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Long Passion Poems | Long Passion Poetry

Long Passion Poems. Below are the most popular long Passion by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Passion poems by poem length and keyword.

See also: Famous Long Poems

Long Poems
Long poem by Victoria Anderson-Throop | Details |


                                                          SEX ON A CLOUD

                                                            (HER STORY)
                                                      She grabbed his voice
                                                     Through conference din
                                                     Sought to win his gaze--
                                              But crowds of gabbers tottered in...

                                        He missed the sexy nod she sent his way--
                                      Distracted by a phone call--
                                                               faded from his day.

                                                         But oh his face....
                                                      Would not be gone....
                                                      bony visage--home
                                                          of passion's eyes--
                                                       Fate teased in him
                                                           her Paradise--

                                                           Upward Man
                                                   Brash Upward Plans--
                                             Such a heart must be attached--

                                                       Her stubborn mind
                                                    holds fast to dreams,
                                                         bows to Fate--
                                                   but loathe to schemes....

                                                   She stalked his dreams
                                                       The night is theirs
                                                          Palm to Palm--
                                                    All answered Prayers.

                                                            Eyes exult
                                                      Besieged by bliss--
                                                     becalmed by thoughts
                                                          of moonlit kiss

                                                       she Owns his Face
                                                 sweet charmed caressing
                                                     that leaves no trace
                                                       but silent blessing

                                                              (HIS STORY)
                                                           Over a shoulder
                                                             behind a pole
                                                            he saw a face
                                                     that grabbed his soul
                                                           wild hair so red
                                                       his heart caught fire
                                                          hands of grace
                                                      could capture choirs

                                                          Laugh of bells
                                                       tolled 'cross the hall
                                                       he moved toward her, 
                                                           then had a call--
                                          stepped out in search of quiet space,
                                                           cut short his call--
                                                          yet lost her face.

                                                           She was gone...
                                                            Another man?
                                                            Abysmal sight....
                                                            a f_cking awful
                                                           maddening plight.

                                                         He's lost his chance,
                                                          in town
                                                                      One Night.

                                                         Her essence brands,
                                                         Flays bare his heart--

                                                          But business tugs him
                                                                     Seas apart--

                                                            tho hard to place--
                                                   She's the tune he can't erase.
                                                              a love so fierce
                                                           Each night they tryst,
                                                            shake clouds above
                                                    grant them every lover's wish
                                                              She nuzzles love
                                                            and slips o-er him--
                                                           encased and blessed
                                                              in  Passion's Glove.

V. Anderson-Throop
Sept 2013

Copyright © Victoria Anderson-Throop

Long poem by cassie hellberg | Details |

over and over agin

sometimes i talk to myself, 
my mind is racing,
i dont know what to do...
so hard to explain.
depression isn't a stage
or a faze some kids go through
it shatters you...
i saw it all. 
she cried silent in her bed,
blood stains covered her favorite jeans,
her every shirt,
long sleeve ofcourse...
she suffered through it all with few people to call friend
and more to call enemy
even more to say where quite dissappointed....
her first name in school,
not started by a bully
or a mean rival,
but by her sister, 
and it echoed through her soul,
repeating in her mind... over and over again,
like the ripples of still water
when a pebble is dropped
flash frozen in time
over and over again...
It was the first name they gave her,
millions where created over the years,
some unique
some repeating again, just as the first had..
gothic they called her,
emo, fat, ugly....worse things.
but in her mind, things where worse.
everything was repeating,
over and over again,
finally she believed it. 
she asked for help, from everyone
tried to explain to parents she wasnt well,
got called a psycho for asking to see a theripist,
not from a teacher,
not from a class mate,
but from her own father, who wouldn't, couldn't,
believe there could possibly be a thing wrong....
finally, crying, she confessed her bloody secret to a teacher.
rather then giving her time,
she is sent back to class crying her eyes out, as if she wherent going through enough...
she is sent to the principals office a few minutes later, after breaking down in class...
the princlipal says she needs help,
sends her and her dad for a risk evaluation,
her dads crying as she shows him her cuts...
they walk into a hospital room, 
it smells of chemicals and hand sanitizer,
the lady at the desk gives her a smile.
then she goes into a room with a lady,
her cheeks are sunken in and shes wearing way too much makeup,
the girl is gaging on her perfume,
and she looks really intimidating....
her dark brown hair looks dead and flat
even though its a bit wavy, 
and she wears somewhat of a mocking frown.
asks her all these questions,
is mommy beating her?
is daddy raping her?
is she doing drugs?
not alot
is anyone beating her?
did anyone molest her? 
oxcarbezapine, trazadone, citalipran, clinazapam, colonipan,
valium, lithium, more.......
and thats what they gave her,
some numbed the pain
some brought it out
tearing through her organs,
she became an addict by the time she was fourteen....
over dose after over dose
some for pleasure
some for pain,
gashes on her legs getting deeper,
this time she didnt tell a soul,
not even those she had come to call friends....
wakeup she screamed in her head over and over again
as she dropped weight like it was nothing....
you cant controll it she argued as things became worse. 
at age fourteen she attempted suicide,
she didnt quite succeed.
the medication took away her aappitite....
she liked it
she hated her body
hated herself
felt out of controll
found a new way to cope
as she shoved tooth brush after toothbrush down her throat
to keep her body from nuitrients...
as she whent weeks and weeks spitting food into napkins and making excuses 
I ate at my friends house....
spoken as a whisper
heard like a sentance
echoing in her mind over and over again,
along with that word, all the words,
ugy, anoying, stupid, fake, worthless, nothing...
one bite she would say
rocking back and forth
craving nothing but food
her body racked with hunger pain
one bite and there she was again
over and over and over again
back to a toothbrush
this time she sees blood
she saw her ribs
she saw her bones,
it wasnt good enough,
she almost died, again....
choking on this deep dissappointment in herself,
gaging on everything they where pushing down her throat, 
their words, and their insults, their criticism.... their drugs
all shoved down her throat like candy
and just as she was was trained to do she swallowed despite the bad taste
or the hurt
or the fact that at the rate she was going she would be dead soon...
and you know why? 
because daddy yelled 
and couldnt accept what was happening
not because he wanted to hurt her
but because it hurt him,
and she let him believe,
because she could take the hurt if it meant he didnt have too.
because mommy didnt want to sit in her room all day
smoking weed
doing nothing,
practically having us raise ourselves,
she didnt mean to take anger, or frustration or hurt out on her daughter
she suffered everyday in her solitary confinement,
and from a young age she accepted her bedroom was the cage
 her mother had created for herself.
because sister didnt want to effect her the way she did
she was just frustrated
fed up with the way things where
scared, she needed someone to take her cruelty
and to help heal her pain...
because people in school
who where so cruel
had to have learned from somewhere
and she wasnt going to play into their games,
and they knew she was an easy target
because she would never attack someone so weak
and she accepted her suffering was a sacrafice
to help all these people....
to help her dad,
her mom,
her sister,
every person who was beaten abused or hurt
 and felt so weak at home they wanted to feel strong in the one safe place they had.
because depite the fact she had died inside,
and almost passed away on the out,
it was a saccrafice she was willing to make
so that no one else would have to feel that kind of pain,
and they all inflicted it and broke her down'untill there was nothing left but a shell
of somthing that could have been
and never had the chance
and why? 
because she would take it and wouldnt strike back,
because sometimes "just taking it"
isnt so much about the weakness not to do anything
but about the strangth not to hurt others the way they hurt you...

