Long Zippers Poems
Long Zippers Poems. Below are the most popular long Zippers by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Zippers poems by poem length and keyword.
I carry a secret of mythical proportion,
a tall tale stitched into every pair I own.
Tailors sigh, measuring tapes surrender,
and zippers negotiate terms before dawn.
It arrives before I do,
like a parade float rounding the corner,
casting a shadow that deserves
its own weather forecast.
Park benches scoot over politely.
Doorways raise an eyebrow.
Statues whisper, "Well, that's excessive,"
and mountains feel strangely competitive.
I never mention it directly.
Why spoil a perfectly good mystery?
Let imaginations do the heavy lifting,
for they rarely travel light.
So I walk on, humble as I can be,
guardian of this improbable monument,
a living reminder that sometimes
nature enjoys showing off.
Slipping on tinkles ain't easy my boy
When zippers get stuck it can be a pain
The thing that I hold once gave me such joy
Now it's just leaky and leaves a round stain
Golden years my **** that's a silly name
Now it's really dangerous to go to bed
I tell you that stuff is a young man's game
She laughs quite loudly "you can't raise the dead!"
A little fast rubbing might do the trick
Perhaps if she tries, it will be worth while
I'm not opposed to a lollipop lick
Three small inches might grow into a mile
Everything worked but then my back went out
What she thought was joy was a painful shout
Disclaimer: No old people were hurt in the writing of this piece. It is also not meant to offend any "Sexy Senior Citizens". Keep limber my friends!!!
Yesterday was Button Day;
I somehow let it slip
Or maybe I just chose instead
To button up my lip.
Begun in 1938,
This date was set aside
To celebrate the crafters
Who keep notions stores supplied.
For think about your buttons –
Not those round ones, white and plain
But the myriad varieties
That sewing sites contain.
There are endless shapes and colors
And materials as well,
Most with little holes for threading –
Look real close and you can tell.
Why, the perfect style of button
Can improve a garment’s looks
And as fasteners, they’re easier
Than zippers, snaps or hooks.
Just don’t push somebody’s buttons,
Even one who’s button cute
For on Button Day (or one day late)
We owe them a salute.
A bright light engulfs the room
and suddenly disappears
ushering a blazing essence
that abruptly evolves in the atmosphere,
buttons unlatched
zippers break loose
shirts collapses over skirts
flesh dancing in flesh
flesh devouring flesh
and impatient breath
whispering soft words in her ears.
Electrified
mesmerized
enraptured
emotions bathing in emotion
exotic moment intoxicated with fear.
listen carefully and tell me what you hear?
sounds thundering beyond steep mountains
doors hammering speechless voices
debris flying high in the air,
but they lie there firing on without fear.
Lights grow dim
and a mysterious sound chime in.
Pum Pum Pum
It must be the voice of an angel
walking up and down his gigantic chest,
kindling a soft fire that rips aimlessly through their ears.
It captivates their emotion
and enflame their burning passion.
dancing and prancing
skipping and dipping
sliding and gliding
they went to the extreme.
Eyes fixed in a steadfast motion
calculating the mysterious sound
chest pressing against chest
chest pounding upon chest
spilling tears of joy all over her face.
©2013 Christine Phillips
A snaking mouth sloughs two spines,
the rattle of small vertebrae
and delicate teeth.
A woman learns to ride them, feels
the trombone slide of a dragon’s tail.
A man lifts tugging fingers,
not wanting to fumble
as ill-illuminated aluminum rails
bite.
The zipper knits together lusts
or shuns and strips a thought away.
Body bags become bodily prayers.
It is a widening gash gleaming -
lip-gloss for unpainted desires.
Zippers may squeeze a tight throat,
or close an open face.
Buttons are collected or lost,
though once in a while rescued
from a box of other tangled trinkets.
Yes, you're one sexy witch, dear love, but now it's Halloween,
And I've a witchy tale to share, so keep your broom between ...
Five decades hence I knew the thrills of flesh, and did imbibe,
Yet there's but one that's apt to still pop up, let me describe:
It starts with just a tickled tip that twitches toward my toes,
As oft' can be a grandeur glitch, until what's grander, grows.
In dermal terms, my skin can squirm to feel infirmed and wet,
What fairer sexes call 'the glow', (we lesser-fair's call 'sweat').
