Tess Calogaras Sep 2015
With her smile spread wide,
she made me explore the possibility
of summers 
in one another
and underwear packs of two.
Copyright © 2015 Tessa Calogaras.
All Rights Reserved
Redshift Feb 2013
i'm currently
writing poetry
instead of doing homework
for a class i have in an hour
i was going to yknow
try a little
but after a bit
i said to myself,
what the hell
and quit.

i'm so tired of college
honest to god
i wish dad would let me drop out
but no
college is what the 'good' kids do
you can't be profound
worthy
intelligent
without a college degree
so why is jenna marbles
dancing in her underwear
...i'll just tell my english teacher
i was too busy
writing poetry
go to hell,
educational bastard
Helen Nov 2013
It's a matter of choice
as I pick through the basket
Alluring, Sexy, Servicable
Barely there, You Asked For It

My choice

As my fingers pluck at Silk
and Satin and Lace
I can imagine your face

In the shower scents arise
Chosen gels floral a surprise
I've picked an outcome
as scented by my skin
I'm hoping to be outdone
by the choice of fabric

One small scrap of fabric
stands between
Begin
and
End
The Dedpoet Nov 2015
Did I win or lose?
Perhaps-maybe nature won.
One less spin cycle,
Gallons of life water saved.
In my intellectual hemitage
I find a difference can be made,
Oh underwear,
Spirit of nature,
First I wear you proper,
And the day is good.
I walk forward into the morrow
And turn the world backwards.
Yes the tag now goes to front,
And wedgies aside, all is well.
In the instantaneous moment
Ina departure of normalities,
Confronted with a bundle of reflections,
I move into day three,
Inside out.
The days have dispersed,
I wreak of the third day,
Still a difference has been made.
I take off the underwear,
Crispy and tainted,
With a lump in my throat
And a little hope I made a difference,
The underwear is sacrificed to the hamper.
Alan S Bailey Jan 2015
Let's play a little game, let's call it the marriage game,
I will pretend that I love you for you, not your money,
And you will pretend that you are not one to enslave,
We will continue and play this charade, I'll call you honey.

Let's play another game, I will go to the store and buy you,
YES buy you, you're for sale, I'll come up with a punch line,
Blame you, you made me do it, I'll tell you what to wear, you'll
Be naked in your underwear, who needs to be in the sunshine?

Let's play yet another game! This one, you'll go to work all day,
Never get a day off, while this only makes us stay away the most,
I will go on and on about the weather because it's rainy today,
You will be the one to buy a gun, it feels unsafe unless it's close.
I have a page on youtube with my piano music, to hear my songs that go with my poetry please visit: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL9tz9OI2eSLs9WxEY3gh_QfSn20GopR2U
The Good Pussy Feb 2015
.

                                      E
                             d     d   i     d
                          i         b   l         i
                        b            e              b
                       l              E                l
                      e              d                 e
                      E              i                  E
                      d           b    l              d
                       i           e     E            i
                         b         d   i           b
                            l          b           l
                               e       l        e
                                        e
Serena Felice Jun 2010
I write in my underwear.
I write in my underwear, so my thoughts are not caged
underneath my clothes.
I refuse to look at the screen.
I only look at my fingers, hitting the keys as rhythmically as I say the words in my head.
I type because my thoughts are too fast
And I fear if I write I will forget

I am one of many.
One of many who speak because they cannot help it.
Whose words burst forth from their lips in spontaneous spasms of passionate opinions.
We will not hold our tongues
We will not mind our manners
And we will not conform to please
For we are romantics,
and poetics,
and hopers, and dreamers,
and liars, and cheaters.
We not only do things because we feel them,
But because we want to experience them.
And with are experiences
Of love, tragedy, happiness, and despair
We aim to awaken passion in others.
Others who fear emotion.
We aim to shake them
And awaken the life that they have.
I will not confine my soul
inside a cubical
And I will not shut my window
and deprive the world of my dreams
And I will not straighten my curls and kill the energy that they harbor
And I will not cage my thoughts underneath my clothes
It is for them, and for us
I write in my underwear
the rhythm comes and goes... but eh it's something.
My name is Haley Gilarwald
and I am a force of nature.

