Best Grope Poems
Friends are like stars
Steady, glittery and bright
Embossed perfectly
With their yellow-white
To the black velvet
Of our dreary minds
Adorning them with
Eternal sparkles of light
Inspiring us with their
Deep keen insights -
Each one unique
Of it's own kind;
Friends are like stars
Luminous and lustrous
Radiating rays of hope
When in darkness we grope
As life's harried hassles
Leave us doomed and baffled
Eclipsing the brightness and
Cheeriness of our souls -
Each one glinting
With its warm glow.
Date: 08/08/2022
For Simile Contest
Sponsor: Hilo Poet
In his bed she lies in wait.
For when he returns he will surely sate.
The time in the shower was just a tease.
No time to savor.....no time to please.
In his bed she envisions how he looked lathered in soap.
The smile he gave her when she went for a grope.
His mouth seeking hers for and amazing kiss.
The mounting pleasure..... turning quickly to bliss.
In his bed she tingles from head to toe.
From wanting him so bad, but he had to go.
An hour of yearning will seem like forever.
A blush reddens her cheeks as she imagines them together.
In his bed her fingers start to roam.
Finding her pleasure points, she lets out a groan.
For it's his lips and hands that she craves with desire.
Just the thought of his touch makes her perspire.
In his bed she anticipates his welcoming return.
Full of alluring charm that will certainly make her insides churn.
The smell and taste of him will awaken each and every sense.
Driving her to the brink of desire, each time getting more intense.
In his bed she hears him call out her name.
"Oh Darling........I'm going to drive you insane!"
The quivering begins for she knows he is right.
There will be no sleep 'in his bed' on this particular night.
........................................................................................
Water Drops
Waterdrops
Falling from the sky
Waterdrops falling from my eyes
Tumbling down, in sorrow’s depth I drown
If only my waterdrops
Could water your heart
I would drown you with happiness
Giving life a new start
Are waterdrops not the seeds of hope?
In the darkness for years I too did grope
If only my waterdrops
Could whisper the right words
Waterdrops
Washing over the worlds woes
Rainbows hidden in depressions throes
I fall to my knees, in a terrible fright
Waterdrops have conquered
This shining black knight
For how can I save the damsel in distress?
The fiercest of demons, has put me to the test
Waterdrops on roses
Whispering flowers
Winds caressing the darkest of rains
I am left to pray
Longing to see her smile and poetry again
Let me translate
My love for you
From written.... to spoken....to touched
From syllable sensuality
To physical functionality
From verbal to nonverbal virtual reality
Or better yet
Let me translate them into YOUR language
Yes, I’m a polyglot glutton
craving your satiation
Interjection velocity
Groan and grope physicality
Touch and tease and taste temerity
Chaste words undulating into unchaste carnality
Let me translate
In meanings that you understand
Points of reference that you rant and pant
In my ear…say it in a chant….
Over and over...
I won't let you recant
your forbidden fantasty frolic…
Baby...I’ll grant
Let me translate
Into the language of YOU
I understand
Your savage need laced with greed….
concede....every one...
to me
This wave won't recede
till that passion is freed...
by my deliciously devilish deed...
My pleasure peaks uncontrollably
Rocked in your volatility
Word translation ecstasy
Come together finality
Verbal.......
non-verbal.....
G~R*A~T*F~I*E~D
unity
So, just let me....
Let me translate
My love
For
You
Eileen Manassian
A nubile young vicar named Jude
Was seen swimming, totally nude
The bishop said WOW
Just look at you now
Your assets - they need to be viewed!
Fiction write!
07-05-17
Invited him home for a drink
A toast as their glasses did clink
Robes down on the floor
Performing a chore...
How far will this story now sink.
WRITTEN BY TIM SMITH
The vicar bent over to pray
The bishop could not look away
So for his protection
Took up a collection
A robe now conceals his display
WRITTEN BY CHRIS GREEN
I think this story about being nude will sink low
I will tell on those guys, all I know
Those two men are not holy
The bishop's roly-poly
And the vicar used to be in a nude girly show
WRITTEN BY LIN LANE
The bishop was feeling romantic
The vicar thought the man pedantic
When the vicar turned around
To give the bishop a frown
The bishop gasped, "Lord, you're gigantic!"
