Quotes about swimwear, page 6
The Patriotic Bathing Suit
The Patriotic Bathing Suit
Silently the door clicks
All heads turn in anticipation
She's out for the pool
No need for any imagination
That gorgious body was poured into that flag
All men' s eyes were trained on that suit
She then saunters to the awaiting deck
Will today be the day she gets it wet?
The men sighed:
' God Bless America '
That American flag never fit so well
It certainly made all the men' s pride swell
And their hearts would skip a beat
Looking at that red and white seat
And the men thanked
'' God for America '
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poem by James Casey
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A lyric poem for London Aunt's newly Compact Disc
My friend wrote me that his spinster Aunt who lives in London wants some lyrics for her new CD and it should be mostly radical as she likes if it bans then she gets her fame further on.
I row my dinghy in River Thames
And my tiny oars happy with gentle waves.
The British once they boasted;
'The Empire on which the Sun never sets.'
Let it be and we are colonial friends.
The weary Sun drowns in an Ocean corner
Resembles Sir Winston Leonard Spencer-Churchill's face in War times
And a far away person who swims upstream
When I see through my Binoculars.
I recognized him certainly he's Mr.Tony Blair
And his butterfly stroke both arms lifted like Election days.
Sorry, I forgot to bring my transparent bikini
Otherwise I could have jumped into the water
And swim together for a better World.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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You remain precious to me
I remember the gloss
that you put on your lips
and how soft and hot
they were against mine
and how you press kisses
on letters and cards
and I remember your brown green eyes
wherein I am lost
and the Estè Lauder perfume
that makes you smell like a flower
and how wonderful pretty
you look every day
and I remember how you loose
your bikini top in a wave
and the boy watching you big eyed
while I bring a towel to you.
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poem by Gert Strydom
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Biscuit City
Id like to be in biscuit city
With my banjo in my hand
I dont need no long vacation
In some foreign land
Cause the sound of my own breathing
Has been turning to a sigh
I wish that I could make the time
To be in biscuit city by and by
Oh the water is of emerald
And the beach is white as snow
And everyones got money
And no place to go
In a land of milk and honey
It can really make you smile
And if I had a ticket
I would stay in biscuit city for a while
All the girls are in bikinis
All the boys are in the buff
With the baby in between and
That makes three of us
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song performed by Gordon Lightfoot
Added by Lucian Velea
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Summer of a Thousand Dreams (adult)
Softly kiss my body
Untying my bikini, exposing me
Mutter the words I long to hear
Moaning quietly drawing me near
Enchanting me with your fingers
Reeling in lust, your sent lingers
Opening the door of secret pleasure
Feeling my every crevice for good measure
Allowing your hands to freely roam
Tenderly under your breath you moan
Heat almost more then I can bear
One more time I'm almost there
Unity is our goal I must wait
Shuttering holding back fate
Anticipating your entrance as we become one
Needing you inside me before I come undone
Deeply you penetrate with your every inch
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poem by Penny L. Poore
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I heard thy verses
I heard thy verses amidst thine aubergine,
text lines thank thine Italian fettuccini,
tho' slightly thy melon guiled my arccosine.
Thy bare feet on grapes dance for wine,
Bound to thee my greed for baked panini,
I heard thy verses amidst thine aubergine.
Thy radish desire - in veins is flow malign,
dance fayre amid spud and fresh zucchini,
tho' slightly thy melon guiled my arccosine.
Thy casseroles enjoy thee, as I be on line,
dare to kisse thy big toe- al dente linguini,
I heard thy verses amidst thine aubergine.
Oh, fayre maiden thy kisse doe not decline,
Thy coles 'n' lettuce I love, wear a beanie,
tho' slightly thy melon guiled my arccosine.
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poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Acting
we may pretend
sometimes that i am this handsome guy
and you are this beautiful woman
we go to the beach
i am wearing my white speedo
and you are in your red bikini
a two-piece suit
we imagine we stroll the beach one fine day
holding hands
and then we sit on the white sand
your head in the embrace of my strong arms
i encircle your body and i look to the blue horizon
and dissolve my thoughts
you smile
& you close your eyes and feel the joy of loving
we imagine
there is only the two of us in this island of desire
we kiss and we hold each other tight
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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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All In A Days Work
Written by dennis deyoung, glen burtnik
Lead vocals by glen burtnik
She wakes up from a dream, checks the mirror for reality
She says come on girl, its all in a days work
Gets herself dressed just in time, disappears on the 8:05
Oh the whistle blows and its all in a days work
til she calls it a day
Oh she smiles as he glances up from the swimsuit issue
Oh she sighs as he walks away into the downtown day
Day after day night after night
Loneliness creeps in her window
She locks the door, turns off the light
Rehearsing a kiss on her pillow, she cries
Its all in a days work
Turning pages while the memories pass
Familiar faces from her senior class
How the years go by when its all in a days work
Dearest ruby, hope you reach your star
Dont ever change, stay as sweet as you are
And when a teardrop falls she calls it a days work
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song performed by Styx
Added by Lucian Velea
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To Beach or Not To Beach
The beach, for some a burst of bravado,
for others a bath of brilliance.
