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Winds and Skirts
...it was the hem of her skirt I saw;
the wind, though blowing lightly,
revealed the contours of her frame.
Wished I could say I was not moved.
The host whisked her into a room
but the aroma of her perfume lingered.
Were I to see her face again,
I would not recognized it
but the hem of her skirt, well.
I stood there for an hour
with my face stuck to the pane;
my facial image is still there,
yet I did not see her.
I have smelled many perfumes since
and have seen many skirt hems...
What would I give to see her body
sway in the winds?
poem by Buxton Shippy
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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* * *
I hold my skirt, sash untied
and stand before the window with unpainted eyebrows.
Silk clothes fly open so easily.
If my skirt opens, I’ll blame the spring wind!
The Skirt
Hallo Germaine that's a fine skirt you have
A fine skirt for a queen A cruel queen
Let's feel the silk of it Silk from Japan
And trimmed with wide lace made on no machine
Your skirt's a silken bell whose double clapper
Your legs have struck the passing of my fancies
O Germaine now I ring it my breast heaving
My hands press down upon your willing haunches
Your bedroom O my bell is a fine belfry
My hands touch silk and seem to tear my ears
Those pegs are gallows on which skirts are hanging
Those hanging men are dazzling my eyes
Motionless as an owl the oil lamp watches
poem by Guillaume Apollinaire
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Smart Woman
Smart woman (in a real short skirt)
By: jimmy buffett, marshall chapman
1988
This song is about being in my 40's in the 80's. it seems i'm learing more than i'm forgetting.
-- spoken:
"so i told her, ooh you got money of your own? well, that gives me the urge to merge."
Bimbo limbo is where i've been
I know you know that it's wearing me thin
The times are changing, and it's about time
I'm rearrangin' all the guilt in my mind
Chorus:
I'm looking for a smart woman in a real short skirt
Smart woman who knows how to flirt
Smart woman got a mind of her own
Smart woman that'll take me home
Take me home
I'm not your macho kind of guy
But i can be so when i'm feeling shy
Hey, baby, where'd you get your good looks
Ooh, babe, i want to carry your books
Chorus:
I'm looking for a smart woman in a real short skirt
Smart woman who knows how to flirt
Smart woman got a mind of her own
Smart woman that'll take me home
Take me home
Beauty and brains (beauty and brains)
Best of both worlds (best of both worlds)
Think i can change (think i can change)
If you'll be my, be my, be my girl
Chorus:
I'm looking for a smart woman in a real short skirt
Smart woman who knows how to flirt
Smart woman got a mind of her own
Smart woman that'll take me home
Take me home
Chorus:
I'm looking for a smart woman in a real short skirt
Smart woman who knows how to flirt
Smart woman got a mind of her own
Smart woman better take me home
Take me home
song performed by by Jimmy Buffett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Rupert
Rupert:
Sey yuh waan know Rupert
Blouse and skirt (repeat)
Sey yuh waan know Rupert
Blouse and skirt (repeat)
Verse 1:
Mi get up dis mawning
Sey mi nah ga a nuh work
Put on a pants and a likkle pretty shirt
Yow burn steel wi a go mek a gal splurt
Me hear a man start lick out alert
People dead! Me sey who? - Rupert
Mi go over deh a mi go see him inna dirt
Di way how me bex, mi sey everybody hurt
Mi a di fus' man sey, nuh mek di jeep splurt
A man draw fi a stone outta di dirt
And sey A obstacle must get hurt
Boop an lick a girl in har skirt
Mi hear she shout out Blouse and skirt
Dem deh time blood a decorate di skirt
Rupert:
Sey you waa know Rupert
Blouse and skirt (repeat)
Sey yuh waa know Rupert
Blouse and skirt
Verse 2:
Bop! Bop! shot start fire
A man sey "Hombre come we retire"
Shines say "no man, puncture di tire"
Yeah! Yuh go dweet, cause yuh a Bag-A-Wire
Bop!Bop! more shot start pop
"What is a uzi dat, no is a glock"
Yow! Stop yuh noise man, a chat you love chat?
