"pouty" poems
Curves
My body has no limits
The deepest of deep, the highest of highs
I can tell he loves the curves of my thighs
The firm muscle, yet skin so soft to the touch
Curves, that i love and he can't get enough
He says "Love yourself, for you are a Queen"
I look in the mirror, but what have I seen?
African American
Curves that will take another woman's man
The curves that are my eyes
See way past beyond your soul
Lie to me and I'll know
Lie to me, you are very bold
The curves that are my face
show you my true beauty
The curves that are my lips
are so soft and pouty
The curves that are my breast
that bounce when i walk
The curves are my thighs
can cease a man in mid-talk
The curves that are my hips
which sway like a ship at sea
Make a women, by which God has created me to be
The curves that is my ****
is what u see when I leave
The last thing on his eyes, which makes him beg for me
The curves that are my legs
they hold me up to stand tall
When sometimes things get too tough
They also allow me to fall
See these curves of mine, are certainly mines of my own
The right to love these curves have caused me to grow,
into a women who has the knowledge to know ,
someday I will find
A husband to love, and caress these curves of mine ........
Aug 26, 2012
Aug 26, 2012 at 8:08 PM UTC
Perky ******* & Pouty Lips
Now I'm thinking I am, your typical male
who loves beautiful women, and all they entail
tall or short both, make my heart do flips
but the things that I, like for sure
it's alright if, they're somewhat demure
are perky ******* and pouty lips
a personality, is a wonderful thing
it would be cool, if she can dance and sing
don't mind playin poker, and bettin those chips
a sense of humor, with a snorting laugh
always willing, to give you half
umm but I crave perky ******* and pouty lips
I love watching them, when they come and go
swingin those hips, to and fro
make my heart beat do, a couple of skips
but look at those ******* and that **** mouth
causing a disturbance down to the south
god I love perky ******* and pouty lips
Gomer LePoet...
Jun 10, 2010
Jun 10, 2010 at 1:26 PM UTC
Not to neglect the one above
But the one just south has me
No reference to the man upstairs
Or his foe below
It’s evident the bottom
Was made in heaven
But tempts like the devil
Even though your lips are a pair
I find myself lingering down there
That bottom lip has its own heartbeat
A mind of its own if you will
And I will ... kiss it again
And again
Nibble a bit ... **** and peck
Lick my lips in retrospect
Lying in bed at night
Thinking of twenty different ways
That lip takes shape
And shows emotion
Almost upstaging your face
That gorgeous face
Sometimes lost in the background
For this soft and often pouty lip
Begs for attention
Almost screams for it
And I listen ... do I ever
I can’t help but fall victim
To that oh, so clever
Part of your face
That would make an angel
Leap from grace
And never look back
Not once ... I’d swear on this
For I know the power
Behind that kiss
Dec 19, 2011
Dec 19, 2011 at 2:22 PM UTC
If there is a God,
my God
is a **** brunette.
Doe eyes,
stunning violet,
dark with eyeliner.
Star tattoos
twinkle on her face,
shooting across the skies
of her cheeks. A lower
lip piercing
accentuates
the **** curve
of her pouty lips.
Her lithe body,
also inked,
golden from the sun.
She smokes Camels,
sunlit smoke glowing
as it pours from her lips.
She’d ask me to join her
every time
she went outside
to have one,
grinning when she exhales.
I believe already.
My God.
Feb 27, 2015
Feb 27, 2015 at 2:33 PM UTC
lovers are burning.] balsamic ****** gallops from shame
into the overwild wetness of labial volcanoes, caramelized in musk. by love's labor.
laid bare, their bodies origami inhibition...[ lovers are burning. ]
and surrender is victorious !
