Long Risqué Poems
Long Risqué Poems. Below are the most popular long Risqué by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Risqué poems by poem length and keyword.
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Albeit, a riddle and true,
happenstance quietude,
privacy absolute of two,
monarch, and servitude.
( )
(*******~0~*******)
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Proximity rather risqué,
her inner horse handler,
usually believed display,
and so all souls said her.
( )
(*******~0~*******)
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Soulfully tenet ill a day,
as good friend perishes,
Queen Victoria alas say,
confidant's...cherishes.
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[[X][x][X][X][X][X][X]]
I have great admiration for the people who labors
Whether it’s labor in love
In deeds
In loving kindness
Or in everyday mundane things
Did you know that your deeds are not gone unnoticed?
Whether to be noticed by me, ha
Or others
Or God, yeah!
That’s the person you want to notice the most
He is up there watching you
Yes!
He is seeing everything you do
Every little risqué that you take
For that special someone
For that not seeing again stranger
Everything you do is accounted for
To the last penny
As what they say
Do you want your work to count
For eternity?
Then do my friend
And don’t be wary in your hard doing
Don’t pay any thoughts
In whether you will be benefited
You will be
Make no doubt about it
The labor that you sowed
Will water you
And grow you in His loving kindness
God is needing His laborers
Whether at the least unexpected place or in your back yard
Or on your neighbor’s porch
Share a word of kindness
Say a random thing
Or do the unexpected
You have a mind to do
What you want to do
So why not use it
To do what you want?
Hey wouldn’t you want to talk to that person
To find out about him/her?
Where is your curiosity?
You may learn something new
In the process you may learn something
About yourself
So you actually do yourself a favor
To get out of your confinement
And fly
So do okay?
You won’t regret it
I awkwardly, ineptly, and submissively fumbled thru life...,
whereat purposefulness rarely gained traction
Fatherhood (half my life time ago)
bolstered reasonable rhyme
manifesting itself before
these myopic bespectacled eyes.
Infancy, babyhood, and Childhood
evidenced, noticed, and witnessed
adequate basic provisions,
and no shortage of food
engendered dynamic cohesion
allowed, enabled, and provided
"mama's boy" imbued,
and attempted to compensate
being socially withdrawn
posting and answering
personal classified advertisements,
(while marital vows
long since pledged),
now in hindsight such risqué
communiqués juvenile and lewd
sense and sensibility
of healthy emotional, mental
and physical natural maturation
social withdrawal did occlude
invariably classmates found
lack of responsiveness rude.
Additionally, yours truly
never field tested
self reliance skill sets,
but rather overstayed his welcome
livingsocial with parents
at 324 Level Road,
whose patience he sorely tested
ofttimes giving rise
since hashtagged as
dad's infamous midnight lectures
heavily referencing expletives
which vituperative ultimatums
extemporaneously delivered courtesy
paternal linkedin progenitor of mine
when the doomsday clock struck twelve
allowing, enabling, providing
standing room only
promising colorful denunciatory epithets
assaulting, cannonading, firing...
exploding character assassination
verbal thermonuclear bombs squarely
lobbed at unemployed sole son,
his/him offspring afflicted then (three
plus decades ago and now)
with debilitating anxiety/
social panic, palmar hyperhidrosis,
body dysmorphia, and
irritable bowel for starters.
I (a rather meek individual)
stood still as a statue
silently weathering such
blistering, calumniating, excoriating,
fulminating, haranguing brickbats
upon a rather docile doodler with words,
who essentially internalized
torturous barrage vacuous warnings
to shape up or ship out,
which mother and father dearest
doled out their version
of abusive traumatic boot camp
survival mode qualified
as invisible contusions, fractures,
infarctions, lesions, obstructions
and ruinations upon psyche.
Olive was vibrant and deliberated in awe in front of her wardrobe
Should she put on that glorious fox pelt for the night’s Hunters Ball
Surely it had to be politically correct and she would claim her place
In the hearts of those killers she had to write about for the Morning Post
But she decided for something less tainted and went more en natural
The emerald dress with a shade of sage and chartreuse trimmings
Loosely woven to show off her figure and pleasing for the crowd
After all she was a woman of firm beliefs and tantamount beauty
A lime stola for the stage light and forest green to harbour her bust
Moss and pine reinforced buttocks and myrtle sap silk to cover her crotch
You can’t wear that honey it’s near translucent and far to risqué
Its my nature to reveal what is out in the open and easy to see
A statement so please now hand me that praying mantis whip
Covered in bio-degradable material the reporter put on mascara
Jade eye liner and mint lipstick made from ground clover and laurel
Front page she thought and a tad androgynous for a man’s taste
But Olive was a seductress in name and ready to dance for her cause
They will be bilious with sheer envy when they undress me tonight
Her garments were made from hemp shamrock and cyan feathers
A bit of sea weed and a shiny perlemoen belt for modesty’s sanctum
Octopus ink dotted around the little sea horse brocade ready for the kill
Let’s find out who is the wolf in sheep’s clothing and who rules the party
It is not over until this lady sings to the crude fanfares of animal cruelty
My malachite shine will torture those bigots and hypocritical beasts
And a bit of irresistible irritation has to expose their cunning bushy tails
Before I put muzzles on their hounds and phallic antics and beat my retreat
The headline in the paper read Predators in Read Coats Impaled on Spurs
And a photo showed a foxy young woman presiding over her fallen prey
05th December 2019
the other women are askance
a flapper has moved into the neighborhood
not on her own, but with parents
they cannot control her
she wears short dresses
this is 1921
her skirts are no longer than her knees!
