Long Suntanned Poems
Long Suntanned Poems. Below are the most popular long Suntanned by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Suntanned poems by poem length and keyword.
APRIL NATIONAL POETRY MONTH CONTEST
BEST LOVE OR INTIMACY POEM
Apprehensively, I stepped into a crowded
Wedding reception of a distant relative,
That is when I saw you from afar,
Instantly, my mood changed from apprehensive,
To desire, a woman born magicly for me!
Your flawless skin
Suntanned and glowing,
Your long red hair
Fiery and flowing,
Your presence melted
Throughout my being,
Your flighty flirty silky voice
Above the music and the noise,
Was like an angel’s harp,
A cupid’s arrow,
Aimed straight at my heart.
My breathing shallow,
With a saucy look,
You threw your head back,
Flicked your hair,
Was this a dare,
I drowned in your gaze,
You turned my way,
As if to say yes, you may.
The floor began to slide,
Quickening my pulse,
My senses not so steady,
I felt quite heady,
Your sensuality electric,
It was incredible,
I could almost taste your lips,
So cherry red, so edible,
As I savored you, but
No more could I take.
I walked across the room
And swung you in my arms,
Your titillating laugh,
And long slender legs,
Told secretly of
Other Hidden charms.
I took you home,
The wind was wild,
Your red hair slapped my face,
You held my arm so tight,
With excitement yet with
Poise and grace.
On the way, not a word
Did you speak, your wide,
Hazel brown eyes said all.
We fell in love that night,
And knew each other well,
By first light.
I cradled you murmuring
I will love you till I die,
She took a strand of her long
Red hair, encircling
Our wedding fingers.
Competition Entry: APRIL NATIONAL POETRY MONTH POETRY CONCERT
SPONSOR: Daniel Henry Rogers
Date: 07/04/2026
At last, a darkness filled the skies
Small tufts of dust, like clouds would rise
as the earth was kissed by welcomed rain
The rain at last, had tiptoed in
with scents forgotten, back again
We almost missed the laughter, but for leaves
That murmured quick surprise along the eaves
Late summer's breath, so sweet, so ripe
had filled the air to quench the blight
While puffs of earth, upon the ground
would mimic dandelions white and round
Explosions danced, near suntanned feet
The scent of dust, the scent of sweet,
bouncing here and bouncing there
tossing rain-scent in the air
Summer clouds, still take me there
Brief summer storms would gently brew
and catch me in the barn to wait
until the show would come and go
I'd take the chance or hesitate
And then we'd race straight through the gate
while laughing gaily, for a plate
of cookies, warm and straight
from Grandma's oven....freshly baked
The scent of raindrops, from the loft
The scent of cookies, warm and soft
Returning summers, never lost
where scent of rain, as August peaks,
sprouts dandelions around my feet
______________________
~
She stood amidst the tropic breeze
the girl with blue Aruba eyes
Between the fruiting mango trees
neath pastel sunset shimmered skies
Meandering this summer’s eve
we stroll the shoreline hand in hand
Where lemongrass and grottos weave
and footprints wander in the sand
Alone this twilight paradise
as moonbeams glow on suntanned skin
Melodic turquoise waves entice
a seaside romance to begin
When here on dampened shore we kiss
my heart it beats in whispered sighs
Her beauty is my island bliss
the girl with blue Aruba eyes
~
Since it is winter, I thought I’d take a poetic trip to the tropics
Care to join me
This breezy island is often visited
by falcons with powerful wings,
as they display the swiftness
of their elaborate flights; on the gleaming sand,
I'm laid back and pensive, while my curious dog
scampers to and fro, trying to catch them...
Falcons with powerful wings, on my island blasting with sunshine,
forever dwell to multiply your offspring:
no human ever sets foot on it to avoid dire,
for the steaming soil is too arid, and nothing ever grows,indeed;
and the palm trees can only offer shade
for someone eager to stay,but afraid...
A sunlight as dense as fire
scorches the soft and low dunes,
on the deserted beach I play my melodious tunes;
a capricious, soothing breeze brushes
my suntanned, golden cheeks...
why is this beach the quietest place that instills every desire?
Falcons, roar until the blazing sky disperses its blueness
which attracts your enthusiasm to induce brazenness,
but the arrival of shadows brings dreariness and solitude:
for vultures that are raring to go to a brighter altitude;
only the whimpering ravens huddle on the battered rocks, and wait
for the luminescent sunrise, hoping to flutter in the August's intense heat...
I intend to enjoy summer
and the sun, warming my ancient skin.
Once, I said goodbye to summer
because one season must yield to the next,
and it was time to attend school and learn.
I said goodbye to seemingly endless beach days,
crashing waves, sand crabs, frisbees, hot dogs, and portable radios singing
about suntanned California girls;
lazy mornings, bike rides to the ballpark,
and balls, flying off my bat and over walls.
I said goodbye,
as I said goodbye
to the excitement of youthful romance,
to my son's childhood,
and as I will say goodbye,
one day, to you,
dear friend.
I intend to enjoy summer.
The sea, precociously sails, toward shore.
A curious imp of a child is he.
The waves, like whirligigs, with laughter roar.
There’s no other place i’d rather to be —
where sequin splashes, touch the wind then flee.
With precious charm, his true blue eyes foresee.