Eros is speechless. maidens howl into cumulus goose-down, chewing carnal haikus
with swayed backs.... hips wide and wanton. masculine wands plow oyster beds, unmade.
they joust pearls... and [ lovers are burning ]
.... a damp conflagration; tongue stoked and windswept, conspires.
monotony is slain !
puritan harps are plucked and thrummed ! lewd harmonies anoint the perfect pitch
and a chorus moans. the ghost of sylvia plath, straddles Apollo; and he earns his wreath
surging besotted. [ lovers are burning ] and laurels forgotten.
lotharios charge the seldom road; the starfish door to Saturn's parlor.
pumping unbridled, that glistening, cloven moon. her riding crop insists !
his urgency must do.
satyrs sup salaciously and summon staves to dip in brine. they grin and grind
their sutras, stripping karma gears with silk scarves. ankles to a post, well spread...
cushions crush. flowers press... stamen fed.
nymphs clutch their serpent stones
to drain what nectar slips the slit. they ***** and throat.
they peck and pinch their quivers; knock their arrows to the purpose, half spent.
[ lovers are burning ]
eyes ablaze. nostrils fetch randy fumes of consent. mouths seek.
a pouty swamp with Spanish moss.... finds a matador
and a bull, a china shop.
lovers are burning the rough sketch of a lost god
and their angels are voyeurs
with unclean thoughts
for gospels.
Aug 20, 2013
Aug 20, 2013 at 3:14 PM UTC
For J.M.
If there is an Angel,
my Angel
is a **** brunette.
Doe eyes,
stunning brown,
dark with eyeliner.
Soft pieces of the sky
wet her skin
It is far too tight and thin.
Rose tattoo
twinkle on her face,
shooting across the skies
of her cheeks.
A lower
Lip bruise
Accentuates
The **** curve
Of her pouty lips.
Dec 7, 2015
Dec 7, 2015 at 12:52 PM UTC
I am a canvas
that my parents painted
they gave me their features
a freckled nose
and pouty lips
so that when they separated
I’d always remember
that on my face
they’re still together.
May 8, 2014
May 8, 2014 at 11:42 AM UTC
*
*
Sitting in the shade of ****** lilies, is
the blessed beauty, the Heart of Summer
Her skin, shimmering russet
Her eyes, molten gold
Her lips, pouty rose buds
Her hair, a slick raven halo
Her body, curvaceous and slender
Flaunted by her diaphanous lilac robe
Through her sculpted nose, she inhales the
warm clime; her feet upon the verdure.
As she walks through the gardens, the
flowers burst into blooms, trumpets
to the song of working honey bees.
Ahead is a lake, clear, crystal and celestine,
stars dance and wink upon the surface.
She picks the daisies and adorns it in
her hair, thinking of her great empery.
Here in the palms of light and love, there
is no sin and no pain.
She hears the ringing bells of
nature, the song of wings.
'For I love all life and light,' she smiles, 'and more,
I will bring.'
*
*
Sep 2, 2018
Sep 2, 2018 at 5:08 PM UTC
You are nothing but a pretty face---
and for all the words birthed from your soft,
pouty,
supple,
unkissed sunkissed lips---
or the ones written down with your tiny,
\\\\ slanted / / / /
handwriting;
they are nothing but empty,
meaningless blatherskites.
Dec 4, 2020
Dec 4, 2020 at 6:43 PM UTC
I'll trace the lines along your face
Feel the warmth of your embrace
The soft firm pressure on your hips
Gently touching finger tips
Loving arms in hugging grips
Your moist and luscious pouty lips
I tasted the depth in every kiss
Your happy smile is my bliss
Each moment is a treasure
Every touch and sense a pleasure
And when you leave I'll wait for you
To gaze once more at eyes so blue
Apr 14, 2010
Apr 14, 2010 at 4:30 PM UTC
I stare, intently. He glances momentarily.
With its big calf eyes,
the skin peeling away from its lids
and its hides.
They float by, I gaze quickly at their popped peepers
which are skinned like white grapes,
and they go about their day.
I love them, them and their color palate,
their unique selection.
Bloated and baggy, bubbling up,
it looks so goofy that I cannot stand it.
My mouth gapes at the dazzling gold bands,
the alternating tan lines, the glow-in-the-dark marks,
the cool blues and the light blues alike.
They seem startled and pouty. But what to do about the ****
They cannot leap the glass and twirl with us,
dance with me, fly past the current ripping by.
Poor things…how they wish they were wild,
undomesticated and free. They want to be near us.
I see it in the gestures of their prehensile *****
that smear the glass as they press in,
trying to chart our turbulent patterns.