Copyright © cassie hellberg

Long poem by James Inman | Details |

Last Call

We sat at the end of the bar in a seedy place on Seventh street.
Nursing our drinks, we both had a bit too much that night.
My Whiskey Sour, you could tell everything about me by my drink,
always a Whiskey Sour, no mystery here, was still about half full.
Her's, this time a Strawberry Daiquiri, she drained with ease.  
"Set her up another Bar Keep," I sad to the burly tattooed man behind the counter.
She quickly responded with slightly slurred speech, "No, make it a Frozen Margarita!"  
She had been mixing her drinks all night.  The bar man grabbed her glass and placed
it in a small sink full of sudsy water.  "I told you, two drinks ago, last call, now dude drink up
so I can get out of here.  For Christ sake its 2:38,  I should have left 30 minutes ago."
The bar's last patrons had indeed left much earlier leaving only the two of us.
I touched Sarah's, or was it Sandy's, hand.  What difference does make?  
She looked at me trying to focus her eyes, her expression bland.  Eyes roaming 
unabashedly from face to groan and back again.  She sighed heavily and turned 
back to the bar tender and pleaded for one more drink.  "Anything she said,"
trying to steel herself for the inevitable culmination of our evening, 
as if one more drink would make a difference.  The only response she got was
a short firm, "No!"  Grinding my teeth, I threw two twenties on the bar and grabbed her, not so gently, by the arm.  She half slid, half fell off of the bar stool she was sitting on.  "Lets go I said," leaving my half empty glass on the bar.  She stumbled across the floor towards the door leaning heavily against me.  She was tall and beautiful in a slightly used sort of way.  Not young but not old enough for wrinkles, just a few laugh lines around her eyes and forehead.  As we reached the door I thought I heard her mumble something about getting this over.  I didn't care.  I knew she should have been going home with someone a lot better then me.  

As we stepped into the damp, cool morning breeze, head free of the stagnate dead air of the bar, my senses cleared slightly.  Still, when I heard the sound of the vibration in my pocket it took a moment to register what was happening.  Stephanie(?), giggling beside me pressed herself against my pocket letting out a low, playful, "MMmmmm," making it impossible for me to get to my phone.  I pushed her away and she giggled some more as I fumbled for it.  Pressing the button on the screen my ex-girlfriends disheveled face appeared.  She had been texting me all evening, most of which I ignored.  Why I answered her call this time I don't know.  Deep purple and black bruises ran the length of the right side of her face and she seemed to have a chunk of hair missing from a red spot on her temple.  She halfheartedly tried to cover it with a wispy lock she pulled down over it.  "What?" I said gruffly.  The phone was set to speaker.  Tears running down her face, she said, "I love you."  My response was quick and indifferent, "Yeah, tell it to someone who cares.  Like maybe your new boyfriend."  

