Long Scantily clad Poems
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It was a delicate time
Different than back in the 60’s,
A curiously odd trip to a town I had
remembered as clean and happy
Ocean waves the same
Too commercialized now
Bar signs everywhere
Scantily clad women in our faces
A town promoting liquor and debauchery
Maybe I had not noticed before
Because I was a child
Beaches littered by people yelling loudly
Seemed quieter before
I did not remember so much meanness
or loud brags
People leaving their wrappers
Not looking as they left
Not seeming to care
Tin people on beaches
-a different beach now
littered up and commercial
sad feelings arise-
Do people think you are sleazy and bad,
since the day you replied to that want ad?
The words were in black and white, and plain.
“No Experience Necessary, We Train”.
This job is not what most women would like to get,
However, it pays the bills and keeps you out of debt.
You live in a nice house, and drive a Corvette.
Of all the occupations anyone can seek,
there are not too many paying two grand a week.
They hired you for what came naturally.
Men easily discover your great beauty.
You have the looks of a centerfold in a magazine.
Your dancing in the club makes quite a scene.
A fight with your old man made him pack and go away.
He left you and your child unexpectedly one day.
You were desperate and needed a job right away.
It seems nobody was impressed with your resume.
Other employers apparently could not be convinced.
So many places only wanted experienced.
When you are dancing in the club each night,
men from all over think you are a delight.
Scantily clad, you erotically tease.
This is how you gather your gratuities.
Some men get obnoxious, and a bit out of hand.
Enforcers appear to take a stand.
A small team of bouncers comes out to greet.
The mashers land in the middle of the street.
Never mind what people think is wrong or right.
Many men like me will be seeing you tonight.
Don't have a problem with scantily clad ladies
They all have a right to expose their parts
Especially if those parts are firm and voluptuous
Who am I to complain
The Caribbean is overflowing with these Latin beauties
Had to look away... my old heart was a-pumping
A mile a minute and my eyes started bugging out
“Dangerous”, they say... “watch your heart!”
Don't these young fillies realize what they're doing to us old guys
Of course, they do! And they love it!
Do I sound like a lecherous old dude
So what's so wrong with being a lecherous old dude
Some of my best friends fit that description to a “T”
Women's bodies are a work of art
And are designed to be ogled at
It's written on one of those ancient Egyptian tablets
So next time one walks by
Offer your thanks and quietly wipe the drool from your chin
Scantily clad ladies... YEE HAW!
despite what outside temperature register
(even absolute zero), the unofficial arrival
of summer occurs, when thee eel hip tic,
barren, ass hymn tote, ova hottie, foxy,
Earthly, scantily clad, bomb shell nubile
babe, bra zen lee, ineluctably, innocently
insouciantly, prominently, promotes pro
pry eh tarry, plus risque provocative proxy,
trigger numb matt trick functions, as she
doth seductively saunter to approach ever
so close, yet never crosses mine orbit,
but unknowingly teases (like a firecat,
when catch bull struck four), my test
toss tee roan needle swings wildly in
due sing this ordinary system of a down
mellow male to feel doubly breasted,
hair reed kinkily, tongue mortised tenon
facilitating flagellated fortuitous forays,
go win for inflected miniature escarpment,
where groan'n pinkish tulips anchored
right at the estuary (nee slippery sluice),
sans self cleaning coven at the intersection
of happy and healthy, heavens to Betsy
bursting provocative cadenzas whence,
mine skipping heart beat fosters fertilizing
fecund fresh field, forthwith fallow paean
seeds of life and White Lily deemed verb
hot ten fruit, no matter huck cull berry
finis wrought twig and berries sounding
off a snap, crackle and pop.
Heaven offers tickets to any citizen
Adhering to good behaviour, as Richard
Sin washed virtuous shines richeous
Permitted exclusive afterlife purchase
Richard prided himself on his neat appearance
Inside out Bible marked imbibed coherence
Nourised by 7am museli, leaving home soon after
Publisher for Eternal week days, on Sunday a pastor
Sermon prepared carefully, time consumed him
Pinnacle of Lord days pointed to duty resuming
Shared redemption message with congregation
Ensured wavering faith was infiltrated by elation
Devoted volunteer, full schedule proportionate
Monthly soup kitchen duty served less fortunate
Ten pm delivery of left over to his Mother's house
Widow nearing ninety, not readily able to get out
Forsaken God fearer one fateful day struck down
by hooligan during dawn walk in neighbourhood renowned
for echoing homes, high hedge edges hide pedestrians
Tyre tattooed road kill, dislodged by reckless heathan
Bedside machines duly beeped his fragile existence
Sacrifice of admired man to stagnant predicament!
Moral loyalty, immaculately ironed, full dedication
Could it be God had ordered his early eradication?
Flatlined screen, pulse serene denotes one way entry
To harp plucking, angel hosted, cloud palace heavenly
Proclaimed as reward, rule abiders' final destination
For the followers of God's word, a deserved salvation
Picket fence of precious metal keeps the sinners out
White ground expanse supports people equally touted
As pray-ers, obeyers, having delayed gratification
Burying bad tendancies for kingdom of imagination
Cloud haven loungers hear filtered sound of festivity
Scantily clad wilful tribal fire-side dancers devilish
Grins closed only to kiss ridiculous Mother marijuana
Eternity unconfirmed, turmultous tenure harnessed
27th June
Satire Saturday
Tongue in cheek contraversy needs no translation
Manic imaginings account for all inclinations!
