"garters" poems
The Sight of Black Stockings on Pale white Legs
Framing and showing off the Thigh, That Begs
Softly to be touched, in gentle Admiration
Women in Silk, Lace, and Satin for Excitation
Camisoles of Lace, Garters and Penoirs
Corsets Laced up, and Short Babydolls
*Lace Demi Cup Bras, with ******* Adorned*
Without the Pleasure of this, life is Forlorn
*There is a Certain ****** Passion*
For these Fine Lingerie Fashions
Lust and Loved for Centuries
*It Brings forth ***** Sensuality*
Curve and Crevices tease the Eyes
Releasing ever Passionete Sighs
Until Entwined they Finally Find
The unyeildings of Motions Devine
All the Work here is licensed under the Name
®SilverSilkenTongue and the © Property of J.Flack
Mar 18, 2015
Mar 18, 2015 at 7:00 PM UTC
THE PAWN-SHOP man knows hunger,
And how far hunger has eaten the heart
Of one who comes with an old keepsake.
Here are wedding rings and baby bracelets,
Scarf pins and shoe buckles, jeweled garters,
Old-fashioned knives with inlaid handles,
Watches of old gold and silver,
Old coins worn with finger-marks.
They tell stories.
5.9k
Desperate kisses
Taste roses and peaches
Grips hair
Breath trembles
Desire
Lust
Craving
Yearning
Velvet bed
Tight flower
Hot sheets enchant
Untie corset
Unhook garters
Fingers dance slow circles
Pouring wax
Stroking oil
Soft hips
Tongue stroking...
Strawberry shudders
Unyielding teeth
Weak pleasures
Sultry sway
Heightens raw need, greed
**Burst Cherry
Exquisite cries
Swimming body freely
Skin glides
******
Penetrate
Damp Rhythm
Primitive, Swollen, Ragged, Fevered**
***
Sep 25, 2010
Sep 25, 2010 at 12:22 AM UTC
Passion fruit. Banana ***** papaya dreams so nice and juicy.
Papa's up. The game is down, these other kings just ain't around.
Bang, Bang, Who's Up?! Bang, Bang, Who's Down?!
These other authors they hit the ground.
I don't mean to fright, I don't mean to leave
I just got this thing that drives me.
I don't need to fight, but it feels, so, soo, good.
But all the po' lease think that it's my neighborhood.
Ooh girl I like ya'
C'mon over I like ya'
Ooh girl I like ya'
C'mon over I'll bite ya'
I know you's a freak, so bring a friend
I got rubber sheets, so I can break you in
Some other girls, think go around
But the truth is I just go downtown
The Rick Owens Store is like my homepage
If you ain't Facebook than you ain't gettin' laid
Obscur is fresh, Henrik's a boss, but I have to say
Trentemoeller really Lost. I liked Last Resort, even
Harbour Trips, but lately he's been on some ****** up ****
My parents want me to go get a Jay Oh Bee
But I'm too busy, sleeping.
My baby's face is porcelain, but I can't afford it
So I said it looked aluminum.
Dem people not, be steppin' on my toes
Cause' I'll show up reppin' Sheridan Rd. with my Colt '44.
Ooh girl I like ya
C'mon over ya ripe now
Ooh girl I like ya
C'mon over I'll bite ya
Your black garters' hot, so is yo' lace bikini
When it comes to lingerie, I play it like Houdini
Whether it's Agent Provocateur or Victoria's Secret
I hold my *** until I can put it in your ****
Relationship is such a ***** word
But when it comes to ***** I like 4-letter verbs
You can bring..um..whatever you want
But if you gotta **** **** ***** I'm out.
Jan 16, 2014
Jan 16, 2014 at 3:09 AM UTC
grit your teeth
& tie your garters
girls
we got him right where
we want him
just don't drink his
blood
don't laugh at his
jokes
& for God's sake
never catch him smiling
the blue-eyed babes all call
that man the devil
& he will drag us all straight
to Hell if we can't keep
our cool
keep lighting his
cigarettes
keep tasting his
bourbon tongue
your day will come
& your glorious goddess wings
will strip him down
to all the breath
he ever stole
from you
& you'll never let your
musician of choice
into your bed
again
for another week
or two
Mar 6, 2012
Mar 6, 2012 at 1:58 AM UTC
i.
talk myself outta church.
ii.
ain’t sad enough not to goof on a tricycle. jesus.
iii.
nuns in garters. I can’t remember
or be expected to
all
the titles. but that one, we’d out
our knuckles.
iv.
she slid under me. it was like
she was able,
had space.
v.