Sand-coated with lotion and encompassed with cellulite,
I enviously gaze around me.
Bikini bronzed bodies swarm the beach,
while children are amused with sand-castles and beach balls.
Invading music blares from the neighbouring umbrellas,
and with a headache developing,
I cringingly approach the waves.
Mulitcoloured surfboards ride the towering waves,
and currently joined by eager faces,
we duck and dive in time to each wave.
For a cure to the killer salt in one’s mouth.,
I recommend the common beach ice cream
and armed with my overflowing towel,
I retreat for the day.
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poem by Margaret Purslow
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The Summer I Was Sixteen
The turquoise pool rose up to meet us,
its slide a silver afterthought down which
we plunged, screaming, into a mirage of bubbles.
We did not exist beyond the gaze of a boy.
Shaking water off our limbs, we lifted
up from ladder rungs across the fern-cool
lip of rim. Afternoon. Oiled and sated,
we sunbathed, rose and paraded the concrete,
danced to the low beat of "Duke of Earl".
Past cherry colas, hot-dogs, Dreamsicles,
we came to the counter where bees staggered
into root beer cups and drowned. We gobbled
cotton candy torches, sweet as furtive kisses,
shared on benches beneath summer shadows.
Cherry. Elm. Sycamore. We spread our chenille
blankets across grass, pressed radios to our ears,
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poem by Geraldine Connolly
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Dreams of Great Things (2)
Jumping straight into summer going from three
jerseys to swimsuit and shorts, I bought fairy
flip flops with diaphanous roses and sequins
too beautiful to wear, the sweet scent of
jasmine filling the air
The crocodile within me lay in the sun yesterday
luxuriating in the cool wind stroking and teasing
my skin, the inviting pool too cool for swimming
yet I dipped my head in the icy water while
my ankles froze
A layer of misty cloud wisps obscuring the sun
today, almost too late to go outside again, the
crocodile restless, inspired by dreams of great
things while all that is expected is cleaning the
kitchen; I wonder
Did Edith Holden, Edwardian author of the Country
Diary, ever wash dishes, feel angry, dream of new
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poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Sea Change
I saw a Priest in beetle black
Come to our golden beach,
And I was taken sore aback
Lest he should choose to preach
And chide me for my only wear,
A "Gee" string and a brassière.
And then I saw him shyly doff
And fold his grim soutane,
And one by one his clothes take off,
Until like any man
He stood in bathing trunks, a sight
To thrill a maiden with delight.
For he was framed and fashioned like
Apollo Belvedere;
I felt my heart like cymbal strike
Beneath my brassière.
And then the flounce of foam he broke,
And disappeared with flashing stroke.
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poem by Robert William Service
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Sinister Crocodile
A muddy water, beyond ground, abound,
jazzy verses, happy lol, gals are on kohl,
to accompany my brisk stroll, a big dhole!
wants to bite my behind, a sinister hound..
I playfully swim, in river Nile, for a long mile
cute birds around peep, the water is deep,
joyfully splashing I flip, stunning to beep!
kissed resurrected vile - sinister crocodile!
Fast I start propellin', so forgive my spellin',
in Nile salvation lies, under a swarm of flies,
dead spirits there rise, to ask for apple pies,
I swim clearly yellin', and fly as a Zeppelin..
The dhole sits on the banks, horridly barks,
frightful feeling hopeless, Nile is bottomless,
nevertheless, the croc wears bikini topless,
like with idiots or drunks, my power flunks!
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poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Running On The Beach
Early just after dawn
there is salt in the air,
a light wind pulls at my hair
while I race on the beach
clothed in only bathing trunks,
trying to outrun the incoming surf,
which at times splashes against my body.
I pass some big rocks
while the white sand of Clifton
clings to my feet and legs,
the air starts to burn in my lungs,
while I pick up the pace,
finding new energy under the summer sun,
with the sea only touching at my feet.
In the distance stark naked
two young women tan,
the one is lying on her stomach
the other is sitting up and facing me
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poem by Gert Strydom
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Summer Time Love
I’m sorry, you’re not the girl for me
I know it might be wrong, but I’m in love with your sister
Do you recall when we barbecued at the beach,
Your sister was wearing a swimsuit, she’s so beautiful.
