"backless" poems
As you fanned me
and fed me grapes,
you let the sweat drip
down your lobe.
On a night as wet
as this, slip off
your robe, expose.
my fingertips scaled
your knuckles,
fumbling the thing
you held out to me,
burning so brightly.
All before you stopped
to talk to someone
more important
than me.
You moved so candidly.
You sat down at the bench
In a dress all black and
backless.
I've seen it in a dream.
With the moonlight flowing
down the river, your neck,
and spilling onto the banks,
your shoulder blades,
your hand crept across the keys
like the most beautiful spider
I had ever seen.
Jul 20, 2011
Jul 20, 2011 at 11:34 PM UTC
The stereotype of the female type/ packing more than you give yourself credit for/
Spineless, backstabbing ******* in backless dresses fronting to impress dogs who are/
Barking at ******* that are easy to prey on/ hoping to get a good **** to sniff/
While your tail is out there waggin/ makin’ their tongues turn stiff/
There are many who live in that dog eat dog world/ And boy it can get pretty rough out there/ catch that innuendo?
You see, effing around is simple and it works like this; you F what you see/
Sometimes you find what you think to be ‘the one’ only to be deceived/
Because you believed what you saw and didn’t take the time to dig deep/
Next thing you know, your heart has been sunk in the pool of tears you weep/
You resort to a resolution to that’s easy to keep/ rectify to the erectified/
Yes, maybe some of this is harsh/ but if you cant handle the truth/
You wont know the difference between what’s right and wrong to do/
There’s a difference between a princess and a queen/
A princess who’s prince-less will settle for the frog/
While a queen knows how to stand on her own two feet/
Royalty is respected and they stand tough even when they’re rejected/
It’s hard to see something beautiful be used by a tool who’ll/
Only add her to the collection of his tool box/ then look for a new one/
But the reality of realism is/ reality can be pretty unreal sometimes/
And Miss Congeniality secretly believes the fallacy/ she wasn’t born to shine/
Selling herself at a price her mom would hate to see/
Giving out discounts because she can’t even count on herself/
The worst part is, it’s all manipulating her moral health/
And it’s demeaning her demeanor, being treated like Miss Demeanor/
But she didn’t mean for/ her life to turn to this/
She made three-left turns/ only to find the fourth right doesn’t exist/
Maybe a forthright person is all it takes to set her straight/
Boost her confidence/ make her feel great/ and tell her it’s never too late/
To find a new place to start over/ and get your mind in a better state/
That’s why this poem is called Tulip Teaser/ your own two lips are teasing you/
Impeding you from being you/ misleading you through your own garden/
But you’re better than that/ and there’s more to your garden than you think/
Just stick to your roots and let yourself grow to be the beautiful flower everyone likes to see/
Jul 7, 2013
Jul 7, 2013 at 2:11 PM UTC
We had come to see him, the aging Tenor sing.
He was as good as he had always been.
But half way through, a woman appeared,
Moving gracefully in bare feet upon the stage.
Entering the ring of bright spot light near him.
Long blond hair, falling loose around her neck,
Held back both sides by Turtle Shell combs,
Reflecting the light.
Adorned in but a simple, low cut black dress,
Her with a face beautiful as a new spring day.
Held in her left hand an ebony hued violin,
Touched fondly, like a well accustomed old friend.
Her right hand holding a bow, ready and waiting.
The Tenor’s and her eyes met and conveyed a message
Only they understood. Then starting slow and low,
The full Orchestra commenced. The woman in black
Brought instrument up to her chin, lovingly resting
her face upon it, as if comforted by it's touch to skin.
The fetching violinist, like a graceful reed,
In summer breeze, began to gently sway,
Laid Bow to strings and a transcended beauty,
The voice of both her Instrument and from within she,
Emerged through her fingers, completely filling the hall.
With eyes closed, the slight movements of expression
On her face registering the feelings the musical notes made,
As if those gestures too, guided the bow's musical cords.
Slender precise fingers lovingly caressing the strings.
For nearly a minute, she and her violin played alone.
Her actions of body, hands and head in concert,
To her music, unavoidably hypnotic it could be said.
The Tenor started to sing, and yet my eyes stayed
Locked on her, as if no one else in the room was there.
The blond woman in the black dress owned the stage.
I have no idea how long that piece of music lasted,
I could not attest to what contribution the Tenor made.
Fully my attention and eventually my heart belonged
To that lovely, evocative young woman in the backless,
Little black dress.
It’s true that I may never see or hear her play again,
I know not, even her name.
And yet, I’m sure that I will never forget those
Few minutes mesmerized by her magical spell.
