Long Bulge Poems
Long Bulge Poems. Below are the most popular long Bulge by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bulge poems by poem length and keyword.
Our eyes met
Across the room
The sight of her
My heart went boom
Her shiny hair
Skin so fair
Slimline body
Shaped to stare
I introduce
Myself to her
Her accent sweet
Perfect purr
Drinks drunk
We make our leave
Joining hands
Like a weavers weave
Late night walk
Hand in hand
The talk is sweet
Of the loving kind
We stop and share
A dreamy kiss
As we read our minds
Eventful wish
Back at mine
I pour us drinks
Moet Champagne
To me she winks
Close we hold
Each others frame
Dancing slow
With this gorgeous dame
Adventurous hands
Explore each other
Naked flesh
Revealed from cover
As i hold her close
Her breasts charm me
Pert icons
Caress me
My manly hands
Run through her mane
Down her spine
To my wanting aim
Her curves so arced
Architectural gem
As she gently strokes
My wanting stem
She takes my hand
And sits me down
Astride my thighs
Slides on my crown
Slowly we share
Each others joy
As we pant and groan
This girl and boy
Throbbing bulge
Inside her heavenly cave
To adorn her walls
Our pulsing craves
I pull her in
As we release our flows
Joyous moans
As our bodies glow
We kiss and enjoy
Our united mix
As our tongues unite
With passioned slick
We share a shower
And lay down our heads
Cuddling close
In a silken bed
I awake in the morning
To a note left near
Beside the message
The drawing of a tear
Last night my dear
I was blessed like a dove
Your my one night stand
My negative love
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/love2.php
To predict the weather do we need a meteorologist?
Not here, although this method by some is dismissed
Maybe not so scientific but time tested and long lasting
Welcome to the prairies and pig spleen forecasting
Call your nearest farmer when season nears December
There are a few key things when predicting to remember
Read from the top of the spleen (by read, I mean squish)
That is the next month, now count down sections to six (ish)
If the spleen remains even from top to bottom and through
It looks like a mild mannered winter is in store for you
Now, if the pig spleen in any section tends to thicken
Ready those months for a change or a cold spell to quicken
A very pronounced bulge? I'd recommend to hunker down
That's when a blizzard or nasty storm may come to town
Depending who you talk to there is method more than one
Some say temperature only, some predict rain, wind and sun
Not sure of the origin, seems each farmer learned from dad
Regardless of the history or oddity, the results ain't too bad
Some use weathermen or woolly worm caterpillar stripes
Here it's pig spleens to tell if there is risk of freezing pipes
Whether it is nature or science there is tradition underneath
Some true die hards even check thickness with their teeth
So find a trusted farmer or a copy of the farmer's almanac
And you can know what's coming as they always have your back
You can read their results if the DIY version turns you green
But don't knock it til you try forecasting with a pig spleen!
January 2nd and it’s packed in the gym
New Year's resolutions have brought them in
Many in shiny new work out gear
Determined to finally get in shape this year
January 15th and never seen again
It’s hard to maintain that resolution
Excuses are worn in place of gym shoes
Pounds regained are more than what they loose
When swimsuit season comes later in the year
Some, once again, will pull out their gear
One more crowded week to battle the bulge fear
Before away from the gym and toward the beach they steer
The regular crowd who comes in every week
Knows these two occasions when the crowds will peak
And patiently wait for machines to become free
Knowing in just one week the gym will be empty
Snip away the flesh.
Blood spits
on the unforgiving floor,
stained,
soaked in,
to the point where the tile bursts-
soul helpless, gas exposed
and the poison kicks in-
pounding
pulsing,
running through the intoxicated veins-
that now bulge
from my gullible skin,
hypnotized thoughts,
addicted to devotion.
A pain so good it lingers
as if ripping out each organ
one
by one.
Then the taste of regret thickens-
a sweet intensified swelling-
of what could have
what should have been.
But instead of leaving for death
you clench tight your warm, soft hands
around the scissors,
and carve it out,
chest exposed,
broken.
It always belonged to you
and though you verify,
wanting security,
proof.
It was always you.
You still emphasis the fact
it was different this time
time taught how to forgive-
yet you aren't welling to see it through,
risk,
put yourself out on the tightrope.
Instead of casting your spell
you flee.
And then, purity is revealed.
Mirror image of yourself,
alone,
on the ground,
lifeless,
breathless,
eyes-
a distorted fuzz,
the same, gentle brown-
Petrified with recognition
realizing what you avoided,
what you forced away
came raging, smacking you in the face.
Blood caressing your forsaken goals,
your broken promises
and vital unspoken words.
Never have scissors accessorized so perfectly,
resting gently upon your empty chest
reflecting acceptance,
forgetting reason.
I'm not much of a desert eater
but give me egg and I'm quite the beater
blend flour and vanilla, a pineapple or two
and I'll make an upside down cake for you.
No Betty Crocker, but with a little sugar and butter
sweet cherries and cake can set your heart flutter.
