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
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Related quotes
* * *
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!
Magdalene and the Beatles's First LP
Magdalene watched Mary
bend down to put on the LP.
The Beatles. They'd saved
up and bought it together.
She took in Mary's stockinged
thigh showing through the slit
in the side of the school skirt.
Mary placed the LP carefully
onto the turntable, with her finger
put the needle arm down onto
the vinyl. The music started up,
Mary stood up and sat next to
Magdalene on the single bed.
Magdalene sensed her there,
her thigh next to hers, her
warmth, their knees almost
touching. What did your Ma
say when you said you bought
the Beatles? Magdalene asked.
She said nowt, Mary replied,
but Da said it was a load of
shite and where did I get
the money from to buy it?
John Lennon's voice sang
over the twanging guitars.
Magdalene said, did you
tell him we bought it together?
Mary nodded. Her hands
pushed between her thighs,
her young face lit up by
the room's light. Don't you
think Paul's a dish? Mary asked.
Magdalene shrugged her
shoulders, studied Mary's
knee where a spot of flesh
showed through a hole in
the black school stockings.
She wanted to move closer,
kiss the cheek, place her
lips on the skin. She breathed
in the borrowed scent that
Mary wore. Said she'd liberated
it from her Ma's room. Mary
talked of the boy they'd met
in the woods above the school.
Tried it on so he did, she said,
over the guitars and Lennon's
loud voice. Magdalene wished
she could put her hands where
the boy had tried. I put him
straight, Mary said, kneed him
where his fatherhood might flow.
Mary moved up and down on
the bed in response to the music.
The bedsprings complained.
Magdalene sensed the movement,
took in Mary's behind going up
and down on the bed cover.
Glory be. She wanted to kiss.
Needed the hand to touch Mary's,
the skin to join up with hers.
Downstairs a voice bellowed
to keep the bloody noise down.
Mary sighed and bent down
to turn the knob the thigh
revealed in the skirt's slit,
the spot of flesh through
the hole in the bended knee.
Magdalene captured the image.
Hid it in her memory bank for
later, for bedtime, for the cosy
pretend hold, maybe more if in
her dream she was lucky and bold.
poem by Terry Collett
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Away From Home
A frame
lifts the skirt of a portrait
and throws her genitalia
on your face.
A twin blast has taken place.
Why did you stand for
eclecticism?
The fables will miss you
and blue horse
will not return home.
The naked feet
will roam on grass, when
shoes will ask;
what is the miracle?
It happens once a while.
Reified the colors into pink
thighs – for every word,
cubics
stood undressed.
Now the table waits for you.
poem by Satish Verma
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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
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Obsession with the beloved
.
The Tanjore Tower’s shadow
Never falling on the earth
Is not a loan wonder.
Your shadow falling on the earth
Too is equally a wonder.
Whenever I come to you face to face,
Blushing you turn away your face
As if your back is less a beauty.
You walk down holding up
The skirt from kissing the ground.
What would you do saving the skirt
While your pretty soles get soiled?
We melt together,
I in writing your name
And you later in reading it.
All those statues stand still
Only one seems to be on move
When you go round the temple.
Fresh from bath you stand in front.
My mind goes back to trace
How you would have bathed?
The beauty contest is on.
The juries are in confusion.
Yes, you are in the audience.
As diabetes, I denounced sweets.
Could I shunt the kiss I implanted.
How can I teach the butterfly
That revolves around you
That she has mistaken you a flower?
White hair, black teeth,
How well you smile
Even in the negatives?
29.10.2005
(Mani Barathi, from kumutham,29/10/05
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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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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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
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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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One Leg Anne and the Kid
Anne poked Monica
the girl with burn scars
with one of her crutches
and said
Scam scar face
me and the skinny kid
want to be alone
and Monica moved off
and said
I'm going to tell
Sister Bridget about you
Anne indicated for you
to sit in one of the chairs
on the lawn
and said to Monica
Go tell her then
and kiss her arse
while you're there
and Monica went off
and Anne eased herself
down into the other chair
and laid her crutches
against the round table
Well Kid how's it going?
All right
you replied
Just all right?
aren't you blown away
and isn't your heart faster
on my approach?
she laughed
and stared at you
Well?
she said
after a few moments
of silence
Did you manage
to bum me a smoke?
you fumbled
in your shirt pocket
and pulled out
a cigarette slightly bent
Well done you
Skinny Boy
and she took the cigarette
and put it in the pocket
of her cardigan and said
I'll have that later
when I'm in the john
having a pee
What if someone sees you?
you asked
What in the john?
