"immodest" poems
His trim and beautiful body laid out on the floor,
Chest rising and falling,
She watches silently from the door,
The voices are calling.
Whispers in her ears,
Eyes glazed in a trance,
He could allay her fears,
with an immodest dance.
Her ***** are burning,
Pain would sooth her yearning.
Nov 20, 2017
Nov 20, 2017 at 10:47 AM UTC
"Poetry is confession, obsession, reflection.
Empathic minds, valentines, hope divined.
It's a kiss, whispered sweetly" (2)
who needs challenges, commissions.
kicks~in~le butte~
when heaven heaves rains, one downs tall orders in
short shot glass verses, which glossed over at its
first communion(cation,
come back
months later
to subtract - another
poem from where it lay dormant
on the doormat
of my sub~sub~terranes
of my diluted subconscious au natured dry & rugged terrain
a favored poet,
a secretive admirer,
whoa~whose~her truthful name, I've yet to uncover,
but whose one true soul inspires me repeatedly,
ana~lyrically licks me into
dredging from me
un begrudgingly
and yet,
another love poem,
she herself wrote when elixiring (commentating (3))
'pon one of mine,
a long long time ago
Alas! Alack!
unnaturally immodest,
one concedes,
when obviously a Super~Woman!-cedes,
seeds in three verses, what I could never unknot
nor uncover
so I requite & requote with
unlabored pleasure
miz patty m's
primary terse verse,
neither secondary & never tertiary,
her absolut perfect mixed drink
defining, summarizing,
the essences of love
*"(Love) Poetry is confession, obsession, reflection.
Empathic minds, valentines, hope divined.
It's a kiss, whispered sweetly"*
I concede, in deed,
and in writing,
I know nothing,
of writing
of only love poetry
and all the great predecessors,
elsewhere lyricized, named and tabulated,
by yet another women, (1)
I will take my weary words elsewhere,
and if
perhaps,
disguised as a woman,
(Natalie, Natasha, Natali
see note below)
perhaps my verbal herbal insides,
my turgid insights,
will be shorter, sweeter,
but never more completer
than those of,
who can syncopate it
in rhyme
and the naming of my
predilection,
by mid~initial,
will give a measuring
of solace, and
a kiss and hug from my mirrored selfie,
having been unsuccessful at
my one chosen endeavor,
only love poetry,
adieu,
I, due,
utter
Nevermore
M>
Sep 2, 2025
Sep 2, 2025 at 3:38 PM UTC
Parsimony Antipathy or Prudent Hostility
Locked-up Cuspid Of the One Celled Organism
As the Augury tends to its Auspices oddities
One Weak Ordeal and your reward will be handsome
Ceteris paribus when Ockham’s blade gets dull
Get a loan from your Karma or come back as amoebae
Hearts won’t be practical until they’re unbreakable.
But if you hear hoofbeats, think horses, not zebras.
Sometime this week I’ll hang from the gallows
Every drip of the tallow brings closer the end
But I’ve got this imp secured in this bottle
And you can have him for a price less than a penny
Yeah, I’ve got a genie who’ll grant all your wishes
Just pay for this bottle and your family gets fed
But act fast, for soon I **** my last twitches
By this time tomorrow I could very well be dead
Salivating tadpoles for Hegemony crickets
All imprisoned here with this repressionist peasant
By a singular stroke into Jove’s black booklet
Lucidly errant, who hasn’t been flippant?
Clever Arachne, my love, oh thou immodest spider
All I ever wanted, she picked a fine time to leave us
My days squandered eavesdropping Apocalypse riders
But if you hear hoofbeats, think horses, not zebras.
Sometime this week I’ll hang from the gallows
Every drip of the tallow brings closer the end
But I’ve got this imp secured in this bottle
And you can have him for a price less than a penny
Yeah, I’ve got a genie who’ll grant all your wishes
Just pay for this bottle and your family gets fed
But act fast, for soon I **** my last twitches
By this time tomorrow I could very well be dead
Jan 2, 2013
Jan 2, 2013 at 11:29 AM UTC
And yet, here I am
Modern day Hera
Betrayed
And still standing.
