Long Bitches Poems
Long Bitches Poems. Below are the most popular long Bitches by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bitches poems by poem length and keyword.
I love you... I love you too
For it seems life a lifetime that we were meant to be.
Thy dream has come true
Our dreams turned into days, then months, and lastly
years.
You never saw the hidden mask of secrets...due to his
or her slickness of uniqueness.
The fake smiles and silenced affections come to the
surface.
Fooling the closest of family, friends and associates;
Showing them the false illusion that this type of crushed
love would gain some type of glorious purpose.
Now only very few know the truth to your private doubts
and tears.
Smoke screens, tinted mirrors, and shady bitches hidden in the
shadows of the unseen.
Ready to pitch your dirty laundry... to the nearest king or
queen.
You know what I mean... the complete destruction of your union
and your team.
Tick, Tick, Tick your time is limited for the miserable to
strike.
Collected and exaggerated memories of untruths could unfold;
while in the middle of putting fate in the hands of what one only
knows as the truth of stone.
So while the story sounds bonded and you both continue to hold on
as a team... just know that karma may strike and reveal that...
"Everything Isn't As It Seems".
Enough of the winds
Swirling with urgency
I demand that it ceases at once
Succumb to whims
Bow to demands
I wish nothingness to commence
I lap up the gilded chaos
Flowing into my brain
Close the eyes
Embrace the surprise
Allow this minstrel chorus
To play follow the leader
Into and against the sky
That forbids us to leave
We must find that spot
Tickle, touch and tangoe
Where we engage with
Or even teach
The Pharoah’s Dance
With its keyboard trance
All the erstwhile meanings
Floating in and out
Senses defer to
Broad, centrifugal gatherings
The notes mean nothing
The spaces in between even less
I can only hear volume
I can only feel heat
I sit here grooving out of control
Yet within these banal confines
Of this communal sigh
Easing into track 2
Bitches Brew
With the luscious obnoxiousness
Shooting into veins
Ripe and ready for so much more
Pierce me oh brass lord
Bring your lovers and henchmen alike
Both like me
For different reasons
And I like
Well
Let’s just say
An auditory orgy isn’t complete
Without its foes, friends, freaks and euphoniums
Injecting deep
Deeeeep
To where the marrow lives
And the sparrow flies
Bang
Bang
Says the snare
Remember me
I can count the f--- out of you
Tap you into time
Ratchet the good and plenty
Until you have it all
Then leave without any
And back
And forth
Again we go
Where I stop
Only he and the dandelions know
Which is fine
Because it’s time to stop thinking
And let the Brew do its thing.
(12/26/17)
To all who claim that they are always here for me,
whenever I need to reach out and seek support from anybody.
All of you, and I mean all of you are all hypocritical phonies,
who just want to feel good about themselves selfishly,
convincing yourself that you're helping one in need,
when all of you couldn't care less in reality.
When I am attempting to pour my heart out with great difficulty,
Shut Your Freaking Mouth, and just listen to me.
Allow me to complete a thought or sentence at the very least.
Don't be so driven to hear yourself talk so eagerly,
because the message you are sending to yours truly,
is, "I'm not listening, I'm not interested, I just want to talk on endlessly."
Allow Me To Express My Grief Openly,
without getting interrupted by your annoying voice continually,
and that's just the hypocrites I've dealt with personally.
To the rest of you out there, the assholes of many,
who claimed, "I'm here for you Bill. I would die for you Billy."
I never asked anything from any of you previously,
but when I asked all of you a small favor that was important to me,
a task performed literally costless, conveniently and effortlessly,
not one single response from my so called family or friends, not any.
was received from any of you bastards and bitches, not one of you phonies.
So I guess what I'm trying to express here in it's entirety,
is Screw All Of You Mother Screwing Phonies, SCREW EVERYBODY!
Every MotherScrewing One Of You, STAY THE HELL AWAY FROM ME!
There’re many bow-down bitches that talk a mean game.
Sending their sons to war, they just can’t bare that pain.