Let it lay tempting atop a yellow fluffy cake
and a slice you would surely take.
Another, yes go right ahead, you're welcome to it
You love cake and I do too, just let your pants unzip,
Enjoy the sweet juicy fluffy temptation
later you can hold on to your hesitation
Regret the indigestion and the bulge
but it was good now gone, gulp, I know.
A happy old camper, still motoring along
My life has been better than most
How come I'm blessed with such good fortune
Maybe cause I eat Shreddies by Post
A good breakfast is the most important meal
Starts every day off with a bang
Even if your lunch is burgers and fries
You won't get blubber overhang
Nuturists might have a hard time agreeing
Bout the lunch of burgers and fries
But I've lived a long life and still feel fine
So it's yummy McDonald's Supersize
One of my secrets is my limit of alcohol
Very rarely does this guy indulge
Clean living and staying the hell out of trouble
Has helped me control my bulge
So I give this advice freely without charge
You can benefit from my many years
Enjoy all the rest of your days here on earth
Don't fret if you grow a big rear
The Endless Fight
My sis and I, we made a vow,
to lose all of our weight somehow.
Long months we tried; sometimes we’d cheat.
Jogging! Oh the agony of da feet!
A one-week cruise; sister noshed and noshed -
Put back half the weight she’d lost!
A month she took to put things right.
Battle of the Bulge is the endless fight!
But, I digress, we're only human.
You can only eat so much with cumin.
And the next day she made her goal.
God bless her heart, God bless her soul.
So now when we get on the scale.
Sometimes we lose, sometimes we fail.
Butt, ;) we both get tired of the botching.
Of all this weighting and this watching.
Nov. 13, 2011 for Silent One's Introduction By Collaboration Poetry Contest
Mangoes, the first of the season,
sit plump and shameless in trays,
their smooth skin tempting
a passing hand to reach down
and touch them, one cut open
sends the tongue into a spasm.
The market is a feast for the senses.
You need to walk slow
and take it in, catch the smell
coming ripe from the cheese,
golden blocks and creamy white
rounds speckled with mold
hang heavy in the enclosed air
of a stall. Salty, buttery, rich,
the nose lingers over each.
And further along, jams and preserves
rainbow their colors from jars stacked
high in pyramids and on a table,
trays of dried and glace fruit glisten
a sugary sheen in a sunlit glut
to the eye. Swelling apricots,
pineapple pieces and pear halves
bulge beneath clear plastic wrap.
It's almost overload to an old man,
stall upon stall of temptation,
offerings of pleasures banned
by the diet police with their edicts
outlawing salt, fat and sugar.
On this warm, bright Saturday
afternoon in October I say f… em !.
Costuming Halloween
Masque my visage fast!
…So my eyes bulge out, drunken red, and give me
purpled, hairy lips and cheeks to complete
My bloodcurdling look — Yikes!
So scary…Not sweet!
So chilling that Halloween’s
Gross memories of seeing me will not be beat!
Then, when I float from door to door,
Levitating on a smoky breeze,
To greet the folks’ aghast gazes, I’ll growl
with a phantasmal voice to haunting, I’ll declare,
“Boo! Trick or treat!” and
They’ll step back away as if shock could kill, but
Thrilled, gasp, “Hey! Your costume’s a blast!”
Whereupon, I’ll begin my Halloween act
By morosely sharing, “T’is not a costume at all,
But my natural state…’T’is my own gross, gremlin grin;
My own foot-long ears; my own outlandish, fear-frizzed hair,
That altogether has me wailing, especially on
H a l l o w eve n night
“BOO-hoo! Boo! Boo-hoo!”
——————————————————————————————————————————————-
(c) sally young eslinger 10/30/2023
Happy Birthday Jim!
My somewhat outsize ears and longish neck
(I swear exist, which contrary to popular myth
never seen by living persons) support this egg shaped
(fried or scrambled some might argue) head.
A mostly flat and hairless chest attests to a regular
regimen of light (self-concocted) chest-pounding routine.
Exercise (as well as meditation) a vital part of my
daily program to deal with the ordinary stresses
of primitive existence. Coffee happens to be the
sotto voce sole vice, which exotic brews provide
helpful jump-start. I sometimes even chump on cup
kept teeth sharp. That unproductive habit came
to a screeching halt after breaking every pearly white.
Now to that locale known as the trumpeting rump
pull stilts skin. Although the unseen forces of biology
and genetics dealt me an itsy bitsy, tiny tushy
(which serves as the but for fellow Apes to taunt
and tease) such anatomical feature offers little
value as the worthiness of sexual prowess.
This palm pilot sized gluteus Maximus offers one benefit.
Ease to squeeze into tight spaces without getting stuck.
This tiny tushy accompanied by a vestigial and
teeny-weensy Weiner schnitzel of a phallus, which
undersized cock a doodle do doth bulge into
an erectile state within shooting distance of
coveted warm, wet and wooly private world
property of each and every woman.
A pair of skinny (flamingo like) legs (covered in
adequate hair) now completes this general character sketch.