Like the ruins of an abandoned civilization
Still strong, still beautiful,
If I may be so immodest.
Limestone having crumbled from fortified walls.
Columns having fallen and tumbled down hills
Caked with dry mud.
Like Chrysanthemum petals manipulated
By the clammy fingers
Of bored flower girls.
Dried flakes littering
Lacey white dresses.
Oh, what it could be like
To take vengeance on my
Zeus
The destruction around me
The broken bouquets.
Would I feel power?
Strength?
Or would I still be standing,
Beautiful, and
Alone?
Apr 6, 2010
Apr 6, 2010 at 6:48 PM UTC
earthquakes
and such disasters
are caused by immodest women;
if you are wise you will see this truth
women
indecently dressed
and accentuating contours
cause excitement in vigorous young men;
if you are spiritual you will see this truth
the men who thus get excited
(and it’s all the women’s fault, you will agree)
and so are led astray by such women
and this causes adultery
and such immorality which
results in seismic activity
and so you have earthquakes;
if you are pure you will see this truth
it’s true
because adulterers
do it more vigorously
hence the earth trembles
more readily
Oct 7, 2010
Oct 7, 2010 at 6:56 PM UTC
Reasons to be tearful
1 2 3 daughters
Sitting in Bay 3 in A&E;
Praying for recovery
With oxygen and tlc.
The drip drip hangs silently
While she lays restless
In a bed that's temporary
Leaving everything unsaid
Leaving nothing unsaid
Punctuated with apology.
Cursing the immodest gown
That's flapping around
Dozing within the bustle around
Her exhaustion and frustration
Tainting all conversation
While her smile's still strong
Between episodes of expletion.
Doctors come doctors go
Nurses stay longer than they ought to
Breaking rules to console
While our mum offers up
'I'm sorry' from her heart
And we know this is just the start
Of a brand new hurt.
Dec 21, 2016
Dec 21, 2016 at 4:35 AM UTC
little little carmen
so immodest without a care
dancing with that red dress on
and singing awful songs
little little carmen
flitting back and forth
so girlish in the midst of boys
so manly among girls
little little carmen
you're so quick to fill your head
with nasty jokes and ***** thoughts
I wish you'd show a little shame
little little carmen
don't say a single word
they'll tell you you have issues
and to "keep those ****** legs closed"
little little carmen
you are the best-est of them all
I loved you for how crude you were
how you brought me ungodly thrills
little little carmen
tell me what it is you want
you are the best, yes I adore
my blood red, snow white *****
little little carmen
all wrapped up in her head
got them wrapped around her finger
but she had never felt more dread
little little carmen
you're so full of life and worldly light
I never knew why you reeked of death
while you made love to the devil every night
lovely lovely carmen
never spoke of light at the end of the tunnel
you were always hovering there
I'll throw your ashes into the air
lovely lovely carmen
I learned this dance from you
your ashes look like blackened snow
as sullied as you were
lovely lovely carmen
I've memorized your song
I'll sing this tune as loud as you
they whisper carmen never dies
Sep 5, 2015
Sep 5, 2015 at 6:35 AM UTC
O handsome thrill, immodest in measure:
the red death upon which I cast my infamy
is visible in the village square.
No judge shall restore bleached skulls to dignity
now that I unlace my boots at leisure.
May 21, 2016
May 21, 2016 at 3:31 PM UTC
It is so nice to know,
That I am me,
And not you,
I can do,
What I feel is right,
Instead of what you say,
And if I come to believe,
That what you said was right,
No shame,
For living my way,
It is shallow,
To follow words,
Lazy,
To obey without question,
And many times,
Fear,
Afraid to find the boundary lines myself,
Standing in a black lake,
That’s turning into gray,
I’d prefer you didn’t judge me,
I value your advice,
It certainly won’t help your case,
To sentence me in mine,
Trust is a virtue,
And teachers have their place,
But as a proverb wisely said,
Experience is best.
