Long Pantyhose Poems
Long Pantyhose Poems. Below are the most popular long Pantyhose by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Pantyhose poems by poem length and keyword.
Whoever thought that a poem could be
Composed about the odor of dirty feet
Be here goes one so hold your nose
Be sure to keep on your pantyhose
Invited to a party celebration
Many came but all from one nation
Gathered in and gathered round
One little boy close by my crown
Pulled off his shoes
But his socks we're blue
He began to sniff his feet
Like they were very neat
Then he began to sniff his shoes
Seemed they smelled as good as stew
He sniffed and smelled
With his face fully meld
Seemingly to enjoy the scent
And having his parents consent
Deeply inhaling both his feet
It seemed he would sit a week
Finally his dad felt discipline was needed
And spoke softly words that pleaded
Son put back on your shoes
And not only of your choosing
But dad I love the way they smell
Everyone around quelled
Feeling the tension around me rising
Needed some saying a tiding
I'll bet his mother used Febreze
To keep the odor from his feet
Now don't you think that's neat
To keep the odor from his feet
Form:
it's Fashion Week in New York City and the people just can't wait
to see the lastest trends that the designers will demonstrate
to all the fashionistas with their obssession to impress
tis the season to be a woman of style in the way that you dress
for true fashion is about representing one's identity by the clothing one wears
but fashion is fickle and it's a crazy and unpredictable world out there
one day you may be in and the next day you may be out
but if your wearing the garments of God your fashion style is never in doubt
celebrity endorsements, designer labels and someone's logo on your butt cheeks
there's nothing wrong with the external facade but it's the internal you need to seek
you've been baptized and now you are a new creation in Christ
wearing Divine Designer garments to go with your new life
you have been stripped of the old way of dressing
now wearing the virtues of God in a way most impressing
high fashion from that Universal Designer known as Our Lord God
wearing His Divine creations to go with your brand new heart
Patience is now the pantyhose where your divine foundation starts
Compassion is now that delicate silk blouse worn over your heart
Kindness displayed like a heavenly pair of shoes upon your feet
Humility is now that stylish hat that makes your outfit complete
Forgiveness worn like a precious and expensive pair of gloves
and last but not least that glorious overcoat that God calls love
dressed in Divine Designer garments from the inside out
dressed for success with a stylish spiritual clout
you don't need a Louis Vitton sash around your waist
if you have the Belt of Truth cinched firmly in place
you won't need a Ralph Lauren chemise to cover your back
as the Breastplate of Righteousness will protect from any and all attacks
you don't need a pair of Jimmy Choos stiletto high heels
as the Readiness of the Gospel of Peace is a much better deal
you don't require a Prada handbag just to show you're with it
if you have in your hand the Biblical Sword of the Spirit
and it's not necessary to put on Ban de Soleil
as the Shield of Faith will cover you each and every day
and you don't need a Kate Spade hat upon your head
as the Helmet of Salvation will have you spirit led
dressed from the inside out now totally and spiritually clad
dressed in the virtues of God, the finest garments to be had
~
There once was a young Brit, Robin Hood,
Plundered bad folks and gave to the good,
He loved armor and knights,
But was quite fond of tights,
And decided to wear them for good ...
Now, sweet Nottingham, taken aback,
For his pantyhose took too much flak,
Thus dressed like a fairy,
With men, far too merry,
And not near enough gold ... in his sack.
~
~ 5th Place ~ in the "A Limerick, Old Or New: Your Personal Favorite" Poetry Contest, Andrea Dietrich, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Limerick 3" Poetry Contest, Joseph May, Judge & Sponsor.
(Syllable count = 9,9,6,6,9 x 2, counted @ HowManySyllables.com)
1
I slow the chevy
then stop.
I turn around
and look back.
There, behind the bedroom window,
behind a lacy white curtain,
I see a figure,
a face,
a waving hand,
an old ghost
from a crinkled black and white,
arisen to meet me again,
kiss me again in this darkness,
returning to haunt
my matchboxes and combs,
the pretty Mexican girl
with the black medusa tresses;
She that licked my lips
when pressed against hers;
That is no ghost, or is it?
Let me squint these sated eyes
and double check.
I see the slicker girl of 17 years
dressed in ’69 day-glow
That’s her.
It’s not real. Never
2
Red girly fingernails
tapping the chevy seat,
always adjusting, turning
dark brown pantyhose,
and the radio,
always planning and conniving
a quick insecure glance
at a perfumed compact.
She opens her purse widely
retrieving the white slicker tube;
Then come the rituals
of lips and tongues and
sweetened spit ensuing there,
‘Hey Jude’ finding an angular perch
behind them.
3
“Is the door locked?”
Waves of Groucho
on a Magnavox console
emanating towards us
from the next room over
you and me are naked
beneath the whites
ridden in adolescent stains
squirming under the cracks
of raw unfiltered listening
to Pink Floyd smearing alive
the preposterous universe
using Moog synthesizer knives
as Janis from west Texas
sprawls on a ironing board
firmly positioned and plied
She rides the fast horse
two slippery hours ablaze
“Honey, could you turn the dial?”
4
Bill Balance slings eggs and
the Feminine Forum at 3,
riding the waxy airways
with staticky plumes
This dead disc-jockey is
breathing heavily again
into a ghostly microphone.
“Hey Alice, are you a married girl?
Do you have a nice body?
Do you have charging rhino haunches?”
5
“Come inside now.
Hide under these columns,
These stones of plastic marble,
As the world finally ends,
Finally trembles in the sinking sand.
Who knew? Right?
Joke’s on us, but honestly,
We all knew it was coming,
Hopefully later, but coming.