I loved a boy for his dog. broke a ruler
for my ****
in half. after that,
did things to my knee.
vi.
are afraid most water snakes of water. spend they
lives
being fast.
vii.
to keep us from being poor
my dad
kept us
in one room
at a time
so we’d have rooms
all over.
viii.
batman’s mom had pearls. made it hard for me not to be
********
ix.
storms don’t have doors. imagine my talk.
Jul 13, 2012
Jul 13, 2012 at 11:22 AM UTC
Or did the cliché use me? It infected my mind, stole my words, and left me linguistically bankrupt. Every dog has its day, and yesterday was most certainly not mine. But all’s well that ends well, unless the well is actually a drowning pool, or a rat graveyard. Only Time will tell-unless I cut out its tongue and use its guts for garters. But without Time we’re all Living on a Prayer seeking a Stairway to Heaven borne by our 99 Red Luft Balloons with nothing but Faith, like Major Tom we’re floating away. Will Another One Bite the Dust before the the finale of this Bohemian Rhapsody? Whatever will be will be, and I will set forth my Long and Lonely Hallelujah long locked in my Heart of Gold, because I’m getting old Under Pressure screaming “let me out”-STOP! Hammer Time! I may be Lost in the Supermarket, but Great Scot! I’ll get my guaranteed personality because in Nana-Land Anything Goes!
~
NM
12/12/18
Dec 13, 2018
Dec 13, 2018 at 1:12 AM UTC
my party hats have been hacking this green ****
pitching these ill bent ravens and Q-tips
jinxing the midday with famine
and lightning
a brite spot of bother and dead garlands...
hard garters and soft mottoes
murmured in wisdom of dimwits
a false lovely.
needing things kills
and kills often
god ponders yonder as we dismiss...
but taunt.
you gain a third world
to keep your clean mind soiled
in brine
to pickle the pickle
indeed.
and
you haven't any sugar
in your tea.
Nov 30, 2012
Nov 30, 2012 at 2:15 PM UTC
Attention Wal-Mart Shoppers..
You know them
You've seen them
I hope you aren't one of them...
I don't drink
Not anymore
For my entertainment
I go to the store
I go out after dinner
That's when the show will start
I go and watch the people
Who shop at Wal-Mart
Cowboy boots, a tutu, and yoga pants with ***
with a muscle shirt and top hat
worn by a man named REX
a pair of pants just hanging
a pair of crocs and leather vest
with "she loves me for my money"
emblazoned on the chest
These are the people
Yes, you know the people
We've all seen the people
In their finest shopping clothes
These are the people
Yes, you know the people
We've all seen the people
At Wal-Mart, so it goes
I don't go clubbing
There's no fun in that
Late night trips to Wal-Mart
That, is where it's at
A woman dressed in plastic
a man all painted blue
and how many people have you seen
that look like escapees from the zoo
These are the people
Yes, you know the people
We've all seen the people
In their finest shopping clothes
These are the people
Yes, you know the people
We've all seen the people
At Wal-Mart, so it goes
Underpants, and stockings
garters and blue jeans
size 50 denim jumpers
Stretched like skinny jeans
Men wearing high heels
Women wearing...well
Use your imaginations
From a distance you can't tell
These are the people
Yes, you know the people
We've all seen the people
In their finest shopping clothes
These are the people
Yes, you know the people
We've all seen the people
At Wal-Mart, so it goes
Body parts free to see
******* and legs and butts
And people with their little dogs
The ugly, squeaky mutts
We know them
and we watch them
Take their photos
Yes....we do.
dress right when you go shopping
Or we may take one of you!!!
Aug 24, 2013
Aug 24, 2013 at 5:43 PM UTC
Though I wear no crown of decadent jewels pressed down around my brow,
It can be said that I am beautiful.
Needing no assistance from a mask of make-up and every hair doing as it pleases,
I am told that I am beautiful.