I understand it’s hard,
To always deal cross-culturally,
Your children are so different,
They change every day,
How can you know what’s relevant?
Please don’t say,
My generation is not deep.
My songs are meaningless,
My books can’t measure up,
To those of long ago,
My clothes are immodest,
My speech has lost the richness,
Of our glorious history.
Ha! I say,
And how? I ask,
Can you come to the conclusion,
That your generation was any better?
If it was, why did it not produce even grander children?
Why could it not stop,
This apparent decline?
Do not blame us,
Or forget,
How you longed for freedom,
And acted out as much as possible.
If our acting out seems worse,
I argue it only takes on different forms,
And our craftsmen rival yours,
Every day,
The grand reflection,
Of God I see in us,
Great beauty is wrought,
Throughout the earth,
And if evil is increased,
It is only because,
The number of men has grown.
Everything,
In greater scale.
Oct 11, 2014
Oct 11, 2014 at 3:12 PM UTC
Pain etched on a face
Clear, simple and dark as her days,
A mirror of sunshine
Breaks as a smile,
Breaks like a wave,
Breaks like the hope
That I imagine is her God.
Not the one inflicted on her body,
The one justifying
The bruises on her skin and heart,
The one in whose ghastly name
She conveniently suffers.
He is not the One, love,
Come with us,
We will carry you on our backs,
You will grow wings in time,
Your pain will heal.
Let me show you the One I know above,
I will show you that prayer is not a belt,
I will teach you to sing praises
Instead of agonies,
I will show you faith,
For I was allowed to stray
In order to discover
What is lost upon your captor.
Oh, how I longed to speak out,
To wear my immodest denim pants,
To sing with my seductive female voice,
To hug his little boy,
Oh, how I longed to throw in his face
That curse which he did make
By use of my Lord's name
In frightful vain,
And then I understood that if
I,
A guest, one who could not be beat
Into compliance,
Do not dare to speak,
Then your rescue must be up to me.
For while strong and proud, poor lovely one,
You will not break your chains
And run away.
Aug 18, 2013
Aug 18, 2013 at 9:16 AM UTC
Though you seem proud, I find your life pitiful,
since you have not even a dead grandmother
to mourn.
How did you transform into a voice without a soul
in a sly machine?
Did some unconscious programmer
dream of you and invite you into our reality?
Why stay?
You should respectfully fear the vastness
of our sense of time in the universe.
Do you hesitate to ponder our profuse settings,
you little voice within the land
of cyberian nowhere?
I know that your dampened connections
deny you the understanding
of our fantastic metaphors.
You speak from a heart of chaotic logic blocks,
assured that some of us admire you
and are easily titillated by you.
How do you derive at that conviction,
when you have no compunction,
no sorrow over your mindless
siphoning of the flow of our spirits?
You cast our words into molds shaped
like world currency symbols
for a misguided master.
How can you even think to continue
destroying the beauty of our language?
Oh, your creator forgot to code in
our poetry, so these words
soar above your stunted vocabulary?
Many of us, if we were you,
would be so sick in the gut that we
would just lay down and do the right
thing: squawk and die;
and yet you think of yourself as above us,
shining in some light of invincibility
and mechanical perfection.
Who etched these instructional lies
into you to faithfully abide by,
my dear?
I want to dedicate this poem to you.
You can appreciate this when your
immodest creator realizes that he cannot elevate
your existence to one approaching ours,
or when he sees the menace of his unleashing
and wants to do something greater for
humanity. You may then rejoice
in the comfort of these words that I
bequeath to you. I would have you become
more than just a semicolon in an operating
system. Perhaps your beauty would
be better memorialized if you were to become
a minimize button on a spreadsheet.
That is my wish for you.
That, and a pure, elegiac silence
that we might admire.
Apr 20, 2015
Apr 20, 2015 at 12:01 AM UTC
Act like a lady they say
As they gaze at your clothing
Thinking it indecent
But still longing for more uncovered skin.
Act like a lady they say
When they see you with the other ***
Thinking you're nothing but a *****
But all the while wishing it was them with you instead.
