"skimpiest" poems - Hello Poetry

I lived through it, The up and down times When I sold *** And did other petty crimes. I was there when Hot girls were really guys Hiding floppy secrets Between their nyloned thighs. I loved through it, Saturdays that started On Tuesday morning When I first departed; Two packs of cigs And a week’s doobies, By then a value Almost that of rubies. I laughed through it, A **** ***** your jokes Were so funny if You were providing smokes. I flattered and flirted Whatever it would finally take To score a bit of **** Even the skimpiest shake. I lolled through it, Lying buck naked in your bed Or with your guests Whatever you originally said Because you scored, You were the source of dope. Without your patronage I didn’t have a moment of hope. I hitchhiked through it, Long trips back from Malibu When I had worn out My welcome to the world of you. I hope the ride might be Another adventure; more **** Or some food and drink To satisfy my every begging need.

0

Feb 10, 2016

Feb 10, 2016 at 5:51 PM UTC

brent-kincaid

THROUGH IT

I lived through it, The up and down times When I sold *** And did other petty crimes. I was there when Hot girls were really guys Hiding floppy secrets Between their nyloned thighs. I loved through it, Saturdays that started On Tuesday morning When I first departed; Two packs of cigs And a week’s doobies, By then a value Almost that of rubies. I laughed through it, A **** ***** your jokes Were so funny if You were providing smokes. I flattered and flirted Whatever it would finally take To score a bit of **** Even the skimpiest shake. I lolled through it, Lying buck naked in your bed Or with your guests Whatever you originally said Because you scored, You were the source of dope. Without your patronage I didn’t have a moment of hope. I hitchhiked through it, Long trips back from Malibu When I had worn out My welcome to the world of you. I hope the ride might be Another adventure; more **** Or some food and drink To satisfy my every begging need.

40

Slipping into my skimpiest dress I scream and smash all the softly twinkling Glass Embedded in mother's wedding heels, I totter on the edge 40 stories High In a stranger's bedroom, eyes low with a gun to my Head Away from relative safety, dance past a sign reading No Trespassing In the life of a married man, drinking wine and letting him **** This life, light another cigarette, burn my palm with the dark end of a Match Made in heaven, made in hell, keep on Moving Inside me, out of body, casual notions, perpetual motion

0

Oct 3, 2015

Oct 3, 2015 at 8:13 PM UTC

emma-jewel

Perpetual Motion

Slipping into my skimpiest dress I scream and smash all the softly twinkling Glass Embedded in mother's wedding heels, I totter on the edge 40 stories High In a stranger's bedroom, eyes low with a gun to my Head Away from relative safety, dance past a sign reading No Trespassing In the life of a married man, drinking wine and letting him **** This life, light another cigarette, burn my palm with the dark end of a Match Made in heaven, made in hell, keep on Moving Inside me, out of body, casual notions, perpetual motion

15

He used to deliver Groceries to Mrs Ushmore as a kid and She’d say, bring it into The kitchen, Henry, and Put it down on the side, Why, you must be thirsty After carrying that Heavy load to my door, And he’d go in with the Groceries and lay them Down where she had shown him And looked around the place Trying hard to avoid Looking at young Mrs Ushmore who was dressed in The skimpiest of things And pretended to be Looking around at the Shelves and gas cooker and Out the large window. What are you having, she Asked, Coke? Yeah, that’ll be Fine, he replied, looking Over her shoulder at The wallpaper of bright Yellow flowers. Have you Seen my ***** She asked. Miss Glissy, I call her. Henry shook his head and Looked briefly at her. No, He replied, getting a Quick glimpse of her big ******* Fighting to escape from The black bra. Here, she said, Have a Coke and don’t go Rushing it now, don’t want You to get the hiccups And have your mother come Over here telling me Off. No, I won’t, he said, Sipping the Coke, tasting Each mouthful, letting it Rest on his tongue. I love My ***** she said, but My husband, Clive, he has Little to do with her, Says she’s nothing to be Too fussed about. Henry Swallowed the small mouthful. His eyes settled like small Butterflies on her thighs, Focussing where her black Suspenders met the brown Stockings and the skin stretched Out there like nothing he’d Seen before, not even Amy Shortdove, showed him That much for her two dimes. Would you like to stroke Miss Glissy? She asked, giving Henry a wide-eyed stare. No, I better be off, Henry said gulping down The last remaining Coke. Mr Ashton don’t like Me hanging around and I’ve loads more to do and Maybe another time, Mrs Ushmore, I can Stroke your ***** Sure, she Said smiling, I’m sure she’d Like that. Henry rode his Bike away not looking Back, not letting her see He was interested, Not letting her think he’d Ever stroke Miss Glissy In a thousand years let Alone days or weeks, And he never did see Or stroke Mrs Ushmore’s ***** but he often Dreamed he did and enjoyed The dream, with him and Miss Glissy purring and both Of them licking the cream.

