Long Carouse Poems
Long Carouse Poems. Below are the most popular long Carouse by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Carouse poems by poem length and keyword.
Luminescent water dweller swirling svelte
Slick slid tranquil cuddles chocolate flanks
Languish in lake's fresh flow cleanses pelt
Inveigled green murk give mammal thanks
Flip of fish bodied bristle face fierce scent
Dispersing air bubble clusters break ranks
Astonished by spine kink accomplishment
Ransack gets snack refuel on sandy banks
Sharp fang archer snares mollusc, eloquent
Velvet lips emit wet grass verdant vibe knell
Frolicking gloss body, domain of free agent
Guarantees relief, feasted minuscule morsel
Rotary manuevres engrave prey unhindered
Dagger mouth rolls marble glassy carouse
Rouge show-off swims to coldest dominion
Flagrant tail track flicks a frigid drop douse
11th February
Behemoth of depths
Millay Has Her Way with a Vassar Professor
by Michael R. Burch
After a night of hard drinking and spreading her legs,
Millay hits the dorm, where the Vassar don begs:
“Please act more chastely, more discretely, more seemly!”
(His name, let’s assume, was, er . . . Percival Queemly.)
“Expel me! Expel me!”?She flashes her eyes.
“Oh! Please! No! I couldn’t! That wouldn’t be wise,
for a great banished Shelley would tarnish my name . . .
Eek! My game will be lame if I can’t milque your fame!”
“Continue to live here?carouse as you please!”
the beleaguered don sighs as he sags to his knees.
Millay grinds her crotch half an inch from his nose:
“I can live in your hellhole, strange man, I suppose ...
but the price is your firstborn, whom I’ll sacrifice to Moloch.”
(Which explains what became of pale Percy’s son, Enoch.)
"Wah-hoo-wah!"
said the 'bro,'
"Let's head toward
Fraternity Row."
The Library bells
toll ding-dong,
Drunken brothers
play beer-pong;
All through the night
play and drink,
By dawn of day,
their breath stinks.
Men of Darmouth,
give a rouse!
Party hearty
and carouse.
From every window
music blasting,
Led Zeppelin screaming
lyrics everlasting.
But, hey, poor freshman, if you feel left out,
Don't hang around your dorm and pout;
Lack of coeds needs a fix, sir?
Here's the recommended elixir:
Tonight's big Freshman Mixer!
So many girls there on parade--
None of whom wants to be an 'Old Maid.'
And so it goes,
all through the year,
Mechanical sex,
fueled by stale beer.
Debauched, promiscuous
four-year journey:
At whose end
you're ready to be,
quite miracululously--
A CPA, CEO, Physician, or Attorney!
Farther than mantles of a pewter night,
Comets reel in their own immeasurable world
Past earth's sky, gloaming through lattices
Woven by celestial bands... a grandeur
From a multiverse illumined with other heavenly forms
Like asteroids unknown to human eyes, mirrored
Only in a roulette of divine Infinity : Out there,
With the bursting spiral from gas, fire, molten rocks
Twirls a dreamy carouse within a hub of Life Source.
My heart aches to greet them beyond zone's limit
In star-studded cast of aureoles...a poetry in motion,
Which alights into Borealis songs, their haunting lore.
And through sacred Mystery , I connect with this force
Designed by one Galactic handiwork-- moons, stars
planets circling around Milky Way, ever vibrant...
And to bestow a natural pace
of night and day,
Season upon season, I see myself as one
With creation reaching ---out for God's light.
...............
Re-post 6/28/2019
Contest of John Hamilton: Best Free Verse 2019
Originally written 2/20/2019
Did he come here to drink,
carouse and raise a stink?
To hollar up the town
and shoot our windows out?
Did he come here for trim?
Soiled doves wave at him,
will he pay for the pearl
they sell to the whole world?
He’s a cowboy,
and he’s riding through the snow,
can’t say where he’s gonna go,
but the man sure seems to know.
He’s a cowboy,
and he’s riding through the snow,
folks sayin’ there’s trouble ahead…
Yes, I think there’s trouble ahead.
Maybe he just wants work,
times are tough, people hurt,
will he ride to a ranch,
hire on with a man?
Maybe he wants revenge,
and this is where it ends,
at some foe bullets fly,
as we run for our lives!
He’s a cowboy,
and he’s riding through the snow,
can’t say where he’s gonna go,
but the man sure seems to know.
He’s a cowboy,
and he’s riding through the snow,
folks sayin’ there’s trouble ahead…
Yes, I think there’s trouble ahead.
Perhaps he’s got a squaw,
or wife not bound by law,
and just wants to relax
before he must ride back.
Perhaps he seeks bounty,
hunting men for a fee,
that will cause many fear
for there’s some secrets here…
He’s a cowboy,
and he’s riding through the snow,
can’t say where he’s gonna go,
but the man sure seems to know.
He’s a cowboy,
and he’s riding through the snow,
folks sayin’ there’s trouble ahead…
Yes, I think there’s trouble ahead.
