Long Strip down Poems
Long Strip down Poems. Below are the most popular long Strip down by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Strip down poems by poem length and keyword.
The Blood Moon is entwined in grape vines
Where it swirls around and climbs!
The Moon looms in the curl,
Guarding its encounter with Earth and Sun.
Thus, night's descent has begun
With scattered light on the run!
A total lunar eclipse
A celestial event not to dismiss
A celestial pastry with vegan cream
Red wavelengths are glowing in our dreams.
Let's strip down to the theatrical roles
Of flying faeries with merry souls!
Dancing faes, reddish delights,
Are concentric circles this golden night,
Ancient runes, sounding tunes,
Everything whirls in the Moon.
Faeries take flight with lunar ease,
Into the skies, into the trees,
Then gliding with the breeze.
Hang on tight as new mightiness arises.
Star-gamers explore mysterious skies.
Transformation occurs, to no surprise.
Terracotta towers touch red Moonlight
While rusty brown calms the flames
The eclipse announces sky games!
Yellow ochre softens sentiments.
Burnt umber cloaks mysteries.
Blood red ignites history.
Flamingo pink, a heart's reprieve
With enchanting alignments to deceive
Intense energy shifts are received.
Alignment comes from astral play,
Just as the Stars say,
"May the Spiral guide the Blood Moon's eclipse
With Heart and Cosmos on our lips!"
I did do a little bit of grieving
And my scars are so relieving
I wish I can and do believe
That there is more to see
I love holding on to your sleeve
You’re my ecstasy next to sea
I am not done, doing my believing
Hey, you know what? I’m still breathing
Take a breath, let it go,
I'll strip down and let it show
I'll never shy down, we’ll let it grow,
For this is my thought, you should know,
That I love you tremendously
That I love you oh so immensely
And I can’t help, falling in love drastically
I know that I am in love with you fantastically
I feel empty and scared
I am somewhat unprepared
In a flair and in a blare,
I saw you there and I do care
Relax, don’t be scared,
Always know I'll be there
Without you, I’d be lost
I will always pay the cost
Nothing left to win or lose
Not even just the blues
We don’t get to pick and choose
We are here for each other simultaneously
We are beautiful, so just wait and see
The river shines soft as a child’s first dream,
yet it smells of rusted, beer cans, and regret.
I dip my hands in, wanting to be clean,
knowing damn well no water erases debt.
It strokes my skin with a lover’s hush,
cool as forgiveness, bitter as truth.
I close my eyes—there’s a moment’s blush,
then the laughter of liars, the loss of youth.
The guilty strip down beside the reeds,
the innocent whisper in the reeds too.
We all bathe in the same dark needs,
the river don’t sort between false and true.
It tells me: live, even crooked, even scarred,
let the currents gnaw your pride to shreds.
There’s beauty in drowning, the fight is hard,
but mercy lies where the water I often tread.
So I breathe, half prayer and under half shown my recurring dream,
which means I could then skry,
naked to the sky, bone-deep immersed.
Born in the breath of woodsmoke and fire,
I learned early to love the art of falling.
Leaves tumble like poorly kept secrets,
trees strip down without shame -
modesty’s for summer, after all.
October hums with rebellion:
bonfires blaze, sunsets bleed,
and the wind, cheeky as ever,
slips its cold fingers into every undone button.
History rattles here -
200 years since Waterloo fell quiet,
suffragette echoes stomping in boots,
a reminder that not all noise is noise.
It’s a trickster wrapped in amber light,
half beauty, half bite,
where endings feel like beginnings
and ghosts pretend they’re just passing through.
They whisper, “You’re braver than the fall.”
And with each year, I’ve learned to ask,
Will I rise, no matter how hard I fall?
Can I burn and still remain whole?
These are the quiet prayers I carry -
for strength to keep standing when the world turns cold,
for light in the darkest corners,
and for the courage to blaze,
unashamed of the fire I carry.
Stitched from October’s fabric a
half twilight, half ember -
I walk between the brittle and the burning,
the quiet and the wild,
a child of autumn,
still falling,
still smugly aflame.
In the dictionary beside the word 'dementia'
Is a picture of your man Jackers
The description reads 'he's off his noodle'
This man is totally crackers
Not a sane thought in his whole damn noodle
Couldn't handle it if there was
Probably freak out and strip down naked
Running hell bent from the fuzz
Now Jackers shouldn't be judged too harshly
He's really a gentle old soul
Just that the years have caught up with old Jackers
He's no longer the one in control
So don't go feeling all depressed for this dude
He's a real happy camper inside
All he knows is he's loved by you friendlies
And he's just along for the ride
© Jack Ellison 2012
As I lay with you in front of me,
My mind begins to wander.
