Long Bumps Poems
Long Bumps Poems. Below are the most popular long Bumps by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bumps poems by poem length and keyword.
Betwixt our deceptive connection
Lies told, to always end in
I’ll never have a profound perspective
As my skepticism results in your grin
When our paths crossed
Like two sailboats in a panoramic sea
I believed you were mannerly
Though, sprouted unexpectedly was your immorality
My standpoint was already set
My conception was that you’d abet
To all the curves, bumps, and facets of me
Though you’d never devote to me
You’d only break me to debris
Every word transmitted from your “soul”
Carried no true sentimental worth
Yet I believed you, over my mind you had control
Desiring for your concealed lies to rebirth
Lies and gas-lighting were brought upon me
Despite your affectionate expressions
I thought truth be told, that I was free
But I’m now trapped under your early impressions
Doubting and doubting your false affection
Perhaps you don’t know how to express emotion?
But deep inside, I know that’s untrue
That I’m just someone to be used, at least to you
Though acceptance is quite challenging for me
I’m unsure of why I still trust you
As you treat me like nobody
Though these lies will forever pursue.
When there's absolute silence in the creaking hut,
something spooky is bound to happen again,
and the haunting feeling seems to no avail;
any ghost's appearance makes my hair stand up!
There he stands laughing and frightening me...
the pirate with a silk eye patch, I hide underneath
the covers, not to let his outstretching hands grab me;
and is he a phantom or another underworld spirit?
I have read many stories of pirates, and one of them that intrigued the reader
was that of Captain Morgan as the most famous pirate in his time...he pillaged,
destroyed and killed causing chaos in the Caribbeans, and how clever
he was to abandon his ship and escape, hiding his treasure on some island!
This pirate with a silk eye patch once was called," Morgan, the Horrible!"
My skin is getting goose bumps, thinking of how bad he was...oh, it's so unthinkable!
I am shaking like a tiny mouse chased by a hungry, ferocious cat utterly unstoppable;
I flee from the bedroom and hide into a dark forest to hear the moan of a beast!
I turn back, but the door is shut...I turn the knob with caution,
there in the pitch-dark room he drinks his whiskey and dances alone;
I slide on the alcohol dripping from his dirty bottle, and as Morgan
tries to grab me, I run from his glaring and bloody eyes again!
And the pirate with a silk eye patch returned on many scary nights,
giving me chills and shivers haunting me until darkness faded away;
wait a minute...they aren't over yet...someone dressed in black knocks
on my front door, and sneering he says," Welcome to my Halloween party!"
(for M.T.)
Some days you wake up
You look in the mirror
You’re afraid of the fire
Afraid of the furor
Your heart skips gaily
Over each error
Like the bumps that curb your speed
You’re waiting for Friday
Waiting for June
That plan ‘round the corner
That golden moon
Cracks in the leather and grease on your spoon –
You’re the last of a dying breed
I used to know what
To say to my friends
Dusting off jokes
Or making amends
What do we care
which language offends?
The garden should welcome its weeds
But they’re retiring jerseys
And burning books
TV won’t age you
If you hold on to your looks
You’re a man called Horse
Swinging from their hooks
Yes, the last of a dying breed
Isn’t it strange?
We were here just a short while ago
The petals of sweet innocence
Immune to the wind
Isn’t it strange?
You forget everything that you know
And the altar of experience
Demands a list of your sins
Time’s a tilted table
Time’s a thrown fight
Time would have you go gentle
Off into the night
But time don’t bear in mind
Your deep appetite
And the force on which you feed
In the Army of Stagnancy,
It’s “don’t ask, don’t tell”
Just think of those ladies
at the poisoned well
And greet the humid weather
And bid fond farewell
To the last of a dying breed.
The hesitation of spring is found
in the late-season, early-morning snow.
Melting slowly in the warmth of the dawning day.
Imperceptible blossoms, too small to catch
the mirror of the common eye, drink hard.
Then late afternoon, come showers brief and brittle,
pulsating like a thousand heartbeats on the pavement,
with full apology of mist and parted clouds,
revealing sunlight and warmth.
There is no headlong rush of running steps
or breathless shouting voice announcing it’s arrival.
It’s easy-winding melancholy hard
with all attending bumps and bruises;
a game of rough-house football in the yard.
Fun-frantic serious, dragging it’s way into
the late evening dark way past
what we think a spring should be. It’s late.
Offering only excuses of bluster and fuss.
But then I wonder, should we ask?
What spring might think of us.
Embarrassing Moment
Mid-Sixties, I went to the shore
A hot summer day, so I wore
My handmade swimsuit
It was very cute
Expecting I was, and I swore,
It looked just as nice as can be
My tummy was covered, you see
The shorts were cut out
For belly to sprout
Top flared over shorts demurely.
At once came along a great wind
My top flew right up and chagrined
By this great surprise
To see with my eyes
My tummy exposed as bare-skinned!
But now in these new modern days
No problem with bumps that amaze
Those covered or bare
Don't bring on a stare
When dressed up in clingy arrays
Back then we were less indiscreet
Maternity clothes for the street
Were tents that flowed wide
To hide what's inside
Our bumps took a private backseat!
So when my bare belly stuck out
So shocked, I spun 'round with a shout
Grabbed towel up fast
Embarrassed, aghast
I covered it up without doubt!
