Long Carousing Poems
Long Carousing Poems. Below are the most popular long Carousing by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Carousing poems by poem length and keyword.
Experts describe it as a complex emotional reaction, felt by people dwelling in isolation.
Sufferers sometimes cannot explain what they are feeling, as loneliness possess their being.
Why, oh why, is this disease so pervasive among so vast a population?
What is the explanation for this strange phenomenon we are seeing?
The family structure is cracked and broken, and we seem to be losing our mind,
Emailing, texting and tweeting have replaced good, old-fashioned conversating.
Instead of loving, caring, bosom friends, we’ve settled for the Facebook kind.
And spend the best part of our day posting, streaming and Facetiming.
We’ve forsaken our Creator and dislodged our spiritual mooring.
Now devoid of all bearing, we spend our life drifting,
Searching for true meaning by carousing, feasting and lusting,
And end up frustrated, depressed and still wanting.
Singles are prone to loneliness, since companionship is often a need.
It is not fun to cook, eat, and sleep all by your lonely self.
But singles can beat loneliness if to this creed they give heed,
That, “No man is an island, entire of itself.”
Wives can be lonely too, when companionship is lacking,
Because the man they married does not do much talking.
His home is his castle, and he behaves like he’s a king,
The TV is his mistress and he doesn’t do a thing.
Then there is the survivor, whose spouse is dead and gone,
And they are left to run the race and face life all alone.
The children have a life of their own and time is scarce as gold,
So, time with them is but a dream after they leave the fold.
Now if we want to cure this strange phenomenon,
We must seek after God with humility and submission.
And find true satisfaction by modeling our mothers,
In loving and serving and caring for others.
The times have fallen hard now, to scenes played on 'unmade' roads
Without my volition, and despite intentions, goals;
Indifference took precedence; a lust of life was part,
The key to understanding then, as now,Was placed a piece apart;
Carousing life held quietude.?
Whilst roles to play stood by, as unready future partner,
For when times would come rushing, all arrived..!
I've striven with understanding, and carried in part its lode,
Found 'light years' were really heavy... .’
Did some things that I was shown.
Now still I face an uncertain future, as a world in conflict roils,
Self-interest & self-importance, still… the poison in its ‘coils.’
I have observed full many persons from cooks, to magistrates...
Who have introduced first their credentials,
The institutions they'd attended, then put on the desk their brass name plate.
No, the magistrates, not the cooks..!
I’ve seen it happen thus, and I see it with world leaders, and the media making fuss..!
The Olympic Torch was taken to heaven; yes they showed it on TV..'
I wondered at the gestures value, for Gods sun gives all the light we need?
Still I 'spose he must have seen it, and all the 'special peoples' smiles,
WOW look at what mankind’s achieved yet still raw conflict boils..!
Perhaps a little more understanding..? And a lot more less of 'ME'
Coupled with acceptance of human mortality, and His death upon the tree..!
©Joe Maverick 30-11-2013
One early morning in May
Just before the break of day,
I spied a haggard looking Sun
Appearing to be on the run,
Bedraggled but feigning zest
Oh, was seen rising from the west!
Sneaking behind some clouds,
Like a thief hiding in shrouds,
Scurrying towards home eastwise,
From where each morn he must rise.
The sun it seems got lost,
Carousing out and about
after all night on a hot date
with a pretty twinkling starlet,
Dancing away to the rhythm and rhyme,
Alas, the sun failed to rise on time!
Scared of what Mother Nature would say
Why didn't he in the east stay,
And terrified of Father Time
the sun could not smile or shine.
The day failed to dawn that way,
And the world got to sleep another day!
Story Poem contest by Carol Eastman
The mosquitoes were dancing outside net,
Singing their treacherous songs of death;
“Let us in, we need your blood”.
I rose and rushed out of
The brick and pole cottage
From liquid waste demands,
Having been carousing in solitude
Till evening.
A daunting huge elephant treated itself
To ivory-honey fruit from tall trees,
The flapping of ears denoted peace,
It was in invasion of my residence.
Even in the full moon that night,
The smoke could be seen rising
Against the star studded sky,
There, where the Zambezi waters plunge
Into deep gorges,
My heart whispered,
Again, welcome to Victoria Falls.