I wonder in my head how they breathe so easily,
flopping about their blue-tinted box,
drinking deep the LOx
fed in through a tube somewhere
as the world morphs and vibrates between us.
It is full of grey energy. Like a cloud in a lightning storm. Ever changing.
Jul 22, 2014
Jul 22, 2014 at 5:26 PM UTC
I am lusted after and I am singled out because of one thing I have to offer them.
I have something the average girl doesn’t have, I’m ‘a girl with a little extra’
I am their secret dream girl, their hidden desire.
They love to love me in secret.
They don’t see me as a person, they see their fantasy being fulfilled with me.
They don’t want to know my mind they just want to know how long I’ve been on hormones.
If my hair is real, if I had any surgery and you know what surgery I am talking they say with a no good smile.
Wow your face is so feminine looking, you would never know what hiding between your gorgeous thick legs.
Your body is perfect, your are not narrow you have full hips almost child barring.
Your delicate nose, your long blonde hair to your pouty lips you are perfect for this one night t girl.
They love my voice, they say its so **** and soothing.
I am a *** object to them, a pretty thing with **** hips and a ****
20 years of flesh on my body, and I still cant feel anything for it.
Yet these men do.
I am a delicacy, I am a rare indulgence for them.
Do you know how beautiful you are young t girl they ask me.
Why so empty t girl, why so lonely you could have any man you want for the night.
The night, that is all this body is worth to them.
My mind attacks my body like a foreign object, something that is not right or supposed to be.
Yet men find it so **** like eating the forbidden fruit.
I am so tasty sweet and so unacceptable.
What will people think they say to me.
How can I be lusted after, but shamed for my body
Something they find so beautiful, so exotic
They love my porcelain skin, that is diluted with freckles they say they want to count each one I have.
Get naked t girl, that is all your body is good for, to be looked at let me adore you.
Yes I have a girlfriend but you are an exception, you are a rare commodity, your skin is baby soft, not rough there is no trace of man hood on you except the one thing below that makes me want you.
You are my fantasy t girl, you are what I think about at night when I am alone.
When I decline what they want, I am disgusting, I am a stain in the world, let me show you what happens to real women t girl, such a waste of a pretty face.
these men are so offended that 'someone like me' doesn't desire them they desire me.
yet how am I the fantasy?
Dec 18, 2018
Dec 18, 2018 at 8:35 PM UTC
Once upon a time in an alternate universe not too long ago
I met the cheekiest babe from the other side of the world.
She went by Smurfette, she loved to call me Papa Smurf
and Vanity wasn’t gay, the ******* just loved himself too much.
She always sat by the window, detoxicating herself of verses
cranking out a few lyrics, scoping the city in the trenches.
Of the love we waged never wavering and waving a white flag
“I’m gonna put you to bed” were all our wars went to die.
But I was more than alive, inside the land from down under
called her Daphne the Nymph, the voluptuous Greek Goddess.
Wanted to raise little Koalas together in our Kangaroo farm
in every kiss we traded souls, in every breath we lost our lives.
And we gained them again back when the Jitneys were blue
our sweat-drenched bodies overtaken by some strange voodoo.
Every ship we embarked on was lost in the Atlantic without return
James Bean captained our vessel, holding it together with crazy glue.
In New York City locked lips inside a phone booth, it was euphoria
she was already born a Queen since she hailed from Astoria.
Our Bohemian Rhapsody blended like Cheech & Chong on a ******
her pouty lips, ****** smile, five years later how can I forget her?
Her voice, beautiful sparrow, vocal chords stone carved like no other
and yet normally speaking she sounded like the Crocodile Hunter
Soaked the landscape of her essence, remembrance without a beat
the song she wrote about us, plays in my heart eternally on repeat.
Nov 7, 2012
Nov 7, 2012 at 12:23 PM UTC
I am
Long hair and swinging hips
With natural pouty lips
A smile that hides my intellect
A piercing gaze you can't forget
I am
Long legs with large soft thighs
With yellow flecked eyes
The sweetest of your dreams
The nightmares that evoke screams
I am
The girl with the skull tattoo
Who wants more too
The bringer of your pain
Who only wants the same.
I am
She who died inside
Until you made me rise
Oct 12, 2014
Oct 12, 2014 at 4:08 PM UTC
My body,
is not flawless.
