Poems About Panties

[ewopper]

Share your creative genius about the most decorative garments packaging the best feeling thing man has ever discovered in poem or prose
my contribution

Panty Power

Looking at panties excites me
in fact it invites me
to use my imagination
and often fuels masturbation

depending on the hour
my eyes with upskirts are showered
the image of triangle fleetingly
showing what I crave so needingly

and panties come in every hue
and many decorations too
with polka dots, dates, flowers and hearts
decoratively coloring that wonderful part

that all heterosexual men crave
that of which kings and princes rave
panties the wrapping of feminine candy
that covers that delight so dandy

stirring up such nice sensations
that often invoke masturbation
at any second, day or hour
none can deny the effect of panty power

 

[WickedEve]

I've written poem about my panties. But I lost them--the poems and the panties.
I've been meaning to write about those panties I mailed to a biker in Florida. He said that after he opened the package he took a sniff and fainted. He added that he was smiling at the time. I'm still not sure if I should have been insulted by the fact that he fainted after one sniff. I happen to keep my panty dweller fluffy and fresh.
Anyway, write a poem about a man who likes to wear panties.

 

[bogusbrig]

This is a golden oldie and I've only brought it out of moth balls because of this thread or it wouldn't be seeing the light of day again.

In fact it was written about a pair of panties of my hate figure which I mentioned in another thread, in fact many a thread, particularly the HATE thread.


This flimsy cut of tissue
This black tailored cloth
Redundant of purpose
But for its excuse of modesty

It has a heart of lies
And its intention corrupt
And we embrace it duplicity
Like we would embrace

You know my kiss would bite
You know my bite would hurt
But you would offer me your neck
Like you offer me this cloth

And look a stain!
Where you lips have kissed
Its salty trace left like a mistake
A guilt full of evidence

And my guilt is here
Daring to be found
Like you dared to offer
We are to each an accomplice

And we know each others game
I have the photograph
A picture of manipulation
Of your hand reaching

And fondling my brain
As you slipped this thought
Over your thighs
And beyond your control

Into my hands
This flimsy cloth that wrapped
Snug against your provocation
Its doctored evidence

Pressed between covers
A book mark of sorts
That marks this page
Leafed through by me

Your smell and feel
The traces of intimacy
Of your hand being my proxy
Convinced in this token

Over your knees
And beyond your grasp
That brief triangle of shadow
Exposed and open

Stroked with my fingers
The warmth of you
Conjured in my head
I kiss you

This black tailored cloth
This tissue of desire
Redundant of all purpose
But for that of a shaman's token

 

[bogusbrig]

OK That poem is now an embarrassment but I'll leave it up. I don't mind airing her dirty underwear.

 

[wildsweetone]

actually i was just thinking it was written in a very interesting manner.

 

[darkmaas]

Several months ago I was accused of having a panty obsession because three of my stories and at least two poems featured panties in a starring role. As bogusbrig has just so poetically demonstrated there is no morsel of female attire that carries so much emotional symbolism. The ritual moment in the lovers' dance when panties slide over thighs ... I digress.

Anyway, having given a dog a bad name, I sat down to pen a panty poem which was posted a while back. Many of you said kind things and one poet even voluteered that she was a limo-leaver ... I personally have little/no experience in this area of female psychology ... and I thank you. My natural sense of modesty is not sufficiently strong to prevent me from posting it again.




hang pink and languid

In the living room
a pair of panties
hang pink and languid
across my laptop screen
their owner curled up in a pool
of light reading.

I pause to consider.

It is said that one
can tell a lot
about a woman
by which room
she leaves
her lacy bits.

Bedroom leavers
are safe suburban.

Bathroom leavers
hygienic but a bit
risqué.

The saucy kitchen leaver
is likely not
the kind of girl
you take to tea
with maiden aunts.

And we won’t speak
of cabs and elevators.

But what can one surmise
about the laptop leaver?

“Why are there panties
hanging ‘cross my screen?”

“Static cling I should think.
They’re mine”

“I see that,
but how did they get there?”

“I took them off and tossed them.
Aerodynamics did the rest”

“Oh,
I see.”

I pause for more consideration

“But why?”

“It’s been so hot.
They stick and make
my ass feel huge.
Sorry if they
touched your space.
They do look kinda cute
tenderly embracing.
I think they like each other.”

So it’s come to this.
My literary helpmate
all silicon and pulsing gigabits
has entered into electronic bliss
with static laden polyester.

My silicon
Her polyester
A postmodern union.



.

