"strapless" poems
*An upscale lounge well known,
For its ambiance and specialty cocktail,
Which includes live entertainment dancers,
On stage, in fine detail.
While a glamorous female stood in front of the bar,
With a deep sea blue martini, in her right hand,
In an ice cold oversized snifter, dipped in sugar upon the rim,
Where she leisurely stands.
With a pink orchid,
And blue twisted glow stick, placed inside her drink,
Taking rhythmical steps,
Side by side, in sync.
Dressed in a strapless dress, slightly above her knee,
Nicely fitted, in shades of purple, green and teal,
Displaying a genuine soft look,
With such great appeal.
When a young man walked in,
And gazed into her seductive dark brown eyes,
Reaching out his hand,
Asking her to dance, as he passed by.
She was absolutely stunning,
With fair complexion, short black hair, a beautiful silhouette,
And a radiant smile, reliving her early days,
An unbelievable night, quite difficult to forget.
She appeared divine,
Upon the dance floor, mainly surrounded by youth,
Dancing salsa throughout the night,
And mixed melodies, near the DJ booth.*
May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 3:36 AM UTC
Strapless and lace
That's what I thought it'd be
It wasn't just a dream
I really thought that was me
With the done up hair
With a bouquet of roses
I thought that was me.
White picket fences
Children in the yard
Cooking breakfast and dinner
For all of us, three
With that picture perfect life
I thought that was me.
But, forget about that
I remind you of the wedding dress
That I won't be able to wear
Because it has your name on it
The wedding dress
The engagement that could never be salvaged
Not that I want it...anymore
It's just a pity
That poor wedding dress
Will never be worn
Because it's meant for me
But, still has your name on it.
Nov 13, 2013
Nov 13, 2013 at 10:42 PM UTC
Clambering and clawing
Grasping hooks, crannies
a crown of thorns
flowering purple red blood
bright fluorescent
she wore her designer nails
to the summer ball
strapless and holding up
her rounded dignity
spoken in a plunging neckline
She flowered
was deflowered
that twilight under a silver orb
whispering ocean fronts
dropped off at her starlight home
sealed that memory
with a bougainvillea kiss
of immense sensuality
and down the drive
thinking how beautiful she was
in making memories.
years later
I still remember the look
of that velvet sky
and the nails that scoured
a language on my back.
Author Notes
Optional
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago
Jun 25, 2014
Jun 25, 2014 at 3:35 PM UTC
~
*It lays silkenly sweet against
sun kissed skin
tiny straps, perhaps strapless
delicate linen softly draped
tender tiny tucks and nips
delicious bows tied at nape
It cascades around curvy hips
‘round a waterfall that slightly drips
sprightly colors all wink as
they whisper and swish
full of giddy and laughter, they flirt
away gloom, rain and mist
Teasing touches wraps around thighs
dancing daisies pause as I walk by
serenely skirt and brush past
with a soft wispy cushion sway
plump full, recline, pause to chat
on a sultry summer’s day*
~
Aug 13, 2019
Aug 13, 2019 at 9:34 AM UTC
I want you hold me more like bible and less like a grudge, but you just want to mumble proverbs to my neck while I touch you like a psalm, both of our breaths lost in senseless revelations. I have been keeping to much track of how many times you try to break me into lines so that maybe I will look more like poetry and less like a eulogy; you're only here because you have time on your hands, but darling, I have blood on mine and I'm sorry that I have had more than a few thoughts of what you might look like covered in red. Dying never should be ****** but you told me I look killer in this dress, and I know you only said it because you see it's strapless and you're so used to seeing me wear my heart on my sleeve. It won't matter once I'm dead, or even once we touch, but all I know is that this bed feels cold as hell and you're right here beside me and that's a paradoxical statement but so are you and none of that is even close to fair.