As I strip down my clothes,
I struggle to strip myself.
The ugly scar that tears my side,
The gaping wound under my bellybutton,
The stomach that swells and bloats
Can I really show you who I am?
The stereotypes were never true.
I’m not a beast who needs to be tamed.
I’m only a man who wants to love and be loved.
Is this enough to make you want to stay?
I’ll strip myself down to reveal my insecurities,
Relinquish the thought of never being enough,
Wrestle with the voices echoing to end it all
Will you still want me if I start to fall?
Laying here with you isn’t just pleasure;
It’s the first place I’ve felt safe.
I’ll give you compassion, and my trust
Is this too much for you to hold?
The door is right there, and I won’t stop you.
But if we do this, I’m giving you all of me.
Please, don’t use that against me.
I will wrap my arms around you,
But will you hold me,
And see me the same?
THE ART NUDE REALITY
Stained with the acrilic and emotive,
Pour us a drip of creativity,
Paint us colors of the rainbow
But still less appreciated
By the prioritizing inordinate ambitious
and flesh-conscious world.
Purchased with hard-earned money,
the brush, the pen and crayons.
Sketch us our hopes and dreams,
Paint us our now and future
And erase our rough past on canvases.
Even though your art states purpose,
style, size, color, character, and effect,
Our yawning yields lust, nude-addiction,
naked-body, physique & attention-seeking.
The world isn't on the same page with you;
Flip yours while we swipe ours
after our eyes has been well fed.
What's the fuss about this whole weird thing
associated with being unclothed?
Stripped images gets our muscles ripped up
as if we don't strip down for complete naked shower.
Why spend so much time idolising bodies,
divestment of draped attire?
Why's fragility hidden behind pointless social constructions
about what sells and drives society crazy,
about these lack of raiment vogues
conniving with carnal voices in our heads?
Why so much tempting and complete exhibitions
meant to be the private trek of someone else,
now openly played out in public square,
without remorse, except to honor certitude.
Social media empowers those who flaunt physique
imbued by deity, by desperate willingness to express,
the expression of beauty's form.
We term blessing by the display of skin's gamut.
So then I inquire of you: who is blessed?
The artist or the nudist???
Vick Manuel Poetry {VMP}
Copyright© 5th November, 2021
It's moderating, yee haw it's warming a bit
Finally it's getting above zero
Just a while ago thought 5 was freezing
Now it's balmy from a few days ago
In comparison temps can feel warm or cold
Depending on what we're accustomed to
Fifty can feel downright damn balmy or frigid
Really not much us guys can do
Go with the flow, that's what I always say
At fifty in the fall wear a coat
At fifty in spring strip down to your underpants
Coz fifty's balmy, no joke
So there you have it, that's my take on things
Humans are hard to comprehend
Hard to try to figure us modern guys out
It'll drive you around the bend
© Jack Ellison 2014
Have I become too old to remember,
A day that shook our senses to the core.
Twenty-Three years ago, to be exact when
Terror became fundamental, no longer to ignore.
The pages of history have clearly been written,
Yet the minds of man have nearly forgot.
They don't know why they have to show up at an airport,
3 hours early, practically strip-down, while nobody's caught.
So let this be a simple, yet distant reminder,
That our freedoms require caution, and always aware.
Because history shows that if taken for granted,
They may be undefended...and that can only bring more terror.
she was a sassy little mermaid
with only one ardent wish
to wreak havoc on mankind
for introducing chips to fish
she’d sit upon that lorelei rock
and keep her constant check
and in the cold weather wore
a cardi zipped up to her neck
but when she spotted a ship
she’d strip down to her vest
which was artfully cut so it
showed off her splendid chest
she’d sing her siren song
and lure them to their doom
there’s many a lovelorn sailor
in a cold and watery tomb
one cold september morning
she was singing for her catch
and she lured a certain vessel
and there she met her match
she tried for an old hull trawler
not sure where he should be
the skipper had gone and turned
wrong way from the north sea
and he wouldn’t tell his crew
no matter what the cost
that they’d be late home
because he’d got a bit lost
then he heard our little mermaid
and her wailing was the last straw
a carefully aimed beer bottle ensured
she bother ed them no more
and while she was thus concussed
he got his sextant out
and realising his mistake
went and turned the ship about
he arrived home a day or so late
but he went and told the crew
they’d been on a secret mission
and they believed him like you do
he never thought any more
about his little slip
nor did he remember the little maid
he’d nearly brained on that eventful trip
the effect on her was terrible
she turned reclusive and very shy
those waters now are quiet and safe
near that once dread lorelei
as for those hull trawlers
they go to sea no more
cos mrs thatcher sold them out
when we lost that last cod war