I hope there'll be
no one in the john
with me
well unless you want to come
you're quite welcome
No
you said looking at
her straight black hair
and her dark eyes
and the one leg
sticking out
from her red skirt
she saw you staring
at her leg and said
I think you've fallen in love
with my lone leg
and she lifted her skirt
and revealed the leg stump
coming a little way
from her panty line
Have a good look Kid
and she laughed
and pulled your left hand
onto the stump
and held it there
and you sensed
the warmth and softness
and when she released
your hand you seemed
to take the impression
of the leg stump
on your palm and fingers
and odd
that years after that
that impression
like some ghost
still lingers.
poem by Terry Collett
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I Still Want To Be Desperately In Love with You
I’m never prepared
For the spiritual vulnerability of love,
Never prepared for accusations,
Insinuations, jealous imagination
Running unpredictably wild
Through the numerous games lovers play,
But I still want my arms around your waist,
Lips and fingers touching your face,
I still want to see your skirt
Lying lazily at the foot of the bed,
Smell your perfume on a pillow,
Grow breathlessly excited
Whenever you enter the room,
Suicidal and depressed whenever you leave,
I still want every heartbeat to race with desire
In a chaotic search to find you when I’m alone
In a lonely city, alone and dreaming,
Every pore breathing your name,
Inhaling the scent of your body
Until I’m insanely the slave
Of your every erratic wish and whim,
I still want to be desperately in love with you!
poem by Uriah Hamilton
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Oh American Stapling
Don't think you are word smart
let the holy cow, on your face fart,
You are just an american dirt
who has brains under the skirt
poem by Vikram G. Aarella
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Glimpse Of Lover
You saw Christina
and a few
of her giggling
school friends
in one
of the school corridors
in between
maths and biology
she
looked at you
her eyes shy
and yet searching
and her friends
unnoticing
how feelings moved
or what
was inwardly touched
some electric shock
pulsed through you
stood hair on end
or so it seemed
she in her green skirt
and white blouse
and ankle socks
with sight of flesh
as she moved
and you
in your dull grey
and black shoes
seeking to take
what image
of her
you could
to your dreams
to hold at night
and not a word
there was spent
or exchanged
or feelings unloaded
or spread
except whatever raced
like some runner
in your head
and she
in hers no doubt
wondering afterwards
what this love
bringing together
and separating
was all about.
poem by Terry Collett
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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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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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The eternal maid
Her feet are red roses
Her skirt is red
Her face is roseate
She is the eternal maid
Her shadow shadows forth
The world that springs from her curious mirth
That neither gods nor sages can guage
poem by Dr. Ramesh Chandra Mukhopadhyaya
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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
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The Tavern
Whenever I go by there nowadays
And look at the rank weeds and the strange grass,
The torn blue curtains and the broken glass,
I seem to be afraid of the old place;
And something stiffens up and down my face,
For all the world as if I saw the ghost
Of old Ham Amory, the murdered host,
With his dead eyes turned on me all aglaze.
The Tavern has a story, but no man
Can tell us what it is. We only know
That once long after midnight, years ago,
A stranger galloped up from Tilbury Town,
Who brushed, and scared, and all but overran
That skirt-crazed reprobate, John Evereldown.
poem by Edwin Arlington Robinson
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When summer comes
When summer comes
I will dress in silk blouse and skirt
Wear my new high shoes
Collared with green pearls.
And yellow cotton summer blouse
that sway like the stems of the pin Oak.
In August’s honey-dewed winds
Dark, hot, the time is right
To change dresses.
The pearl one
Slides over my body
Like a silky desire
And when I dance tonight
At his wedding
The hot diamond strobe light
Will dance with me
Like the moonlight across my
Window in slow, white –diamond illuminated
In this season
Of red, red light
When summer comes
poem by Natasa Tocuc
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Let Go
Let go said Bettina
I don’t want to live
any longer but he
wouldn’t let go of
her hand and she
hung over the side
of the roof of the high
building looking up
at him and then looking
down at the street a
long way below let go
she bellowed I don’t
want this world any
more I have had enough
but still he held on trying
to ring for help on his
cell phone looking over
the edge at the woman
hanging over the side
her hair blowing about
in the wind her skirt being
lifted up and down revealing
pink panties her eyes large
and dark as plums let me
go she bellowed louder I want
to die but all he could say
(his voice being carried off
on the wind’s wings) was why?
poem by Terry Collett
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But She Knew
But I know
she said
that you love me
and you were sitting
by the pond
you with that cheap fishing rod
which caught nothing
and she sitting there
her hands over her knees
gazing at the still surface
even if you don’t
say it often
she added
laying her chin
on her knees
her green skirt
just above her knees
and you caught
a glimpse of her thighs
where the skirt rose up
I do you love
you said
holding the rod
between hands
it’s just I don’t see the need
to keep on saying it
you added
stretching your eyes
to go as far
as they could
to get a better look
and she said
why do you come here
to fish when you catch
nothing except a cold
in the neck
and stiff joints
and do you want a smoke?
She pulled out
a pack of cigarettes
and you let a hand free
from the rod
and took one
and she put one
between her lips
and lit it with a pink
plastic lighter
then lit yours
and you both
inhaled and exhaled
the smoke rising
over the pond
seeming to sit there
in the still air
and she said
between drags
I do know you love me
I can feel it
in my bones
and in my tingling
flesh at night
as I lay abed
and you thought
of that image
knowing her mother
would be about
the house
with her stern features
and sharp tongue
and beady eyes
but the image was good
you thought
sitting there beside her
in silence
with the drifting smoke
over the pond
and her hand
touching you
and the sky
turning from
dull grey
to a soft blue.
poem by Terry Collett
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