See smoke deh, a tear gas
Tek yuh sheet dem, move di mattras
Lock di door from di bottom to di top
Mi did wake but mi gone sleep back
Mi naw go out deh fi get nuh gun shot -
Rupert:
Suh yuh nuh know Rupert, alright
Blouse and skirt
Verse 3:
Mi a go tell yuh how di youth get hurt
Him sey him eat till him belly did a run
So him wake up and go do-do Over di burial ground
So a come him a come See a jeep and go run
Bow! an dem shoot him dung
A man started to talk whey did dumb
Three couple man jump a fence Whey dem
Nobody know dem nuh waa get gun dung
Rupert:
Sey yuh know Rupert
Blouse and Skirt
Repeat
Verse 4:
As him a come di door lock An look how long it did open
yet him inna line, thru dem start back voting
Look how much time poor people heart been broken
Long time dem a dweet dem fi stop di joking
Mine what yuh drinking, Mine what yuh smoking
Life worth living don't tek it fi joke ting
Yuh nuh see poker box, stop pay out token
Rupert:
Sey yuh nuh know Rupert
Blouse and Skirt
Verse 5:
Learn if yuh white an yuh can learn if yuh black
God give yuh breath and him can tek it whey back
Wrong yuh doing, a full time yuh fi stop
Shot a kill people more than how dem have heart-a-tack
Mi sey mek some more way and dem set some more trap
A good thing mi find out sey ants falla fat
Mi nuh drink outta dem glass Mi nuh eat outta dem pot
Sey dem bright like a bulb But dem dunce like a bat (So whey
Smaddy get shot - Rupert
song performed by by Zebra
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My White Skirt
'Through our own recovered innocence we discern the innocence of our neighbors.'
-Henry David Thoreau
See this white skirt?
I won't worry
as long as this skirt
swishes at my smooth knees,
rippling and laughing,
like a bright and silent flirt.
You're going to cut your pinkie,
as always,
you're never alert.
I won't think of consequences, piling up,
dirtying me like mud caking.
Treat me like a princess,
or like a sheet set,
but my life is a big mess
and you don't have a big enough net
for me
to believe
you won't leave me hanging, forsaken.
Your calloused fingers slide down the chords.
The guitar, then our lips, a final squeeze.
You sweat and quake;
I hold you at the end of an invisible sword.
But the room is rearranging,
but I'm not hoping.
Not yet.
I am
shaken,
not ready to be forsaken.
The next step means either hating you or faking.
That bleeding finger
spouts on my skirt. then skin
and it's dark red like sin!
I'm still shaking,
this was just a daydream I was remaking
and I'm shaken
unwilling to be swept off, to be taken.
It makes me shiver cold,
and I want to put up a hand,
end the nightmare,
or put you on ice, on hold,
instead of hearing an echo of a heart breaking...
poem by Delilah Miller
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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To Myrtilla
Twelve fleeting years ago my Myrt,
(Ehu fugaces! maybe more)
I wrote of the directoire skirt
You wore.
Ten years ago, Myrtilla mine,
The hobble skirt engaged my pen.
That was, I calculate, in Nine-
Teen Ten.
The polo coat, the feathered lid,
The phony furs of yesterfall,
The current shoe--I tried to kid
Them all.
Vain every vitriolic bit,
Silly all my sulphuric song.
Rube Goldberg said a bookful; it
'S all wrong.
Bitter the words I used to fling
But you, despite my angriest Note,
Were never swayed by anything
I wrote.
So I surrender. I am beat.
And, though the admission rather girds,
In any garb you're just to sweet
For words.
poem by Franklin P. Adams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Bringing My Son To The Police Station To Be Fingerprinted
My lemon-colored
whisper-weight blouse
with keyhole closure
and sweetheart neckline is tucked
into a pastel silhouette skirt
with side-slit vents
and triplicate pleats
when I realize in the sunlight
through the windshield
that the cool yellow of this blouse clashes
with the buttermilk heather in my skirt
which makes me slightly queasy
however
the periwinkle in the pattern on the sash
is sufficiently echoed by the twill uppers
of my buckle-snug sandals
while the accents on my purse
pick up the pink
in the button stitches
and then as we pass
through Weapons Check
it's reassuring to note
how the yellows momentarily mesh
and make an overall pleasing
composite
poem by Shoshauna Shy
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Naked Chef (poem/lyrics)
I'm attempting to be nouveau
and trying to update
all my culinary skills
to the modern way.