WRITTEN DALE GREGORY COZART
Said Jude, will we both go to hell-
Said bishop, you never can tell
But please will you turn
I've got carpet burn
And my knees are beginning to swell
WRITTEN BY GARY SMITH
As the bishop continued to stare
He thought such a body's not fair
To see the nude vicar
was hard on his ticker
and soon he had to change underwear
WRITTEN BY ROGER ADAMS
Mother Teresa told me so
In the heaven we’ll dance too slow
If you want to come
Bring us some Rum
Otherwise you may stop and go
WRITTEN BY PASHANG SALEHI
btw... What would the Pontiff say?
Would there be hell to pay?
Or would the Pope
just drop the soap
and hope he'd be invited to play
WRITTEN BY LIM'RIK FLATS
When suddenly a knock at the door
they decided they'd rather ignore
in walked the pope,
joined in the group grope
next day they were all saddle sore
WRITTEN BY DANIEL TURNER
The pope thought it not at all freakly
when asking the other men meekly
that if they were game
and would do the same
they could set up appointments weekly
WRITTEN BY DALE GREGORY COZART
Jude's assets developed so well
As the bishop could obviously tell
But you might be surprised
How it grew to that size
Well, he used it to ring the church bell
WRITTEN BY RAY GRIDLEY
07-06-17
Ambition in its prime dwells within over time —poet
My special poet…
is one who gets their point across
without agendas or alliterations of a bitter boss
No need for perfect literates who sip on bitters
and pound out heartless ink to other bulls*itters
A black heart smells rotted and oldened by experience
with ordinary nothingness to relay for instance
Webbed tough with matured matted material
used over again, makes not a special poet’s verses imperial
My special poet…
does not grope for interpretation of what’s in the soul
Or use blackened words of mystery that serve to cajole
Or spits floundering anxiety pending
Nor is in one’s own tight confining skin
Nor a swollen head enabled by encouragement,
rigid and giving nothing back
Nor do they look askance from their egocentric self,
Outspoken words that hurt, sensitivity they lack
My special poet…
is one who gets the truth out
reporting issues of division and about
undecided poets who need to explore
not to shun away from what dangers implore
Expresses what’s needed to say
words you trust along the way,
to make what’s important aware
for those with no voice and in despair
We’re all a part of it, the crime and border
God is good, He wants you to know justice’s order
My special poet…
a girly-girl of a soft disposition natured
still rides along within, now matured
I have too much respect for poets
to call out bitter versed ones, we know it’s
not going to change anything or anyone
We are who we are bar none
Understanding the universe that comes first
Time is of the essence not disparaging the worst
When making a split discission
when it’s obvious surrealism,
there is no more discussing what is
special, sincere, sealed woe IT'S me
My special poet…
is not better just unique
It's not a prowess poet that I seek
It’s nice when real poet's genius peak
Cannot hit the ball out of the park every time
Yet it all maybe rendered sublime
We cannot alter our voices
This covers all poets of our choices
You’ll find poets who well articulate
though meanings may particulate
Every poet is special to somebody
and have one thing in common
including ME
Oh Lord, Our Heavenly Father of all creation
We rely on you in all tribulations of life
Hope you will come down to touch and heal
Our bleeding hearts, for your mercy exceeds all bounds
You cannot turn your eyes when your children sob in agony,
You cannot but mend our torn and splintered hearts
When fears and tensions swivel and rake us
Shaking the very hinges of our existence
Anchor our minds to faith to proclaim with conviction
That you alone are our sole armor and refuge
That in every trial of ours, you will be there by our side
You are the only one who can gauge the depth of our pain
You are the only one who knows our weaknesses
We entreat you to heal our hurts and purge our hearts
When numerous sins and vices tacitly remain
So that we shall shine in your grace and grow in your love
When we stagger under the heavy weight of life
And when no one is around to ease our grief
We see you standing lovingly within our reach
With hands held out beckoning us with assurance of relief
Like a loving father out and out to help his wayward kids
You are the great Shepherd who will never desert his herd
But will come searching for the missing lambs
When our legs grow weary with every forward step
Oh, come and carry each of these staggering lambs
Lend your hand in our tightrope walk, that if fallen
We can spring back and hop, without getting maimed
Grant us true light that we will not grope in dark alleys
We know, the opulence of this transient world
Can never ever fill our hearts or give us lasting joy
It is in Thy love, we find our life’s whole comfort
It is on your shoulders, we want to lower our burden
When the skies are cloudy, when burdens are heavy
Oh, friends, tell yourselves never to feel troubled,
With such a great savior around
When we are lost, He will kindly lead us home
Solve our problems if we partake in His love
And shelter us in his great bastion, day and night
Brian Strand 1090 Poetry Contest
Feb.24. 2022
Inspirational Christian Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Regina MacIntosh
Marooned on the island of loneliness
Shadows of delusion confront me
In a stormy sea, I got shipwrecked
And the sea has robbed everything from me
What unanticipated change comes over
When people let you down
What a shocking realization it is
To know that there is nobody around to care.