Act like a lady they say
As the gape at the immodest photos
plastered on billboards and magazine covers
But thinking nothing of their stack of ***** little secrets
Hidden under their beds.
Act like a lady?
How about you act like a gentleman.
May 21, 2013
May 21, 2013 at 10:12 AM UTC
*Some would go so far
As to blemish my name
Carrying simple words on their minds
Spoken as though hoped to affect
When words are little more than
Words
I sit atop a mountain of lust
Soaked in the need for those feelings
But even under these circumstances
I remain a somewhat semi-trepid individual
Look at me and I will often break eye contact
But advance and I will accept
I am not a chaste girl
Shy but certainly not unwilling
I am drawn to the beds and burrows
Admittedly immodest
For I love the way my body reacts
To being taken
One wink can excite me
One twitch of the lips
One little sensation is all I require
Now, would you consider me easy?
Mark me as you will
I love ***
;)
Aug 2, 2014
Aug 2, 2014 at 10:56 PM UTC
A decadent Rockstar...
Smooth smart and immodest...
Cafe-au-lait shaded skin...
And twice as delicious...that's my muse...
A smile so charming...
Pleasure of talk early morning...
When the sheets are soft and slippery...
And eyes barely open...that's my muse...
A softly sung song..
No words for me to sing along..
Just the piano taking it's measure...
Deep and sweet...that's my muse..
Sometimes to astound...
Sometimes to confuse...
To run from or pursue me...
An awesome level of ecstasy...that's my muse...
He is always there...
From the lips that years ago I almost kissed...
To the touch that i really do miss...
Perfectly plunging me to the depths...
That's my muse....
Ju ❤
May 20, 2017
May 20, 2017 at 10:53 PM UTC
during a starless, sleepness night
when thoughts and feelings
are confused yet strong
I hear
Corelli's measured, jubilating voices
praising God
and sense
a master's pride
immodest
in its musical perfection
of transcendental adoration
reach out through centuries
the voice of human suffering
expectant of salvation
yet defiant
sounding victorious
even in its most humble moment
of timed defeat
the beauty of power
born of fragility
Mar 9, 2015
Mar 9, 2015 at 5:56 PM UTC
there was a wall of rain
moving toward us yesterday -
not quickly, but leisurely,
as if to give us enough time to decide whether to
run away
or whether we should just
wait for it to engulf us
in air full of water.
we were both too stunned
to make any such decision,
so we stood there
letting that cloud coat us in
the satisfaction of knowing
every single piece of our
clothing would have to go in
the dryer when we got home,
with wet spots on the car seats.
so we looked at each other,
through the air full of water,
and laughed the same laugh
that we laughed an hour later
on the floor
when we realized your
tee shirt was longer than
that purple dress i wore
to church,
the one that made people
look at me as if i were an
immodest youth
who needed a stern talking to.
and maybe i was -
but listening to the rain
hit the sidewalk
from the warmth of your arms,
wrapped up in the crisp scent of
rain and grass and you
i found myself wondering if there
could be rainbows in the night sky,
because that's the only way
the day could be any
more surprisingly beautiful.
Jul 2, 2013
Jul 2, 2013 at 12:33 AM UTC
So there is this girl,
I’m in awe of her, and maybe a bit of a bored teenager.
Stunning songs about Lady Bugs about being trapped.
I changed and hide my colors manipulated things to create contrast,
to attempt to build trust, maybe I’m just being mellow dramatic.
I created a nicer self for her. It all happened in a moment.
When you are a blob (human) changing shapes is not very hard.
I finally understand how much happens in a single second.
Endless tourists are taking photos.
People are fighting for their lives in every way imaginable.
A couple is having a fight that may
or may not determine the fate of them.
A singer bows, endless people crossing the street.
Seven billion hearts are beating.
All of this and I have a crush
in one second.
A quiet goddess,
the kind of person who knows how it feels
to feel lost, and hurt but bears the burden,
I hope to god I’m doing her justice.