Hopelessly caught in her enchanting web.
With me sitting, third row, isle seat left,
Worshiping as I did, at her so pretty,
Slightly ***** naked feet, the striking
Blond woman in the black dress.
Nov 6, 2013
Nov 6, 2013 at 4:01 PM UTC
summer day breeze
whispers ancient secrets of childhood upon your silky skin
caresses your backless yellow dress with billowing life
summer day sneeze
spins you round in white sneakers
wielding even whiter smile
summer day licks
so luscious and pink
summer day thrills
just for kicks
bare feet,
reckless running
defy gravity
like when we were kids and built
that time-machine from cardboard boxes
remember
when we fed baby butterflies with our first adventurous kiss
soul shattering tides
my fortress of solitude can no longer resist
it's still just made of tiny fluffy pillows
but now they're all grown up
i still remember
when you said
"i love you"
but we were just kids back then
and i didn't say it back
so i became an underwater knight after your love faded
and i wandered the deep dark sea all alone,
could no longer breathe the air above water
i stayed in darkness
slayed all the monsters
most of them my own
but never really found me a home
you sank earning your very own scars
and every single one is a tale of fire and caution:
"she's slippery when wet"
but that's okay, my love
i'm an underwater knight
in search of Atlantis
and the familiar in your smile disarms me like
childish imagination breathes wonder
and selfless love to life
this time i say it back
and we've both
finally found
our home.
Apr 24, 2015
Apr 24, 2015 at 4:11 PM UTC
We are the generation birthed into broken homes.
Backless. Spineless structures.
Faceless fathers.
And miracle mothers.
Brown boys teaching brown boys how to be men.
Brown boys teaching brown girls how to be loved.
Loving her like his “main *****
like his “side chick”
like his lies. Like his lust. Like his leisure.
Like a good ****
And she lets him.
She has never seen an example of love.
So he loves her. Broken.
And they reproduce.
Broken.
Another brown baby birthed into a broken home.
With a faceless father and a miracle mother.
Women raising boys into boys.
Not men but boys.
Women raising girls into bitter
Girls into *******
Girls into bisexual
because there’s no man present.
We are the generation birthed into broken homes.
Inheriting broken hopes.
Boys inheriting the name of a man he’s never known.
Inheriting personality traits from a man we’ll never know.
We’ll never know white picket fence,
We’ll never know 20 year anniversary
We’ll never know happy home
We’ll never know American dream.
We are the forgotten ones.
We are the generation birthed into broken homes.
With hand-me-down hopes.
And Mama’s Spit-shined smiles.
They classified us as the broken ones.
I am from a broken home.
But I am not a broken one.
I pick up my pieces, wrote some poems and made peace with it.
What’s broken can be fixed.
Brother. Be a man.
Sister. Be a woman.
Be royal. Be raw. Be real. Be you. Be king. Be queen. Be father. Be mother. Be love. Be trust. Be home. Be hope.
Be there.
Be there.
We are not broken.
We are the generation birthed into broken homes.
We are rebuilding.
Either lend us a hand or leave us alone.
Feb 16, 2014
Feb 16, 2014 at 6:11 PM UTC
the smell of cigarettes and cheap cologne
the length of legs, the depth of eyes
more medical trips and taxicab drives
blood tests, x-rays, candy bars from vending machines
visitors in lab coats
questions
touches
from cold metal, cold skin
antiseptic aromas
waiting in cold rooms, in backless hospital gowns
a flash of skin from the hot patient
next to me, an inviting smile
a ***** of crotches
a wheelchair comes
to take me
away
Dec., 2002
Feb 14, 2017
Feb 14, 2017 at 11:16 AM UTC
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Anushka Sharma wearing in Manish Malhotra's Lehenga Choli Designs. This cream colour looks elegeant on any complexion. Covered with sequins and beads graces up the beauty. Bottom is richly adorned while her Backless Choli is crafted with lots of pearls and beads, comes with Net see through stole with silver sequins scattered all over. The Color of the product may differ from that shown on your computer screen. The difference in color is mostly due to flash, monitor or camera settings. The images shown are only for reference.Anushka Sharma wearing in Manish Malhotra's Lehenga Choli Designs. Cod india
Nov 29, 2013
Nov 29, 2013 at 2:12 AM UTC
“Was it the backless back of a black dress that did it?”
They’ll ask, loudly
even though the wolves that roam these streets
are merely feigning sleep
and are starving
“Yes!”
They will agree
as drool slips from the hinge of a wolfish grin
from the forked tongue
of an angel
“What else could she expect?”