Who knew it would happen
Like this?“
I slow the chevy
Then stop.
All I can be if it’s left up to me
Is a brain in a tank full of bubbles
Can’t hear it, can’t see it, I only can be it,
And that’s just the start of my troubles
It was no disease that killed most of me
But a brain catcher down at the docks
Now, my one sensation, a dull static hum
And occasional electric shocks
I think I recall being near six feet tall
A man who could see, smell and hear
I could feel hot and cold and I thought I’d grow old
With only arthritis to fear
As a brain, I’m estranged from my mortal remains
I know that this dark is a sham
I cannot see light in the day or the night
But I think… and that means that I am
With stimuli lacking, my sanity cracking
When will my mad captor devise
A restructured me, so that I can see
Through some poor soul’s extracted eyes
***
At last, there is light, goodbye to my night
Will I frighten or will I delight
I know how this goes for history shows
Should you see me then you shall take flight
Through this hocus pocus, I cannot yet focus
Is that the doc’s form lurking there?
I once read the book and however I look
I’m gonna give people a scare
My vision is clearing and so is my hearing
I see I have rather nice hands
And I have a soft voice… did the doc make a choice
For my voice doesn’t sound like a man’s
“It lives,” the doc cries with his beast by his side
Did the monster manoeuvre the knife
It stomps to my side with its arms open wide
I think I’m the bloody thing’s ‘wife’
But his nightmarish fun has barely begun
As I had it away on my toes
But he’ll have his fun because I cannot run…
In stilettos and pantyhose
Walking on a windy day ,in San Francisco,
I suddenly felt a hanger around my feet.
I looked down and no kidding, there were
my red underpants lying about my ankles
on busy Polk Street!
What does a lady do in such quirky situation?
My face turned beet red as the underpants in
Great social consternation.
The street shoppers, well, some stared at me.
I just wished I were high in an Oak tree!
Improv training, jumped right to the fore.
I picked them up and put them on with total
grace and galore!
Luckily, I did have pantyhose on.
My very short skirt and bottom warmed by the
West Coast sun!
11-17-2020
The empty bottles strewn all around
Explain the pain inside my head
As I wake up on the pulled out couch
That doubles as my bed
I don't recognize the feet
That are passed out by my face
I suspect they belong to the women's clothes
That are scattered about the place
The cable box displays three o'clock
I don't know if that's day or night
The pantyhose tied around my wrists
Are starting to feel a bit too tight
The spot on the ceiling spins in circles
There's **** playing on my TV
There's a guy eating cereal at the kitchen table
I have no clue who he might be
There's a slice of pizza sliding down the wall
An unlit bong drips on the floor
Two midgets wearing only sumo thongs
Just walked out the open door
There are lipstick drawings all over my body
A tattoo where yesterday there was none
The question that keeps spinning inside my head
Is, "Oh my God, what have you done?"
The naked lady sits up beside me
I am so relieved she looks just fine
She says, "That was fun, can we do it again?"
Sure. What the heck. What's one more time?
as i tell him no his eyes turn black
he grabs me by my throat and throws me on my back
as i try to crawl away
he kicks me in the face
blood pouring from my nose
as he rips my pantyhose
i yell get off of me
as he takes his hammer and slams it against my knee
he drags me by my hair
up the foyer stairs
i continue to plead no no you don't want to do this
he slaps me across the face and yell shut up witch
he climbs on top of me
and rapes me forcebly
as i scream for him to stop
i hear something pop
he grabbed his gun and took that fatal shot
everything went dim
the last face i saw was the face of him
She had bought into the dream captivated by the idea of wealth
Given herself no mercy, strapped on those pantyhose like holsters.
Envious of the women she saw on lunch hour who had on light dresses
Manifesting in no way toward her soul self, enslaved in an office
Became a babbling computer, spewing out figures, numbers, math.
Hope and optimism gone, her true essence she had begun to deny.
She became a ghost of her former self, her inner journey now dead.
She had ventured away from goodness, her muse’s strength broken.
The chains were real though self-imposed. She lost sight of God.
Jesus slid into an abyss, unclaimed for years. She manifested nothing new.
Her nine to five became six to six, then six to seven. She was a babbling robot.
Until her best friend died, and she realized she had not seen her for twenty-three months.
All changed after that; she broke the corporate chains,
began to dance down streets.
Threw away her suits, claiming light floral dresses,
wore a sun hat, and comfortable shoes.
Gave her high heels to charity,
and began to reinvent the turnpike of her essence.
Wrote poetry, took ballet, manifested a life
that brought Jesus back, and began to live.
Oh, my gosh, I’m freaking and feel such dread.
What the hay is this nonsense on my head?
I can’t go to work, can't enter the office!
I will be seen, visible to peers and bosses,
be the fool who provided entertainment gossip.
God, please, send help, I am stress-nauseous.
I do not care about appearing faultless,
but I'd rather errantly tuck a dress in my hose
and walk through the office cluelessly exposed
than have everyone think this is what I choose.
I wonder if I should call in with a case of ugly,
hire someone to gently, but effectively mug me?
Perhaps I'll get pulled and cuffed on the roadside
for publicly exposing the ugliest hair ever dyed.
Shame a wig class wasn't at business school:
"How to Avoid Looking Like the Office Fool."
I look like a horrified, horror movie hostess.
Even my own mirror is refusing to focus.
Here I am, paler than even fresh new snow,
with midnight black hair grooving to and fro.
My very first dye and, oh my, I could just die!
Box said ‘brown’, now I'm so down, I might cry.
Universe, please – send a natural disaster,
nothing fatal, it's just one repair day I’m after.