She is flippant, reckless, risqué,
she has bobbed her hair
the other woman gasp their disapproval
she listen to jazz
smokes cigarettes in public
she flaunts brash behavior
I heard she drinks alcohol! some whispered
the rest of the women are shocked
most had no idea that she is also having casual sex
none of them knew about that
they were jealous of her confidence
her misbehaviors stoking their rumor fire
as she stoked their husbands
Old Lord Harry put up a good front.
He hid socks in his pants as a stunt.
But, his Lady swore
as argyle hit floor
that no organ was found to be blunt.
6/17/14
It seems some did not get this poem so a wee bit of 'splaining is above for all you Desi Arnez fans.
Definition for
FRONT - noun the side or part of an object that presents itself to view or that is normally seen or used first; the most forward part of something. [i.e. the front of his pants]
FRONT - noun in a military sense the front is the FIRING LINE
FRONT - a fake or false personality
This poetic devise is called a double entendre [a play on words]- a word or phrase open to two interpretations, one of which is usually risqué or indecent.
ORGAN - is also being used this way - The human ***** is an external male sexual organ - as well as a musical instrument made of pipe
ARGYLE - a pattern composed of diamonds of various colors on a plain background, used in knitted garments such as sweaters and socks.
or ARE GUILE - someone who is sly or cunning
even the word BLUNT has another meaning here since a BLUNT sword would be of little use
I have become an old woman,
Who is plump and grey
Like us all, as we get old
I have much that I could say
I like adventure
I have had an exciting life
I do have to leave my desk
To remove a dagger or a knife
From an Innocent Victim
Who has come to harm
Bells start to ring inside my head
Causing me alarm.
Is this another murder?
One I have to solve
Where do I start?
And how can I resolve
This crime,
I don't have a clue.
Don't be ridiculous,
You have solved many murders before,
You found the latest one
Laying on the floor
If I stop talking to myself,
I might get some ideas
From the books on my shelf
Books that I have written
And enjoyed doing so very much,
I feel entirely smitten,
To write crime novels and such.
A woman born before the time
Sometimes, my words were risqué
Have you guessed who I am?
I am the famous Agatha Christie.
A budding comedian didn’t expect folk
to exit the room when he told a rude joke
But the air turned blue when he was on stage
and his risqué humour caused total outrage
Go home ignoramus, jeered Kenny Lopper -
he meant what he said, he’s the local copper
Alas the comedian ignored big Kenny’s request
and soon his time on stage would be suppressed
Listen moron, never ostracise policemen, quick
gather your belongings, unless you’re really thick
Don’t show your face again, yeah sling your hook
or I’ll take down your particulars in my notebook!
Alpha Lines Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Joseph May
08/02/21
What do I call that young coquette?
My shadow self; my silhouette.
Those clothes, that hair, a cigarette.
The joie de vivre; the vain regret.
What sort of pithy epithet
will she recall, lest I forget?
Perhaps, instead a sobriquet
for who I was back in the day.
But what would she wish to portray?
Somewhat naive, a bit risqué?
A wounded child or power play?
“All that and more!” is what she’d say.
That girl who played a victim game
(though she would make the counter-claim).
A femme fatale; a wild flame.
A spirit not a soul could tame.
Both full of pride and full of shame,
all contradiction just the same.
It all feels now as but a dream,
that martyr of her own regime.
A fog of war; a distant scream.
An echo of one’s disesteem.
A soldier who would self-redeem
and break her shackles at the seam.
Now when she comes to mind I smile,
recalling each and every mile
we marched and fought in rank and file.
We failed, we wailed, we shed the guile
to wake and heal and reconcile
a misspent youth and life worthwhile.
*****************************
Is he a Poofter?
I was reading “An American Tragedy” by Theodore Dreiser
reading slowly because the writer proceeded slowly in his writing
It was eleven at night; I was going to bed when I had finished a chapter;
when there was a knock on my cabin door, the deckhand
stood there looking shy; I asked him what he wanted, and apparently
he had run out of cigarettes; I didn’t believe him and asked who had sent him;
he didn’t answer but hurriedly left
It appeared the former chief steward was gay, now the boy was sent up
by the crew to see if I was gay too
A cargo ship is a cosmos of gossip and pornographic magazines
when there was a perfect library with books changed by a welfare origination
the literature was of a high standard, this was an effort to educate and brighten
the mind of seamen
Alas, I was not social, sitting in mess halls playing cards and telling risqué jokes,
spent my free time in my cabin surrounded by books and dreams of a better life.
A better life came when illness ended my career and
I was free to find my own way in life.