Jan 1, 2014
Jan 1, 2014 at 4:30 PM UTC
Torrential, lightning and a river on Decatur,
straightened tie, loaded gun, staggered
down to house 423, a big wet bottle in my hand,
a choir of angels in my head, I confessed to you
that I never much cared for Frost, possibly both
roads lead to an affair with me, time means little more
than air, cotton candy fever dreams, melting wedding bands,
a stain on your white dress, tender, torn up, seeing
Jesus on the cross at 3 am, it's Tuesday, borders, lines, barriers,
milk cartons, hamster wheels, the sun stayed away for fear
of witnessing this itchy massacre, plans? I find them trite,
quick to betray, overdrawn bank accounts, flat tires,
17-year-old quick ***** the wrinkles in the mirror,
the road back home, detour, detour, going down south
by way of 35, oceans of highways, shorelines of grief,
steady shots of grace in the passenger seat, where have
I smelled that before? Change your perfume, if I kiss you,
it needs to be strange, frightening, splitting the seams of
norm skull and disemboweling the sanctity of routine,
it's easy to put up the picket fence, easier yet to paint it black,
but behind the curtains of my .32 caliber grin,
lies a quivering child waiting for ma to get off work,
babysit me, hospital gowns, looking for lost blue crayons,
the bouquet rots on the windowsill, remember the first kiss?
Doped on caffeine, sleepless because Shorty partied too hard,
tile floor, porcelain, your strapless top undressed itself,
earthquake waltz, borderline insane, milk thistle,
both roads lead to an affair with me.
Nov 15, 2011
Nov 15, 2011 at 12:17 AM UTC
cute little black dress, high heels, strapless
golden hair spun of silk
flawless skin white as milk
cherry red lips pucker as delicate blue eyes flutter
perfection but without confidence and on the inside I can see her struggle
because hers is a beauty for all save the mirror
everytime she receives affection she grows colder
due to her perception liars lie in every direction and late at night she gives in to a dark obsession buttery flesh parts beneath a blade
overwhelmed by sadness and controlled by hate
she causes pain to relieve the suffering
Jul 9, 2013
Jul 9, 2013 at 1:29 PM UTC
Long legs and electric red high heels.
A polka dot strapless dress,
and the classic rhythmic tune of Chuck Berry,
echoing in the background.
A deep green 1955 Chevy Bel Air,
windows down,
and a cool breeze swinging through her hair.
Her Bonnie blonde hair.
And now they wait.
For the sun to fall from the sky,
and leave the earth's crust in a midnight haze.
Only lit by the dull moon's gleam.
Only one problem.
Where's Clyde?
Apr 26, 2013
Apr 26, 2013 at 2:40 PM UTC
cleavage
and a pitcher
of Sam Adams
adapt
to the trap
of heels
that clasp
trespass
this roaring
rapture
roaming
the streets
your
statuesque
figure
fractured
your
allure
in
a
strapless
dress
giving
more
for
less
I pass
I guess
Mar 17, 2017
Mar 17, 2017 at 11:10 AM UTC
Inspired by “The Burning Giraffe” by Salvador Dali
I am defined by what clutters my drawers:
• Aortic—a tattered matchbook with a phone number I never called
scrawled to the inside cover as an inscription to everything
I never wanted. A half-empty can of butane with a missing
cap alongside a dollar’s worth of pennies that weight a scrap
torn from a newspaper tragedy: four killed, faulty smoke
detectors to blame.
• Ankle—a charred picture, curled in upon itself and kept as a reminder
of what I could become; a blackened nest as an omen of
losing all I’ve ever known and an ointment tube, squeezed
in the middle as a talisman against blistering tempers.
• Thigh—an empty Zippo with a scarred case, dull and pointless; a coiled
stove element with an ashen haze that could testify that water
doesn’t douse all flames; and an oily fuse, plucked from the top
of my head to serve as a yardstick of minutes, seconds, then
nothing.
• Knee—a fine layer of charcoal dust and half of a briquette from last
summer’s backyard barbecue when the wind kicked up to spray
red embers into the air like a meteor shower, streaking in bright
sparks and fluttering to shrieks and stop-drop-rolls along dry grass
until the itching ceased and the bubbles formed in small foamy
patches along arms and strapless backs and sun-red cheeks.
Oct 11, 2010
Oct 11, 2010 at 5:30 AM UTC
The music beating in the damp dark room made her spin in half circles. Her hips swung side to side as her arms lifted into the air. The glint of jewelry sparkling in the dim lighting of the packed space.
A soft smile, lips curled just at the edges with eyes closed to the world around her. Dark auburn locks hung past her shoulders in loose waves. By the gods above and below she was a lovely sight.
Those who's eyes fell and lingered about her frame watched in admiration. Thick thighs and strong shoulders rippling under soft brown skin, exposed by the strapless tank she wore.
