Long Cheek Poems
Long Cheek Poems. Below are the most popular long Cheek by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Cheek poems by poem length and keyword.
Hills come alive with sweet sounds of birds whistling tunes
Filled with harmonious peace, you sail within time
Gentle whispering winds through branches of trees call
When you dare to take the first step forward
Everything feels so easy embracing such beauty
Mixing voices of nature talk deeply flowering
Thrown into the unknown life is truly magical
A universe inside feelings explode in one gift
The soul eclipsing delight warmed with sunshine rays
Like a virgin being on guard of the tiger claws, lions, bears and snakes
Only when your starlight kisses clouds evaporate
Time continues and the butterfly waltzes freely once more
Crossing paths in this journey new beginnings grow
Small wild strawberries threaded upon a stem beg to taste
Opening one gateway within thoughts
Setting sail into another world beyond
With you salt of the ocean waves rise and fall
Upon rocks kissing pillar of strength
A cool breeze says goodbye upon your cheek
Loving spices land this boat on paradise sands where gold sparkles warm beams
When we meet at Heaven's gate batting lashes close entering a doorway into a dream
Written by L. Mcdaid & A-L Andresen :) 05.09.2015
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
How will it be to have freed the weak
to stand as their sword, to carry their shield
how will it be to see their tremble revealed.
Imperialist power court with cheek
the downtrodden fools whose wealth they all seek.
America, Russia, China concealed
that their help came with poisoned wells and fields
that the air can burn, the fish die in creeks
ask 'Nam how freedom was bought and brought.
Go to Tibet, feel the Communist zeal
the temples they have felled make farmyard walls.
Have the strong helped the weak, power's begot
pain, let the weak grow strong, let them not kneel,
if you ask for help, the wolf hears your calls.
Those sweet tender lips were hard to resist,
So I snuck in for just one kiss,
A little peck on the cheek,
Then on the lips before she could speak,
Then I was totally surprised,
And when she pulled me close I realized,
The night was not through,
There was no doubt that she wanted me too,
Her body went a little slack,
Her nails dug into my back,
She kissed my neck and my face,
My whole body her hands would trace,
She started stepping nice and slow,
Pushing me where she wanted to go,
We slipped and fell to the floor,
She showed me Love like no other before,
Then when I thought we would part,
She climbed aboard for a new start,
I woke with her head upon my chest,
Still I just laid there to rest,
My whole body she seemed to sooth,
I tried but could not move,
All this from the lips I couldn't resist,
I just had to have one Kiss!
An Uncle Charlie original
© 2008 unclecharlie
To take a breath without the pain. Hold the tears back attempt to stay sane. A day too long the hurt now has set in. Bone deep consuming never to leave again. Heart tearing in two then two more. Hollow inside, it's the end for sure . Just being, just living, just walking, this land with such emptyness inside. Never wanting human contact, just wanting to hide. Hot burning tears, streaks of fire down my cheek. Heart steady pounding eventually gets weak. Lost because of loss. Pain because of hurt. Emptyness sinking deep to your core. Sadness settles never to stop it's torment. Love kept deep inside but laying silent dormant.
When I was young I wasn't much into hugs
or prolonged touch..
I tolerated a peck on the cheek or a kiss
on the forehead before falling asleep..
Probably due to my older sis and her bear like
hugging, a mixture of love and her strength,
that often felt like a mugging..
Many a time I'd balk at requests to be hugged,
two bodies colliding.
It felt too intrusive to me and awkwardly confining.
My second husband changed this all and in time
my hugging dislike was solved.
He gave such secure and comforting hugs, my body
would melt with the strength of his love.
Once a client asked me for a hug at the end of his massage session.
This is a definite red flag for therapists in that profession.
In these recent years now I live alone, several hours from family
and my native home.
At times I miss the intimacy of a hug, that close and calming connection
that leaves one feeling snug.
I'm certain there's others who feel the same way. Why don't we have free
hugging stations for humans today?
You go to the gas station and get a free hug, while the car's tank is filling you also feel love!
My hair ripping as her fingernails entwine
pulling my head back
She slaps me harder than she should
Her smile slightly offset
My cheek reddening from the welt of her hand
Shifting herself forcing me deeper within her
The pleasure of her warmth
subdued the pain
My throb in unison with her undulating frame
Cast myself down in reverence
Genuflect to her genitalia
Praising with my grunts and groans
Come she barks her orders
Her hips thrusting with disjointed pressure
Empty now in a guttural groan
but she is not complete
Her knees shifted
Now either side of my face
Choking, gurgling her essence
Her musk a must
Her wetness engulfing
No protection from her want
Every time I read Pessoa I think
I'm better than he is
Salutations to Fernando Pessoa-Alan Ginsberg
Me, the monocled one, with my foppish belted waistcoat,
I'm not unworthy of you, Walt,
I'm not unworthy of you, my saluting you proves it . . .
Salute to Walt Whitman- Fernando Pessoa
Here from a place in my heart, I salute you,
Female as I am, and unknown,
Should I be praising Emily, Plath or Achmatova?
But you started it Pessoa! with your Alvaro comparing himself
to Whitman, not content to admit to a greatness of your own
and now I find dear Mr. Ginsberg confessing to his greatness in
epic manner, name dropping from Socrates to Michelangelo
admitting faults in the same breath-tracking his enlightenment
and if it was written tongue in cheek, I missed it.
