"panty" poems
I stand so proud and tall.
With my nose pressed against the wall.
I know I was naughty, is this why your punishing me?
pssng my pants, you make me get on my knees.
Naughty Boy! Naughty Boy you shout.
After your done smelling that, I am washing your mouth out!
My nose sore from being punished by you.
What next? What now are you going to do?
the bar of soap inserts my mouth all the way to my throat.
I wont be naughty anymore than my privates were groped.
I know I looked in your ***** drawer today.
Now I am going to really pay.
Trying them on I know there for you.
I guess this naughty boy had no clue.
Putting them on my head and shoving them in my mouth.
Still at the same time washing my mouth out.
Waiting for you to come back today.
I am not scared Iv’e been naughty in every way.
No please I am not hungry, don’t make me eat the vegetables.
I sit and pout at the kitchen table.
forcing them into my mouth and making me swallow.
You lead on a leash and I am forced to follow.
I am your pet, your naughty little slave.
And it’s almost time to play.
But we both know what comes first.
The cutting of my arms to satisfy your thirst.
May 8, 2017
May 8, 2017 at 8:04 PM UTC
-a mind is well deciphered in silence as same as fingers decipher wetness of a ****
- how silently, silence enters my mind as same as his hand enters a wet ***** covering a pulsating **** -
Jan 24, 2016
Jan 24, 2016 at 1:07 PM UTC
Stop,
Drop, and roll,
as my hand roll.
Around your tootie roll.
My fingers scroll, fairly slow.
Way below, your panty's lines, until your tan line show.
your head lies, tongue-tied, down below, your hips-- a silk pillow. Your hips rise, gyrating slow. Looking in your eyes, feeling your vibes, and its off we go. The feeling, you're surprises, you love it though. Hands gripping your sides, moving it slow. Hips above my thighs, I, react as we go, back and fore.....
Sep 2, 2014
Sep 2, 2014 at 12:53 AM UTC
(song lyrics)
Verse 1:
Now I can’t go fishin’, ‘cuz ya’ sold my rod and reel
Can’t go snow-racin’, ‘cuz ya’ sold my snowmobile
And I got flaws - that’s for sure - and sometimes run amuck
But the final straw that I can’t take: Ya’ sold my pickup truck
Chorus:
You can burn the house, shoot my dog and stomp my ol’ guitar
But when you sold my pickup truck, well, Honey, ya’ went too far
Verse 2:
I didn’t care when ya’ bought that stuff on TV’s QVC
Or ‘cause ya’ always thought of me as your private Money Tree
Or catalog-orderin’ ever’thing from within ol’ Sears Roebuck
But I’ll be danged if I’ll sit still since ya’ sold my pickup truck!
Chorus:
You can burn the house, shoot my dog and stomp my ol’ guitar
But when you sold my pickup truck, well, Honey, ya’ went too far
Verse 3:
So I went and saw a gypsy gal, and a curse on you imposed
To put sand in your chewin' gum and runners in your ***** hose
And all your clothes and accessories to never, ever match
And chiggers in your bed sheets - so you’ll always have to scratch!
Chorus:
You can burn the house, shoot my dog and stomp my ol’ guitar
But when you sold my pickup truck, well, Honey, ya’ went too far
Verse 4:
I seen ya’ last Saturday night at Bubba’s Bar and Grill
The image of you in stripes and checks remains within me still
And them red chigger welts upon your nose and face
Tells me that the gypsy curse is workin’ ever’ place!
Chorus:
You can burn the house, shoot my dog and stomp my ol’ guitar
But when you sold my pickup truck, well, Honey, ya’ went too far
Oct 17, 2015
Oct 17, 2015 at 9:31 AM UTC
Old Pantaloons, a Chiasmus
by Michael R. Burch
Old pantaloons are soft and white,
prudent days, imprudent nights
when fingers slip through drawers to feel
that which they long most to steal.
Old ***** loons are soft and white,
prudent days, imprudent nights
when fingers slip through drawers to steal
that which they long most to feel.
Keywords/Tags: chiasmus, pantaloons, ***** loons, ******* pun, wordplay, underwear, fetish, lingerie, pervert, perverts, **********
May 20, 2020
May 20, 2020 at 10:58 PM UTC
THE TROUBLE WITH TIGHTS
The trouble with tights, they dangle.
They’re very annoying at times.
When around your ankles they slip.
Snag them on the garden gate.