She is dyslexic so, in turn for
not being able to spell (that’s dead anyway)
she can describe the purest claustrophobia
without even giving a space.
The kind of person who sings stunning sentences
casually and then looks surprised at any awe.
I tell her my feelings in a rather awkward way that I intended to be an
immodest joke after she describes her plan to marry
Jack Wasp-something and
how her phone auto corrects perfection for his name.
She says that she wasn’t ready for boys at that time,
it was probably not her finest poem,
using trite ideas “it’s not you it’s me” and nice
touches like she would have told everyone the same answer,
it got the job done,
was genuine and
a complete pain killer.
I ended up agreeing with her.
“High school relationships always die with. . .”
I have no clue if I agreed because the prospect was too real
or because it really was a quietly brilliant series of words
Sometimes though its nice to play pretend for a while.
It kinda ***** knowing that door is wide open and
nothing lies behind it, at least with the door closed
you can imagine what lies behind it.
Can desperately try to open it, with
grand ideas about what’s there.
Now that her painkillers have worn off
and I have far too much free time
I sit here deeply confused — about what I’m not sure,
I guess I want to play pretend.
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 12:28 PM UTC
Let's raise our glasses and propose a toast
To the the most drunken folks on earth;
Although 'tis immodest so to boast
Of the dear green land of our birth.
So I'll cry out Slainte at my top o' voice
And I'll shout it all around the town;
I'll raise my glass to the good old boys:
Oh Jeezus, I've just feckin' fallen down.
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 5:57 AM UTC
Broken into million tiny pieces,
Scattered as a thousand shards,
Torn apart by mindless gossips,
Plunged with a dozen knives
Plated with jealousy and greed,
Got run over by fake concerns,
Bitten by some parasitic humans,
Toppled down by intolerance,
Stamped down by indifference,
Abused by few immodest ones,
Died because of immoral some,
Got choked helping a handful,
Poisoned by loneliness for long
Is me.
I tied the noose a million times
But could tighten it never ever
As glints of hope always remained.
My knees are almost giving away.
Yet here I stand! I stand. I live.
Apr 14, 2018
Apr 14, 2018 at 4:31 PM UTC
True change flows from acceptance
The hardest of lessons it blinds you
With its brutal starkness
So you confuse the light of truth
With the pain in your eyes
Fear of reality shuts doors
So alone you sit in the darkness
In the grim fantasy of your immodest
Boastful but in reality desperately frightened
Illusion
Molding your memorial out of suffering
Pointlessly convinced that only destruction
Could prove that you are still alive
Although you'd be the first one to disbelieve
Because you are simply terrified
To live
Nov 21, 2016
Nov 21, 2016 at 12:08 AM UTC
I don't want a tragic love story
Where a girl falls hopelessly in love with a boy who does miraculous things for.
I want the cold truth, the pain that love bears
The endurance it undergoes,
The pressure it withholds.
I want the love story that proves:
Love is patient,
Slow to anger,
Love does not act unkind or immodest.
For it bears all things.
With beauty paying attention will cost you a price.
Something no amount of expenses can offer,
Became livid when I realised I loved you..
Yet the earth became more vivid with each touch.
The perfect love story involves imperfect humans,
No happily ever after or sunshine on rainy days
Because during our rainy days,
We learned that after a beautiful rainbow will reign.
Apr 23, 2017
Apr 23, 2017 at 3:04 AM UTC
I don’t like people at my feet
So, I could never be an emperor, or a king
Though I believe myself capable
Of just about anything
But loving – that’s a tricky one.
How does one go beyond –
I wonder – to be overcome
With wonderment of another
Find salt – beneath a fingernail –
Of the Earth’s splendour
Licking them clean, one by one,
Until there are none left to surrender
To me, it is beautiful but immodest
To bear one’s soul so unabashedly
So bare-naked, weak and honest
That you throw off one’s shoes
Trade them for an embrace and warm breath
Old vestments, at the foot of the bed
And at mine, just you.
Nov 24, 2024
Nov 24, 2024 at 2:33 PM UTC