Of course
they must abide by the code of the pack(of course)
which is of course
the root of disrespect
“How obscene! How uncouth!”
(how to measure human flesh)
as if they could hold up her “no(s)” to his “yes”
which is bigger and louder
and stronger
“Yes! … Yes! … Yes!”
As if to them
to the wolves, to the men, to the uncondemned
what happened, really
was for the best.
Feb 12, 2017
Feb 12, 2017 at 8:10 PM UTC
if you forget to forgive
does it mean you forgave and forgot
is that a time and lesson that faith only taught
i said to live for the second and do not stop
treat my mother with kindness or your heart will clot
my anger is with satan and only his name ill mock
its time that saved us and with the weather our moods will flock
like annoyance was just a wisper in the wind
our father in grace my hands have sinned
im tortured in lust and pain did find
our court ship promised but left in crime
its our un-devoted space that will define
my outstanding lies that crossed the line
backless dresses on the spineless *******
tracklist stresses writing eye twitches
Jan 10, 2014
Jan 10, 2014 at 2:03 AM UTC
We were victims of the night,
the chemical, physical, kryptonite
Helpless to the bass & faded light
Oh, we were bound to get together,
bound to get together
She took my arm,
I don't know how it happened
We took the floor and she said,
"Oh, don't you dare look back
Just keep your eyes on me"
I said, "You're holding back"
She said, "Shut up & dance with me"
This woman is my destiny
She said, "Oh, oh, oh,
shut up & dance with me"
A backless dress & some beat up sneaks,
my discotheque, Juliet teenage dream
I felt it in my chest as she looked at me
I knew we were bound to be together,
bound to be together
Deep in her eyes,
I think I see the future
I realize this is my last chance
She took my arm,
I don't know how it happened
We took the floor & she said,
"Oh, don't you dare look back
Just keep your eyes on me"
I said, "You're holding back"
She said, "Shut up & dance with me"
This woman is my destiny
She said, "Oh, oh, oh,
shut up & dance with me"
Mar 11, 2015
Mar 11, 2015 at 9:58 AM UTC
i think we all addicted
prescriberd like lil sick kids
depressed for only fitted
new era for the news
to get bull **** for the twisted
mini van is two in front and get ******
took gin and juice but sniffed it
glue shoved and huffed
a bag
no lunch
asked to twix it or maybe captain crunch
take a break
chit chat with satan who offers a kit kat
say please satan stand back
demons with a stare notorious
b
i
g
glare
my eyes riding spines
backless lines
one word lies
as she gets shifted
christmas feelings the only part not gifted
reverons speaking one words up lifting
g
o
d
is a new prescription
because our days they are so limited like edition
section or fiction
a book did not quite fit him
becaue he was more interseted in women
who taught pain and sour living
taking faith that was not giving
spread hate as if they sinnin
then grinning
blasphemy is the only one listening
as to see every one living the way they sinnin
eating the plates they skimming
treating favors as dares to forbidden
that is so insignificant
of our innocent
oh so delicate
like a rebel or maybe a filiment
that leading the path with light and a laugh
the joker the midnight toker
taught take the money and run
you sure ******* cuss alot for a nun
teach our children that *** is fun
its weird how ignorant we all feel when its all said and done
Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 12:54 AM UTC
It comes in fits and bursts
I hide from it sometimes
others, I zip up the backless
dress, stick on my heels
and strut
take the knife and sing
cut loose
swing my hips and forget
I am heavier than I should be,
remember all the boys that used me
used to want me,
glare in the mirror and say
today
I can be better than I have ever been
today
I am queen
today
I am blonde and young and beautiful
and fabulous,
drink ***** raw as burning flesh
my mind is a million men on fire
screaming and dancing
only alive as it is dying.
I am a ***** I am a metaphor
I am the only one,
only me, only.
Mar 21, 2014
Mar 21, 2014 at 1:43 PM UTC
I told you I care about you
I meant it
but you don't need another fee
tacked on as tax
It's all tactic gymnastics
attraction and accents
fantastic for habits
hazardous for fact checks
I'm just an actress in all honesty
fond of the backless
blacklist autonomy
as ****** unhappiness
You didn't care that I cared
I'm prepared to rescind it
Since erring on caution
options have flared
out
Aug 1, 2018
Aug 1, 2018 at 6:06 PM UTC
Permanency can go **** itself.
Remember when you were fifteen
When you were all yellow teeth and bad poetry.
You were in love with death back then.
Thought she was some beauty -
Some backless dress
Some lipstick stain
Now she's stretched in front of you like a black, endless void.