Your sister’s got that angel effect, it can’t be helped
I’m falling to her, I’m losing restrain
I’m sorry, you’re not the girl for me
I know it might be wrong, but I’m in love with your sister
Do you remember when we were at the theater,
Your sister was sitting next to me, she’s so entertaining
Your sister’s got the sunshine effect, it’s so scenic
I can’t get her off my mind, I’m addicted
I’m sorry, you’re not the girl for me
I know it might be wrong, but I’m in love with your sister
Do you remember when I drove your sister to school,
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poem by Aiden Florence
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Girls Room
Im sleeing in girls room
Im sleeping in the sky
Im sleeping in the water
Im sleeing in girls room
Im sleeing in girls room
Im sleeing in girls room tonight
Here comes tiffany
My best friend, tiffany
Wearing a size too small of sweater
Me and tiffany
Dressing up pretty
We love to ride
We love to canter
My best friend tiffany
She is so popular
Were going from site to site and pool to pool tonight
And we hear terry say that tricias ok
But she ought to learn to shave her bikini line better
And tauren was born, like her mother, in a storm
And traceys been away forever
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song performed by Liz Phair
Added by Lucian Velea
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An Indian Summer
After weeks of waiting, our summer is finally here.
For our late Indian summer, we all give a big cheer.
It’s early October and it’s a humid twenty five degrees;
Following days of dullness, it’s hot, with very little breeze.
Alive with people, are those sandy beaches, normally deserted;
There are children, women in bikinis, and with men, unshirted.
Unusually, for this time of year, much flesh is on display,
And the ice cream seller is still doing a really roaring trade.
By weathermen, this sunny spell was recently forecast,
But their expert word was doubted, due to times past.
This time, however, it seems they’ve got it right,
And it is, indeed, extremely hot, sunny and bright.
Office workers sat on benches, eating lunch, are now seen;
Normally, at this time of year, they’d be sat in the canteen.
People converge on the nation’s many public parks,
And stay until 7pm, when the days begin to get dark.
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poem by Angela Wybrow
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New Magazine Launch
For Immediate Release
Maud Rivers, IRM Magazine
Launch of New Magazine
IRM will be no longer as of April 1 2009. But do not be sad; for the birth of “Main Street Mag” begins!
Toronto (ON) - Estimated web version launch date of the new magazine “Main Street” is April 2009- followed by a published version in the summer of 2009. This hot new magazine with ‘attitude’ is focused on the ladies of today who want more!
“Main Street” will have sexy hot pictures of men—that’s right ladies, from Maxim to the swimsuit issue of Sports Illustrated, men have had their fix of sexy ladies for years, now it is our turn! Of course we are not one dimensional, (kidding guys) so you can find a food section, letting us know about the latest chefs, restaurants, and reviews. Also you will find reviews on books, movies, music.
Articles pertaining to relationships, art, women in business and health and wellness. A monthly fun article called “Alfa Male” the voice of a man in this ‘women’s world.’ A Ladies Magazine will not be complete with out shoes, right? Fashion trends that ladies will wear, want and need will be included. Lifestyles including cigars, wine and cars. This and so much more will give the ladies what they have been craving.
The brain child behind “Main Street? ” No other than celebrity author, writer, and former radio host “Tilly Rivers.”
Tilly’s focus as Sr. Editor and owner will be coordinating the monthly magazine, as well as writing the monthly feature article.
I will be staying on as a consultant during the first few months of transition, only too enjoy my retirement on a beach of choice.
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poem by Tilly Rivers
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For M
THE GATE did not open for you
the window is still closed to date
there is no way then
for you to go inside
and be counted
as one of those lucky winners
of this day,
ain't no survivor but i am glad with the way how you dance to this
music of death
the world is wide, the seas are incalculable, space is always and
will always be open with the arms of its
unending horizon
i like your attitude
when you tell me that you are packing your bags with your family
for a vacation this summer
beach, white sand, colored balloons, banana boats,
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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Survivor's Glee
I strapped on an oxygen tank and dove
into the past, paddling back through the years,
emerging from a manhole on memory lane.
The boondocks were doing just fine without me.
The car dealerships. The trash heaps. The stream
of consciousness where I learned how to skinny-dip
had slowed down to a trickle of amnesia.
All the houses had been gutted, except mine,
where my family was still eating dinner. My parents
welcomed me with open elbows, my brother
looked up to me like a cave drawing on the ceiling.
The night hobbled by, rattling its beggar's cup.
A pipe burst behind my eyes, which brought out
the plumber in everyone. At a loss for words
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poem by Jeffrey McDaniel
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