I really don't like swearing
but chefs, these days all swear,
I'm trying hard to master it
but I don't really care
for I'm becoming expert
at cooking in the nude
although it can be messy
and it feels a little rude.
Before I use my mixing bowl
I discard skirt and top
stockings slip down easily
and then the rest comes off.
Whipping cream is risky
and makes an awful mess
it flies about all over me
and lands upon my - chest
Of course I take a shower
after every single dish
But I must say that it's worth it
being naked and a chef
Before I use my mixing bowl
I discard skirt and top
stockings slip down easily
and then the rest comes off.
poem by Ruth Walters
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I'm Her Man
let me put my finger in your nose
whoa, its not funny, no no no no
i can you you lookin down her shirt
i can see you liftin up her skirt
only gonna tell you once, only gonna tell you once
you better stay away from my girlfriend
you better stay away from her
im just givin warning so you get no broken bones
you better leave my girl alone
well i bet you can understand what i say
whoa, im really just playin
i can see you lookin down her shirt
i can see you liftin up her skirt
only gonna tell you twice, ask you really really nice
you better stay away from my girlfriend
you better stay away from her
im just givin warning so you get no broken bones
you better leave my girl alone
let me break your neck and crush your skull
whoa, you never listen, no no no no
i can see you lookin down her shirt
i can see you liftin up her skirt
ive seen too much of you
i cant take much more of this
you better stay away from my girlfriend
you better stay away from her
im just givin warning so you get no broken bones
you better leave my girl alone
song performed by by Reel Big Fish
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Skirt with a Flowery Design
I slipped into a long nightmare
Of wild, disturbing thoughts
And a river of fears.
I waited for the only woman
Who ever saw me weep,
I waited with the same lonely eyes
That used to watch her sleep.
Hearing the ocean roar of my unhappy soul,
I desired to wake but sunk further into restless unconsciousness.
In immeasurable darkness,
I trailed the voice of a bird
Until I casted myself into a moonless ditch.
Yesterday, I touched a skirt with a flowery design,
A skirt that once swayed with dances
But now hangs lifelessly in a closet.
I’ve been told
Everything can be forgotten,
The ability to open your eyes,
The fragrant scent of a woman’s hair,
How to fall in love or kiss,
Oh, my God!
I’ve fallen into this abyss!
poem by Uriah Hamilton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Oops (Oh My)
Tell u what i did last nite
I came home
Say about a quarter to 3
Still so high
Hypnotized
In a trance
From this body
So buttery brown
& tantalizing
U would have thought i needed help
From this feeling that i felt
So shook i had 2 catch my breath
Chorus
Ooops!
There goes my shirt up over my head
Oh my (oh my)
Ooops!
There goes my skirt droppin' to my feet
Oh my (oh my)
Oooo!
Some kind of touch
caressing my legs
Oh my (oh my)
Oooo!
I'm turning red
Who could this be?
I tried & i tried
To avoid
But this thang was happenin'
Swallowed my pride
Let it ride
& partied
But this body felt juz like mines
I got worried
I looked over to the left
A reflection of myself
That's y i couldn't catch my breath
Chorus
Ooops!
There goes my shirt up over my head
Oh my (oh my)
Ooops!
There goes my skirt droppin' to my feet
Oh my (oh my)
Oooo!
Some kind of touch
caressing my legs
Oh my (oh my)
Oooo!
I'm turning red
Who could this be?
(Tweet)i looked over to the left
(Missy)um i was looking so good i couldn't reject myself
(Tweet)i looked over to the left
(Missy)& i was feeling so good i had to touch myself
(Tweet)i looked over to the left
(Missy)i was eyeing my thighs butter pecan brown
(Tweet)i looked over to the left
(Missy)coming outta my shirt &then my skirt came down
Chorus
Ooops!
