* * *
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!
Related quotes
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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* * *
Spring forest flowers are so charming.
Spring birds pour out grief.
Spring winds come with exuberant love—
they lift up my silk skirt.
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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When You Are Sleeping
i look carefully at the restive pose,
hands on the side, the head inclined towards the window
the breathing breast is as calm as the sunset sea
the eyelashes like a silk skirt on the side of the eye
nothing covers you except the soft breeze
your hair spreads like the gentleness of the night
your naked feet rests on the white pillow
your lips curl like a bow to its arrows
love hits me again and i am vulnerable
to its caresses, as i stand and hold the frame of this window
out there is the wide wild world of my dreams
where i do not belong anymore
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Clotheslines dont do clothes
clothesline does
not do clothes
here is hung the fun
of the whole family
when heaven
affords a blessing,
a breeze -
the clothesline
opens the way
for the whole family
to strut, boggie
sister's lace shawl
goes up in a straight line
turns hand of wind
flutters up, down
a choreographer showing
the way to swing
with hands, legs
and enviable physique
brother's new jeans
well, like him refuses to
go unnoticed
though pegged -
as is mom controlled -
left, right, right, left
the leggy pant turns
one leg ultimately got stucked to the line
if only they have taken off the tack
it (the pant) would have flown
right next door, into the heart of his fancied girl
dad's tie does a non stop
flight, like his inspired mind
never at a moment, stops working
mom's long skirt, it swings
in the most gracious fashion
as if it owns the whole field
and the bras, wow, do they look obscene?
not at all, innocently, they fly
a ballet dancer's frilly skirt twirls
granny too joins in the fiesta
of colours, shape and style
her blouse with its heavy pads
maintain an edge like her
without giving way to the wind
it hardly even tilts
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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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
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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
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Opening A New Window
come to my room
let us open a new window
that opens to another window
look at my face
and hold the side of my body
i will caress your hair with my hands
hold your body softly as a wind holds a feather
my fingers shall travel from the tips of your hair
down to the last tips of the toes of your feet
let us be happy, let us try opening another window
let us see the other windows hidden from our eyes.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Window Of Opportunity
In every life occasionally
a window opens before us,
a window of opportunity.
It may not be a window to money,
but a window to more friends.
When we pass through it could lead us
to friends in many lands.
So the next time a window opens
just walk on through
you’ll never know
what lies beyond it there.
It could open
to the greatest treasure there,
love and friendship
just for you.
poem by David Harris
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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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The hindustani dress is the sexiest.
A short blouse, low cut skirt,
belly open beyond navel,
a sash worn across the breast,
the most sexiest dress
a woman can have to excite men.
The belly reminds you of your abode;
The curve of the blouse
reminds you of your earlier sucking.
The frills remind you of the spot
underneath, the exit door.
The hindustani dress is ever invented
To make woman more alluring.
29.05.2001, Berhampur
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Mother Nature
I want her so bad
Mother Nature has a hold on me
I want her so bad
Mother Nature won't you let me be untied?
'Cause it hurts my pride
To be tossed off like the morning covers
And crossed off, like her other lovers
Casually
I see her walking by my window- mhmmhmmhmmhmm!
It seems to me I know her well.
But like the flowers in the spring-time,
Growing toward the sunshine,
Her beauty falls upon me in a fragrant spring-time spell
And I want her so ba-aa-aad
Mother Nature has a HOLD on me
I want her so bad
Mother Nature won't you let me be untied?
'Cause it hurts my pride
To be tossed off like the morning covers
And crossed off, like her other lovers
Casually
Is she an icy winter woman? Mm-hhmm!
That chills my body when she's near
Sweet fever in the morning...
I don't know if I'll survive.
She walks by me as though she didn't
Know I was alive
And I want her so ba-aa-aad
Mother Nature has a hold on me
I want her so bad
Mother Nature won't you let me be untied?
'Cause it hurts my pride
To be tossed off like the morning covers
And crossed off, like her other lovers
Tossed off like the morning covers,
Crossed off, like her other lovers...
Tossed off like the morning covers,
Crossed off, like her other lovers...
song performed by by Don McLean
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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Under Cover of Night
To slip into your shadow under cover of night.
To follow your footsteps, your shadow at the window.
That shadow at the window is you and no one else;
it's you.
Do not open that window behind whose curtains you're moving.
Shut your eyes.
I'd like to shut them with my lips.
But the window opens and the breeze, the breeze
which strangely balances flame and flag surrounds my escape
with its cloak.
The window opens: it's not you.
I knew it all along.
poem by Robert Desnos
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Pigeons And The Woman With A Straw Hat
at the bus station
the white pigeons hover
on the morsels of bread
thrown by a brown boy
from a window
a woman with a straw hat
on mini skirt
long legged
short haired
steps out of the bus
carries a red bag
and slips away past the
merry eyes of
men
the boy's mother
closed the window
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Blaming The Snake
Adam said it was the fault of Eve.
Eve blamed that serpent snake.
The snake tried blaming everyone else
No leg to stand on, he was a fake.
“Put some clothes on now my son.”
Nudist Adam said “Huh, no fun! ”
Eve came along wearing a grass skirt,
Made of fig leaves, clay and dirt.
Plucked from the garden to now pull weeds,
Forever kept away to work sweaty hard deeds.
Pain and suffering to be the way of life,
But worst of all was the curse to die!
Had that woman not tempted her man,
Adam might have stayed in Eden then.
Surely God would have created a new wife,
And Adam could have lived a very peaceful life.
But that thought is too simple and I lend my voice,
Remembering both partners were given a choice.
Do not blame the snake in the tempter’s lair,
You must do what’s right, no matter who is there!
poem by Robert Edgar Burns
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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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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
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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
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