On coming face to face, will anyone acknowledge me
Or will a happy smile light upon any face?
I am now a drying brook
That once has been a river in spate
A deflated balloon unable to soar high
A blind bird that cannot see a dawn
Nor sing a song to wake the sleeping world
My scars are like deep cuts
On an ill-maintained tarmac road
I sleep in endless weariness,
And grope among dark spaces
I vacantly look into the far horizon
When the broken shards of moonlight
Paint pictures of dark demons around me
Like a bird that with nightfall
Returns to a tree to call out its solitude to the stars
I sit here alone,
Alone, alone,
Not knowing to whom I shall call out!
Will the stars keep me company?
Tomorrow, should I go into exile or wake up
With the hope that my pain will go into remission
And my soul’s cry will be heard by some attentive ears!
Or will my frozen inside thaw by itself in time?
The guests were partying in the big house
a burglar sneaked in armed with a lead pipe
Mrs. White in the kitchen bastes a grouse
Colonel Mustard had guests caught in his hype
A candle stick shone while hung from a rope
in the library Miss Scarlett, dressed in red
felt a cold shiver when a hand did grope
then led to the study, she, filled with dread
In the hall a loud bang sounds with a boom
a revolver echoed… Reverend Green fell
Professor Plum in the billiard room
bled from a dagger…a final farewell
In the lounge, Mrs Peacock ( what a wench )
reflects on her actions, holding a wrench
© 9/6/2014
This sonnet is based on the game of Cluedo it has
been the source of many hours of entertainment
and the source of many an argument, possibly
leading to murder.
Mr Green was originally called Reverend Green
it was changed to Mr. for the American market.
Someone is knocking at my door
The night’s cold, my world’s dying and drear
It’s Good Joy. Cheers! No more, no more
Oh dear, I cannot open the door for her
Sorry Joy, glide by, I’m sick and not in my gear.
Someone is knocking at my door
The night’s cold, my world’s dying and drear
It’s Good Hope but I can’t be lured.
In dark shadows I grope, what makes you come here?
I know you mock the life, glide by, I desire.
Someone is knocking at my door
The night’s cold, my world’s dying and drear
Oh, It’s Good Health. This year you won’t be ignored
Welcome, I dart my doors open for you, dear.
I do need nothing but your blessings this year.
+++
January 15, 2015
Form: Quintain (English-ABABB)
Deep in the earth, a crypt of rock
slumber guarded by casket locked
Lips grope silence ‘ever more
rasping thought, remembers whispered lore
Outstretched palms the roots do clench
tranquility stilled by festered stench
And eyes, sleep caked, are propped ajar
ignites no life, but collapsed star
Burned blades sigh, Winds’ dying gasp
bones brittle snap within her clasp
A lonesome howl the moon does draw
vigil broken, it twists its maw
Upon an arena of endless stone
the granite gates they’ve passed alone
And entered a world of burning eyes
eluded the judge of smoldering cries
A faultless gait, no stumbled draw
a reaping brought by scythe and claw
Opal edge which shrouds a cause
aberrant blade shapes nature’s laws
Dictate a script, the stars can share
an open secret, a language bare
Steps continue, feet are drawn
across gray grass, undying pawn
For turning my eyes into shallow Pacific blues,
because nobody likes Chocolate.