There goes my shirt up over my head
Oh my (oh my)
Ooops!
There goes my skirt droppin' to my feet
Oh my (oh my)
Oooops!
Some kind of touch
caressing my legs
Oh my (oh my)
Oooops!
I'm turning red
Who could this be?
song performed by by Missy Elliott
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In Mrs Clarke's Wake
Mrs Clarke pushed
her battered bassinet
between market stalls
not listening
to the stallholder's
shouts and calls
Helen walked behind her mother
as told holding your hand
So I know where you are
Mrs Clarke had said
you sensed
Helen's small hand
in yours
her seven year old skin
touching your
seven year old flesh
her thin fingers
encircling yours
We'll see if they've got
a school skirt
for you here
her mother said
turning back her head
Helen nodded
and you noticed
Helen's enlarged eyes
behind her thick lens
spectacles
searching her mother's
large behind waddling on
stopping now and then
beside stalls
picking up clothes
searching for a skirt or dress
grey and the right size
Helen whispered to you
putting her head
close to yours
Rice pudding for tea
when we get home
with red jam
and sugar too
if you want
and she smiled
and you said shyly
That's good
because I'm starving
she looked at your hand
in hers and said
Then we can play
mums and dads
and my dolls
can be our family
her mother stopped
and picked up a skirt
and held it up
to the light
then held it against
her daughter's waist
judging for size
and you watched
her mother's hands
red with washing
and cleaning
thinking and gauging
the size and cost
as you studying
Helen's hand in yours
like a soul lost.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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One Leg Anne and the Innocent Flirt.
Sister Mary pushed Anne
in her wheelchair
to the white table
where you were sitting
with Lydia Sad
and Malcolm
and a curly headed girl
with burn scars
on her face and neck
there
said the nun
here you can sit
and wait for breakfast
and catch the morning sun
Anne looked glumly
at the sky
and said nothing
as the nun
walked away
I wonder
what's for breakfast?
Malcolm asked
stewed cat on toast
Anne said
looking at Lydia Sad
whose blonde hair
and blue eyes
gave her
an angelic look
that's horrible
the girl with burn scars said
don't eat it then
Anne said
Malcolm looked at you
it wouldn't be that
would it?
He asked
no
you said
Anne's just having you on
why do you have to spoil
my fun Skinny Boy?
Anne said
it's not funny
Lydia muttered
not funny to say that
about cats being on toast
how are your haemorrhoids?
Anne asked Lydia
saw the fat nun
giving you the bum pill
Lydia blushed
and Malcolm looked
at the white table top
I'm telling Sister Bernadette
about you
the girl with burn scars said
go put your head
between your thighs
and breathe the air
Anne said
the girl got up
and left the table
followed by Lydia
and Malcolm
that's got rid of them
Skinny Boy
Anne said
why are you so horrible?
you asked
looking at her red skirt
just covering the stump
of her amputated leg
have a good look Skinny Boy
and she pulled up
her skirt to reveal
the naked flesh
and plump stump
you noticed
how the scar
seemed to pull
into a smooth redness
what do you think?
Anne asked
I've seen it before
you replied
when?
She asked
you showed me
the other week
while you were being weight
in the bathroom
she smiled
and pulled down
her skirt
I like you Skinny Boy
you're just
an innocent flirt
and she laughed
and her wheelchair rocked
and you smiled
and wondered
what she meant
by the word flirt
and looked discreetly
at her short red skirt.
poem by Terry Collett
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I know what I'm doing, even when I'm wearing a pencil skirt.
Shakira in The Guardian
Submitted by Alexandru Uvra
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These words won't become a loose skirt for Fati.
Obviously, you've never seen a woman skydiving in a hoop skirt.
quote by Chris A. Bridges
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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sun shines
through her skirt
her beauty so transparent
haiku by Dónall Dempsey
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My skirt with tears is always wet: I have forgotten to forget.