..
You found a pairing more than mercantile
to such joy may your two hearts ever cling
bless the ground, stay enamored, yet, awhile.
To Bride and Groom a toast to love nubile
and all the bliss that loving lips can bring.
When fate decides to bring you love.. smile..
bless the ground, stay enamored, yet, awhile.
Charcoal cloud clutches the marooned moon
The sky stifles behind the dark shroud
The nubile night breathes the music of breeze
Rippling in the sound of silence.
The ocean wreathes with surging surface waves
The water at cold depth is fathomless serene
Respires the breath of dense darkness
Flowing in the sound of silence.
The tapestry of life torn by torment
Searches deep within for the lattice of quietude
The smothered mind soaks the breath of solace
Drifting in the sound of silence.
The captivating cacophony of materialistic life
Suffocates the consciousness of the absolute being
The secluded soul is suffused with the breath of bliss
Wafting in the sound of silence.
In the endless journey of the insensate essence
Across the seamless landscape of the ultimate reality
As we be breathed, feel the breath of Om
Vibrating in the sound of silence.
(Om is the sound of sacred spiritual symbol in Hinduism, signifying the essence of the ultimate reality, consciousness, or Paramatman. (Wikipedia)
August 19, 2021
Contest : As We Be Breathed
Sponsor : Unseeking Seeker
The lake is a tsimmes; boats, babies, and fish bob in white wakes.
Ah but, the sandy shoal, the small fish nest beneath and beside the docks.
The lens of lake divides but why chose when both are a joy?
Squeals of delight hang humid air steams the Sunday sunbathers.
Barbecues char hotdogs and burgers ladies strap-stripped, barelegged.
Coconut oil on skin or grilled meat wafts both are joyous smells.
Bob Marley on the breeze teens necking on the boulders, hot.
The roar of powerful engines or the driving pump of nubile hips.
Catch the colors, eye the scene you sit reading with a smile.
First Published in Pithy Pages For Erudite Readers Summer 2014
I brushed water colors with thoughts of Adam's Eve
and the fallen one who was disguised to deceive
this naked nymph, who strikes a nubile pose
offering a ripened apple and a crimson rose
Both face and body, painted innocently pure
her femininity was unquestionably demure
but with forbidden fruit bitten, it was all lost
From Eden's paradise she and Adam were tossed.
Uprooted as a tree, she forfeited divine favor
The evil reptile's lie succeeded to enslave her
Woe to the male offspring she was created to bear
One killed by the hand of the other, his plight forswear
To them, closed forever was the garden's gate
The finality of death then became mankind's fate
A wrong path was chosen when she'd been warned
gave way to mortality that all of us have mourned
the candle snuffed out long before the night was gone
sent shivers of darkness from a cracked thin chandelier
bemoaned life’s brevity and then succumbed to slumber
a scent of yesterday perfused the room with fragrance
of wishes burnt at lightning speed and molten wax
whispered to a waning moon’s request to grow anew
obscured by clouds fully bestowed with heavy vapour
the harlequin chanted songs of wisdom and temptation
half-naked images of the fool’s physique oozed wanton
jaded milestones jingled from his silver-coated necklace
his nubile fortune proud in the beauty of a timid glance
cast an eye of passion now that the light had given way
a sconce invited the cierge to bequeath a drop of hope
from his sceptre as he followed the bouquet of her lips
that whispered without a blush and accustomed to delight
ambrosia flowed from the flute of devotion as if to dance
within the shadow of a blossom ripe to spill and savour
their kisses forewent innocence to raise sweet sinless veils
01st November 2020
I stand here in front of a fractured mirror
Tracing veined lines and blemished pores,
That in my waif-like outline I dream
About spring’s young complexion…ripe virginal
The glint of nubile aura humbling dawn's luster.
Pity this lady; she’ll never understand
How her portraits are becoming duller now…
The texture of a hollow cheekbone, a saggy neck
Reflects all the vanity disguised as anguish;
My fear slowly withering under piled rouge
Only to crack along a theatrical stage of old reruns,
Blurring eye- mascara with heartbreaks concealed
Against twilight's kept illusions.
Pity this lady, a backstage prop , anonymous
Reliving her glamorous world lost in time’s curtain call—
Within a verbose oration across a dim looking-glass,
I stand farther away, paint my famed mouth
And wave at a vacant arena,
Consumed by an explosion of stars pouring on my face.
10/10/2018
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Contest of Craig Cornish: I Stand Here