They’d rather see people of color dying on the front lines.
While theirs fly the drones, and follow from behind.
Just look at the numbers, ‘cause the numbers don’t lie.
How many black people are CIA or FBI?
We’ll never know the numbers, because it wouldn’t make sense.
That total number is likely less than five percent.
Down in the foxhole is actually what makes men.
They sing the National Anthem like it belongs to them.
Without the help of slaves the Civil War couldn’t be won.
These United State of America, there wouldn’t be none.
The Jim Crow types would shut everything down.
The law of the land is what happened to Michael Brown.
Bow-Down Bitches thrive when they have numbers.
Aiming for the back of unarmed brothers.
16% of black students get suspended 43% of the time.
From the cradle to the jail surely comes to mind.
The bow-down bitches have a genuine fear.
Because long after they’re gone we’ll still be here.
They may not see it, but God has a plan.
He’ll make known to them, who was original man.
And, just before they try to go too far.
They’ll bow down to us as the Gods we are.
It’s 1914, and Hollywood star Mabel Normand has just
helped new boy Charlie Chaplin to develop his “Tramp”
character. She is wondering if she’s done the right thing.
I gave him everything – even the walk.
He’s too priapic for his baggy britches!
Arriving here still tarred with charred old cork,
this fraud who jawed of Avignon and Sitges
while knowing neither, has the crew in stitches.
Dexterity is not the same as grace:
he’s shaping up for all-time rags-to-riches,
the parasite who rose without a trace:
but we can see beneath the comic carapace.
He’s carrying himself now like a star.
If glibness were the same as eloquence,
I haven’t any doubt that he’d go far.
The talent, if untutored, is immense.
I wish he’d just – when not before the lens –
acknowledge what’s been done for him. That loud
theatricality I tamed. The sense
of something intímate, less harsh, less proud,
I think I gave him. But his eyes are on the crowd.
He’s trying to direct us. We’re his bitches.
That script he wrote permits him to molest
some seven women, like as if his itches
are there to be indulged. The man’s obsessed.
I nurtured him and now, at his behest,
I’m served up as his plaything. I’m incensed!
The cuckoo kicks the babies from the nest,
but still the mother feeds him. My defence?
A woman’s love survives a man’s incontinence.
he wrote non- sufficeint love
in Spain.
he hide their for months while
his wife searched for him.
she found him their
and retreived him to stay at their home
in southwestern america.
they grow tomatoes and sold them to stores all over the country.
the song was losted for months, but when found
someone in the feilds said it was a boo-who love song that
caused people to cheat and consort. it was then said to be the works of
el diablo, the music of the devil. we asked a preist in the city if these words were the works of Satan he told them they were the works of men, but the intentions of the song was to illustrate the doings of an unfaithful woamn, one who whenched her men, and then became pregant, so that see could inherint their wealth. In the song the song, got all the riches, the bitches, and the knowledge of
concored ***'s. these words ofended some but, musicains have sung this song for years so the church could understand men wanting to hear the song. well the group released the song on their album, and it topped the charts, a group of woman, anwsered the song.. with " lazzia ***, a song about a group of wonderers who tricked women for money. this started the verses issue we have here today. we conserve referance to the teaching of either, and site the beleif in peace and unity !
I CRY EVERYDAY
Why would I cry every day?
What do I do to stop this weeping?
It is my marriage that brings those tears
Tears of no joy...I mean gnashing of teeth
Yet still on earth with no intent to visit hellfire
My tears are of an abused lady enslaved
Trapped in a contraption called wedding
I now know why my other friends wants to be free
Free from the mundane atrocities of a marriage
Free from the bondages that comes with wedlock
Get away from the strife and knife of the In-laws
My In-laws are bitches of high level degree
Really, they are members of the witches and wizards club
They dine with long nails in their corners
My husband as an initiated one laugh out loud
I am continually ignored as if I was dead
I wish to join their cult when I am at my In-laws'
My presence irritate them from within
Their young ones lack all sorts of manners
I am disrespected at will even with my husband's will
AST
1.05am
15/04/2015
Conjure from a true life story
Form:
Pablo...according to me (Part 1b, continuation/finish from Part 1a)
Re Pablo Picasso printmaking exhibition at Bellagio Hotel's Fine Art Gallery.