 

[ewopper]

I've written poem about my panties. But I lost them--the poems and the panties.
I've been meaning to write about those panties I mailed to a biker in Florida. He said that after he opened the package he took a sniff and fainted. He added that he was smiling at the time. I'm still not sure if I should have been insulted by the fact that he fainted after one sniff. I happen to keep my panty dweller fluffy and fresh.
Anyway, write a poem about a man who likes to wear panties.

I'm sure he meant he fainted in a good way, and I'm sure your panty Dweller is kissing fresh [ grin] or tonguing fresh, and or both. Anyway don't feel insulted. As to writing about a man in panties that's a bad visual for me. I'll leave that to others who have no qualms about it. Now writing about you in a wicked set of thongs sounds nice

 

[ewopper]

Several months ago I was accused of having a panty obsession because three of my stories and at least two poems featured panties in a starring role. As bogusbrig has just so poetically demonstrated there is no morsel of female attire that carries so much emotional symbolism. The ritual moment in the lovers' dance when panties slide over thighs ... I digress.

Anyway, having given a dog a bad name, I sat down to pen a panty poem which was posted a while back. Many of you said kind things and one poet even voluteered that she was a limo-leaver ... I personally have little/no experience in this area of female psychology ... and I thank you. My natural sense of modesty is not sufficiently strong to prevent me from posting it again.




hang pink and languid

In the living room
a pair of panties
hang pink and languid
across my laptop screen
their owner curled up in a pool
of light reading.

I pause to consider.

It is said that one
can tell a lot
about a woman
by which room
she leaves
her lacy bits.

Bedroom leavers
are safe suburban.

Bathroom leavers
hygienic but a bit
risqué.

The saucy kitchen leaver
is likely not
the kind of girl
you take to tea
with maiden aunts.

And we won’t speak
of cabs and elevators.

But what can one surmise
about the laptop leaver?

“Why are there panties
hanging ‘cross my screen?”

“Static cling I should think.
They’re mine”

“I see that,
but how did they get there?”

“I took them off and tossed them.
Aerodynamics did the rest”

“Oh,
I see.”

I pause for more consideration

“But why?”

“It’s been so hot.
They stick and make
my ass feel huge.
Sorry if they
touched your space.
They do look kinda cute
tenderly embracing.
I think they like each other.”

So it’s come to this.
My literary helpmate
all silicon and pulsing gigabits
has entered into electronic bliss
with static laden polyester.

My silicon
Her polyester
A postmodern union.



.

GREAT POEM i LIKE IT

 

[WickedEve]

I'm sure he meant he fainted in a good way, and I'm sure your panty Dweller is kissing fresh [ grin] or tonguing fresh, and or both. Anyway don't feel insulted. As to writing about a man in panties that's a bad visual for me. I'll leave that to others who have no qualms about it. Now writing about you in a wicked set of thongs sounds nice

I just took a photo of my ass. No thongs, though. Just jeans pulled down and bare ass. Sorry. Though, I was standing by my Christmas tree. It's quite festive.

 

[WickedEve]

Several months ago I was accused of having a panty obsession

I'm obsessed with hot cinnamon gum. I think it has something to with panties, though.

 

[darkmaas]

Eve said:

I'm obsessed with hot cinnamon gum.

Odd, but I don't recall seeing your obsession ... er ... expressed in any of your poems. Perhaps it's a typo and should read cinnamon bum ....

 

[WickedEve]

Eve said:

Odd, but I don't recall seeing your obsession ... er ... expressed in any of your poems. Perhaps it's a typo and should read cinnamon bum ....

I like you Pat. I like you so much that I just dusted my ass with cinnamon for you. Of course, I smell like an apple pie now. Want a slice?

 

[darkmaas]

I really must ask ... who the hell is Pat?

 

[Angeline]

Several months ago I was accused of having a panty obsession because three of my stories and at least two poems featured panties in a starring role. As bogusbrig has just so poetically demonstrated there is no morsel of female attire that carries so much emotional symbolism. The ritual moment in the lovers' dance when panties slide over thighs ... I digress.

Anyway, having given a dog a bad name, I sat down to pen a panty poem which was posted a while back. Many of you said kind things and one poet even voluteered that she was a limo-leaver ... I personally have little/no experience in this area of female psychology ... and I thank you. My natural sense of modesty is not sufficiently strong to prevent me from posting it again.




hang pink and languid

In the living room
a pair of panties
hang pink and languid
across my laptop screen
their owner curled up in a pool
of light reading.

I pause to consider.

It is said that one
can tell a lot
about a woman
by which room
she leaves
her lacy bits.

Bedroom leavers
are safe suburban.

Bathroom leavers
hygienic but a bit
risqué.

The saucy kitchen leaver
is likely not
the kind of girl
you take to tea
with maiden aunts.