our second of two lasses conceived
sometimes within a blink
the exact moment auguring conception
difficult to identify or pinpoint
whence seminal liquid
ejaculated from a phallic chink
birth of second daughter thyself and spouse created
while immersed in the coital drink
generally occurred during
our naked lunch sans primal cop
yule la shun, via carousing with amorousness
when a seminal dollop
of passion circa May 1998 that pregnant verity
became definitive when the ultrasound
evinced a miniscule glop
pronounced by obstetrician and gynecologist
with an impending due date
yet unpredictable until the wife did evince
a swelling abdominal area, an ordinary fate
once pregnancy without doubt
ascertained both of felt great
lee excited at prospect thee eldest
would become “big” sister,
which less than total devoted attention
she would naturally hate
upon begetting youngest punim
indubitably saw her (Eden) irate
yet any jealousy temporarily deferred, offset
and thwarted upon the birth
of Shana, whose anniversary
she exited birth canal when a dearth
of being cocooned in the womb
suddenly necessitated adjusting to life on Earth
when formerly inducing
a bulge within the uterine hearth
and this papa nearly nineteen years
wept tears of joyful delight
with a complete set of anatomical features,
and gender as the girl found wife excite
head, cuz decision asper circumcision,
a moot point re difficult conscience fight
club and prediction as per average adult height
of female progeny, number two found the sight
a biologically whipped miracle I held tight.
“You saw them two sticks of that chicks’ and you know when you saw them you would easily be teased until on your knees, bereaved and pleased just by one simple hint of a squeeze breezing by the easily greasy feasibly weave that would succeed the mead that would come from honey by the bunny that would breed the pleading steed doing the deed that would not only completely beat the heat but accomplish the feat leaving the steep cleat carousing creeps to seek a new discreet meet up to wreak their teal dealing tear drop one stop hop hillbilly thrills of the buzz kills that go to stop the lot of pill popping pushers of the lush gush ers who stutter when one blunder makes a whole sunder of plunder wonder scum but humble for some done shunned gunning under-run mung crumb grumblers who then became grateful because the fate of the hate breaking masturbating mating rituals became habitually cyclically mystical in the fulfilling pill-killer of a psycho thriller!!!!!!!!!!!!!
flowing, carousing, swirling on libra
winds, the tips of floral thumbs
spiral down into autumn’s pewter bowl
caressing lips of leaves
more temperate in shades of october’s
fading yellow, perhaps brown sepia,
deepening the incense of quite solitude
away from the burst of soaking, reeling spring...
it is the time for holy retreat when
stems and branches droop to rest on a clayed
blanket of earth, soulful and so serene,
much like wet light of dusk iced with frail
sleeves of fading blades...
october caresses the skin of men to smell
the air of reflective passages; a time
for quiet joy and embraceable songs.
and in it’s stillness, the heart of sages listens.
October Contest for SKAT
posted 10/6
by: nette onclaud
Some temples are cluttered.
Everywhere there are
wrathful-playful-sexual-vengeful-
gesturing-carousing-beckoning-
ascending-descending-riding-
weeping-flying-singing,
or just sitting around
Gods.
The congregation ride luggage carts
in the dead of night,
sing drunkenly, slam doors,
or watch HBO with the volume way up,
That was a hotel in Muncie Indiana.
A temple I shared with a rumba dancing Shiva
and a bottle of Jim Beam
but the vibe was the same.
When I finally nod off, I dream of wearing
Day-Glo Speedos
in an elevator
while
reading
the Kama Sutra.
One level up,
the Tallahassee chapter of the honorable order of Shriners,
surrounds me with their juiced-up joie de vivre.
I rise with them to the seventh floor
where at last I find
my omnipresent self.
Mary McGee went off to church
While Wee Luck stayed home in bed
A night of carousing with all of his friends
Left Wee Luck now holding his head
Mary McGee was just a bit tiffed
That her husband had left her alone
She actually gave it a passing thought
To never return back at home
But there at the church, she was met by her friends
And Mary was now feeling good
When Father O'Hare sent out a plea
For people the give what they could
He said "Today we will do something new
For the one who gives most to the parish
They can pick the first three Hymens to start
I know that's something all cherish"
Someone said 10, then someone yell 20
30 and 40 soon followed
When Mary McGee shouted a 100
Leaving all of the flock start to wallow
O'Hare was delighted seeing Mary excited
Saying, "Now you can choose your three Hymens"
So, She pointed her finger around the whole hall
Saying, "I choose Him, and Him, and Him
Having one's person embellished with tattoos is all the rage today.
Used to be that only carousing tars got tattooed in old Mandalay!
They might have an 'anchor' or 'Mother' branded upon their chest,
Their ship's name or a naughty quote of which they were obsessed!
As an inquisitive lad I paid a dime to see tattooed ladies on a dare,
Where they 'bared' their gaudy hides at a carnival or the county fair!
Nowadays, for free I can see 'art' displayed on gals sashaying down the street.
Some are very discreet - others flaunt tatoos most everywhere replete!
Let me hasten to say it's none of my affair - I think they're very brave,
But do they realize they're stuck with the things 'til planted in the grave?
I can hear this question from their grandkids when they become a granny:
"Nana! What are all those funny pictures doing on your arms and fanny?"
Entry for Carol Eastman's "Humor Contest"