(7) Photo - PP's living room (by David Douglas Duncan), Summer '57, Villa La California Cannes
I'm glad I'm not the only one who breeds mess, industry, libation, and managed chaos in the quest for genius. He found it. I'm still looking.
(8) Figure (oil/canvas, zinc plate, litho)
Helluva way to capture the lady and her virtues. I've never seen nipples and nostrils so exquisite and interchangeable.
(9) Woman with a Chignon and Yellow Hat
Wife (his) in all her glamour. I imagine the hand on the face is gesturing, "Pablo, finish up, the trash won't take itself out".
(10) Jacqueline with a Multicolored Straw Hat (series from carved linoleum, staged in colors, details and vibrance)
So we start with faint silhouette and baseline virtue, homage to woman as the world's foundation. Then follow to add glow (yellow), fire (red), mood (periwinkle), passion (purple), and beauty (full blown spectrum). Oh, women, you of hues incomprehensible and indestructible to man.
(11) The Two Nudes (his take on Goya's "La Maja desnuda" and Manet's "Le Dejeuner Sur l'herbe")
New muse, old muse. Threesome fantasy. It's getting hot in here, so take off all our clothes. What? One loses steam. Oh no! The other falls asleep. Darn, bitches! Rosie, it's all yours tonight.
(12) Reclining Woman Reading
She's skimming through "Fifty Shades of Pablo". Chapter 12, "Brushes and Booty Calls: How a Flick of the Wrist Seals the Next Tryst".
(13) Photo - DDD again, July '57 (same Cannes villa), PP in his studio looking at "Head" work in progress
Deep contemplation. 42 days until NFL Opening Day. I need to kill time. Hey, Jacqueline, any PBRs in the fridge?!
(8/1/15)
WHY are those who have nothing obsessed over wealth?
WHY are less hospitals less concerned about Health?
WHY are the Homeless still Forsaken/Forlorn?
WHY the Great Earthquake which left Haiti to mourn?
WHY the fuss over Mexicans?...most do no evil or rob
WHY arrest and deport them?...just give them a job
WHY all the shows about vampires, werewolves and witches?
WHY are some rappers such retards, and call Black Women bitches?
So many people Unfaithful, yet, we're "Bought with a Price?
Then WHY krishna/Buddha, and not Jesus Christ?
WHY the murder of children?...this we can't get around
WHY Carly Bruscha, and Nix Mary Brown?
People running to mischief, it seems a pandemic trait
WHY senseless killings on The First 48?
WHY pools of Oil on the Gulf, which threatens those on the coast
WHY do they think their lives over, when still more Blessed than most?
WHY does a person never sick suddenly breathe their last gasp?
WHY are simple things in this lifetime the most hardest to grasp?
There's vast changes in weather, time to Pray and Reflect
It's a sign from Our Maker, not "The Green House Effect"
Without The Lord in our existence, we live each day as mere pawns
WHY does it seem we weep loudest before the Light Of Hope dawns?
The next WHY? an Enigma....requires deep contemplation
WHY did Jehovah choose Israel over every other nation?
Abundant things I can't fathom, though I ponder and try...
2010, eight years later...the question still remains....WHY?
I get pretty picture postcards
from faraway places,
not many but over time
they accumulate
on walls, fridges
and marking pages in books.
Mostly from old girlfriends
writing to prove
they are still alive.
"Amazing scenery, wonderful people,
haven't had a decent cup of coffee since Montreal,
watch out for the water in ice cubes.
Wish you were here (Not!)
all my love xxxx"
Still on a dull grey morning,
a message from Mexico, Italy,
Vietnam or New Zealand
is at least intriguing.
Me, I never send postcards
as I never go anywhere
but I get pretty picture postcards
from faraway long ago bitches
every now and then.