When on the way to work, they rip.
Just as you’re in a mega dash.
They really are such irksome things.
Tights are laddered, cash all gone.
Still need to carry on.
Of course, they have their other uses.
Will fix a broken fan-belt well.
Maybe a robber of the money institution, will find them a lovely disguise.
The only bank robber ever caught.
In possession of a pair of long nylon ears.
Stockings are much sexier.
Lovely soft and silky.
For whenever you are feeling *****
Who ever heard of wearing tights, beneath their wedding dress?
Wear them for a date.
When pretty woman goes out hunting.
Just to find her perfect mate.
Surely, stockings must merit the order of the garter
Feb 11, 2014
Feb 11, 2014 at 2:17 AM UTC
Hi tita,
Kamusta?
Alam niyo naman po na matalik na magkaibigan kami ng anak nyo.
Matalik na kaibigan mo rin ang nanay ko.
Pitong taon na nung nakilala ko anak niyo,
Gwapo at matalino siya,
Kaya hindi na ako nagtataka kung bakit maraming naghahabol sakanya.
Malapit pamilya niyo sa amin.
Tita, Thankful ako na inaalagaan mo ako.
Binibigyan mo ako ng regalo tuwing birthday ko.
Minsan inaayusan mo pa ako,
Iniintindi ko kasi wala kang anak na babae.
Kulang na nga lang pati panty't bra ibigay mo saakin.
Ikaw pa ang bumigay saakin ng napkin nung first time ko magkaregla.
Ilang beses na rin ako nakasakay sa kotse niyo.
Sabi mo pa ako ang mata mo na nagbabantay sa anak mo pag may pasok.
Lagi ko pong tinutulungan anak niyo.
Pero tita alam niyo po ba ano ang masaklap?
7 billion ang tao dito sa mundo pero anak mo pa rin ang gusto ko.
Pero alam niyo po ba ano ang mas masaklap?
Anak mo ang gusto ko pero kahit kailan saakin ay hindi siya nagkagusto.
Jul 3, 2018
Jul 3, 2018 at 8:52 AM UTC
come & find me
i've left my phone plugged
into the wall because i can't feel
you breathe through your fingertips
and i can't read your lips through emoji
your belly-button doesn't look right shrouded
in 8 mega-pixel dust and i want to touch you instead
of a keyboard on a screen and tell you about my day because
even though it's written doesn't mean it's real meet me offline because
i don't want a five second snapchat victory snapshot of your panty-line
i don't want my silly romantic poetry to be re-grammed on your insta
framed against a picturesque city skyline or a stoic mountain lion
with hashtags and sexting doesn't turn me on like the sound of
your voice i can write you letters until my fingers bleed but
they always arrive seven days late and you never cry
when you cut them open with a knife and i'm not
looking for a pen pal anyway or a friend
instead i seek a mirror with glowing
teeth or an outlet to plug
into and charge
me up
Nov 19, 2015
Nov 19, 2015 at 12:04 PM UTC
A ***** Salesman from Marre
made a fortune and here is the key
It's the way you prononce
so the bottom line sounds
"Buy three and get two pair for three"
Sep 22, 2010
Sep 22, 2010 at 8:44 AM UTC
You don't see me coming yet,
but I have already cleared a drawer for you in my heart.
Our first argument will be about how I hog all the covers in my sleep,
or maybe about how I can never shake away the feeling that I am left
with after a bad dream.
I want you to know that I am other worldly.
Which of course means that I am not from this Earth.
My mind travels to and from other universes and galaxies,
other realms of thought.
But I will try to leave a note reminding you I will return.
For future emergencies-
I keep a bottle of Zoloft in my ***** drawer
and a bottle of wine under the sink.
I am not allowed to take them together.
I hope my episodes won't make you think less of me.
I hope you won't forget the way gravity shifted when we first met.
Tape that memory to the forefront of your mind.
So when I am sobbing uncontrollably about the ending of a movie,
or the last line of a haiku
you will remember why you love me.
And I will do the same for you.
You see, I am not that great at endings.
I am not a person with promising follow through .
I get caught up in the beginning of things,
the middle of things,
the twist and turn
thrashing momentum
of things.
I just can't bare to see it all end.
So when or if it does end,
I ask that you lay me gently down and make your exit swift.
Do not linger by the door frame,
because when you tell me it's over,
that is it.
You don't see me coming yet,
but I want you to know I have had day dreams about our first kiss.