She dumped me for a new guy weeks before but kept calling me and telling me how much she still loved me.  She said she wouldn't have thrown me out if I had shown some feelings toward her.  She said he was sensitive and emotional and cried in her arms.  Yeah, he cried all right just before he beat the hell out of her.  I should have known when she started coming home with the bruises on her body.  He was careful at first not to hit her in the face.  I looked up and reflectively glanced down the street.  You couldn't see her apartment from where I stood but it was just a block down the road off Seventh on Stanton Ave.  I came home early one afternoon and found them there.  She was lying on the floor with blood trickling from her lip.  He was standing naked over her, hands curled in fists.
I lost it.  I beat him until you couldn't recognize his pretty little face, all the time hearing her screaming stop and trying to push me away.  When I finally stopped he was lying motionless on the floor and she was hitting me on my arm yelling foul expletives at me.  I looked into her eyes and realized I felt nothing for her at that moment.  I remember saying just before I left, "Baby, you've just missed your last call to wake up."  I never went back.  I understand he spent several days in the hospital.

Looking at her on that small screen with tears in her eyes and scared, sad look on her face I wanted to feel something for her.  I didn't.  We had a good thing and she threw it away for some psycho.  Now she'll just have to live with her decision.  As I looked at her pleading face I heard a angry voice in the back ground, "Who are you talking to!"  She glanced in the direction of the voice and turned back to me.  I watched as her helpless look became determined and she leaned over and picked up something from the table beside her bed.  Her sweet, tear filled blue eyes looked directly at me as she raised her hand.  "I love you," she said.  In an instant, before my inebriated mind could fathom what happened, I heard a loud bang reverberate down the street from the direction of her apartment and there before my eyes I saw her head explode like the pumpkins we used to throw from the roof tops after Halloween.  Beside me, Sherry (shit, it started with an S), who ever, let out a gasp.  A moment passed and I grabbed her by the hand.  We started off in the direction of my dumpy apartment.  I couldn't help but to think at that moment, that's the last call she'll ever make.


Triple Prompt- Hear the Calling: 3rd Place


Copyright © James Inman

Long poem by Victoria Anderson-Throop | Details |


                                                   PASSION OF CONVENTION

                                                            (HER STORY)

                                                      She grabbed his voice
                                                     Though conference din
                                                     Sought to win his gaze--
                                              But crowds of gabbers tottered in...
                                        He missed the sexy nod she sent his way--
                                      Distracted by a phone call--faded from his day.

                                                         But oh, that face....
                                                      Would not be gone....
                                                      bony visage--home
                                                          of passion's eyes--
                                                       Fate teased in him
                                                           her Paradise--

                                                            Upward Man
                                                   Brash Upward Plans--
                                    Of course, his heart must be attached--

                                                       Her stubborn mind
                                                    holds fast to dreams,
                                                         bows to Fate--
                                                   but loathe to schemes....

                                                        In sultry dreams
                                                       The night is theirs
                                                          Palm to Palm--
                                                    All answered Prayers.

                                                            Eyes exult
                                                      Besieged by bliss--
                                                     becalmed threshold
                                                          of moonlit kiss

                                                       she Owns his Face
                                                 sweet charmed caressing
                                                     that leaves no trace
                                                       but silent blessing

                                                               (His Story)

                                                           Over a shoulder
                                                             behind a pole
                                                            he saw a face
                                                     that grabbed his soul
                                                           wild hair so red
                                                       his heart caught fire
                                                          hands of grace
                                                      could capture choirs

                                                          Laugh of bells
                                                       tolled 'cross the hall
                                                        just as he moved
                                                            he had a call--
                                          stepped out in search of quiet space,
                                                           cut short his call
                                                          yet lost her face--

                                                           She was gone...
                                                            Another man?
                                                            Abysmal sight....
                                                            a f_cking awful
                                                           maddening plight.

                                                         He's lost his chance,
                                                          in town One Night.

                                                         Her essence brands,
                                                         Flays bare his heart--

                                                          But business swirls
                                                        Worlds...seas apart--

                                                            tho hard to place
                                                     She is a tune he can't erase

                                                            the Dreamers tryst
                                                            shake clouds above
                                                               Moon Shadows
                                                              She nuzzles love
                                                            and slips o-er him
                                                              in  Passion's Glove.

V. Anderson-Throop
Sept 2013

Copyright © Victoria Anderson-Throop

Long poem by Eileen Manassian | Details |

Where Gladiators Fought

Part I

Where gladiators fought for life,
we meet to fight for love
The constellations in the Roman night sky,
celestial spectators, bathe the Colosseum
in the white blood of light
The night is throbbing with the heat of our battle,
our cries, more passionate than any that have gone before

Part II

A short while earlier
A well paid bribe found us in the remains of the Ludus Magnus,
the remains of the old Gladiator School in Rome
where lies buried
a hidden entrance to an underground tunnel 
You pull me with you into dark underground world of legend
By light of a flickering torch,
we travel into the entrails of the behemoth,
coming in time upon the holding rooms
My breath catches 
I hear the sounds of man and beast
carrying through the thin layers of time:
Slaves, criminals, debtors, all awaiting their fate…
Animals pawing, grunting, starved for food
Dying to kill to stave the gnawing pain
Waiting to be lifted up into the arena
Waiting to fight 
Waiting to live or die