My wrists,
have little lines on it like ****** rivers.
My hair,
is a mess in where you can find my unspoken words when you untangle it.
My eyes,
have an undefined color and have seen things they should not have seen
My lips,
are pouty and will probably stay put on yours.
My body,
is not flawless.
But if you want it,
it will be yours.
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 3:04 PM UTC
Dear Mr. Sunshine,
“When will dad be home to sing me a lullaby again?”
Those words
are stapled to the back of my head every waking day by our daughter
whose pouty lips tremble as she kisses your picture
then slowly looks up at me,
“soon.”
What else am I to say
when I ask myself the same **** question
every day, every night
and every year.
Then the sirens sing,
and we hide under a small table
as a group of men search for explosives,
gunshots echo through the shack and numb my ears
a small girl from across the room coughs up tomato soup
and is instantly tossed out onto the cold streets
of the October blue
Dear Mr. Sunshine,
It is now the end of December
and instead of snow wrapped around our little town like a blanket
there is chilled blue flames
that leave children screaming
screaming at the fire for taking their family.
Dear Mr. Sunshine,
It has been months since you wrote back
and years since I have seen you.
Now it’s March and sky is flooded with silver waste
and as I looked up from my balcony
the door began to ring,
I ran to the door
and saw your bright blue face,
with your soft pale eyes
but your soul wasn’t you
your mind had been replaced by the war.
And as I opened my ears to speak
I saw the knife in your hands and as you whispered
“I love you”
the light that was you
went through the sharp jagged edges
and sank into my heart,
sunshine took over my lungs
and darkness sunk behind my eyes
Dear Mr. Sunshine,
where are you?
Apr 11, 2016
Apr 11, 2016 at 11:44 AM UTC
my eyes opened to find
the thin lizard dawn gleaming
after the gutter drank its' fill
of the moon last night
the tambourine
buried in my lungs still
vibrating like these walls
papered with cheap roses
last night i found comfort the
only way i know how
in situations like this
beside a girl wearing
a pretty ribbon
twisted around her waist
pomegranate lipstick
wet clay & tragic glitter
smeared across her eyelids
we spent the night
roped together by
half-removed clothing
& my fingers third
knuckle deep
counting the pulse
of the heart
of the universe
while the wild fox
barked on the hill outside
& the mockingbirds
played riffs in the lilac bushes
her ******* ran tight
around her shins &
she sputtered the dark
lyricism of bees
twisting her tongue
backwards around
itself in my ear
our bare bellies
slapped together as
my tongue found her
tooth enamel &
the trees formed
a tight center loop to
harness the sky
for us & i
held my breath
waiting for her
to breathe first
i can feel her chest
& plump **** now
quietly throbbing
against the tight young
flesh of my back but when
i roll over & see her
eyes darting
green like a thin
ocean laser avoiding
my dynamic gaze &
her pouty mouth emitting
a pink yawn i can tell
she's unhappy & ashamed
of me
i tried to run
my fingers through
the butterscotch tumbleweed
of her hair but she just
popped her gum
& sent me
high stepping through
the soft warm mud
& chest high cattails
of her driveway
callow under the clouds
stuck like gnats to
the fly paper sky
Oct 8, 2015
Oct 8, 2015 at 3:58 PM UTC
Her blond hair is thick and flowing
Like her voice which calms the senses
Her lips are red, pouty and kissable
Her figure is curvy yet proportioned
Her disposition is sweet, polite and kind.
And I am wrong, aren't I?
To let her captivate me even as a woman
Because you noticed what I said earlier
And she glanced back at you and smiled
And I let her take you away from me.
She's beautiful, isn't she?
That's why you made her your wife
And not I...
Nov 7, 2016
Nov 7, 2016 at 5:13 AM UTC
Punch
******
Stab
Pouty
Moody
Sad
Pudgy
Munchies
Stop.......