Men tried to pull her into a dance of grinding hips and over-reaching touches. Women watched carelessly, few approached her. Always managing to slip away from the heavier petting she would drag the ladies who she saw staring with desire.
Enticing as she was few recognized what she was; a deceiver of fools, a heartbreaker. With her pretty smiles and soft eyes.
A light press of lips against the shell of your ear, a warm hand just grazing against heated skin, and a laugh that has your heart beating frantically.
Soft as a dream kisses just as sweet. She is the best thing you will ever have, touch, feel, breath.
She sinks into the earth as the sun rises in the east.
Never to be seen.
Jun 28, 2017
Jun 28, 2017 at 4:12 AM UTC
Blue nothing. She considered miles
out the high window in the stairwell.
First, simple paper distances her finger
could trace, point A to point B.
Then the more difficult measurement,
that of closeness, like bonded atoms.
And then, hypothetical expanses
like those of the heart's vessels -
their length could circle the globe twice.
A plane seemed to crawl across the glass,
leaving a necklace vapor trail. She believed
in possibilities, that every atom that could exist,
already did, but still, she could not wear the red,
strapless dress she no longer owned,
couldn't lift her hair for his fingertips to clasp
pearls at the nape of her neck, his breath
fastening a shiver between her shoulder blades
down the small dip of her back.
She wanted to look into a large aperture
telescope, to view the farthest reaches
of visible space, where no energy had ever been
destroyed, to see into the incalculable vastness
of him in their living room downstairs, him
on the brown sofa reading. She wanted
him to put down his book, to think of her
on the landing, waiting. For him to move
exponentially faster, up the stairs two at a time.
by Jo Brachman
Jul 8, 2022
Jul 8, 2022 at 1:10 PM UTC
As close letting
to bending bones
broken,
As wide setting
so mending minds
rhyme,
As We of age,
collateral children
in time will rage
In strapless grown,
in dead damage
razed by wings flown.
Jun 30, 2015
Jun 30, 2015 at 12:31 PM UTC
"Sometimes I wish you were dead. All of you. I like you, but these conflicts are getting to me. Your needless, never ending, merciless complaints. My shortcomings. Exaggerated, overrated, pus filled pimples you are. You are annoying and one by one, as major and minor as you may be I feel like shooting each one of you down. Angry? Boom. You are dead. Yelling, crying, laughing, screeching, droning on and on and on like a black and yellow bumblebee under the harsh sweltering summer sun. SPLAT! Off with your head and your neck and your arms too. Black and grimy and disgusting on the fly swatter. Look at me! Whatever. Don’t look at me. Your eyes should be poked out. All of you should die. I want to be alone in this world without you. I love each of you ever much, but you no longer affect me. You walk around me, about me, over my head, under my feet, and through me but I will not hear you. I can not feel you. You walk like corpses, dead and mute, and I do not see you. I keep on walking, ignoring you. Forgetting your existence. I am in this alone and I will stay Alone. Devils eyes. Stop staring at me. Devils eyes. Rotting pig nostrils. Stop staring at me. Lifeless you, rotting in your grave, surrounded by worms and earthen colored bugs. Flirty, Flimsy, ***** Red Dress, Flaunting, Flapping, Backless, Strapless. Stop prostituting yourself, you filthy ***** Get off me. Cold, alone, hungry, unsatisfied. Alone only I can sustain myself. I need myself and myself only."
(A rant, more than a poem. Written at age 20- when things got too intense, and I was angry. Thought it couldn't get any worse, but today is proof that I was wrong. At least then, there was hope).
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 3:37 PM UTC
10...minutes until you'll be home and see this stream of rose petals coursing though our apartment and disappearing down the hall.
9... words written on a piece of paper resting gently against a full champagne glass, "I am waiting for you, come and find me"
8...steps after you read the note until you can clearly see that the trail leads to our bedroom, and that I didn't forget what today was
7...days ago I thought of how your face would look when you stepped into the door frame and locked eyes with mine
6...silent breaths exchanged face to face between four lungs and two hearts as one kiss sets our entire world ablaze
5...fingers slide down your back as I search for the zipper and release you from that sultry strapless black dress you know I love
4...eyes realize how useless they can be when they can't touch your skin, or taste your lips, or hear the melodic composition of your voice
3...candles sit on the dresser and cast dancing shadows on the wall who seem to move to the rhythm of our symphonic engagement
2...people who were lucky enough to find each other in spite of the turmoil of this chaotic existence, become
1...and for just a moment, all is right with the universe.