Part III

We break into the hypogeum
The crispness of the night air stings us
The vastness of it all paralyzes all thought
Rome comes ALIVE
The resurrection of history enflames us,
and as we mount those final stairs up to the arena,
I feel your excitement blazing through me
Your grasp is almost painful in jubilee
“We are here…HERE!” Your voice is laced with the sacred.
Between those famed arches…XIX and XX
We stand 
You and I all and 50,000 ghost spectators
Here at the East Entrance
The Gate of Life Looms above us
True gladiators passed through these very gates 
Here the applause coursed through their veins
And thundered to the captives below…
Here I stand
Quivering with the knowledge of all this night means to me
That thunder reverberates through MY body
I can hardly breathe
Your eyes are looking up at tiered levels
while mine look ahead
There is the walkway connecting the east to west
At the far side is the Libitinarian, the Gate of Death,
through which dead gladiators were dragged,
their bodies dumped in the Spoliarium 
to be stripped of clothes and armor
Life and death
Here, they converged
Here, they fought
On this night
I know
I will strip myself of my clothing and armor
I will let down my defenses
and give in to your onslaught of passion
Here… I will die to all but your eyes

Part IV

I walk, quietly, with purpose
Here….in this place...
my virgin blood will be spilt
Halfway between life and death, I stop
I turn towards you
My voice reaches you on the night wind
“Come to me!”
I see you move towards me
My mighty gladiator
You who have fought my demons
You who have slain my nightmares
You who have held in check
A savage desire for possession
As you stand before me
I wonder if you know
Tonight is the night
You will plunder and ravage
to your heart's delight
your just reward

Part V

You find a place to keep the torch upright
You see the blanket I’ve spread on the ground
I answer the question in your eyes
With the curve of my lips
I steady my hands as they work to undress me
I feel my body burn in the warmth of your presence
Your eyes undress me faster than my hands can,
and yet... you are....immovable
You stand transfixed
You wait until my only covering
Is my flowing hair
"Make love to me
Here, my gladiator
Come...claim your prize."
I reach out my hand to you
and in a moment
before my next intake of breath
you've come to life and crush me in your arms
Your mouth claims mine
like never before
seeking more
your tongue explores
demanding, commanding
it takes what it will
You pull me in to you 
Your hand in my hair,
my breath is raptured by your sheer strength
Your mouth travels along my neck
Hungry….like a famished animal finally set free to feast
You devour as you reach my cleavage 
I lean back to let you savor my breasts
For the first time
to taste 
You’re down on your knees
your tongue encircling my navel
going round and round and dipping inside
This prophetic dance of what is to come
washes over me
as you lower me to the ground
In a moment, I’m looking at the stars
The two brightest ones being your eyes
You are above me
You are everywhere
Kissing tasting touching feeling pleasing
Finding my voice, I pant...
“Don' gentle!"
I’m gasping with the effort
of all I need to say...
of the weight of feelings...
raging within me
"Don't...hold back anymore
Take me...

Your hands reach for mine and pin them down
My breasts heave, my body rocks
as I feel you plunging into the moistness 
that your very presence always creates in me
But this luxuriant degree
Pain mixes with pleasure again and again
As I hear your grunt and groan
Your ecstasy comes in manish moan
And I close my eyes to the Roman night sky

I sigh
I die
To the world
I am reborn in you
I hear your victory cry
And feel your jubilant release inside

Part VI

They fought for life
We fought for love
My fingers run through your hair
Your head is pillowed on my breast
My heart beat a reminder
Of what you have won
A gladiator’s reward...

in the arms
of the woman

For Justin Bordner’s Contest
Make Love to Me in that Ancient Place
November 16, 2014

Copyright © Eileen Manassian

Long poem by Gerald Dillenbeck | Details |

Great Ironic Co-Arising

Positive nutritionists co-arise!
Now, while toxins mutually self-immunize,
then co-subside,
then decompose,
to implicate potential revolutions.

cooperating abundance of Self with
as by of Other!
Now, while decay slinks into silos of
"That Life's Not My Matter",
no dual-dark reductive paternalism for me,
not enough positive energy,
so co-subside into odious cacophony.

Co-Arise cooperative health
to co-subside monopolistically competitive wealth.
It's a better system
plus more wisdom
to turn our trees of hierarchy
right side left
upside down
to grow this networked co-bifeminist matpatarchy,
Win-Win swimming circles
diving among and parching
revolutions of Lose-Lose marching
in co-subsiding wilting squares of post-gaming era loss.

Co-arise this permaculturing revolution,
warriors with tools regenerating evolution,
nondual pairs of opposition
to suppositions within co-arising proposition,
subjects of by with of for healthy holy wealthy objectives,
monocultures co-subsiding into slow-emergent polycultures,
multisyntaxed paradigms co-arising polypaths,
multisystemic consciousness permaculturing,
     healthy function with formal beauty,
     fractal-crystals with faceted octave-holonic neutrons,
unfolding four dimensional temporal st-rings of electrons,
root squaring RNA's Bicamerally Dynamic EndoCreational Vocation.

Co-arise permaculturists of RNA/DNA life-systemic sustainability!
Co-arise polyculturists of eco-metric polynomially square-rooted form
and functional full-octave diversity
for all six fully-conscious autonomic senses,
pre-languaged awarenesses!
Co-arise organically nutritious gardeners of food
feeding all six sensory receptors,
     listeners to and of nature's luxurious harmonic sounds,
     dancers of fractally-balanced chi-time,
     breathers of resonate sound 0-sum mind,
     seers of mutual-coredeeming economies,
          political and familial relationships,
          physical, natural, spiritual, co-conscious regenerational medicine,
          and communication health optimization,
          polypathers of meta-systemic logos-wisdom
          prime temporal logical syntax
          for Yang/Yin relationship information polynomial balance.