Date: October 15, 2015
Contest Name: Make Me Actually LOL
Sponsor: Nina Paramenter
all my senses ...
long to make sense ... of YOU
what greets my gaze is perfect imperfection
lines and curves and shapes and
colors and movements
mingled with sacred intent in sublime symmetry -
features that alone might be found disconcerting
collectively arranged in ways that
steal the steadiest of breaths
and define envy
for the gods themselves ...
then, a scent ethereal ...
weaving its quiet way into my head and blood
bewitching my mind with a rarefied air of
you and Je Reviens -
an intoxicating mix of essences, visceral
aromas that rival breezes from the
of Gardens of Babylon
and send the mind spinning ...
tumbling ...
to say your voice is music
would be doing it an extraordinary injustice
like some anointed dove from heaven
it lilts on the atmosphere
and when you press it tenderly to
my ear in wafted whispers
its voltaic song penetrates my coursings
and ignites my core
harmony and heat and will ...
aria and fire ...
I live for the feel of you ...
your skin is warm satin and silk
a catkin corporeality -
electric and responsively raw
sexy little bumps erupt at my touch
your perky bow lips -
an alluring mix of raspberries and chili peppers
and the indescribable perfection of
your hand in mine
as though your fingers were created from
the spaces between ...
and oh, your taste ...
the many flavors of you are like a
banquet of rare piquancy
your mouth a tangy, sugary bubblegum treat
dermal surfaces, savory and salty -
a tease for where they lead …
and your unique angelic nectar
like some exotic potion
created and sanctified to bind my
marrow biochemically
and render me ...
unhinged …
yes -
all my senses ...
long to make sense of YOU
yet I pray like a child that they never do
for the joy is in the journey ...
and the divine …
discovery.
~ 5th Place ~ in the "Five Senses" Poetry Contest, Viv Wigley, Judge & Sponsor.
That first cup of coffee, what could be sweeter
It's starts the day right, it's a sadness defeater
We wake up all groggy and stumble over things
Into walls and doorways, to a table we cling
Lucky if we make it to the kitchen in one piece
Hopefully we won't get splattered with grease
While cooking up bacon and eggs and some taters
I'm wondering the cost of a live-in cook and baker
Okay back to the brew that revives us once more
Without it we're zombies with bumps galore
If the girls at the office could see us like this
There'd be no more begging for a passionate kiss
Pretend not to see me, avoid me like the plague
They'd make up excuses no matter how vague
So you see the importance of our morning brew
It starts the day off with a bright howdy do
That first cup of coffee, what could be sweeter
It's yummy in the tummy and a sadness defeater
Form:
The theme of this story
is a brown beagle puppy
with a blocky head, large ears,
a curved-up tail and white pawns.
I proudly mamed that gorgeous pooch:
Lucky...the hound that loves to smooch!
I was asleep, cuddled up in a warm blanket...
when I hear the bark of a dog, and
as the howl increased, the wind whipped the iced window;
and hurriendly went down stairs,
without putting my slippers on, so curious
to know where that high-pitched bark came from.
When the door slammed open, there surprisingly, I saw
a stranded, shivering beagle stucked in snow:
staring at me with innocent puppy eyes,
and I could tell he was hungry and cold;
he tried to lift his frozen and stiff paws, but he couldn't...
a quiver of sympathy gave me goose-bumps!
I picked him up and brought him in,
and he started to lick my face to thank me,
so affectionate and loving was that expression,
which I reminisce quite often, going back to that winter's evening.
I laid him in a small crate with a thick blanket, and he went to sleep;
how calm and happy was he, lightly snoring and dreaming!
The next day I took him to the nearest Animal Hospital,
and they gave him a warm bath, and how he loved that!
Yes, the beagle was out of danger and he was healthy,
like he was before he got lost and couldn't find his way home,
and since He had no tag on his collar, he couldn't be identified by name;
I wanted to keep this beautiful dog so badly...the playful dog I called Lucky!
While places vary across earth,
there is one where grief’s waste piles.
Atop gravestone where whispers flow,
it drips and drags where gravel bumps and scripture is engraved,
leading to fertile land
where one’s lost heart lays.
Where sheets and feather tangle,
screams and hair pulled and caught,
it is breathed in where fabric makes tracks,
and soaks the pained resting eyes of a lost heart.
In sterile and dreaded halls,
performance forgotten and all weight shifted,
and life’s direction now unknown due to ignorant laxity,
onlookers and a greater shift keep the lost heart internal and silent.
Our world spins but our sinews,
our tissues grow damper as we cry
whatever reason may be
whoever we call out for saviour,
we bathe ourselves as systole squeezes grief to the world.
Military and civilian linguists and intelligence analysts, my colleagues and I were monitoring the Balkans troubles, supporting our troops in theater 'down range'. We were working the 'Mids' shift from 11 pm till 7 am at Bad Aibling Station--formerly a military intelligence site. I had read that we were in the western European zone that would experience a total eclipse of the sun that morning. One of the other Serbo-Croatian linguists had a car on post. I voiced the thought "wouldn't it be cool if we drove out to Mount Wendelstein and saw the eclipse from up there?!". He and another agreed. After shift we drove to the base of the mountain, and decided to hike the trail to the top rather than pay to ride the cable car up. Many Bavarians had the same idea, and it was somewhat crowded on the summit. When the eclipse was finally full, it was like standing on shadowy clouds surrounded by a large ring of light--eery, bizarre, and colder than anticipated both due to the elevation and darkness. Two minutes and twenty-six seconds of totality. I had goose bumps for several reasons, and could understand why primitive man would have been so terrified of the experience. Returning back to base, we learned that it had been overcast down there; so local people only saw it get dark, but missed the actual eclipse. However, three Sergeants had been in the right place at the right time, to see the first total eclipse in Europe in forty years, and last one of the twentieth century....August 11th, 1999.