Long Arsehole Poems
Long Arsehole Poems. Below are the most popular long Arsehole by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Arsehole poems by poem length and keyword.
It was spread out all over the living room,
clicked along escarpments and apartments, soon
reaching a station, waiting for master's command,
It left, exuberant, at the touch of a magic wand.
Hornby was sub-standard, Triang was better,
engine would haul along nicely if you let her,
The Golden Arrow went past Harrow, gague narrow,
we leaned out of the window, some arsehole said hello.
The Flying Scotsman rounded a corner, took a turn,
ran into a poetry book, some people never learn,
obstacle removed, twice, journey half as nice,
we know how they run, grown men - not mice.
Finally, going the other way - know what jealousy lacks,
measured decorum on the other side of the tracks.
Real fear
as it crawls
from the nape of your neck
icicly popping skin
along arm
hairs raised in surrender
unable to stop what will become
I never look at shadows anymore
incase there is a face their theyr'e
that sea me-i love using the wrong swords
see you
just open your phone
Who is that in the background
feel my oil slick tendrils
kiss your shoulder
talon crawl across your ripping flesh
when stomach and arsehole
are closer than before
Brian turns ewe to your brain
that tightly held breath
heart above sound
feet rooted in molten stair
see my face
as the darkness turns away
afraid to look again
if mirrors reflect light
why can you see your shadow in a mirror
and will you dare to look
sitting in my favourite
seat the spittles of rainbow
spewing from the box of idiots
dance accross my wall
macabre marionettes forbid into cryptic cryptids
and the end of the scream
is unheard
To the Sabatini Gardens
Located opposite the north facade
Of the Royal Palace of Madrid (Spain)
Between Bailén Street
(Where the bridge is located
Of “The Lovers' Suicides”)
Because couples in love
Come here from time to time
To jump from it to Segovia Street
Which runs at its feet
And Las Vistillas, where there is a Seminary
Where they make pedophile priests every day
A new girl friend brought me here
Who I met at the España cinema
On my street General Ricardos
When I told her without knowing her:
-I am devoted to that hairy vase
That you have between your legs.
I will praise you if you let me one day
Put the spirit of love into it.
She asked me:
So you want to trade wWith my beautiful body?
-Yes, I answered her.
I took out my erect
And she grabbed it tightly saying:
-I have to congratulate you.
Sublime it in its ********.
You have a of eternal life!
Now, hide it if you can
The usher is coming.
We are now sweethearts
And this is the day my acted:
Sitting on a bench where no one could see us
In front of the north facade
Of the Royal Palace
Both of us excited
She said to me:
-Now, take it out of your fly
And satisfy my .
My out, fully erect
She placed her vase on top of it.
She sat down. She held it.
While I made the gestures of penetrating her
Until I ejaculated
My in her as it should be
She hummed as if she were laughing at me:
-I thank you, Ambrosio
Because you have it so good, so erect
And your mercy is eternal.
Forever I will sing your name
Because you have known how to do.
My Fallopian Tubes are sounding¡
-I bless your vessel, Segismunda.
I moaned as I ejaculated.
Because I have repopulated with sperm
Not only your
But, at the same time, that third eye of yours.
Your Blessed anus, the arsehole¡
But, Segismunda, have other es
Had lodged in your and anus?
-I'll be honest with you, Fallopius.
I mean Ambrosio.
Yes. My and anus
Satiate every living thing
Because I am female by the God’s grace.
In a dim-lit attic sits a rocking chair
where a newborn child was suckled, there.
Then, while a mother gently brushed my hair,
father read tales aloud of Piglet and Pooh Bear.
Later, it became a galloping horse at county fair,
a sheet tossed over transformed into a pirate lair.
Sometimes, it was a rocket for Digby and Dan Dare.
A space for reading torchlit tales designed to scare.
Once, in the den, while lazing in the chair
Is where I first heard Simon Stewart swear
"S**t, bugger arsehole, I don't care."
He said, but as for me, I did not dare.
I studied A's on E's quoted from Voltaire
read Descartes and voted Tony Blair
Sprayed purple dye on tall spiked hair
Rocking gently, floating in mid-air.
A broken heart, a broken love affair
I tried to end it all once in that chair
The world hates me, and I hate it; life's so unfair
I'm still here but always have that cross to bear.
Dreams of becoming rich, a millionaire,
was I just building castles in the air
while rocking with a gin and tonic in that chair.
Then, later, I woke up the worse for wear.
I now have children of my own, a pair
We sit, for I have much to tell and much to share
About love, life, and death; how to prepare;
and read tales aloud of Piglet and Pooh bear.
In a dim-lit attic sits a rocking chair
I wonder how it ended up in there?
The younger generation doesn't seem to care;
but then again, why should they, to be fair!
PRIEST AGAINST MY TASTE
My parents thought I was a saint
Because, when I pooped, I would pray:
“Virgin of the Pillar, let me poop.”
A prayer my mother had taught me
And which worked wonders on my bowels.
They didn't know that
When I locked myself
In my decorated room
With pictures of every saint there was
I didn't pray or meditate
And even less did I study
But I played with wheat and flour
That I tried to get
From my erect and raised little .
One day, when they saw me from behind
Through the half-open door
They went crazy with joy
Because they saw what looked
Like a priest's Crown on my head
Which was nothing more than a sperm
That had flown there.
I heard them say happily:
-This boy is going to be a good priest.
Let's take him to the Seminary or Convent.
They took me by the hand
And led me to the Seminary of Segovia.
-Good morning, Father.
Here we bring you our son, Proculus
So that you may make him a good priest
Who will serve the community
For the God’s love.
"Good morning to you all."