Co-Arise human natured DNA
     with Earth-natured RNA!
Co-Arise RNA with Time's encultured memory!
Co-Arise every cell programmed for regenerating health
and cooperative wealth
     with photosynthesis.
Co-Arise paradigmatic syntheses with power of Yang,
with polyculturally transparent binomial YinYin
     sweeping WinWin systematic gaming theory,
     laughing not-not reverse-ordered double-bound Yes!
     growing dual-dark embryonic st-ring universally unitarian network,
          nesting convex negentropic polynomially co-forming spacetime.

Co-Prehend decomposition as contraction
with regeneration as expansion
of form with organically intelligent function.
Co-Redeem polyculturally cooperative investments!
Co-Mentor nondual messianic dreams,
     prophetic streams of healthy wealth.
Co-Incidate fully populated deductions 
with their non-polynomial zero-ionic opposites!
Co-Meditate ecotherapeutic medication toward healthy wealthcare!
Co-Passion RNA's ecojustice evolution of equi-valency,
copassionate peace,
co-arising polypathic consciousness,
Win-Win Wombed in this world wide web.

Confluate what would otherwise radiate
     as one-sided and mono-dimensional noisy chaos
     of linear mono-reductive historic time
     overly redacted from permaculture's 4-prime intelligence syntax,
          poly-neural tribal space of 3 reflecting 1 bilaterally decompositional
          non-polynomial space as c-squared equivalent time.

Co-Arise this moment's integritatively sublimely hued potential!
of beauty's wise and wealthy healthy climax
within beloved co-consciousness of heart and mind 
as bicameral breath, heat, fire, energy, informating intelligence
alternating with yin-yin's syntax
positive relationship
zeroism's confluence 
with Positive concave explicate-ordered Yang
Left-dominating deduction
convex implicate bilaterally temporal-primal RNA-ordered,
as positive uracil functions equivalently 
with double-binary ionic balancing reverse-cytosine,
+/- c-squared
equals (-,-)co-binary bilateral-time-squared information.

Co-Arise WithOut
WithBinomial Synergetic Discernment!

Co-Arise dual-dark dawn's surprise.
Co-Operate massive co-gravitational fields,
binomially double-bound pirouette of time's nature.

Energy co-arises matter through octaved light-bionic frequencies
as bilateral time co-arises this present grace space
as YinYin co-arises Yang
as healthy bicameral wealth values integrate
     Beloved eco-sustainable cooperative economic systems,
     Climax Communities of locally articulated
     maintenance and biosystemic care plans and policies,
     nurturing polycultural design and co-development,
     ecological co-evolving health with wealth management.

Positive Co-Mentoring EcoActivists, Arise!

Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck

Long poem by Yolanda Wessels | Details |


For the past thirty seven years, living for me was knowing that I do not know
I have been yearning for what I do not have a name for
The knowledge of the presence of this nameless, voiceless feeling, prompted me to the tenth month of 2015 AD
This feeling without a footprint or face haunted me
Unknowingly, it remained hidden for much too long
Life became the embracement of the nameless things I yearn for and was sure to never find
Hiding behind a mask, an unwilling traveler to more despair
Smothering my humanness, unable to acknowledge or recognize the smoldering spark deep inside
I was living life; neither dead, nor alive

Born without a name, my christening name inspired by the apartment I was conceived in
Something I was called upon when my mother was cross
Being nameless, I felt I didn’t belong in this world, had no right or purpose to be here
Mostly I hated myself, but wanted other people to love me
But somehow through all this turmoil, I found my voice
A voice separating me from a life I once thought was mine without questioning it
Inside, my heart was beating, inhaling and exhaling, but that was merely being alive, nothing more, nothing less
I was struggling to breathe, daily life slowly draining all inspiration from my being
My eyes became dull, my senses oblivious to the scents and smells of life around me

Then fate intervened and my life changed course
My fingers clawed at my mask, tugging in anticipation and excitement to remove it from my face
My soul shouting to escape, urging me on to find freedom
Unsure I took my first cautious steps towards an unclear perception of future
Driven by instinct, want, need and desire for the unknown, but hoping to recognize this faceless urge in the safety of a harbor
I treaded with more certainty, passion and need to find myself, to be freed from this chains that has kept me bound to heartache, hurt and sadness
An unquenchable feeling that I finally had enough strength and courage to remove this mask I have hidden behind my whole life
I was ready to explore who I was to be, to evolve into what the universe had lain on my newly found path
This adventure on my doorstep, ready to experience the wonderful lightness of being

Suddenly a new world dawned on me when my hand was enveloped by yours 
You allowed me to see sights seen by your eyes, heard sounds through your ears
My senses tantalized by invigorating smells, awakened through the coming together of our senses
You reached out to me with caring words, kindness I’ve been hungry to hear
An embrace to break down the walls of isolation, I created as protection
My loneliness caressed away by a soft touch 
A sincerity that raised me up from the shadows beneath 
Sensual lips smiling and lively blue eyes that brightened every dark and moldy corner of my mind
A kiss that could reach and elevate all nerve endings I buried 