My mum and I made many scrapbooks over the years.
To find inspiring and interesting pictures was not hard
And most magazines got past my mothers sense of decorum
And her duty to protect me from scantily clad ladies in my formative years.
My mother continued scrap booking for many years, as did I.
With fond memories to last a lifetime for me and my own children.
But alas scrap booking as Mother and I knew it is almost no more.
The end came slowly unobtrusively, one unsuitable magazine at a time.
First it was the Truck and Car magazines with more than just pictures of
Cars and trucks to cut out.
Until one day it came to pass that even the pictures of cute little animals
Could no longer be found in many a women's magazine.
Which is strange indeed to me as one would have thought that a magazine
Owned by a woman, edited by women and employing lots of women and being sold to women would be
The last place to find only pictures that my Mum would not want in her scrapbook.
I find this phenomenon doubley strange given that playboy is giving up it's centrefold.
Maybe someone else can get their head around this cause I sure can't.
Not when these once child friendly magazines that gave me such pleasure on Many A rainy day are now just another something for preschoolers to giggle at
And form unhealthy opinions of life in general.
Thank goodness for people like my Mother who still have some examples of Child friendly magazines and books hidden away in cupboards which if you ever Pay a visit will be trotted out and you can see pictures of cute little animals While there is still time to save them and the scrapbooks.
You know you’re out of luck
When you hear the carbage truck
At 6 o clock in the morning,
with a new day barely dawning.
That sound of metal churning
Sets your tired brain cells turning
Why is it you feel ill at ease
Before Christmas festivities?
Then with a bolt you sit upright
You know what you forgot last night
It’s already bursting at the seams
And now it’s shattering your dreams.
Jump out of bed, scantily clad ,
This is your only job as Dad ,
You cannot let the family down,
So grab your paisley dressing gown.
Fly down the stairs and grab the key
Look for your slippers frantically
For you can only contemplate,
That sure and certain deadly fate,
That will befall you should you fail,
(And all the Christmas plans derail),
Because you did not remember,
For that one time in December,
That the refuse bin collection day
Has now moved to a Saturday.
The dog, in canine style reflection,
Wonders why a simple bin collection
Can cause this human agitation,
Stress and clearly consternation?
A dog though, does not understand
That the blue bin is already crammed
With paper, plastic, card and tin
And cannot fit any more therein.
So keep the date and don’t forget
Or you will soon live to regret
The bin is full, you missed the boat,
So please just make a mental note !
Now let me be the first to hasten to say,
And all your smirks and snide remarks allay,
That I've never darkened the door of a cabaret,
Where exquisite damsels are on display!
But (I'm told) they don't wear fancy tutus like in a ballet.
Heavens no! They're scantily clad (I'm told) and they sway!
And of their practiced gyrations (I'm told) there's quite an array!
Their hugging that pole (I'm told) will certainly spin your toupee!
They must be on guard (I'm told) to keep lecherous geezers at bay!
A few bucks slipped in their cleavage (I'm told) is their meager pay!
Shucks! This has piqued my interest - I must check it out some day!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Placed No. 3 in Miranda Lambert's "Burlesque Boutique" Contest - April 2011
I don't have a problem with scantily clad ladies
They all have a right to expose their parts
Especially if those parts are firm and voluptuous
Who am I to complain
The Caribbean is overflowing with these latin beauties
Had to look away... my old heart was a-pumping
A mile a minute and my eyes started bugging out
“Dangerous”, they say... “watch your heart!”
Don't these young fillies realize what they're doing to us old guys
Of course they do! And they love it!
Do I sound like a lecherous old dude
So what's so wrong with being a lecherous old dude
Some of my best friends fit that description to a “T”
Women's bodies are a work of art
And are designed to be ogled at
It's written on one of those ancient Egyptian tablets
So next time one walks by
Offer your thanks and quietly wipe the drool from your chin
Scantily clad ladies... YEE HAW!
A cluttered barbershop in my old hometown I fondly call to mind,
Was a gathering place to loaf and socialize, a great place to unwind!
Harry, the barber, kept farmers, the local rabble and boys like me,
Looking right smart, clipping hair and shaving necks for a two-bit fee!
Outside, as raging winter storms amassed piles of drifting snow,
The old pot-bellied stove radiated warmth setting hearts aglow!
The shop rang with debates about politics and the charms of local females.
Hiding behind a comic book I learned some mighty intriguing details!
Harry's shop had just one old wrought-iron footrest barber's chair.
Thereupon hung a strop with which he honed razors with flair.
In a cream-colored cabinet, Harry stored the tools of his trade;
Brushes, straight razors, shaving cups and pungent oils of pomade!
Wall posters depicted sports figures and women scantily clad,
Also, ads for Vitalis, Brylcreem and other concoctions to be had.
In the back was a room where ne'er-do-wells usually hung around,
Enjoying a smoke or playing checkers - fellowship would abound!
Adding to the cozy setting was Harry's inscrutable cat.
No one dared move him from the chair where he always sat!
Harry and his quaint barbershop are now forever gone,
But to the memory of those simpler times I will e'er be drawn!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved