Long Undress Poems
Long Undress Poems. Below are the most popular long Undress by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Undress poems by poem length and keyword.
~I wore your skin~
Brother, I wore your skin last night
Nothing but friction, blood -dry ink
Announcing a crush "Silence by the Sky!"
Integrity denied, endangered enemy
Brother, I wore your skin last night, swollen ankles
imagery galore, vomit on the lavatory floor
A clown bleeding red, feeding lies to those he rapes
Blades of need, captain catamite chasing a pup
Who can't resist the heat, when fenced
Brother, I wore your skin last night,
White, green and tight, devouring the light
Mitten wool on your bottom draw
Lipstick waiting to kiss immediate sin
In search of keeping things close to kin
Brother I wore and tore your skin right off
Gross in every demonic way,
Acrobats all over the home
Docile immunity, lurking with a bomb threat
Sister, I wore your skin last night
Vanity of nothingness nutted blasphemy
Evil lurking, wanting to undress thee
Comparing notes, breaking bad company
Sister, I wore your skin last night, swollen lips
scumbag hag, with nowhere to go
Immortal lies weaken by love
Revealing nothing more than her true self
A wraith with no heart, no goal
Sister, I wore your skin last night
Repeating, bleeding, nail biting
Greasy and powerful, needy and greedy
Aching and whining for not placing
Her head lower than shame holding a high
Sister I wore and swore to never put on your skin again
The nasty feeling, of pretending loyalty, is passion
To hate all those who don't fit your skin
A vulture preying sending encrypted messages
By: PD
Oh how I hate the winter where my limbs are exposed and seen
I just adore the springtime; I wear my dress of emerald green
Draping myself in lush foliage, not an inch of body you can see
Until warm winds of autumn arrive and begin to undress me
Then I start to shiver as my gown of golden leaves falls away
Leaving me cold and naked until spring returns again one day
Originally written on 08~22~15
N/A In personification contest finalised on 10/19/16
I worked so hard on my personification
Then looked at the list with consternation
Saw the sponsor gave it an N/A
Perhaps he’d had a tough day ….
I now look to Constance for mitigation!
11~11~16
5 Line rhyme for Broken Wings Take the dagger from my heart please 3 Contest
The Highland Princess
Berthed again
Freshwater Loch
Beautiful Highland Glen
Tranquil pined hillside
Log cabin picturesque
Captain and his dove
Lovingly blessed
As winter sets in
Snow falls so deep
This two in the warmth
In cuddled keep
Roaring log fire
Birch logs a sparking
Face to face
Their hearts a starting
The Captain stands up
And asks for her hand
As he leads her to
A room so grand
Large window they stand
Over the loch they view
He turns to his dove
Declaring, i love you
His manly hands
Undress her so
In her heart she says
Undress me slow
His dove unfeathered
Hands running down her arms
Torso caressed
Her chesty charms
Heaven reached
His hand grooming
As he kisses his dove
Her heart cooing
Four poster bed
Their impressions are made
Moonlight through the window
Passions played
Delicious whispers
In the ear of his dove
As they spoon together
Like a hand in a glove
Together in dreams
Heart to heart
Their next journey
A new start
Fall Of Autumn
The deep south, confused summer, autumn's blight,
Nature's microwave is on overdrive,
Dog day noons, sultry dusk undress the night,
Escapist schemes, routes north relief, connive.
Red Indian drumbeats as Fall swelters,
Mirage, sweaty heads host an oasis,
Sane in A/C cars, dash in cool shelters,
Heat holds life, pause Winters' death, the basis.
Latter is solace, fire sparks energy,
Pains of the past, remedies in their youth,
Melts the built, curls their hair, sums synergy,
Drab purple dawn the horizon, cold truth.
Gasps of frost taunt the raw vexing season's,
Soft made tough, green ripens, Fall sets reasons.
2019 October 05
*3rd Place*
Autumn sonnet
~~John Hamilton
“Morning Star”
There, a Morning Star rose in the East
and reclined in the left side of my brain.
I called them Morning.
They called me Butterfly,
pinned me to the wall like I was an example
of what they thought love was like.
Prisoners are us, in this state of undress.
There is some pleasure in the pain
of a heart in full thrust, bursting open
like a dark, dark red rose.
The perfume piercing all senses,
intoxicating in full bloom, soft, full of dew,
inviting a kiss at close quarters
in their hard velvet time.
Face turned upwards
towards the wide smile of a burning sun,
arching Morning Stars and the immolation of fiery whispers
against the neck of a Van Gogh mind, the eyes fragile green stems, Monet irises swaying,
flecks of ultra-violet scryed within the treasure-pools of a twin flame reflected.
Gold stamens leave their trails like honeyed addictions, deliciously wicked;
Ochre-yellow ribbons tied around the tall stories of a whispering Oak forest,
the boundaries breaching the fire-shot hares and their blue-grey ghostgum sighs.
The ancient laws of desire -
distinguishing lust from love -
swallow us undigested, swept under the rugs of their Gideon pages.
Preying upon us, strange cardinals in their cloistered nests
in such complex states of red unrest, shake the boughs, to move leaves like fingers
that trace noughts and crosses over our naked hearts, sowing seeds in our breasts,
sliding their weathered veins all over our minds, shattering the blanched crystalised,
making the limbs of our stories flesh-borne, come alive.