All senses reawakened with enthusiasm and curiosity
Light entered my irises, sounds reached my ears, smells crinkled my nose, and flavors tantalized my taste buds
My feet treaded lightly as if soaring on clouds, unaware of the sea sand so soft between my toes
My skin glowed, oblivious to the cold refreshment of the sea causing goosebumps
Sea spray on my skin; the taste of salt on my lips; a fresh sea breeze in my hair
My eyes could only see you, only wanted you
Hearts beating fast, racing breaths, bodies aroused and wanting
I wanted to be had by you, and I wanted to have you
Nothing else mattered, but to be together for a while

A weekend once wanted merely for carnal desires, became the weekend to break and dissolve my chains
This maiden voyage, now the debut of my newly found freedom
A French kiss to eclipse all others
Moments of tenderness unfolding as I became weak to your touch
Fingers and lips exploring our bodies, the sweet taste of sea salt, champagne and passion
Your guidance gave me courage to explore 
Intimacy unparalleled to previous experiences
Naked bodies bearing all, our bodies entwined as you pushed into me
A discovery of ecstatic feelings of awakening sexuality

You opened a new world for me through your vision
You fulfilled my longing, brought my desires and dreams to life
Your experience, knowledge, expertize stimulated my mind
A willingness to share mind and body with me
Your being awakening and stirring my zest for life
Tickling my creativity, inspiring to explore beyond borders
Someone as extraordinary, made me feel deserving of love again
You brought hope, fulfillment and clarity
How can I ever repay, you came and gave me so much

Energy filled my body, creativity my mind
You believe in me, that who I was, really matters
A belief that we could indeed all be what we allow ourselves to possibly be 
Our moment in time together was but a fraction of a second in the completion of our life’s journey
Only a thought in the greater scheme, like a shooting star
You came, you fulfilled our desires and you went, as if all was but a wonderful dream
No judgement for my awakening feelings
It’s beyond my control, how could I possibly experience none
Allow me to wonder through the journey of my awakening senses

Copyright © Yolanda Wessels

Long poem by Jack Scott | Details |


It is so hard to let go of love,

It sharks, 
unpeels more gut more quickly
than reel or reeler ever lost
in all those years of lazy inches
in and out:
winding in and playing out,
hardly fishing, rarely catching
from the deepness out of sight,
hardly ever losing . . .

Blisters lust into the greedy thumb.
the startled brake lets go.

It dives full length into the never,
finds the limit of its leash,
pounds against its half-round prison,
demands unknot
at end of end of rope -
Let go!

Got you, shrieks the reel and reeler
cranking in the give and take.
The line is taut,
the weight upon it heavy, 
not docile,
and waiting . . . 

. . .waiting for adrenaline:
against the angry, smoldering thumb.
Caught to catcher,
fish to fisher:
let me go!

It tries too hard to turn to something else: away.
Away and bottom still beyond the knot,
the creature climbs toward the light, 
the something.
her leap, an alchemy:
silver unto gold.

Sun shining.
Sea smiling,
crinkled all about.

slow motion 
of glints 
and droplets,
the yesses.

Million mile amnesia.
Buddha flashback:
a flash of tooth,
then placid lips close over any sign of youth . . .

. . . as if the fish had never been.
-the fisher wonders:
gone forever?

The line is limp
as if . . .
for all the years of it,
nothing at its other end.

A flash of recognition:
she leaps another time, 
not knowing if what held her holds.
Silver fish scales golden ladder
a sunbeam at a time,
and all the rungs of memory -
so slow,
breaks air an instant.

The line has held
and as she leaps, it claims her,
a thunder clap.
Arrested in her flight,
and broken,
she drops deadweight into the bucket sea-
fish to air to gold to water,
too bad.

Of the gold,
an afterglow centered in the thumb.
Did it happen?
Was she really there?
Was I?

Air turns to air once more, 
the fisherman to memory,
pig-a-back the job at hand,
one slender monofilament insisting: no! 
and memory, another plastic,
refusing to let go.

Another time:
my pretty lovely,
so flying and so softly spun,
you seemed the air to me.
So high and free,
so very near the sun,
my tears dissolve the earth’s connection.
The line my hands are holding:
to limit freedom at its height,
impossible without restraint-
the line between us,
  	subtle and so gossamer.
 		There, it glinted,
there! So very real.

Real . . .
The hook is realer.
Tangerine transfusion from the fastened lip,
transfuse dilution
bleeds unreckoned into the larger blue.
The sea - as wide as weakness -
sucks the strength without a hunger.
Tired, the hooked,
and tiring even more,
the line grows stronger, 
shortening toward the bobber boat.
I’ve got her, cries the fisherman,
raping at dead weight,
dragging mystery toward the kitchen
-on his mind is steak.
Slaughter, separate from supper,
passion with a knife, 
the knife . . .

. . . the knife is ready
held tight between the skinless thumb,
and vendetta fingers -
five Sicilian brothers 
waiting for their sister to come home.

The other hand around the rod
is closing on the lover’s throat.
The rod’s erect,
the reel is angry.
Come, my dear, come, come.