I imagine it like an orchestra inside your chest
and angels begin to sing when you part your lips.
The symphony hits its crescendo when we finally get to the kiss.
You don't see me coming yet,
but soon we will be in love.
Mar 18, 2015
Mar 18, 2015 at 11:51 PM UTC
He cups the bowl
With a pocket bible,
Pulls in a few more short gasps,
Trying to fill every last inch
Of the fleshy air sponge in his chest.
He rises up, as his lungs expand,
And puts down the pipe,
Caressing the tiny bible in his hands,
Absentmindedly.
He smiles...
A gray-white rose unfurls from his lips.
He slides the pipe across the table,
I turn it down...
I am only twelve.
"Suit yourself"
He says...
His voice like vaseline on silk...
A hair mussing, makeup smearing,
***** tearing voice.
I think,
*'Man, I would **** to have a voice like that.'*
"Me...I love the stuff. That's what its all about."
He says.
"That's what what's all about?"
I stammer.
He smiles,
And I shiver involuntarily,
As if waves of cool radiate from that smile.
This guy was a small town demigod,
Mind you.
The coolest car,
The blackest leather jacket.
He was the front man
For a local rock band,
And all the girls wrote his name in their notebooks,
With little hearts, and declarations of their love.
"Life, man, life.
If you like killing, or kissing,
Smoking or ********
Do it.
If you do you will stay loose.
You stay loose , you be cool.
You be cool, the world is gravy,
You dig?
Life is a custom Mustang
Made just for you.
You got to ride that some of a *****
Until you run out of gas.
So always take the roads
that lead to things you love,
And forget what the road signs say...
Make your own detours."
Four months later,
He was killed in a car wreck.
He was drinking wild turkey,
While getting road head.
They found a half ounce of grass
In his hip pocket.
The girl walked away with nothing worse
Than a broken arm.
They couldn't repair the red and pink glass shredded mess of his face...
His funeral was closed casket, and I didn't go.
The next day I spent the money I was saving
For a ten speed, on a used, Washburn acoustic guitar.
After all...I already had a set of wheels, that I was born with.
I hopped behind the wheel that day,
And since then, I have lived my life, my way.
I've had enough downs,
To prove my decision making skills are flawed,
But I followed my joy, and the things I love,
And I have no regrets...
Hell, I'm still alive,
And I ain't ran out of gas yet.
Aug 18, 2012
Aug 18, 2012 at 5:50 AM UTC
My wife said to embrace my feminine side
So I thought I'd give it a whirl
And though I said I'll do my best
I don't make a very good girl
So I tried my hand at cooking
And now the chicken is crispy and black
The laundry was just my first attempt
And it almost broke my back
I even took a bubble bath
With candles on the side of the tub
But when I tried to shave my legs
The only thing left was a nub
And even though I must admit
I look pretty **** good in a dress
Those dadgum ***** hose were cramping my style
As you can probably already guess
That make-up made me feel kinda funny
And made me look just a little bit weird
I think it clashed with the leftover breakfast
That was hanging out inside my beard
My wife said I made an ugly girl
And she laughed so hard she cried
She said she'd never ask me again
To embrace my feminine side
Aug 31, 2013
Aug 31, 2013 at 12:42 AM UTC
Here's a story about a gang of grannies
Who knocked over a ***** hose store
They were nothing without their support hose
And they just couldn't take it anymore
Late one night at an old folks home
A few grannies were hatching a plan
Their varicose veins were getting in their way
Of catching themselves a man
So they decided enough was enough
And they'd reclaim their feminine wiles
And there happened to be a ***** hose store
Down the road just a couple of miles
Now if they got caught what would it matter?