Without the burden of corsets, push-ups and garters; no cocktail dress draping my shoulders,
I look in the mirror and am satisfied.
I wear blue jeans, t-shirts and tank tops; tennis shoes, flip-flops and high-tops,
And still my legs are long and lean; my shape curvy and full.
And while I walk by, a southern sway in my step, you know you take more than a cursory glance.
I have attitude, and bluntness inherited from my line of honest folk.
I am country. I am bold. I am ruthless.
I am simple in the way that diamonds are simply compressed carbon.
I am beautiful in the way that only a southern girl can be.
I am a huntress with my 243 across my lap in a camo blind.
I am an actress as I smile and say “Bless your heart.”
I am a lover if there ever was one.
I am a fighter when the chips are down.
I am my father’s nightmare and my mother’s dream.
See me with my mut from the pound that’s better trained than your frou-frou, AKC registered pom-poo.
Join me as I sing the hymns my granny sang with the same tone and inflection.
I am educated with my poor country grammar I use only to spite those who think I’m ignorant.
I know more about tracking a blood trail than I do about propriety,
But I’m studied in the art of being couth.
My southern charm is mixed with brazen straight forwardness.
I am proud. I am American. I am beautiful.
Jan 15, 2012
Jan 15, 2012 at 12:50 PM UTC
these are but sagas for lovers and haters in love
who love to hate but are in hate with love
these poems
of couples who exist to exist
and to redefine Is
these are but stories for the sons of bleary eyed fathers
who tread the same threads across dilated garters
and heroic stoics be proud!
these are but fables of folly
and of transparent whim
of hunters’ beguilement
of huntresses’ ****
of mechanical males who practise old tricks
these are but tales of maidens and heads
of neverending aims nevertheless transfixed
these are but poems
of Envy and Trust
poems that unbe the unfair
for the sake of unlove
and while mechanical feelers probe seas of flesh dealers
and reels of film cast doubts of Enough
these are still
but poems of Trust
Nov 23, 2012
Nov 23, 2012 at 8:11 PM UTC
My soul has known heavenly places
Once I slept on the shores of light
Before my soul learned its name
I once saw the aching darkness split
And matter was born from ***
I slithered among the foundations of the earth
And made my bed in the tall grass
Pure bliss and warmth were mine
There the whispered revelation was my lullaby
I watched as suns were born
Dim beings of ultraviolet laughter
It was much easier
To see and understand
Before time was invented
From the mind and body
A cancer of spirit was born
Its whisperings were the first ego
Evolved so or created
It truly matters not
For the bird knows nothing of war
Or beauty
May 9, 2013
May 9, 2013 at 1:25 AM UTC
Cuts hidden by garters.
Bruises hidden by pearls.
No one can tell what hair you're missing
if you put them in cute little curls.
But it's not a man at stake,
for it was you wielding the blade.
You did give him your heart for his words.
Indeed, what a nice little trade.
So when you're on the edge of your life,
because of a sinister night for two.
Just remember it's all your fault,
and jump when given the cue.
Feb 11, 2014
Feb 11, 2014 at 12:26 AM UTC
am I evil?
wanting illicit thrill
am I bad?
looking for my garters in satin
buying more stalkings
sheer as a good knife
plotting, planning, I must be
truly evil, sin is fun
feed me
Jun 3, 2018
Jun 3, 2018 at 10:13 PM UTC
oh i don't know so much as i don't know.
you can never tell... even if you say so.
but
you can always repeal.
silently though.
i have no idea.
we both get
no vote.
we're just moving the furniture
i call you Mildred -
the walls plastered with snow and garters
we shuffle through
remains...
through
The Aperture
of Unseemly
Disquiet.
May 17, 2013
May 17, 2013 at 12:12 AM UTC
Blue skies, timeless
hover past my skin
indifferent as a grader bypassing
that watery definite sky of yours
Here were a few laws of space
hate music this cannot block
escaping the ear of an Illuminati can
leaving temporarily, and fading
unlike static earth plummeting near
Now isn't she gone in the wilderness
I can sit against death
not so blessed cat-wired, nothing
then, and was, given
to a few destinations
You have lifted your hand up
out of that den of garters
from fixed seeds either not to be kissed,
that isn't complex when you rejected
to be caressed to death.