We kiss under fresh, poisonous holly like it’s a new year.
The risks that we take for love,
the road to hell is paved with good intentions –
wearing fleece o’er wolf’s skin –
as below, so above;
The course of a full day never lets up.
The Sun rises in the east,
The Sun sets in the west.
We burn in between.
The embers of fire glow within the Moon’s luminescence,
ignis et aqua arriving like a tide hushing the prescient ocean
rocking the slick undertow - lux noctis aeterna sub silentio -
like a clam to be opened, a pearl to be plucked
from the fathomless depths of another dimension.
Over and over again, small victories are given up.
The shell discarded.
ex tenebris lux
Candide Diderot. ‘26
If I’d been a boy when I was young,
I would have put caps in my gun.
I might’ve dug worms up to scare the girls,
And laugh as they’d squeal or they’d run.
My bicycle spokes would have baseball cards
Wedged in tight so they’d snap as I rode;
And I might’ve mixed chemicals in the sink,
Just to see if by chance they’d explode.
I’d bother my sister, undress all her dolls;
Draw a mustache on some of her heroes.
In school, I’d act stupid and horse around,
Getting punished with glares or with zeros.
I’d revel in sports and I’d run real fast
In my cool PF Flyers or Keds;
And if my report card had D’s or F’s,
I’d hide it or rip it to shreds.
If I’d been a boy, I’d have had a blast
As a mischievous brother and son;
But alas, as a girl, I was sweet and good
And I guess I missed out on the fun!
"The darkened sky stole my tears,"
replaced the heat of hurt with jewels,
specks of lunar-glazed silver dust,
to see me sip rose-wine reveries of midnight,
where procrastinated promises
and dusky dreams of the heart linger...
Perhaps, I knew not my need ~
to be saved by the burning shimmers
and silken shivers of your silhouette
drifting through indigo azure in silence,
like flickers of love long veiled in haze ~
a reflection of nocturnal thirst.
If only you could undress your lyrical lens
to speak the unspoken ache
inscribed within infatuated ink ~
hidden beneath cerulean hymns
then I would not carve kohl lines,
of sleepless sighs lost to time...
So unlock the garden of galactic secrets
breathing within the soul of stars
twinkling russet tales of twin-flames.
There I'll reside, where your voice ricochets,
as the devoted black diamond ~
forever engrossed in dews of desire...
Welcome to my poetic Burlesque
To read this poem you must first undress
If I were near, I must confess
I’d pay close attention, you might have guessed
I don’t wish to appear a bit too rude
But I wrote it, so you must read it, in the nude
Just loose your puritan attitude
A naked body is my libido’s food
There are only a couple of verses more
I hope you have removed all that you wore
I am sure your figure I would adore
Even if your caption would read, “Before”
You cannot read the final verse
Until your birthday suit you are in first
That modesty bubble you really must burst
Our fear of nudity is a horrible curse
Now take a picture to offer proof
You followed the rules – now tell the truth
Email it to me, I’ll treat it with couth
I hope to get a stack that reaches the roof
Falls flowers
On the road to Bolequeime on the way to a German supermarket
that sells proper Teutonic sausages as autumnal flowers blossom,
some of the blooms sit on white plastic chairs wearing shorts.
Sometimes a car stops, no, not a man in a white van, a big car a businessman
on the way from his office stops getting quick blow-jobs.
Best this way no need to undress an act that causes people to stare.
The human blooms have water bottles the gargle; no one here smells like rosebuds.
They used to, in the summer gone throng nightclubs and the beach
but only slow walking men fill the bars and beach.
Like a beautiful weed, they trek inland, sit by the roadside and wait.
The flowers look nice in fading light, but not if you know what love is.
the weed of autumn sits by the verge, sells despondency
Mirror mirror on the wall, who's the realist of them all? Everyone is on the check, mind my constant observers, like guards on duty, Shadows spying upon my every arrival, whispers behind every street wall, I passby, catching glimpse of dying echoes of the last letters of my name...
Before my eyes showers of smiles I see. Everywhere , in my ears soundwaves intransit, laughters cracking the sun, so wish I had eyes on my back, work of my two-faced friends and families like artistic masterpieces of curses and scheming, painted with my every back turning, I'd be wealthy if exhibited their work on my back, to the world...
Wonder who their make-up artist is, such a wonder he does to their faces, disguises they put on, sure they deserve an Oscar...
Thought masqueraders and clowns wore costumes, but no, the ones on my stage of life dresses smiles and laughters, only if God revealed their thoughts and hearts whenever they smile before my face, I'd undress their make-up, for the world to see their venom and sharpness of their hearts...
Loyalty, loyalty! What meaning to attach to you? when everyone now has their own version. The world crawls underneath my grind, serpents are the only realist. Was there an error in Gods creation? Sure you'd be obliged to ask. Earth devour me not this early, at least allow me a sitting into my foes repenting scene, then my soul shall find itself directions to peace, for reality has failed my living days...
Who shall carry my casket to my grave? At least I deserve some fairness in my burial, is that much to ask?
#Poetic_Ink