With strong limbs, wrestles monstrous whales, and knocks
over huge sandcastles, built with small hands.
He blows on boats and slides under their docks.
Don’t turn your back on him! He’ll wave his wand!
Still kind, he stops, befriends the suntanned sand.
Resolved to do his part, he trims the land.
But role of dad — the king releases calm.
The impish sailor shamed, dropped in time out.
This pampered teenage child, hears preach from mom:
“Draw out wild waves, from deep, to crest and mount!”
Her misty eyes know what this life’s about.
“Reign well, my son! Swells held up high, froth clout!”
With thirst, I turned away to grab a coke,
then crash, swept off my feet —the wave it spoke.
1/26/2018
Laura Loo’s Urban Sonnet Contest
Rhyme Scheme: ABABBB- CDCDDD- EFEFFF-GG?
Vagabond Reveries
I awoke one apple-ripe autumn afternoon,
While shifting my necessity to care, dreaming,
To gaze upon the twisting trail in reveries of untethered reality
A quest for halcyon enigmas that chased me into cloudy castles.
And glancing back over fields of maize and green apple trees
I dreamt of meandering - suntanned faces, gentle eyes,
Campfire stories told in stargazer mists on childhood summer nights
Country roads and country stores with squeaky hinged screen doors.
I saw through mists kaleidoscopes of skyscraping cities, living postcards,
Steaming, groaning, sweating-swaying -
Crowded avenues named aspiration and pipedreams of working faces
Pushed into honeycombs of question’s smoke reflecting my reflection.
Through gossamer fleeting fragments rumbled symphonies
In movements of freight cars and highway hum
Vagabonds of REM sleeping tugged at chugging feasts
Of my winter-spring planned fetes and wakes and festival jubilees.
A wispy scent of reminisce felt the rushing, ever rushing, sun
Dashing headlong ahead of earth in my wishing stars
Pulling earth like a dawdling toddler running into chimeras of
Fleeting dawns and uncatchable dusky time in taunted moonlit glee.
Stormy darkness of gypsy memories throbbed in lightning flashes
Illuminated my godless thundering regrets
On wild midnights stumbling through windswept briar tangled valleys,
Soul soaking rains of prodigal shame, and I remember waking to grace.
9-4-21
Contest: "V" New or Old
Sponsor: Constance La France
1-23-23
Contest: Poetry Marathon Mile 24
Sponsor: Mark Toney
24 Lines
Through a filter,
I look really great
My eyes are blue as azure seas
The bags don’t hang down to my knees
My lips are pursed in certain style
And grinned with just a hint of guile
The brows are plucked and even toned
The cheeks are even high cheek boned
Through a filter,
I’m the perfect weight
I’m built to swing on Tarzan’s vine
In other words, I’m mighty fine
My muscles glow in suntanned skin
It’s good to see the skin I’m in
The stomach flat, no need to tuck
I look as though I ate a truck
Through a filter, through a filter
Life is perfect, never changes
Through a filter, through a filter
Constant as life rearranges
Life, a cardboard cut out me
What a lovely place to be
You just can’t hurt what you can’t see
That was the summer...
Of watermelon fields, and hot, humid days
Of suntanned traces, and mosquito-bit faces
When the purpose of knees
Was to be skinned
Of running down a country road
Bare feet on hot asphalt
Criss-crossing across an open field
Helping ourselves
To thick pink crimson chunks
That melted cool on sun-parched tongues
Dribbling from chins
Leaving the best part
The black bullet seeds
To be spit out in rapid fire
Against the wind
Against the dusty ground
Against each other
And when the ammunition was spent
A pillowed head, among the vines
To dream on clouds that whispered by
In the blue afternoon sky
That watermelon summer
___________________________________________________________
For Skat's Contest: Summer
~*~*~*~*~
A little girl with dark brown braids.
White blouse, gold-colored wool skirt
and patent leather Mary Janes.
An only child with a wired haired fox
terrier that lived with Grandpa,
Mother and Father.
Her Mother, sweet, who saw to it
that she had ballet lessons, went
to a private school and Mother read
her poetry for hours.
A book collection she did have and
loved to read even before she really
could.
Playing with friends, riding her bike,
loved sparklers on warm, July Fourth
nights.
Saw men proud to wear a uniform,
who never came back from the war.
She did not understand when someone
stole her Teddy Bear during one of
many blackouts during the war.
Whoever would do such a thing?
No TV, no technology, just cut-outs,
crayons and she was taught to salute
the flag, because she lived in the land
of the free.
Children were safe, could go on the
train downtown.
But she cherished it the most when
hiding like a cub, under her Mother's
warm coat. The snow sticking to train
windows, peeking in.
Swimming at small lakes in summer how
she loved that the most. So suntanned,
she, the color of warm toast.
The girl knew song lyrics, she never forgot.
They live in her mind and heart and cannot
be turned off.
Years passed, the autumns and summers.
Family now almost all gone, yet somehow,
she remains young.
Always desirous of being herself, you won't
find the braided girl wanting to belong to
any crowd.
The music, the dance, her life, somehow
made her become a poetess.
Surely, not the best!
Being genuine is the gold standard for
all she writes. It must past this test!
She does not write to impress with great
finesse. Just to keep it simple as can be.
Thus~you will experience her poetry!
September 12, 2020
8pm PST