May 20, 2012
May 20, 2012 at 1:41 AM UTC
Lust wears a black veil, a strapless top, a mini skirt, fishnet stockings and high heels.
written by Keith Edward Baucum
Jan 20, 2018
Jan 20, 2018 at 11:40 AM UTC
Strapless dress
Her confidence is high
She know's she's prettier than the rest
but she lets out a lonely sigh
She's nothing but a product of loveliness
Anyone can tell her but she won't believe
She sees nothing but ugliness
Never to be relieved.
She sees a light within
She hopes someone will notice it
More than the sins
And not be a hypocrite
She can't wait to meet him
The one who will be there through thick and thin
The one to light up the dim
He with tough skin
She remembers when it was first felt
Something infatuational
so much so she melted
but it wasn't real or actual
She moved on
she tells herself the lie.
That chapter was full of pros and cons
At least no knots were tied
Yet she still doesn't know she's perfect
everything she does, she does for good
her touch affects
The only thing about her that's understood
Someone will come along
she'll just have to wait
it's worth the delay, she'll write a hundred songs
He will come, even if it's late
Oct 16, 2014
Oct 16, 2014 at 9:11 PM UTC
The dim glow illuminates my face
as I search for the perfect playsuit, perfect dress
or something. Something beautiful.
And everything is. Colours and elastane,
polyester, nylon, lycra.
Peplum, bodycon, strapless.
But the models are all size six,
and you must be pretty to wear a pretty dress.
I'm going to spend a week's wages
on this ******* wedding outfit,
and if you're not impressed
I'm going to ram a slice of cake down your throat
and smile, and catch the **** bouquet.
Will you look at me? Look at me!
I'm a sad, pathetic wreck.
I want to mark my territory. Your neck
will speak for itself.
Will say that I've been there before.
This perfect dress I'm searching for
to be left crumpled on your bedroom floor.
May 2, 2013
May 2, 2013 at 5:07 PM UTC
Like a modern piece
Of curious art
Like a commentary
A contrast
Or a twist
To the bronze statue
Behind her
She sits alone
On a sunny afternoon
Observing how
Orange makes people
Talk
Like her solitude
And porcelain legs
Attract stray glances
Mid conversation
All that orange
But the dress
A strapless black!
And she is writing
This moment
Capturing life
An orderly contrast
To sitting alone
Like a curious
modern piece of art
Beneath an old statue
On a sunny afternoon
Jul 8, 2013
Jul 8, 2013 at 2:23 PM UTC
Long stemmed Lily
dressed in white,
spreads the scent of pheromone
across the sweat stained night.
High heels and strapless dress
fishnets and rings,
drawing out the wanton ones
with the siren song she sings.
Painted lips and promises
eyes that say it all,
with just a touch of hinting
into her web they fall.
She's a ***** she's a spider
she's a wolf without a pack,
she's a bullet she's a cudgel
she's the sharp knife in your back.
She's no player you can't play her
she wrote the book of rules,
she changes them to suit her
as her suitors are all fools.
Shes a woman first and formost
she's fragile like a flower,
but here between the bed sheets
she's the one with all the power.
So don't say I never warned you
when you wake up all alone,
just be thankful that you tasted
of the fruit so few have known.
May 28, 2012
May 28, 2012 at 8:57 PM UTC
I don't want to show my shoulders
In the silky dress
I bought months ago
It was so surreal then
And now,
It's just a few hours away
I can feel their eyes on me
It's tonight
I've never looked pretty
I bit my nails to the stub
I don't cover
My sun burnt face
With makeup
Until last week I only owned two pairs of shoes
Tennis shoes
And slightly nicer tennis shoes
I always wear my hair up
So people can't see it.
Tonight
I have silver sandals
And hard
Fake nails
I bought a strapless dress
That I would never wear
Tonight
People will take pictures
Of the ball gowns
And the suits
Will guys be wearing suits?