All broken fingers.
All self blame.
All midnight drives to ditches only deep enough to call shallow graves.
She's like walking across a dried up lake bed.
Moments before the water returns.
Drown.
He's never going to see me get married
Sometimes I think about suffocating myself.
Thumb to index finger
Crushing larynx
Straddling my own chest.
Break it open.
Imagine me carcass roadside
Ribs crushed, pulled apart, what kind of cage doesn't know how to hold things together.
There will be blood on the sidewalk.
He's never going to meet my children.
Now you're nineteen
And you are all bad spelling and coffee stains
When the body experiences trauma sometimes all it needs to process is to shake hard enough -
enough though.
What is. Enough.
Just endless vibrating.
Breath in throat.
I can't.
I can't.
Breathe.
Tomorrow they are pulling his plug at 1 o clock.
Like plans for brunch.
Expect to not be able to keep this meal down.
You will return to it.
Over and over.
Like a dog to its own *****
Sep 19, 2015
Sep 19, 2015 at 11:33 PM UTC
March 93
Lord take me somewhere away from here
away from these sights and these sounds
Cause tonight I don't wanna be found on the streets
of this Ricochet Town
Sometimes up and sometimes down
One fine shot can turn you around
One man's smile is another man's frown
In this here Ricochet Town
Every game of life's the same
someone's loss is someone's gain
Somebody's drinking while somebody drowns
in this here Ricochet Town
There's a lady in favour in a backless gown
shattering dreams and washing them down
dancing to the rhythm and the beat and the sound
of this here Ricochet Town
Once I was ahead of the game
a man with a job and a wife and a name
but all those things got taken away
by this here Ricochet Town
So fill my glass until I've found
a way to turn this foul mood around
until I'm blind to the cruel background
of this here Ricochet Town
Jul 13, 2014
Jul 13, 2014 at 12:13 AM UTC
She wore a backless, black lace dress with such finesse. Impressed,
I stood and addressed her hands sweet caress delicately.
Showing interest, pressed close 'til the night called for rest.
Dressed to undress: the loose embrace of her lace falls.
Tracing her figure with my fingertips; a definite
ten. Morning arrives to frame her,
a golden silhouette asleep.
It's a shame sunlight fades,
a.m's never looked better.
Fragile features'
soft suggestion:
beauty.
Beauty.
Aug 11, 2012
Aug 11, 2012 at 12:17 PM UTC
A heart full of wine
and liquor-spotted lips.
A backless dress
and an inch to breathe.
Inch of garment, inch of air
suffocating underneath starlit blue
I, an abstract decoration, in your cabin of lies.
Touched me when you felt it, as if I was the skin
of a bear draped over a bookshelf,
murdered and witnessed first-
hand. Red.
Do it ‘cause you love me
The pillow, a shade of red,
you placed beneath my hair, curling it between fingers.
Pouted whispers across my neck
Do it ‘cause you love me
Slyness and sadness gleaming in your left eye.
A birthmark on your bicep, the hue of mulch surrounding flowers
holding flowers in place
Roots with a fixed circumference
Petals with a uniform height
Silk of a widow’s nightgown never did compare
to the softness of your skin on my skin, hands, lips, body whole
oh, dear, oh dear an entire body blanketing mine.
Your stance, superior, and I, an invalid, counting cars and
tracing with my eyes the plaid of boxers.
A predator recovering from a pounce.
Purple veins pierced through skin,
a sunrise just below layers of naked,
parallel lines racing through wrists, legs, a forehead
differing shades of her own hair envelope her fingers,
delicate and stronger, two limbs of power.
Her body breaks; rubble in a storm.
The town’s on fire, my love. Lightning
struck dust on the south building.
God is real, living within your color.
I wanted your temper (I’m sorry) tempest to
flood me with heat, scalding my ribs
and charing all flesh.
Patiently waiting for renewal,
and you didn’t.
Lavender veins,
my hair was the darkest black,
and I faded into shadows
following you.
A dumb little girl who took her ******* off whenever you said she could.
Oct 16, 2014
Oct 16, 2014 at 6:49 PM UTC
*** and THC and way too many eyes on me
I'm smoking dust the blades will rust and I'm left with one too many ways I trust
What's good, Jessica? I'm caught in this distress, I'm a
Deadly insane hurricane who wears a backless dress
Oct 30, 2016
Oct 30, 2016 at 9:35 PM UTC
It was an insect,
A fateful convergence.
A sting or bite inflicted.
Fever, chills and pain,
swollen arm all raging
within eight hours later.