'Cause it was a very small price to pay
And even if they gave them life in prison
Well that was probably just one more day
Now the leader of the gang was ninety years old
'Cause she had done this once before
She'd served a little time in granny prison
For robbing a false teeth store
Now their purses were their weapon of choice
Cause that's something they knew how to use
And if you've ever been hit by a granny purse
Then you know it can leave a bruise
Anyway, off they went to claim their prize
For it was much too late to turn back
Dressed in only their housecoats and slippers
Their purses and a burlap sack
To make a long story short they pulled it off
Just in time for the old folks dance
And you better believe those grannies looked sharp
In support hose and pink hot pants
Sep 13, 2012
Sep 13, 2012 at 2:33 PM UTC
he won't write you poetry like neruda or bukowski. he won't ink your name underneath his skin nor will he cut his hair shorter for your mom. he won't stay up with you to read jane austen and hemingway. sometimes all you'll hear from his end of the line is snoring and you'll know he has fallen asleep. again. he won't take you to a romantic dinner every other night. he won't surprise you with a picnic basket on a tuesday afternoon to whisk you away to a spontaneous date on the beach. his hand will sweat sometimes. he will smell like cigarettes and the inside of a Starbucks. he will chew his food loudly and eat with his leg up. he will wake you up in the middle of the night just to tell you about a dream that woke him up. he will do this because he's afraid he'll forget in the morning. he will not get along with some of your friends, your dad will ask you "are you sure?" and your little brother will hate him. he will have acne and blackheads. he won't be around everytime you need him. he won't magically appear just in time to catch after you've tripped down the stairs.
he won't be the guy you keep reading in novels about. he won't be the mysterious, poetry-writing, guitar-strumming, panty-dropping British guy you keep wishing you'd finally meet.
surprisingly, despite of all of this, you will fall for him anyway. because even though you wanted a love story similar to those you found printed in pages, you will realize that they end after a dramatic moment in the airport, or a long romantic make-out session under the pouring rain, or after the one major problem is resolved.
you will realize that nothing comes after for them. what happens after the romantic colors of sunset fade and the darkness takes over?
you will realize that your own story is way better. because even though he talks too loud in libraries and hogs the blanket, he stays. he is there beside you at 2am when you suddenly wake up from a nightmare. you can feel his breath on the back of your neck and his arm around your waist. you can hear him whisper "i love you" and it will be dripping with honesty. and that is more than any fictional poetry-writing, guitar-strumming, panty-dropping British guy can ever do.
Aug 26, 2013
Aug 26, 2013 at 12:23 AM UTC
If morning was
too brief to trim
those pine tree prickles
off of your lower limbs, it's okay.
Step 1: ***** hose.
After a mirror's
glance, you will be tempted to panic.
Step 2: Stay calm. Peel
the dead animal
off the side of your cheek.
Let the hairbrush
paste the fly-aways
into a hot, greased bun.
How easy it is
to experience a wardrobe malfunction.
Remember to keep it simple.
Step 3: Slip on
that black pencil skirt,
the polyester one--not
the leather.
No one needs to know
that you were up late
watching sitcom reruns. Remove
the screaming purple rings.
Step 4: make-up. Base
is your friend.
You are now prepared.
Smear on
your finest ruby red
lips, and tuck in
your leopard-print
bra strap.
Step 5: Strut your
stuff. Retail has never seen
such class.
Nov 12, 2012
Nov 12, 2012 at 12:14 AM UTC
So this is what it feels like to be broken....
Blink. Breathe.
I have my Picture People uniform on
Behind the counter
Can I help you I ask
"Uh hi. I think you're really cute and was wondering if I could get your number?"
Blink. Breathe.
Suddenly I'm sitting on the floor of your kitchen for the first time
Petting your cat Molly
The clock says 2:15
A.M.
You come into the room
make some pancakes
Cinnamon
Blink. Breathe.
We're sitting in your dads truck
Fish tank on my lap
Your hand on the steering wheel
Switch into reverse
Bump. Splash.
My pants are soaked
You laugh
I laugh
Everything perfectly fine
Blink. Breathe.
Cold
Ice skating
Nothing more do I want to hold your hand and kiss you
But those thoughts remain silenced
You fall once and call my name
My hand touches yours
And I wanted more
Blink. Breathe.
In a dark room
Movie credits rolling
Alone
You ask me
"Can I kiss you now?"
Pause
I lean in and it's a tongue battle
Hot and too fast
Blink. Breathe.
Hookah smoke
Dizzy
*****
You're wearing short shorts
You possess me to do things
My fingers trace your ***** line
Blink. Breathe.
You park your dads truck to get gasoline
You lean over and kiss me before you get out of the car
Blink. Breathe.
You hand me a ticket
Cannon Mac's Graduation
2012
I'm sitting in the bleachers
Surrounded by no one I know
Crying because I see you get your diploma
Blink. Breathe.
We're sitting in my car
Before you move 500 miles away
Hot tears sting my eyes
Can I tell you something I say
You say anything
I know this is crazy
But I love you
This is when she starts crying
I love you too
She gets out of the car
Looks in and says
"Marry me some day, okay?"