She hears the music of the end,
the bowstring whine of gut
still lean and taut from her weight alone,
hears the rhythm of the reel
and tries to run once more
-provoking lust to snatch still harder-

but can’t . . .
. . . is free at last
of strength
surrendered with the last of blood:
quicksilver nearing zero-
and two dollars worth of ice.

Maiden fish,
(a virgin: never dead before)
betrayed and penetrated,
(it’s time now to give in, enjoy)
rests her weight upon the line,
sinks upward,
toward the bottom of the boat.

The whore! I see her in the water!
She gave me quite a fight.

The captain, ready with the gaff,
the lover, in his rented swivel chair,
seize her from the water.
The maiden’s heartbeat
is faint and futile as a final cry of rape.
Her breath is fear, yet sounds like passion
at the very end.
Her swoon is now complete.

Her swain is prickled with his heat.
His blood pounds within his thumb.
He gloats,
is left alone with her.
He ponders . . .
. . . while he does,
she pales and sheds her rainbow.
Her eyes turn glassy from the air,
and death.
She’s turned to meat.

He lusts at memory for a moment,
then dries the little sweat
and goes forward for a beer,
and band aids.

The captain’s seen it all before,
surgically removes the hook
and tidies up the gear.
He and the mate carry her to the ice 
and lay her out within the cold.
The mate disinfects the deck
with sea water and a stiff brush.

Returning with his second beer,
a badge of gauze and Vaseline upon his thumb,
the lover is confused.
The deck, shipshape,
so bare 
of scales and blood
it all might not have happened.
Then there would be hope.

The mate calls him to the ice chest
for the viewing,
opens it . . 
I’ve lost her. There she is.

The smell . . . it must wash off !
Time to go home.
The sea is empty.
It is over.
My thumb!

Copyright © Jack Scott

Long poem by J. W. Earnings | Details |

My Fruitful Flight During Nightfall

I’m getting tracked down by nightfall
Hear me…hear me…out as I fall…
Hear my call; my heart’s pounding in appall 
I fall down – hear my pleas and answer my call
Don’t hang up on me at all!
I’m losing my head – it’s nothing new…
No one has a clue that I’m feeling blue
Steer me…steer me…Out of darkness and the abyss 
Let us float away from the ebony skies of lies
It’s so spooky in this solitary cave
But, I’ll remain brave…brave…
I’m alone – are you alone?
I’m getting tracked down by nightfall
Hear me…hear me…out as I fall…
Hear my call; my heart’s pounding in appall 
I fall down – hear my pleas and answer my call
Don’t hang up on me at all!
I’m walking in the woods with no one by my side as usual
I’m sleeping on the branch of a giant tree…
Hear my lament in this song of sadness and slight content
Things could be worse today – 
I sway like the wind…so free and gay
You put a spell on me like a Disney movie…
You are my treasure to discover under the wild, blue sea
Feeling shady and rather terrible today
I’m getting tracked down by nightfall
Hear me…hear me…out as I fall…
Hear my call; my heart’s pounding in appall 
I fall down – hear my pleas and answer my call
Don’t hang up on me at all!
Friends cheer me up all the way all day long – yay! 
Let’s have a magical duel! That would be cewl!
I have outlandish, yet epic pals, 
Filled up with passionate and eccentric fuel! 
They have answered my many calls!
I sing with so much heart and soul – I sang with effort and pride!
Confidence has leaded me along the way – don’t swallow me up, sorrow tide!
You are my emerald compass…
Not leading me astray…
Filling my heart up to the brim with cheerfulness and hopefulness
I’m getting tracked down by nightfall
Hear me…hear me…out as I fall…
Hear my call; my heart’s pounding in appall 
I fall down – hear my pleas and answer my call
Don’t hang up on me at all!
I pray I would remain happy forever and ever – I want you to stay!
I want you to stay and motivate me to push forward
I know, dear child – sometimes, I can act awkward! 
The spotlight is staring me down like a hawk, looking for prey day and night
I pray…I earnestly pray 
That I sing well! Might as well take divine flight
However, I’m getting tracked down by nightfall
Hear me…hear me…out as I fall…don’t kick me around like a ball!
Hear my call; my heart’s pounding in appall! 
I will remain as robust and firm like a wall 
I will not fall down anymore – I will not give in to you
Hear my pleas and answer my call! Healing from the love flu
Sick with the love flu still…and you still don’t get the clue, do you?
I love you…but I’m lost in the maze of bewilderment…
I throw a fit like a 2-year-old infant! I must be bold and be made whole with content 
I hate being in my skin – I’d rather be in someone else’s shoes
Don’t hang up on me at all!
I pray…that you would stay and not stray!
Do not stray…obey and go this way!
My flight during nightfall
Is extraordinary – I must stand tall and give it my all! 
I must stand tall and give it my all
I must stand my ground and give it my all…
Don’t make me feel invisible…
You’re so irresistible…irreplaceable!
Walk with confidence
Let gladness and joyousness enter your heart 
Be optimistic and take fantastic flight with me! Perlease? 
Take action and the chaos will cease…you have heard my pleas!
You have heard my pleas at least! 
It feels that the atmosphere is negative 50 degrees…
You caught my dreamy gaze
Your friendship is a priceless deal
Your maze – I would gratefully graze!
I wish you would emotionally heal
Conceal the sorrow and reveal your high hopes in Tomorrow! ~
What are you waiting for? Explore the Joyous Island with me, please?
We used to roam the fields of innocence 
We’re just a few minutes from Home – am I of any significance? 
I have memorized your face like the lyrics to my favorite song 
Do you have enough energy to finish the race?
I can tell you’re putting effort into your work by the sweat of your brow…I long…
To see you at the finish line! You and I aren’t left without a trace!
Where’s the finish line? You’re looking fine and I feel like I truly, sincerely belong!
Your glory is what I envy, but you and I can share vast grace
The many shimmering stars start to align
You and I…you and I can shine on…we unveil a secret, harmonious sign
I don’t know why… I don’t know why I cry tears of anguish…
Goodbyes afflict my soul…overwhelming me with lament…I wish!
I wish! I wish! I can shine on like a gem in my solitary cave
I don’t want to succumb to my fretful fate – leading me to my death…my misery grave
We can both glisten in the moonlight
We’re flying so high in the aqua-blue sky – I’m not afraid at all!
I must not stumble or fall! David, stand tall! I must give it my all!
I must get a grip and take fervor-flavored, fantastic flight…
You placed me on Cloud 7! Wish me luck in my fruitful flight during nightfall!