I feel so,
So,
Not ready
Tonight
I guess I'm not myself
Because I only wear sneakers
And I don't wear makeup
I certainly do not wear flowy pink dresses
But
Tonight
I want to be a
Princess
May 23, 2014
May 23, 2014 at 12:54 PM UTC
Fire burns. It reflects off her eyes. She stands there watching watching her memory burn away.
She haves nothing more to live for. The shadows reach out and grab her.
She lets it take as the darkness starts to take over and engulf her body.
Her soul was lost forever and she no longer had any feelings. She was empty shell.
Her skin turns purple grey her hair eyes and lips turns black. her nails are long and sharp.
Her outfit was a shadowy strapless smokey dress that forms on her.
She was no longer the person that everyone knew.
she was something dark something evil something no one can ever bring back.
She is to far gone. She was part of the shadows and nothing can save her.
Nothing........
Welcome dark Raven.
Sep 21, 2011
Sep 21, 2011 at 12:18 AM UTC
going down a rabbit hole
of obscure references
really?
Good Times is lost?
are we really in our own Lost World
or Land of the Lost
or deep within Inception?
Who's Jimmy Walker, we now
never knew him
and is he still alive a quick search
says yes!
how can we not know
slanted sitcoms?
and blaxplotation with bad
back running Brown
acting totally different
than wet backs another
brown water should we flush
it down?
at least she knows
Alice in Wonderland
at least she's seen
one version on one
mode or another
book tape movie
there's also the **** version
We're waiting for the tactile mode
coming straight to our head
like Natalie Wood
just before she died following her own
Brainstorm into anther world
off to another lost reference
or obscure rabbit hole
Mar 24, 2016
Mar 24, 2016 at 7:53 AM UTC
I'm not a good dancer
Sure, I can write a waltz
I can record the movements in a million ways
The guy,
In a fancy tuxedo
Smile wide as ever on his face
The girl,
In a strapless dress
Maybe it's white
The guy,
With his one hand
On her delicate waist,
The other
Holding her hand,
Keeping her anchored and safe
The girl,
With her one hand
On his strong shoulder,
The other
Holding his hand,
Relying on him to lead
The guy,
Feet moving in time
The girl,
Feet moving time
The guy,
Raising his arm
For a graceful spin
The girl,
Allowing herself
To be turned and rotated
The guy,
Passion in his eyes
An ever-growing love
The girl,
Kindness in her eyes
An ever-growing devotion
The guy,
Bringing her down
For a spectacular dip
The girl,
Scared to death
He's going to drop her
But knowing all the same
He won't let her fall
The guy,
Slowly lowering his lips
The girl,
Smiling and kissing him
They were finally happy
I can't dance
I know every move,
Every feeling
But, when I get on that floor,
I just get clumsy
It's too bad, really
Because I would have liked
For that to be you and I
Someday
Dec 3, 2015
Dec 3, 2015 at 8:50 PM UTC
It's only the time
To be alive with the sunrise and pied piper
Tryst with miles to go and trials with her
To attend to migrant dreams in stylish clinics
Attending to a cure for the surprised
Heading towards a placid flirtatious expression
I mistook these looks for affection
Only time will tell
If the love was alive
Placid flirtatious surmise
Silken, celadon hangs on the balcony
Trying to escape the sunlight entering
The lantern near the beside
Open the bookend, marked the page
After sultry kisses washed away on peach skin
Rosy cheeks, and nimble feet
Just touch and your body quivers
Your toes move a little quicker
As the clock ticks
Only time will tell if I'm alive
Body stop, free prose next to my bedside
Lately, the time has fallen in the silence
As delightful, this sounds and summed up
In time, I'm alive as we make the connection
Inflection of our tongues intertwine at the eyes
That hold gazes over the kisses
Sojourn the day, sleep at night
Are you in spirited my child like my poems
Let's fly together on thoughts that know no measure
Let it be love that takes us to that pleasure
Sittin' next to my bedside
Now you're cured and my poems have found structure
In your alive lively motherly arms, where I can cry for eternity
But, I must confess I don't in this virile panorama
Free and strapless, I can see your heart which I dream of vividly
I sit and conserve this memory on physical adaptations in my poetry
Your body is poetic silence, that's where my metaphors lie
All this love in my head, I guess fly first 'cause I'm shy one here
Subservient to your will, lovely surrender isn't it?
Aug 21, 2019
Aug 21, 2019 at 9:16 PM UTC