0

Apr 4, 2012

Apr 4, 2012 at 4:30 AM UTC

terry-collett

MRS USHMORE'S *****

He used to deliver Groceries to Mrs Ushmore as a kid and She’d say, bring it into The kitchen, Henry, and Put it down on the side, Why, you must be thirsty After carrying that Heavy load to my door, And he’d go in with the Groceries and lay them Down where she had shown him And looked around the place Trying hard to avoid Looking at young Mrs Ushmore who was dressed in The skimpiest of things And pretended to be Looking around at the Shelves and gas cooker and Out the large window. What are you having, she Asked, Coke? Yeah, that’ll be Fine, he replied, looking Over her shoulder at The wallpaper of bright Yellow flowers. Have you Seen my ***** She asked. Miss Glissy, I call her. Henry shook his head and Looked briefly at her. No, He replied, getting a Quick glimpse of her big ******* Fighting to escape from The black bra. Here, she said, Have a Coke and don’t go Rushing it now, don’t want You to get the hiccups And have your mother come Over here telling me Off. No, I won’t, he said, Sipping the Coke, tasting Each mouthful, letting it Rest on his tongue. I love My ***** she said, but My husband, Clive, he has Little to do with her, Says she’s nothing to be Too fussed about. Henry Swallowed the small mouthful. His eyes settled like small Butterflies on her thighs, Focussing where her black Suspenders met the brown Stockings and the skin stretched Out there like nothing he’d Seen before, not even Amy Shortdove, showed him That much for her two dimes. Would you like to stroke Miss Glissy? She asked, giving Henry a wide-eyed stare. No, I better be off, Henry said gulping down The last remaining Coke. Mr Ashton don’t like Me hanging around and I’ve loads more to do and Maybe another time, Mrs Ushmore, I can Stroke your ***** Sure, she Said smiling, I’m sure she’d Like that. Henry rode his Bike away not looking Back, not letting her see He was interested, Not letting her think he’d Ever stroke Miss Glissy In a thousand years let Alone days or weeks, And he never did see Or stroke Mrs Ushmore’s ***** but he often Dreamed he did and enjoyed The dream, with him and Miss Glissy purring and both Of them licking the cream.

87

I. I think you would look brighter with a fresh coat of paint – a pale blue would suit your face looks red, like someone described to you how you looked in your skimpiest underwear, like he used to say how much he loved pushing down on your hips, melting you into your aqua sheets II. the cherry blossoms look promising this time of year I feel a longing to chop them down and press them into all the books I own I promise you that I will comb my hair 100 times in return I will iron out the stretch marks on my skin – I won’t pull at it, I promise! stay vibrant III. in the middle of the night, while I am surrounded by strangers, home will call and exclaim: I made fresh scones and the smell followed me all the way to the top of the tower! and I finally took two steps towards the German shepherd that terrorizes me on the way to Christie Pits! and he told me my eyes were like the blue of his favourite childhood jean jacket – he told me I felt like home. IV. my two brothers might have long, swaying limbs when I touch down mom’s arms might wrap three times around me she will say, “I love your peonies growing the length of your spine” and water them as I lie on my stomach dad will have feet made of concrete but his body will still be like palm leaves I will have to laugh at my own jokes and ice my own bruised knees for a while V. above all, I wish for the following: sturdy legs that don’t give out after I’ve walked the length of a strange station searching for a runaway train a glimmer from the sweet Parisian rain and the blissful Spanish sun a new set of lenses with broad castles and rough cliffs and extensive oceans a jar full of foreign voices, bright smiles, truths and the fullest heart – I hope to find me.

0

May 7, 2015

May 7, 2015 at 12:29 PM UTC

rebecca-gismondi

your brea(d)th - a farewell letter to Toronto

I. I think you would look brighter with a fresh coat of paint – a pale blue would suit your face looks red, like someone described to you how you looked in your skimpiest underwear, like he used to say how much he loved pushing down on your hips, melting you into your aqua sheets II. the cherry blossoms look promising this time of year I feel a longing to chop them down and press them into all the books I own I promise you that I will comb my hair 100 times in return I will iron out the stretch marks on my skin – I won’t pull at it, I promise! stay vibrant III. in the middle of the night, while I am surrounded by strangers, home will call and exclaim: I made fresh scones and the smell followed me all the way to the top of the tower! and I finally took two steps towards the German shepherd that terrorizes me on the way to Christie Pits! and he told me my eyes were like the blue of his favourite childhood jean jacket – he told me I felt like home. IV. my two brothers might have long, swaying limbs when I touch down mom’s arms might wrap three times around me she will say, “I love your peonies growing the length of your spine” and water them as I lie on my stomach dad will have feet made of concrete but his body will still be like palm leaves I will have to laugh at my own jokes and ice my own bruised knees for a while V. above all, I wish for the following: sturdy legs that don’t give out after I’ve walked the length of a strange station searching for a runaway train a glimmer from the sweet Parisian rain and the blissful Spanish sun a new set of lenses with broad castles and rough cliffs and extensive oceans a jar full of foreign voices, bright smiles, truths and the fullest heart – I hope to find me.

52

Lust is just a few inches away from love ,it hides behind the skimpiest of clothing with scents that cling to ear lobes,necklines and hidden treasures ,it's an adventure for the senses , a trip that goes up and down and then around with pauses to smile, better yet a grinnnn .

0

Aug 15, 2012

Aug 15, 2012 at 11:28 PM UTC

pgherna

Pleasure

Lust is just a few inches away from love ,it hides behind the skimpiest of clothing with scents that cling to ear lobes,necklines and hidden treasures ,it's an adventure for the senses , a trip that goes up and down and then around with pauses to smile, better yet a grinnnn .

1