Skimpy Poems | Examples

Caribana Nights In Toronto

Women dressed in bright skimpy costumes 
streets drumming to the beat of the heat 
A blur of eccentric colors expound the air 
as we embrace the culture, the vibe...

Resilience, freedom, pride, nothing to hide
as we celebrate with rhythmic sound & gaiety 
There is a whisper of moonlight in the air 
that tastes up everything in sight, we dance !

Grand parades filled with masqueraded personas 
spread the "Spirit of Love" be one with humankind 
Calypso music, hip-hop, dance of every gender 
kick up your feet, go ahead and surrender !!!

Toronto's Caribbean Caribana, here since nineteen sixty-seven 
 excitement like this you cannot purchase it at the 7-ELEVEN.

Embers of a Fading Love

Written: May 26, 2025, for contest by Joseph May

               ******************

In the silk-laced dusk, angels softly dwell,
Love and grief entwine, weaving stories to tell.
Two souls once weaved, etched in fading light,
Now torn apart as shadows meet at night.
In this katabatic abyss, I forever fell.

My love, an ember that once burnt bright,
Extinguished by the skimpy hands of night.
Leaving ashes scattered, a spirit grown cold,
A heart dimmed and weary, a love gotten old.
In this hollow space, I strive to be bold.

"The darkened sky stole my tears."
In stillness, I hear your whispering fears
An echo of what was, and that we've lost,
A passion that has faded, a soul that’s frost.
In my lonesome reverie, I weigh the cost.

But ffirst

Fugue Wa Patiala Decrescendo
___________________________________
she wore nothing but a smile
her skirl and blouse are so fancy
she has a pretty smile
her kisses taste like something dandy
such a sexy smile
her heels clicked she so dancey

ah jaboree that Gal is sexy
a table just for me and you
skimpy bathing suit is perfect
what is a man lefted to do

There Is Beauty Here

Come walk with me
in this wind littered park,
please don't kick the skimpy rose bushes,
God is everywhere watching,
lipreading your foul words.

We can be romantically attached
to our thoughts,
share, collaborate,
speak each other's words before
we know we have.

Pond life chokes upon its own thriving.
Savage are the dunking ducks
who write nothing worthless
and yet that 'nothing'
is ignored by every city gent
whoever pissed against a tree.

Sit upon this graffitied bench,
rest your disappointment
under this scabrous oak.
There is beauty here
research yourself
there is poetry at your feet,
a hurdy-gurdy symphony
in the slimy fungus rings.

If we rest long enough
our red fanged hearts
may eat themselves.
The scrawny daffodil's
burst into prayer.

Please don't grunt so loudly,
my own windbreaking flatulence
is a natural response to your ugliness.

Our sincere attempt at urban poetry
has unearthed the buried bones
of a divine muse,
and look,
pure white doves are carrying them away!

In the city dump, God assists the raccoons
with His large, clawed paws.

Prurient Manuscript

Suck and lick my delicious fiction,
I’m lecherous taste the distinction;
A story you’ve wanted to be real,
now before the writer you will kneel;

The chapter filled with hanky-panky
describing a skimpy lace panty?
I know that vision is honey dipped,
it’s such a prurient manuscript;

Keep my fantasy by your bedside,
wanton desire you simply can’t hide;

On every page my hunger has dripped
not a single detail has been skipped;
Let your eyes devour lines greedily
I’m giving voyeurs a glimpse of me;

A scene readers are welcome to steal,
I know you long to feel what I feel;
Baby, help me write the description,
suck and lick my delicious fiction.

what do they wear to breakfast

in skimpy short shorts
she marches into breakfast
no eyes go up

I had forgotten
the immodesty of youth
for two seconds

it’s a public place
another wears pajamas
and bedroom slippers

legacy of Hilda

Hilda is the opposite of shy; she is not hiding in any way.
She flaunts her stuff without any self-consciousness.
She knows she looks dandy and prefers skimpy clothes.
Other farmers' wives adore her, they do not care.

She can walk down the train track with barely a stitch on.
No one makes fun of her, because it is Hilda and she is special.
She is friends with everyone and builds people up, in a genuine way
They gravitate toward her like puppies, wagging their tails.

A Beautiful Soul

Your beauty
            does not need to wear a skimpy bikini
            or hide behind a painted mask of vanity
Your beauty
           may push against the edges of the mold
           but that is a mold, cold men created blindly
Your beauty
           does not yield to the encroachment of time
           but transforms to embrace reality
Your beauty
           is in a smile with crooked lips
           the tears shed to offer others sympathy
Your beauty
           is in arms outstretched for a hug
           and in a heart filled with dignity
Your beauty
           reads my words before they are written
           it inspires my hopes, dreams, and poetry

Twins Write Differently

Dee was skimpy with her adjectives once again.
Whereas her twin Sue Lee was generous with them.
Neither of them had books that sold in droves or well.
Which twin's words do I like better? That is hard to tell.