And we won’t speak
of cabs and elevators.

But what can one surmise
about the laptop leaver?

“Why are there panties
hanging ‘cross my screen?”

“Static cling I should think.
They’re mine”

“I see that,
but how did they get there?”

“I took them off and tossed them.
Aerodynamics did the rest”

“Oh,
I see.”

I pause for more consideration

“But why?”

“It’s been so hot.
They stick and make
my ass feel huge.
Sorry if they
touched your space.
They do look kinda cute
tenderly embracing.
I think they like each other.”

So it’s come to this.
My literary helpmate
all silicon and pulsing gigabits
has entered into electronic bliss
with static laden polyester.

My silicon
Her polyester
A postmodern union.



.

Isn't love grand?

 

[darkmaas]

Love may be grand ... but curious minds demand to know, who is this apple pie sucking Pat fellow?

 

[Angeline]

Love may be grand ... but curious minds demand to know, who is this apple pie sucking Pat fellow?

I don't know darling. I just got home from work and ate a rather large helping of tortellini. I need a few minutes to clear my mind and read back.

I'm making a caramel apple cheesecake for Christmas Eve (the holiday, not the moderator). I imagine this Pat (Carrington?) would like that.

edited to add: are you an alt for Pat?

 

[darkmaas]

Angeline said:

I imagine this Pat (Carrington?) would like that.

Oh dear! I fear that poor Eve has put her fair foot in it. I suspect that neither of us is thrilled at the juxtaposition. If it's any consolation Eve, as a Canadian I must decline the apple pie with cinnamon. I was thinking more of a bad Neil Young classic, "Cinnamon Bum".

All is forgiven.

 

[The Poets]

Angeline said:

Oh dear! I fear that poor Eve has put her fair foot in it. I suspect that neither of us is thrilled at the juxtaposition. If it's any consolation Eve, as a Canadian I must decline the apple pie with cinnamon. I was thinking more of a bad Neil Young classic, "Cinnamon Bum".

All is forgiven.

I always get you and Pat confused. I don't know why.

 

[Angeline]

I always get you and Pat confused. I don't know why.

Would you like a cheesecake too?

 

[WickedEve]

Would you like a cheesecake too?

Right now I feel ill. I drank too much coffee and it's making me sick. But I'm wide, wide awake!
And dark, I would have never so vulgarly offered you my pie if I had not gotten you confused with Pat. Pat seems like a pie eater. You don't. You're too much of a gentleman. Sweet man.

 

[ewopper]

I just took a photo of my ass. No thongs, though. Just jeans pulled down and bare ass. Sorry. Though, I was standing by my Christmas tree. It's quite festive.

I'd love to see that

 

[champagne1982]

<snip>
My silicon
Her polyester
A postmodern union.



.

I thought he said "post modem"

...

 

[Man Ray]

Does this make me out to have a knicker fetish?

What colour are they today my love?

Are they cool and cottony, so comfy, so virginal white?
So prim and proper they look but snug and pleasantly tight.
But you know you like me to pull them down to give you a fright!

Maybe they are fiery devilishly slutty sinful red?
Skimpy and brief, the type you like to wear for bed,
especially when you are in a sexy mood for giving head!

Is today the day for putting on trendy stylish shorts in lacy blue?
These shorts combined with your beauty make an intoxicating brew
so when I see you bending over all I can shout is a resounding, “Wow!”

Are they the ones that are so impossibly tiny and see thru black?
The ones you like to wear with your designer wear suburban slacks
so it looks like you have nothing on when looking at you from the back!

Is your mood for the yellow ones with purple polka dots?
The silly, funny, garish ones you know make me laugh a lot.
I remember seeing them for the first time with that little wet spot!

Maybe you will be going without, will you risk going bare?
You know full well that I will go bright red and stop and stare,
when you lift up your skirt and show your bum so kissably bare!

 

[ewopper]

With Faithfully Waiting Toys

She'd just turned twenty-one today
where had the years gone
yet and still she loved the way
she was looked upon

especially when short skirts she wore
men could not keep eyes off her
all of them the sexy woman did adore
as she received wolf whistles everywhere

today she'd give a special treat
to anyone in the park
and the lucky ones on the street
until night the day turned dark

wearing short skirt and skimpy top
and dangerous blue thong
she knew she would cause many jaws to drop
as she went along

walking so that skirt would bounce
just enough to show glimpses of blue
as old perverts everywhere wanted to pounce
on the one showing such a lovely view

from all the attention she was getting
she was growing quite wet
as time went on she began regretting
her now foolish mindset

for she'd now have to hurry home
despite her exhibitionist joys
and in her bedroom get it on
with faithfully waiting toys