                                          Not too long ago, the stink bugs invaded our city
                                               Unlike aliens or the usual sort, these were just
                           plague.
Like swarms of locusts they came, but they never seemed to eat, rarely seemed to die.
They just clustered.
And wings, sounding like B-52 bombers, they rattled around the bare watt bulbs and roared, and I
Swear
to Jesus God
Drove everyone here mad.

                                                                          I hate the little bastards.
                                                                         I sit in my room, typing a dreadful paper for a dreadful class
                                                                         when that hell sound shows up.
(my floors, they are hardwood!)
and so I stood
notebook in hand
and skivvy clad
I played tennis with the swarming thing
they do not die!
like men, they only keep coming back
little war machines
buzzing at my discontent


                          NO MATTER HOW MANY I FLUSH, THEY ALWAYS COME BACK
                                                          THE                               SAME.    
                                                      (I am certain that they cannot die.)
Mike Hauser Jun 2015
I'm wearing dead man's underwear
I ask what's wrong with that
Something you see they no longer need
Where they now are at

From Jockey's whitey tighties
To boxers by the score
Don't much matter to me
What this dead man wore

With the right amount of detergent
The proper amount of bleach
Like I said four lines back
Don't matter much to me

Now please don't rush to judgement
Or my life preconceive
We all have our different ways
Of carrying on their memories

Me...I just do it in dead man's briefs
Had a customer recently die and today his wife offered me some of his clothing along with his underwear...
Did I take it? I'll let you decide...
Nat Lipstadt Nov 2013
I sorta sleep in my underwear.

Another lie.

I sleep in the nude,
when I have the energy
to remove the day's toil off of my
skin, which is not so easy.

No special creme, cleanser.
too tired to tirade, living life,
fall in to bed worn,
shoes et. al., the ones that need soles.
you already knew that.

wake up in the dark.
start to disrobe,
and soon enough, goddamn,
another poem done.

the poem of course is me nude,
so you get to see what
is under what I wear.

So I sorta sleep in my under-what-I-wear,
is not exactly a lie,
just me dissembling^
and/or disassembling
another day in this life.
^ dissemble verb, dis·sem·bled, dis·sem·bling.
— verb (used with object)

to give a false or misleading appearance to; conceal the truth or real nature of: to dissemble one's incompetence in business.
to put on the appearance of; feign: to dissemble innocence.
Obsolete . to let pass unnoticed; ignore.

A humorous adjunct to this
Nat Lipstadt · Jun 15
How I Defrosted My Woman
Or
Nat Lipstadt · Sep 8
I don't sleep in p.j's
Mouthpiece Sep 2015
Anna,
Confusion has been rife of late;
I'm hanging on to the shit end of the stick,
When it's not the time or the place,
As if my life depends on it.

Anna,
I can see the remains of love
Running black rivers down the length of your face,
So let me give you a shove;
We haven't got the time to waste.

Anna,
Reveal all your secrets and weep;
I know of the dirt that hides under your nails;
I promise I'll laugh if all else fails
Because my life is equally bleak.

Anna,
Moths run rampant in my underwear,
And the working-class lifestyle isn't for me;
But with you, I learned to love poverty
Whilst kidding myself into believing you were there.

Anna,
I've drained enough fluid from my soul
To care not if you break the skin from time to time;
Because I write about you using my blood, you know.
Every single poem I've written about love (despite the obviously obsolete), have been about this girl. She's the one who breaks me, makes me, and generally ruins my life in the best way possible.
Chris Neilson Nov 2016
If you walked a mile in my dressing gown
you'd be laughed out of town
a clown's smile turned upside down
a foundation covered frown

If you walked a mile in my night shirt
you'd be on red alert
for being so overt
in attempts to subvert

If you walked a mile in my underwear
you'd stop traffic, to be fair
as the public stopped to stare
and not at your footwear

If you walked a mile in my shoes
you'd have nothing to lose
there's little ego to bruise
but plenty of love to use
A little silliness.
Hannah Lace Nov 2015
your hand sits on my upper thigh
as we drive in your car back to my place,
i carefully push your hand up higher

your hand sits on my inner thigh
as we drive in your car back to my place,
i carefully push your hand in closer

your hand sits inside my leggings
as we drive in your car back to my place,
i carefully push your hand down lower

your hand sits inside my underwear
as we drive in your car back to my place,
i carefully push your hand a little deeper

your hand sits inside my body
as we drive in your car back to my place,
i close my eyes and exhale the pleasure
you only go as far as i want you to
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