Short Satins Poems
Short Satins Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Satins by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Satins by length and keyword.
The finest satins, silks, and tatted lace
In exquisite beauty cannot compare
To my love with red ribbons in her hair.
written September 25, 2021
stop signs and strawberries
lavish lipsticks and lovely lingerie,
ruby apples and scarlet satins
tasty tomatoes and tangy marinara sauces
cherries and cold cheeks
one of my favorite colors
you put your silks and satins
in me, a darkened abattoir
I see your pain, a summer crisis
staring sometimes for minutes
it's a love hate relationship
it's a love hate hall of mirrors
lost in dirty bone catacombs
I wait for your return
Don't stop me now something brilliant's gonna happen
A masterpiece of outstanding proportions you sure can't dampen
A master chef in the kitchen
True greatness can't be hidden
As I prance around so stunning in my silks and satins
The Satin Show(Rondelet poetry)
Bright satins flow
as ladies display their fashion
bright satins flow
stage full of sassy girls on row
~glitz and glamour mixed with passion
their designs speak with great caption
bright satins flow.
Olusegun Arowolo;contest:"weave a Rondelet"
Slipping from satins embrace
Her soft shoulders; slowly, it falls
Lingering amid dreams, atop the bed
Breathing their perfume her essence she..
Beauty, tasting rose splashed colours; love's
Morning dew flavours; wines, mesmerizing kiss
Breast upon breast; gently, caressing, silk, ecstasy.
They ply themselves to sculpting,
designer gowns, Delmonicos,
those crafty artistes, tasting, trimming.
Excesses to delight the senses,
silks and satins, sauces bearnaise
distinguished by their excellence.
Haute couture or haute cuisine,
they'd grace a page in any
food or fashion magazine!
I still miss her mystery, moments
when I'd wake beside her and
nuzzle her nape, hear her
breathing so softly, so sleek under
satins that sculpted her beautiful shape.
My days are now vacant,
evenings are empty with no one to hold,
to ponder and pattern ambitions
together once shared,
and now so far distant and cold.
I still miss her mystery, mornings
when I'd wake beside her and
nuzzle her nape, hear her
breathing so softly, so sleek under
satins that sculpted her beautiful shape.
My days are now vacant,
evenings are empty with no one to hold,
to ponder and pattern ambitions
together for ever, pale dreams
that are now so far distant and cold.
As the grace of my lord invade my segments
my soul stears from satins decent
with his hateful lament
and his constent resent
the feel of my soul is in malcontent
i never look back at the shadows in black
but insteed look ahead at the living dead
for I will never become blined to the wise mans sin
for he can lead me to sin again
Form:
Zionists have not stopped
more dead babies
more bombed villages
more starving children
weather and food used as weapons
Syria attacked
mark my poetic words
Lebanon will be next
attack attack attack
kill kill kill
shoot shoot shoot
two more small boys dead
over and over and over
nothing will ever satisfy
satins sexual perversions
I still miss her mystery, mornings
when I'd wake beside her and
nuzzle her nape, hear her
breathing so softly, so sleek under
satins that sculpted her beautiful shape.
Now my days are vacant,
evenings are empty with no one to hold,
to ponder and pattern ambitions
together for ever, pale dreams
that are now so far distant and cold.
I still miss her mystery,
mornings when I'd wake beside her
and nuzzle her nape, hear her
breathing so softly, so sleek under
satins that sculpted her beautiful shape.
Now my days are vacant,
evenings are empty with no one to hold,
to ponder and pattern ambitions
together for ever, pale dreams
that are now so far distant and cold.
I still miss her mystery, mornings
when I'd wake beside her and
nuzzle her nape, hear her
breathing so softly, so sleek under
satins that sculpted her beautiful shape.
My days are now vacant,
evenings are empty with no one to hold,
to ponder and pattern ambitions
together for ever, pale dreams
that are now so far distant and cold.
I still miss her mystery,
mornings when I'd wake beside her
and nuzzle her nape, hear her
breathing so softly, so sleek under
satins that sculpted her beautiful shape.
Now my days are vacant,
evenings are empty with no one to hold,
to ponder and pattern ambitions
together for ever, pale dreams
that are now so far distant and cold.
She has taken herself
Off the open market
And made herself available
To the wealthy at private auctions
Wearing only the finest
In silks and satins and sparkling diamonds
And though everything she wears is new
She herself is a hand me down
Shared for the price of Tiffany bracelet
Or an Oscar de la Renta dress
Longing for happiness
Praying that someone might keep her
Never seeing that she, herself, is kept
Years of friendship now comes to close
As wooden box enclaves your bones
I incant the dirge picked just for you
Through vaulted halls soft notes flew
White robed deity their incense burn
Satins power to dismiss and spurn
Then wild birds call over open grave
All life’s sins packaged and forgave
As you are lost neath natures clay
Adieu good friend till another day
( For contest,’ Just Poetry’, by Paula Swanson)
I see the spirit that we share walk on the lake into thin air .
It's the evil in the haunting , the needful things that leave me wanting .
The seduction of your mind . the wickedness that left me blind .
I taste your sex the feel of you , your sensual ness that see's me through
this abandon desolate wasteland ,just like the heat of satins hand.
James Stevenson.................................................
Form:
Snoopy, kewpie, Barbie, Ken,
Chicken-licken, Hen-len,
Can’t compete with Adrienne.
Andrew Jackson, William Penn?
“Bolero”, “Arthur”, “Tarzan”, “Ten”?
Not a patch on Adrienne.
My Adrienne’s a honey:
She’s witty, pretty, funny:
looks great in silks and satins
and mixes mean Manhattans.
Tagus, Tiber, Severn, Seine,
zloty, sous, sestertii, yen -
I prefer my Adrienne.
Armstrong, Aldrin, Colonel Glenn?
Zoroaster? Zion? Zen?
Think I’ll stick with Adrienne!
Hybrid disassociation enveloping the realm of the brutal.
Severed limbs rain from the sky, heads rolling the streets- A hell rejoiced by satins’
glorious army.
Disembodied virtues, convoluted vision in a rhetorical era.
Buried remnants of a societal refrain post due lay staunch in ruins of a untold text.
Blood rages through the river as bludgeoned faces paint the streets of flesh and
blood.
Involute power reigns absolute, so begins the desolate landscape
Streets filled with hopeless regret
kids with lives their tring to forget
brothers wasting valuable time
only to further see their demise
hope is the brother that dosent give up
to always go strong even through tough
hope is the teenage girl with a baby
yet even through her tears she earns an education
these streets of misery and lost souls
are filled with satins red hot coals
Satan loosen your grip from my brothers mind
so that they will not see your hateful demise
Form:
In deep specks, the sea flashlight sways.
sapphire flecks, and azure splashing.
Screes’ speckled satins.
Sadness fluid in the bowed beldam.
sprinkle its stretch into the shards
as her wings curled in dismay.
She had morphed into a mountainous waterfall.
a stratum full of opal swords clasped her down.
similar to a thumbprint
Gloved and cloaked in a conundrum
While roaming, she spoke a light
of transforming stone into a mist
Written: November 27, 2022