Apr 16, 2018
Apr 16, 2018 at 8:34 PM UTC
In the sea the sirens call
I jump from that castles’ wall
The garters and gates won’t hold me in
For she had come calling, once again
My love, the sea, how she wailed and cried
I needed return and be at her side
But how fate could turn its cruel head,
For my treachery had forced her head to bed
I nest myself in the sands of guilt
Lying in her froth, a hand on the hilt
Guilt, a sword, pins me here
Your froth meets me to come and leer
I know that I could not stay true
So now my lover, here I come and join with you.
Sep 28, 2013
Sep 28, 2013 at 9:57 PM UTC
*Time forgets progression
Every time you move and dress,
And cover yourself with silk, satin, lace,
With hooks and garters,
With garments and clothing
Starting from small, tight and light
To large and loose,
And soft and cottony,
That I can almost feel everything
In my mouth, my tongue, yet
You are all too smooth to me,
Elegant, sophisticated, a walking flame,
That there's almost nothing there to touch
All red, white, all pink, all bloom,
No flower nor petal,
All root, all stem, all fruit,
All pollens and butterflies, and juice,
All juice, all round, all curved,
All bare, all time.*
© 2015 J.S.P.
Jul 8, 2015
Jul 8, 2015 at 10:29 PM UTC
Lipstick wax and three-day-old mascara
Recycled for the weekend
The wash has been put off
Use the same lace thongs and silk garters as last Friday’s wear
Still damp with the stench of alcohol and Irish sweat
Paint red polish over the chewed, grimy nails
On the hand that just wiped down the plate in the microwave
Molded over with bubbled broth and melted cheese
Slip on ‘Loubutons’ over cracked, blistered feet
And slick on clumped cream over the erupting zits
Forming near the dripping hairline
Which itself has been plastered with industrial hairspray
Shove extra cushion in that shredded brassiere
That’s passed off as styled and lacy every Saturday morning
One last glance in the cracking mirror
Flashing a cigarette-stained smile
And winking with a crusted eye
Then finally off to dance and melt the cover away
And display the foul of beauty
Mar 13, 2016
Mar 13, 2016 at 12:29 AM UTC
Hooking
bullets from
the muscle, I
took just enough
to get me out,
out of these
discipled digs
of occidental artifice.
Saw virtue, as
a patient bound
found floating
with the carcasses,
in oceans of our
artless composition.
So sickened by
my part in this
repulsive codependency,
I'll charter me another sleep,
usurp the gutless drone
to shave my head
the stillborn dream
I open up my arteries
the garters of my
cartilage and bone....
Aug 24, 2019
Aug 24, 2019 at 12:48 AM UTC
The shadow monster is following me
I hear it scream up there in that oak tree
it wants my guts for garters
and that is just for starters
It wants to skin me silly
I think it even wants my *****
to hang up high
in that massive oak tree
This is not cool, not cool at all
I better stop writing like a drunken fool
it will wait till my back is turned
then that's when it will rip me to bits
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
By NeonSolaris
© 2011 NeonSolaris (All rights reserved)
Nov 22, 2013
Nov 22, 2013 at 10:34 PM UTC
See how the others live
garnish your morning gruel with gossips
makes your cold porridge taste just a bit better
search out the tit-bits and the juicy blue parables
all from the House of Windsors can never be fake-news
when Princes bed seventeen aged maiden cold teas taste hot
gloom and doom means pep-ups, a smile and a spring to their steps
in rarefied air the stench of the ghettos and the belches from drains
should whiff in polluting and disturbing the perfumery of gentility
and why not...do they hear the cries of the motherless babies
or listen to the frustrations of the thieves having a no dice day
as Joan sells her body to pay the loan-arranger yesterday
and Jason is so bothered looking for a fix down the alley
do they know Roger took his own life cos he had no job
yes to sit and hear of the pain and sufferings high above
makes cold toasts and bacon of-cuts that much sweeter
and as the kettle whistles away they hope the vapour
clears the grimes of trodden lives and deadend roads
and rain hot molten ashes on the Semites and Giles
and madam in the big house up in the green Hills
and the Garters and Coronets all burn in Hell
with their socks on......