ER and hospital confined.
Booked into a "Double Room".
Rather sick and needing sleep
I closed my eyes and let the
IV drip.
But this man, my room mate
was a chatty and popular fellow.
One phone call after another,
All recalling his medical trouble
in endless and stark detail.
Oh not softly mind you, at the
very top of his voice as if he had
very poor quality cell service.
And for two days and nights came
a seemingly endless stream of visitors.
As if it was some happy social occasion.
At one time ten people and kids on his
side of the thin room dividing curtain.
Laughing and talking, mostly all at once.
There appeared to be no rules on when
and how many visitors might be allowed.
And you would think by this guys popularity
that he must be the city mayor or some celebrity.
All these people could not help but see me
laying in bed, eyes closed attempting to sleep.
Must have realized that I was ill and in need
of quite rest, as they entered. And yet none
even lowered their voices.
Finely on the second day of this insanity
I rose from my bed, clad in backless hospital
gown and pulling my IV Stand behind me
pulled back the thin curtain pushing a chair
in front of me and sat down among them.
Saying not a word, just looking at the eight
people gathered there.
A profound silence ensued, all eyes fell on me.
"Well I guess you have not noticed me behind
this non sound proof curtain, sick and in need
of recuperative rest. And figuring I could not
beat you, I though I might as well join you."
Faces reddened, apologies were uttered and
within a few minutes the guests departed.
An hour later I was moved to a private room.
And now a few days later, I'm feeling much better.
Sep 2, 2014
Sep 2, 2014 at 4:26 PM UTC
The months ahead are meant for the living constructs around us to echo colour and depth
The air smells full, feels warm, surrounding our cellular circumferences with a relieving presence
The plants look alive, saturating their greens, showing a perceivable difference from the bricks
The animals that talk absorb their culture, using community and collective expression to enjoy well... just being
Even those that aren't sure where they'll go when the sun goes down
Forget that the night is coming for a while
Some of the animals want to live among many, be it under the sun or the moon
They talk and smile and laugh, absorbing the eyes and messages of others
They walk and ride metal boxes from place to place, drawn to experiences of shared culture
Ending their days with aching legs and fulfilling memories
Other animals want to live with those few eyes that come comfortable, extroversion less natural
They sit and read in a body of grass, sit and drink on a wooden backless table
They draw warmth from the vivid reality around them, and the presence of those they know well
Days drifting off with a cushion of contentment, sleep coming quicker
Whatever kind of animal each individual is, whatever skin or gender, personality or perception they wear
The subtle empowerment of the sun
The eyes and mouths of their brothers and sisters
The blooming coloured cells and sweet smelling transparents
And those times where the animals stand side by side on mass for something they feel drawn to
Give em a chance to breath in deep, feel the warmth
And enjoy
Jul 26, 2012
Jul 26, 2012 at 7:06 PM UTC
What Do Women Want?
I want a red dress.
I want it flimsy and cheap,
I want it too tight, I want to wear it
until someone tears it off me.
I want it sleeveless and backless,
this dress, so no one has to guess
what’s underneath. I want to walk down
the street past Thrifty’s and the hardware store
with all those keys glittering in the window,
past Mr. and Mrs. Wong selling day-old
donuts in their café, past the Guerra brothers
slinging pigs from the truck and onto the dolly,
hoisting the slick snouts over their shoulders.
I want to walk like I’m the only
woman on earth and I can have my pick.
I want that red dress bad.
I want it to confirm
your worst fears about me,
to show you how little I care about you
or anything except what
I want. When I find it, I’ll pull that garment
from its hanger like I’m choosing a body
to carry me into this world, through
the birth-cries and the love-cries too,
and I’ll wear it like bones, like skin,
it’ll be the *********
dress they bury me in.
May 15, 2015
May 15, 2015 at 10:07 PM UTC
Rickrack, got cataracts
My vision is so blurry.
Surgery done, not much fun
I wish healing would hurry.
Zip zop, roota zoot.
Hate backless hospital suits!
Clap clap, standing ovation.
For a successful operation.
Wave pompoms, ziss boom bah
For magic modern medicine
In just one day, as they say.
The right eye is all fixed again.
Go back in a few weeks
And have the left one done.
Huzzah hurrah and yippee kai yay
And the healing has begun.
Colors I never noticed before
Are now bright and shiny.
If I had known that before I
Woulda been petulant and whiny.
But, nothing noticed, nothing lost
I am looking forward to the day
When I can see completely better.
Harroo and blinking hurray!
Mar 14, 2018
Mar 14, 2018 at 11:35 PM UTC