A marionette to the mind,
Whispering fading schematics,
Deluging the heart and soul, in a
Juxtaposition of good and evil,
Betwixt Heaven and hell, amidst
Snowdrifts that swirl before my eyes, while
Spiritless shadows restlessly carouse;
Discordantly, far from reach,
Vagrantly ambling across
Deadened Arcadias, glimpsing
Floating embers, in wake of
Vivid firestorms, swallowing me whole,
Faltering with every step I take,
Decelerating towards the escape I seek,
As it rhythmically scars my timorous nature,
Awakening the monsters hidden deep within-seeing red-
Bleeding out miasmic toxins, as noxious
Spores erupt, immersed in a haze of austerity,
While it seeps and saturates, throughout
Malignant wounds exposed, undulating between
The storms of push and pull, as daunting
Tasks, of rippling sequences, splits my
Chasmic core.
Soulless footprints are all that remain, as
Moon tides wash ashore, ebbing away
Towards dystopian depths.
Paris isn’t some wondrous far country.
We have noisy trash pickup and there are no Dairy Queens.
Ok, It may be far away but that’s your fault - let’s not dwell on it.
Don’t get me wrong, we’re wondrous enough - we have we have running water - some of it hot, and the other bare necessities of earthly happiness, like wi-fi and pizza.
Paris is like a melon - here’s where you get involved and picture a melon.
If you pictured bananas, those aren’t melons - they’re tropical fruits - try again.
Oranges? GEE-zus, those are Citrus fruits - you are really slowing things down.
Forget it - let’s do some poetry…
When he kisses,
he leaves his impress
and makes me writhe and twist.
We revel and carouse tirelessly,
appetites roar and seethe like lions,
until we lie prone like the dead.
I should have saved that for Halloween.
.
.
Songs for this:
Back to friends by Sobr
DAISIES by Justin Bieber
KISS by Demi Lovato
Stark realization, I harbor sacrilegious objection...
Against merry christmas premature blowout,
(or otherwise) ejaculation galore burnout,
hence I feel like the odd man out
neither yours truly, nor the missus
spends money and/or
time at checkout
avoid madding crowds like the plague
elbowing, hustling, jostling,
pushing, racing, shoving...
seconds before blue
light special closeout,
though neither of us
reformed practicing Jews, nor devout
mass consumerism capitalistic fallout,
we steer clear taking refuge within
our underground (arched)
all in the family bunker hideout
remain hermetically sealed
courtesy NASA tested grout
hunkering inside spatially
roomy subterranean getaway
created viz 3d printing
immediately after rollout
ready to take nesty plunge
steeply, perpendicularly, giddily... south
to go down rabbit hole,
where we carouse, cavort,
thermally heated cavernous redoubt
reaping efforts after donning
(MAGA) hardhats constructing roustabout,
whereby protruding innocuous periscope
allows, enables, and provides
mean ways to scout,
since Marshall Mathers Law
declared, mandated trumpeted
courtesy special ops stakeout
regarding our subversive
passive actions hashtagged illegal
if perchance discovered vis a vis,
we Americans express timeout
before changing role as seekers
playing wargames no matter
suddenly Nor'easter creates whiteout
futile search until spring thaw
melting snow exhumes
mister and missus Santa Claus
thank you climate change
regarding attributed drought.
For What You Cry!
For what you cry, for what you cry!?
Poor me, poor me!
You never had dirt under your nails.
For what you cry, for what you cry!?
Poor me, poor me!
You would rather split a child in two.
For what you cry, for what you cry!?
Poor me, poor me!
You so independent but can't pay bail.
For what you cry, for what you cry!?
Poor me, poor me!
Speaking of love, hands out, demand you.
For what you cry, for what you cry!?
Poor me, poor me!
You left, then leave, a victim of your own blaming,
shaming,
gaming,
complaining.
For what you cry, for what you cry!?
You're killing us.
You won't listen and you lie.
"They will be paid back with harm
for the harm they have done.
Their idea of pleasure is to carouse
in broad daylight.
They are blots and blemishes,
revelling in their pleasures while they feast with you.
With eyes full of adultery,
they never stop sinning;
they seduce the unstable;
they are experts in greed – an accursed brood!
They have left the straight way
and wandered off to follow the way
of Balaam son of Bezer,
who loved the wages of wickedness.
But he was rebuked for his wrongdoing
by a donkey –
an animal without
speech –
who spoke with a human voice and restrained
the prophet’s madness."
2 Peter 2:13-16
Honor and glory be to God.
by Martin Braun
6/13/2020
Dad, is this the will I once craved?
All your jewels you have sold,
On penury your will engraved,
A fortune no hands can hold.
Your will holds lies that I see through,
Nothing of worth it defines,
And your conscience never pricks you,
To waste heap your will consigns.
I wept you left me not a house,
Yet you built many, I know;
Not that I grumble or carouse,
But my spirit you laid low.
I thought I'd get more from your will,
For you died wealthy, you did,
Your writ reveals a barren till,
And leaves me all I forbid.
I am your only child alive,
Your legacy lies in vain,
The grave where your true wealth should thrive
Holds silence, loss, and disdain.
Perchance, this is but your feigned death,
Then spare me this cold meanness;
Grief I'll wrest from my labored breath,
Till truth is told with keenness.