Blink. Breathe.
Marry me some day, okay?
Marry me some day, okay?
Marry me some day, okay?
These flash backs need to stop
They're killing me
I can't do this
I don't think I can do this
Nov 9, 2012
Nov 9, 2012 at 10:04 PM UTC
Waking in darkness to brainstorming moments
Warm under covers on this freezing morn,
Recalling the instants of yesterday’s sequences,
How they developed and how they were born……
*“Moving with grace in a form fitting garment,
Curves in the shadow light tauntingly near,
Beautiful lines in a moment of weakness
Titillate senses erotically clear.”
“Watching the mouth of the bigoted warbler,
Watching him spout his idolatry spiels,
Rhetoric of mind bending, **** licking garbage
Image of self is the place that he kneels.”
“Urgency now with insurances deadline
Making provision for payments now due,
Juggle the baksheesh for paying the piper
Or the cruelty of bankers will cauterise you!”
“Laughter arouses the happiest moments
Merriment opens the faces so well,
Emotively gracious the giving of laughter
Contagiously, wonderfully ringing the bell.”
"Uncomfortably caught in the midst of an untruth
Unconscionably really, can’t call it a lie,
Got caught in momentum of tale in the telling
Upsetting me now to the point where I cry.”
"Can’t recall why, but I know there’s a matter,
Ripping my britches to try to recall….
Something importantly, now to be dealt with
Frustratingly lost in the fog of it all.”
"Harmonies rise like a mist in the temple
Delicate cadences rise and they fall,
I wonder why God allows this unbeliever
To sing with the Angels in his Holy hall?”
“Running my fingertips over her curvature
Feeling the ***** line plummet to fall
Knowing the thrill of elicit collusion
Anticipate promise of wanting it all.”*
Sudden alarm in the midst of a waking
Urgency calls at the dawn of the day,
Heaving my soul into frost waiting fingers
Leaving my dreams in the warmth where they lay.
Marshalg
“Pukehana Paradise”
Auckland NZ.
22 June 2013
Jun 21, 2013
Jun 21, 2013 at 6:40 PM UTC
Thank you, please, I'm sorry, OK!
This is the **** I've learned to say every day.
You handed me your boyfriend like a present
But wouldn't share with me 1 non-incriminating secret?
You're welcome, sure, it's cool, alrighty,
this is the sensual might of my aphrodite
you interrupt my stories, tell me i'm a mess,
then call me the person who understands you best
If your cracking laugh, loud as a bark
didn't bend me over like a punch to the spleen
defiled again! my own clumsy fault, i suppose
If your approval of my paintings
didn't heat my thighs and send me reeling.
death in my pillow and loss soaking my clothes
I wouldn't have cared if it was just a dumb mistake,
But I smell your poison, heavy in the air
And my throat swallows as much as you want it to take
After years of sharing every horror story
You have not even begun to know me
Or don't you care about shattering this trust?
We are out of supplies needed to rebuild our bridge.
Hovering in anticipation, waiting for you to settle all this dust
But you won't offer a thing that's not inside your fridge.
And I still don't know how to leave you
The myths of queerness are not at all true
Girls might steal as much as they want from me, too
It's all some people know how to do
Jun 3, 2017
Jun 3, 2017 at 4:12 PM UTC
You buy the finest clothing
& know how to pick
the latest,
the greatest fashions.
Your selection of lace *******
is superb,
such sweet lingerie.
The black see-thrus
with the tiny red bows,
is nothing short of sacred.
Delicious.
Sep 6, 2014
Sep 6, 2014 at 6:08 AM UTC
In Atlanta Victoria is red faced, her secret a secret no more.
A shoplifter made off with her ******* merchandise worth an eye catching score.
How one shopper could nab all those garments- it simply beggars belief!
Her “Angels” will now go “commando” Unless someone fingers the thief.
The crook was observed on surveillance with stuffed shopping bags leaving the store.
She didn’t get Victoria’s miracle bras so police think she’ll come back for more.
This sort of heist has happened before, although, thankfully, it is still rare.
The shoplifter may be a black woman, but its certain that she has a pair.
Feb 14, 2015
Feb 14, 2015 at 12:06 PM UTC
There's a thin line
between simple
fashion faux pas
and the sin of visibility
She'd rather go commando
than be found out
hark! 'tis her own sisters
who will roast her alive
Feb 13, 2020
Feb 13, 2020 at 9:55 AM UTC