Aug 21, 2019
Aug 21, 2019 at 4:45 PM UTC
Burlesque, Jazz, painting and literature
In the golden age of stripping
Four different golden ages converged---
The golden age of burlesque: Gypsy Rose Lee, Blaze Starr, Tempest Storm---the beats; Burroughs, Kerouac, Ginsberg---
The golden age of modern art; Pollack et al---Motherwell, etc.---the golden age of literature, the golden age
of music after swing’s drop dead ghosts,
hiding in fur dyed hot bebop---
the ghost of the roaring twenties, flappers’ ghosts
and beat girls smoking cigarettes,
casually ***** the dawn of the atomic age
came late---strippers come early,
dancing in like Flora Dora girls showing their garters---
Hot Hot Hot---the origin of swing in her sweaty leotard---
Martha Graham and St. Vincent Millay and others---
Stripping has come down to Dita from Lily,
U know Betty’s in the kitchen w/ her cookies---
Her: Barbara the nurse, the cookie dealer,
What’s-her-name---the woman who is still rich,
I can find her on Match.com where Mary-Ann Mobley found her British soul mate---U know her puppet lover, Miss America 1959 Miss History, June in Paris---her Barbie,
Troy of the broken boulders---
Dec 21, 2017
Dec 21, 2017 at 11:08 PM UTC
I have left behind all aquiescence, disrobed past
motives of pleasing the crowd.
I no longer dress in former passivity and never
defend any conformity.
Compliance, from now on, is simply not me.
For sanity's sake I sent flat brogues to charity
centres and became re-invented.
Circumventing subservience and any pretence
I wear independence boldly.
To any lesser degree of non-submissiveness my
control I shall never release.
Men refer to me now as "Miss Self-Assurance"
in tight nets and high heels.
So better not mess with my new-found feeling
on pure contumaciousness.
I might resent it, wear your ties for my garters
and not be too nice.
Beware this flighty new woman is known to bite.
Nov 3, 2016
Nov 3, 2016 at 7:45 AM UTC
Kim (one of my BFF) brightened with inspiration, “Oooo! Send him a **** pic!”
“I’m NOT going to sext a guy out of the BLUE,” I grumbled, indignantly.
Kim turned to her phone, “No, No, of COURSE not.” She said as she texted.
“Come on” she said, as she pulled me off my chair and out the door. We raced over, on foot, to my friend Bili’s house (two houses away). We entered without knocking (as usual) and ran upstairs.
Bili lay on her stomach on her unmade bed, fiddling with her phone, ankles up and crossed but she twisted up to attention when we came in.
“What should we do first?” She said, as if there were a million things to do.
They set upon me and had my regular clothes off in a heartbeat. Like all makeovers, this had a prelapsarian purity - the ritual stripping down to blankness before rebuilding.
They quickly went through about half of Bili’s closet - selecting just the right combination of ****** and classy clothes designed to ******
They finally settled on a black slip under an ivory peignoir, stockings with garters and black strappy heels.
Kim twisted my hair up into a loose “Gibson Girl.”
“Hold still,” Bili said, as she grasped my chin and expertly blended red, gold and black glittery eyeshadows followed by lip liner and gloss. “This is just a quickie job,” she reminded me.
I stared at this strange version of myself in the vanity.
Kim frowned and looking around, she spread a pink scarf over the desk light to give the room a rosy glow. They went into studio mode - posing me in various ways from coquettish to bored lounging - suggesting expressions and taking endless pictures with my phone.
Finally, they were satisfied and handed me my phone.
“Shall we go through them?” Bili asked
“Naah,” I said, “I’ll go through ‘em and pick one - or two.”
Later, at home, I looked through them - I looked SO different - and I had to admit - **** even. But was that ME? I cringed, what if my mom saw these ****** Kardashian-like photos somewhere?
I never sent them. I thought I’d have to explain it to my girls.
“HA!” They laughed, “We KNEW you’d never use ‘em” Bili said, as Kim shook her head “Nope.”
“It was fun though!” We all agreed.
.
.
.
*NOTE: This is a pre-pandemic story from August 2019. I was 15 - the idea wasn’t to ****** this guy, it was to get his interest so he would ask me out 🙃*
Oct 5, 2021
Oct 5, 2021 at 8:56 PM UTC