We will do so with divine grace
And the Virgin Mary’s love.
As soon as Proculus entered the Seminary
They hung a black cassock on him
So that nothing could be seen
But his feet
With a raised point
Below his waist.
Another superior who saw him
Approached him and said:
-I liked you the moment I saw you.
From today you will be my assistant
And I will help you pass
All your subjects
Especially Religion, Greek, and Latin.
The only thing you will have to do
Is make my bed
And take care of a bird I have
That sings Gregorian chant.
One morning
After the eight o'clock mass
The priest who greeted him at the door
Aapproached him, saying:
-Good morning, Proculus.
-Good morning to you.
-The spiritual father you serve
Is very angry with you
Because you didn't make his bed yesterday.
-And I'm not going to make it for him again
Because he pulls his little bird out of his crotch
And wants me to play with it
Or, better yet, pull out my little one
So it can play with his.
-My dear son, Proculus
This spiritual father of yours
Is on the wrong path:
The holy Bible that guides him is wrong.
Stick it between the pages
Of the Song of Songs
Like a sausage
Until he comes with joy.
-Stick it, Father
In the Bible or up your own arsehole.
Or do as I do
Which sticks it in my own hole
For it is the Way of Perfection.
PRIEST AGAINST MY TASTE
My parents thought I was a saint
Because, when I pooped, I would pray:
“Virgin of the Pillar, let me poop.”
A prayer my mother had taught me
And which worked wonders on my bowels.
They didn't know that
When I locked myself
In my decorated room
With pictures of every saint there was
I didn't pray or meditate
And even less did I study
But I played with wheat and flour
That I tried to get
From my erect and raised little .
One day, when they saw me from behind
Through the half-open door
They went crazy with joy
Because they saw what looked
Like a priest's Crown on my head
Which was nothing more than a sperm
That had flown there.
I heard them say happily:
-This boy is going to be a good priest.
Let's take him to the Seminary or Convent.
They took me by the hand
And led me to the Seminary of Segovia.
-Good morning, Father.
Here we bring you our son, Proculus
So that you may make him a good priest
Who will serve the community
For the God’s love.
"Good morning to you all."
We will do so with divine grace
And the Virgin Mary’s love.
As soon as Proculus entered the Seminary
They hung a black cassock on him
So that nothing could be seen
But his feet
With a raised point
Below his waist.
Another superior who saw him
Approached him and said:
-I liked you the moment I saw you.
From today you will be my assistant
And I will help you pass
All your subjects
Especially Religion, Greek, and Latin.
The only thing you will have to do
Is make my bed
And take care of a bird I have
That sings Gregorian chant.
One morning
After the eight o'clock mass
The priest who greeted him at the door
Aapproached him, saying:
-Good morning, Proculus.
-Good morning to you.
-The spiritual father you serve
Is very angry with you
Because you didn't make his bed yesterday.
-And I'm not going to make it for him again
Because he pulls his little bird out of his crotch
And wants me to play with it
Or, better yet, pull out my little one
So it can play with his.
-My dear son, Proculus
This spiritual father of yours
Is on the wrong path:
The holy Bible that guides him is wrong.
Stick it between the pages
Of the Song of Songs
Like a sausage
Until he comes with joy.
-Stick it, Father
In the Bible or up your own arsehole.
Or do as I do
Which sticks it in my own hole
For it is the Way of Perfection.
DAISY STAINS
Poor Daniel, so nice
Even when he was young
He made his bed
On telephone directories.
At the foot of his bed
Hanging from the ceiling
A Serrano ham
That cured at the end of winter.
His mattress looked like a hammock
From so much masturbation
That his mother thought it was
Because he brought to his bed
His best friend's daughter
Whose name is Grindelia Pulchella.
When his mother asked him
What those yellow stains were
That covered the sheets
He answered
That they were from the daisies
That he and his friend's daughter
Happily plucked the petals from
In a game of "he loves me, he loves me not"
Laughing out loud.
One day, when a glow
His mother saw leaving her room
She entered and saw her son
Putting his own cock
Into the throat of his arsehole
She was amazed
For she thought it measured
A yard and a half
Worthy of enjoying eternal glory.
She, compassionate, said to him:
-Son, I don't know why
Many more maidens don't come to you.
Cheerfully, Daniel answered her:
-Mother, yes they do.
Look how two spheres of asses
Like tailless birds
Who are both called Daisies
Split like watermelons at a glance
Escape through the window.
-Now, son, stay
With the four angels
Who guard your bed
And take care not to hit them
With your cock in the face.
Do you have to work hard to maintain it?
You've held the title strong for years.
Is it a natural born talent or acquired?
Did it come with blood, sweat and tears?
Must be hard reaching down to touch your toes.
But its a requirement needed to pass.
Holding 1st Place every year must feel good.
Honestly.... does the sun shine out of your ****?
As they announce you this years winner...
Your feeling admired wanted and adored.
But wait!... First can I Please take a photo?
Of you accepting the "Arsehole of the Year Award"
That way I can show all my friends....
That people like you really do exist.
And yes! Your s#*t really does stink!
So run along now.... You wont be missed!
The Orchard of femininity
Fine day, sun and sky, I walked in an almond tree orchard
The scholars call it a deciduous bush, and the learned
has no artistic sense, looking for a Latin name
like the tree would care.
It is peaceful here, a feminine place, and no one shouts
“Get off my land, you, arsehole.”
The trees are dressed for the ball, getting married to spring,
And since they are equally beautiful, no competition.
When deflowered, they will be pregnant and bear fruit
called almond; not yet, though, they will look lovely in a few weeks more
before taking up the burden of motherhood as
yellow wildflowers nod in harmony.