Copyright © J. W. Earnings

Long poem by Richard Lamoureux | Details |

The Good Girl EROTICA

Penny has always been a good girl, now she is a good wife. She lives in a good neighborhood, drives a nice car, has two perfect children. Her husband is a doctor and to top it off he is very good looking. Her friends think she has the perfect life and yet she feels a hunger inside.

Steven is a man of structure, everything has a time and place. He's the kind of man who folds his underwear. His appearance is immaculate in fact he even presses his jeans. He approaches his love making with a similar precision removing perfectly pressed pajamas folding them and putting them at the foot of the bed and then goes under the covers. She being a good Catholic wife she turns off the lights, undresses and gets into bed beside him. He fondels her breasts for a few moments and then gets on top of her for the Missionary express. The express train never seems to go past the three minute mark. He then rolls over and exactly two minutes later he is fast asleep. At that point she takes things into her own hands.

In the morning after Steven has left for work she showers, the warm water nourishes her hunger. She removes the shower head and adjusts it to pulsating! She places it between her legs and Ironicaly in three minutes she arrives where her husband has never taken her. A moan escapes her lips as she feels her release, yet she stifles it so her children won't hear, after all she is a good girl and good girls don't do such things.

She gets out of the shower and wipes the steam from the mirror with her towel. There she stands in front of the mirror looking at her naked form. Blonde with pretty blue eyes, the proof of her hair color is down below. She gazes at her breasts, lifts them slightly and smiles, gravity has not been too unkind. Her skin is bronzed from her tanning sessions and she has a perfectly sculpted abdomen from her hours at the gym, still she feels somehow that she doesn't measure up, not tall enough and she wonders if her boobs are on the small side. 

She thinks back to when She was a "Saint Mary's" girl. Mom and dad didn't want her to be distracted by boys so they sent her to Catholic school. She wonders if this is where the hunger first began. Her friend Becky had brought a Play Girl magazine to school and together they had flipped through the pages. They had giggled as they viewed the pictures. She had seen her brother's thing once when she had walked in on him peeing but it was nothing like what was in the pictures. She had found the pictures both gross and exciting at the same time. She remembered the warm dampness in her hello kitty panties. She had felt so guilty but in some way also awakened to another more primal part of herself. Confession was much more interesting that week. 

She was brought back to the present by the sound of one of her kids slamming their bathroom door. She promptly gets dressed and goes down stairs to prepare them breakfast. One egg each sunny side up with a side of whole wheat toast and a sliced banana. She pours a glass of milk for each of them and calls them down to breakfast. They both come running into the kitchen with backpacks in hand, give her a kiss and eat their breakfast. Her son Jessie has blonde hair and blue eyes just like her and their daughter takes more after her dad with chestnut hair but with exotic green eyes. Time passes quickly and it's time to drive them to school.

She drops them off to school, kisses her daughter goodbye but refrains from kissing her son, he is embarrased by public displays of affection. Instead she smiles and wishes them both a good day. As she pulls away her mind goes back to Catholic School, she had a teacher Mr. Connolly, he had dark hair with dramatic piercing eyes. She liked the look of his sculpted body and imagined he possessed the attributes of the men in Becky's magazine. At night she would think about him when she was alone in her room. As she would touch herself she would feel this delightful tingling in the soles of her feet. She would stop herself because she was a good girl and good girls didn't do such things.

She pulls into her driveway with her hunger radiating from the centre of her. Running up the stairs she goes to her bedroom and searches for her school uniform. She finds it neatly stored away in a bottom drawer, tartan skirt, white blouse bobby socks and a pair of burgundy loafers with two tarnished pennies. She undressess including her bra and panties. She proceeds to put on the blouse, the stiff fabric rubs against her nipples sending a wave of pleasure through her body. She wraps the tartan skirt around her waste and enjoys the feel of the wool skirt as it caresses her naked bottom. She then puts on her bobby socks and penny loafers. As she looks in the mirror she knows her hunger will be satisfied, I guess in the end she turned out to be a "Bad Penny!"

Written Feb 22, 2015
For _____'s Hotsy Totsy Erotica Contest.

For rob carmack's skrewed IV contest.

Copyright © Richard Lamoureux

Long Poems