Now when that glow has burst, I'm first immersed in finding you,
For you've the spunky junk to free the monkey from his zoo.
I'm damned if I can speak, my cheeks just bubble up with suds,
The things that hang or dangle, cursed to tangle with my duds.
I'm apt to find my fingers filled with zippers, buttons, snaps ...
And spouting things like "I love you", to fill the awkward gaps.
Those tickles turn to tingles and they mingle through an urge,
That brings our things together 'midst a single clinging merge.
Its fever gives new meaning to the old phrase come-and-gone,
And your sexy pose, (and fewer clothes), will always bring it on.
Now please don't fear, my vixen dear, when tickling has begun,
No stopping what is popping up, there's lots of hopping fun ...
The barrel of my kitschy gun has schemes it needs to hatch,
And when my love-lust itches, hon, it's you I aim to scratch!
Written and submitted on October 21, 2019
For the "Itch, Witch, Glitch, Or Twitch" Poetry Contest
Nina Parmenter, Sponsor.
Linen ruffs and lacy cuffs
And farthingales and tassels;
Petticoats and hose and cloaks
Like those once worn in castles.
Fastenings of hooks and eyes
And buttons, strings and laces
Used instead of zippers to
Keep closed important places.
Milliners and stocking knitters,
Shoemakers and such
Pushed for authenticity
In looks and wear and touch.
Seeing Shakespeare on the stage
The way that he intended
Must have had a top-notch team
Who cut and sewed and mended.
“Twelfe Night” was magnificent.
The all-male cast impressed;
But kudos, too, to all the folk
Who got those actors dressed!
Sight of lightning, something to behold
Lighting night folds in tans and gold
Magical fingers illuminating sky
Vanishing zippers, blink of an eye
Showers begin, melting sugar, spice
Drips pelting skin, certainly feels nice
Dancing ballet, lovers admiring puddles
Foregoing rubbers, desiring warm cuddles
Licking streams of tears, salts rain’s taste
Ballet waltz, flicking droplets caress face
Blinking wet lashes, then dreamy surprise
Steamy gazes, lightning flashes brown eyes
Yes, enjoyable sight, winter’s dark morn
In formidable strength, thunderous storm
Without wonderous love, might be frightening
Yet shared delight, the sight of lightning
Love's natural storms knock off our socks
When lightning shocks like a jack in the box
Written 2/15/18
Contest: Describe a thunderstorm without sound
Host: Brenda Chiri
Strangers from across the room
in a crowded reception hall,
somehow catch each other's eyes
and in rapture they both fall.
Coquettish smile meets sinister grin,
all other guests becoming a blur;
mystery blends with a touch of intrigue
foreshadowing what might next occur.
Social distractions interfere
and their gaze gets lost in the crowd;
they wander and mingle, pretending to care
but their thoughts are high on a cloud.
Fate plays her kismet card
and they finally meet face to face;
neither one of them utters a word
as they duck into a private place.
Buttons unbutton; zippers unzip;
moaning they try to suppress -
eager to give everything that they have,
carnal knowledge is a success.
Totally exhausted, with smiles on their face,
they slowly reassemble their attire;
one last kiss, with nary a word,
back to the proceedings they retire.
Strangers from across the room,
once again their eyes do meet;
he winks at her; she smiles at him,
and he steps out onto the street.
My wallet is a good friend of mine.
It was a bifold one when I purchased it. (but now...many folds developed)
Once it used to be brown and elegant
But gradually metamorphosed and faded.
Now it looks older than I am.
It has acquired many new attributes.
Frayed at the edges, broken stitching,
Failed zippers and worn-out leather
Of course, they add antique look to it.
I have forgotten exactly when I bought it.
But I always keep it with me when I go out.
I have my own sentiments about it.
It has witnessed ups and downs in my life.
It’s an ardent follower of Shakespeare’s advice,
“Neither a borrower nor a lender be.”
Thank God! It hasn’t ever gone empty.
My pretty lady is very intelligent
When she finds my wallet with chubby cheeks,
She presents her list of interests and wants.
The young guys never bother about wallets.
With e-payments they manage at the outlets.
When I take my old companion out to pay the charges,
My kids make fun of him and say, ‘A rich man in rags.’
My wallet - My loving companion!