For transforming the freckled clusterbomb on my face,
into baby skin smoothness!
Because freckles are humanity’s alleged worst enemy
and I refuse to allow my self-confidence to stay Pro-Activ.
Thank you, Photoshop
for giving me that liposuction I ALWAYS wanted
in less than 10 minutes!
Working out is BENEATH me!
And I’m too busy dating these "5 Guys".
Thank you for bathing me in your Black & White Fountain of Youth!
60 is the used 25!
I refuse attempts in removing this fallacy
crawling under my lifted eye sockets.
My wisdom wrinkles shall stay imploded under pretentious needle.
Otherwise, I can’t continue to be fed
flirtatious appetizers by horny sheeple
and bi-curious copycats
hocking hairballs at the sight
of my airbrushed collagen lips
while they dry hump my computer generated thighs.
Their retinas grope my artificially inflated Grand Canyons
which are really only peaked valleys.
Yet, they won’t look at my defaults…
So, I thank you Photoshop
for being unable
to crop my misery.
© Drake J. Eszes
"Dedicated to those who are unable to look within themselves." -D.J.E.
The sea’s silver ripples gently undulate
to call upon the coast and tease my feet.
I am but a child. A threat, not a sign;
they let me play in the breeze and brine.
Waves in wild gyration join my summer dance,
to flash and crash upon the rocks and sand;
on to the sea, they buck then rush back to shore.
Bruised, I grope... fall...try to rise once more.
Ocean tides, crimsoned by the alpenglow,
toss garbage and sacks of religious debris.
The atheists, thieves and the devotees, watch
the spit of the evil one stick back to his own lips.
Hourglass sands are mostly unnoticed gray,
and when the tempest comes wailing, thrashing
from the sea, how disappointed it must be.
I, the child, the lost, am safe and anchored...shored!
Inspired by Craig's Seashore Theme - Not for Contest
06 February 2016
To The Unknown Source
To whom this may concern,
I commit my soul, my worm.
I live from day today, as some say…
when I bite the Clover, it is over.
Love Hallowed if it be thy name,
I have heard of thy precept fame.
May thy kingdom come among,
in strives my hands I have wrung.
Of my meanness reaping seeps,
I’ve heard of Love, there be sheep.
Goats of mighty ships afloat,
descend into the abyss moat.
If Love be true Love, the will,
of which one’s life should spill,
then my will has been, bitter pill,
of bitterness has been my seal.
Forgive me as I will forgive,
of this Love I forever will live.
Of my daily bread I will be fed,
feeding my neighbors as I am lead.
Of whom this may concern,
commit I myself of Thee to learn.
Of awesome Precept I am kept.
Of beastly concepts I have wept.
Loose the human concept yoke,
of bitterness pill I am thus broke,
by concepts of which I spoke.
Humans in gross darkness grope.
For Frank’s
Compose a prayer
No I am not as unfamiliar with God as this poem would suggest,
But few know the Source fully as the Love that He actually is.
“Because strait and narrow is the way, few there be that find it.”
My shoulders drag through whirls of crescent night
under a wooden bridge this heart retains,
a pile of thickened ash
where reason hangs on edge, hollow the veins.
Above a skyline, a deep madness roars
oh, patience grows thin along slithered bends
that I, in deep thought grope
for fate’s comfort as street lantern descends.
Nearing the foot, a dove rustles my skin
its pearl-like glow cleanses a dusty face,
soothing my troubled head
so near the fall, so far a warm embrace.
From nowhere, a glossed horizon appears
connecting me back to life’s overpass,
as birdsongs lift my glides
till cinders fly as joy pours on life’s hourglass.
John Lawless' Gathering Dust
3/02/2015