Your words are insufficient, incomplete, meager Sue Lee said.
Dee said Sue Lee’s overuse of adjectives hurt her writers head.
I need my adjectives – lithe, lively, dainty, delicate and polite.
The twins disagreed, but both continued to plot and write.

Skin Unconcealed

"All a man really wants, is a girl who looks good in a bikini." - Jack Freestone

Hot white sand sticks,
tingles the salacious sense
of beach-braced feeling,
clad in skimpy bikini.

Out of the blue the golden sun gilds 
the skin unconcealed,
lubricious assets fix attention focus,
the imagination latitude narrows. 

The construct of the consummate mind,
the unsculpted bikini body beguiles.

Bikini Clad Women Drive Men Mad

LIMERICKS NOT WRITTEN FOR A CONTEST

Men will slobber and drool when at the beach
Cuz bikinied women are out of reach
So eat your hearts out, men
For those girls you will yen
Fine women would consider you a leech

Men are enticed by girls with flat tummies
Though theirs are obese from eating yummies
They can keep dreaming
With beady eyes gleaming
Some of the male gender are such dummies

Men think of untying bikini strings
Of Victoria Secret girls with wings
They'd like to touch their tush
or better yet their....  shush!
Men want to do so many wicked things

Ogling girls clad in skimpy bikinis
Wishing they had three wishes from genies
Each one would be the same
Trying to UP their game
With enlargements for their teeny weenies

Turn about's always considered fair play
Many women would be glad for a lay
With a well muscled stud
Who would heat up her blood
Spendin' a lil time rollin' in the hay

Bikini

"All a man really wants is a girl who looks good in a bikini." - Jack Freestone

I am thrilled when farmers of my nation, skimpy dressed, toil,
Their spouses, half-naked (owing poverty), bring them food;
When an artist, not caring for his robes, burns midnight oil,
And brings out his masterpieces, I am forced to conclude:
Lo, in nakedness is born physique-psyche wisdom coil,
Eureka of Archimedes brim-filled when he was nude...!

Did Adam and Eve wear any linens? I do not know,
Wasn't communion prevailed midst them than bodily sex? 
In a complex competitive world of mere body-show,
Doesn't a girl in a bikini, feel a mess of vex?
Millions of millipedes mock a maiden's mind and stone-throw,
When she exposes; should philosophies turn rudely flex...? 

Catwalking is easy in a hall of like-minded folks,
Can a girl in a bikini, walk in such a way out,
When the rude winter, in his fuzz-fallacy, each nerve strokes,
Could she prove a philosophy of nudeness beyond doubt?
I cannot accept a bikini body meant to hoax,
Equilibrium is what existence is all about...!!!

Jerrys Decision To Travel

Jerry stared at the travel poster for Hawaii
The women were shaped like perfect hourglasses
wearing skimpy outfits, dancing for him 

if Jerry jumped on a plane to Oahu 
he would become dazzling
and have luck with the ladies

none of them liked him in Ohio
not like these sirens!
He began planning his trip

How Many Pillows Does a Giraffe Need

how many pillows does an average giraffe need?
To lay his head down without lying down in his seed?
ten would be too skimpy, twenty might be wild.
Come on, think, my friend. Use your brain, my child.

I guess maybe fifty? The child ventured a teensy guess.
I gave him a wave, but I knew it would be less.
I had measured a giraffe next to a pillow pile in May.
If I did not now have dementia, I could probably say.

But my mind is a trickster, old age is kicking my petootsie.
I ran toward the shoreline the way a bear’s prey will flee.
How many whats does a who need? I asked.
Unfortunately now my brain could not remember the task.

Summer Memories

I remember the summers of my youth
in between boring academic years,
working as a beach boy
for some miserly few cents.

The smell of the sea spray
mingling with offensive smell
of sweat of dwarf donkeys
that galloped over the sand,
carrying smiling children
all the summer round.

Nor could I ever miss
the pungent reek of fish 'n chips
though come noon I would gladly
partake of a greasy piece.
 
I still can hear the laughter, though,
of children riding along the beach,
the roar of high waves surfing,
of young guys jumping and screaming
in the shallow waters of the bay,
the sight of skimpy bikinis, 
the melodious music that always blared
announcing the ice cream man.
 
Tired, evening approached
day after one long day,
returning home to rest.
I always looked at the deserted beach
as the sun descended in the sea, 
leaving behind it a long stretch of sand 
littered with magical sand castles, 
a record of the happiness
that ruled the beach those years.

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