May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 1:16 AM UTC
She says 'Honey I’m home' as she enters the room,
One life destroyed 7 lives left,
Ready to feast and fight,
She is the dictator of her fate,
She lusts for the crack of the whip,
The thrill and the thrive as she chases her victims,
The squeals and the cries as she plays with them,
The heightened experience of being alive,
She is one hot kitty-cat waiting for her prey,
She doesn’t want Batman to get in her way
She pins him to the ground and places a deadly kiss,
Upon his pouty lips under the Christmas mistletoe,
She cracks the whip once more as she scatters into the night,
Cleans her wounds and purrs softly under the moonlight
But she did not realise she left a fragment of her soul,
A piece of a kitty-cat claw which is stuck in Batman torso
Poem by Gracie Jones
Jun 4, 2021
Jun 4, 2021 at 5:05 AM UTC
Everything Was Stiil,
Silence Limgered In The Air,
Soppy Cement Was A Barren Path,
One Star Poked Through Dawn's Misty Sky,
I Was A Shadow,
Completed With Red Pouty Lips,
And Red Lace Running Along My Fair Skin,
My Eyes Strained To See 20 Feet Ahead,
In The Smuthering Darkness,
And I Couldn't Help Thinking,
About You
Oct 24, 2012
Oct 24, 2012 at 8:17 AM UTC
Maybe I'm not sick enough
Of sad, beautiful girls.
They wear misery so well.
Like pouty lips,
And blushy cheeks.
Swollen eyes,
And little mouth noises-
A siren's call.
**I'm a ******* ********* at heart.**
It's pretty sick
Of her
To humor me like this.
To let me be the joke.
Doesn't she know
That I would sabotage myself
Just to hear her laugh?
Just to feel wanted?
Just to feel worthy?
Just to make my skin feel bearable?
Doesn't she know
She's the movie screen
I project my affections
Onto?
Sniveling silver.
Doesn't she know
She's my one chance
At feeling normal?
At feeling anything at all?
Doesn't she know
I'm tired?
I don't want to wait anymore.
I'm pretty sick
Of myself.
I need her laughter
To drown out the silence.
I'm so uneasy alone.
Their wet eyes are interchangeable.
A series of lips,
Cooling cheeks.
Blue mouths-
And their captivating sounds.
I laugh.
I'm pretty foolish.
She's pretty sick.
Dec 16, 2016
Dec 16, 2016 at 2:03 PM UTC
*Allured by the witchcraft of your auburn curls,
hit by the corners of those swift piscine eyes,
submitted to your canoodling with my secret desires;
the last straw was your pouty, luscious, ruby lips!*
Sep 11, 2012
Sep 11, 2012 at 1:32 PM UTC
In the dark mirror of my mind,
Touching your reflection Choon-Hee,
It was never meant to be,
Misty mornings by the lake,
Standing alone, looking at the sky,
Holding a glass of rye whiskey,
It was never the way I planned my life,
You're a mystery in my life,
Not my intention,
I got very brave, these last days,
Bold enough, to capture your gaze in my heart,
Lost my discretion,
It's not what, I'm used to,
Just wanna try you on,
I'm curious to know if we will fit together,
Your sunrise reflection caught my affection,
Touching your reflection Choon-Hee,
The taste of your **** pouty lips,
Steamy mists rising in my mind,
Touching your reflection Choon-Hee just to try it
I hope my princess you don't mind it,
It felt so wrong,
It felt so right,
Don't mean anything, right?
Touching your reflection Choon-Hee,
No, I don't even know what's real,
It doesn't matter,
You're my alternative to life,
Just human nature, right?
Those sweet Korean girls they are so magical,
**** dark eyes, steamy silk hair, so kissable,
Hard to resist so touchable,
Too good to deny it,
Ain't no big deal, it's innocent,
It's not what,
Proper people do,
Not how they should behave,
My head gets so confused,
Hard to obey,
Touching your reflection Choon-Hee,
The fragrance of your shiny black silk hair,
Touching your reflection Choon-Hee in the rising mists of my mind,
I hope my princess you don't mind it,
It seemed so wrong,
It felt so right,
Don't mean anything, right?
Touching your reflection Choon-Hee,
The sound of your passionate heart,
The feel of your exquisite neck,
Touching your misty reflection Choon-Hee,
I hope my princess you don't mind it.
Copyright © 2016 Ronald J Chapman All Rights Reserved.
Jan 17, 2016
Jan 17, 2016 at 10:50 AM UTC