How I admire the great poets that wade into the mainstream
appearing where the greatest wrongs appear, risking even
death for their beliefs, celebrated by those who embrace their
point of view, but what of the unknown poets in the world;
so many whose work is equally astounding, yet unexposed.
Musings on every subject known to man, set down in metaphor
and rhyme makes me wonder what brings immortal recognition
Is it from making a devoted study or from mixing in the right circles?
The hallowed halls of academia or is it some -one's tiny jounal
of handwritten poems waiting for discovery, the enlightenment
of the next century?
Poets, don't often, answer to their fame - writing what's inside of them
for those to come.
Thursday, 06 September, 2001
I wrote this poem one morning (Thursday, 06 September, 2001)after I had read a poem by Alan Ginsberg in the 1995 edition of The Best American Poetry.
I had never seen the poem he referred to "Salute to Whitman"by Fernando Pessoa
and today when I found it on the web Friday, March 01, 2002, I was suprised to see how similar our opening lines were.
Here are current links to the poems mentioned
https://issuu.com/hbarbas/docs/1997_salutations_to_pessoa_ginsberg_h_barbas
https://modpo2015.wordpress.com/poems-of-note/fernando-pessoa-alvaro-de-campos-salute-to-walt-whitman/
Author's note: My mother wanted me to be a CPA. But of all the countless more useful things I could have done, should have done, and actually tried to do with my life, it seems, I have become, here, nearing the end, a wannabe poet. There are times I sort of wish I had listened to Mama. This piece, dear reader, is semi-autobiographical. I'll leave it up to you to determine which cheek my tongue is in.
Upon no laurels have I rested,
My IQ just once was tested,
And I've known since I was five I was no prodigy.
At Texas Tech I solved no riddles,
Split no atoms down their middles,
Never earned an MBA, much less a Ph.D.
One time I did, though, try to query
Mr. Albert Einstein's theory
About time, and space, and quantum relativity.
I asked the prof why study Al's extended family,
And he expelled me from his class in perpetuity.
My career, though never stagnant,
Neither was a money magnet,
Now in retirement I've more Social than Security.
And my portfolio's in tatters
'cause concerning money matters
That investment mumbo jumbo's just a mystery.
What do the IRS and Charles Schwab expect of me?
To make a living with my pen is my big fantasy,
But it's more likely I will one day win the lottery,
Or make more money in flea markets selling pottery.
If, as they say, an artist suffers for his artistry,
Then as a writer I guess I can thrive in penury
And never prostitute my art nor my integrity,
Though I would gladly sell my soul to publish annually.
But if my effort never pays,
I'll be content I've spent my days
Trying to pen the perfect phrase
And basking in the random praise
When a reader smiles and says, "Ah,
Now that is poetry!"
ANGELS PERHAPS
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
perhaps angels are….
the unexpected kindness in a stranger's eyes,
a shared umbrella in a downpour.
the knowing glance exchanged
across a crowded room,
the silent understanding
that transcends words,
the comforting warmth drifting
on sunbeams after rain,
the resilience blooming in
the cracked pavement of your heart,
the invisible hand soothing you
when you are troubled or ill,
the sudden warmth on skin on a day
when the world feels brittle and cold,
the melody caught on the breeze
whispering a truth buried deep inside,
the feeling of a feather softly brushing your cheek,
reminding you that you’re not alone,
the gentle shift in the light
just before dawn,
the silence between breaths,
the hum beneath the city’s roar,
the feeling that catches you unaware,
lifting your gaze skyward in gratitude.
the stubborn hope that
refuses to be extinguished,
the quiet strength
you didn't know you possessed,
the moments, thin veils parting,
revealing the Divine’s breath,
the light of faith, flickering
in the darkest corners of one’s soul.
Perhaps…
…angels are not the familiar winged,
feathered forms conjured up in stain-glass hues.
…angels are not separate entities at all
but fragments of the Divine, woven into our lives.
perhaps, just perhaps…
…they are real, residing in quiet spaces,
reminding us Love exists and is always near.
You look at me so uninviting;
I may have some missing teeth, stumble when I walk, bout' to FALL!!!
Stutter when I talk, but yet I'll still call;
Might smell like ole mothballs or mint or maybe even Old Spice;
You see me and you stare, you're looking at the patches of my skin YES! it's different (maybe diseased ) different;
different colors and wrinkled on my face, the gray in my hair;
Yes you still stand there and stare. . .
I may talk bout RCA, Philco record players you say "what's that;
I might talk bout Annie Oakley, BoZo the Clown, Captain Midnight, you say Whose that;
Well child let me tell you all...
Don't throw me away;
Cause I'm just like you;
Don't put me out cause I'm too slow;
You think I'm in the way and I can no longer grow;
Don't throw me away, place me in a rest/nursing home;
Don't put me away because you think I'm in the way;
I', senior don't talk bout me in front of me I don't understand a word you say;
I'm alive, I have more brain cells and I got all my memory, well;
That's more than I can, say for you huh-hey!
Imagine if I'd treated you such;
But I wouldn't cause I've got God's love in me so much. . .
Love you see
::::::::::::::::::::::::what?::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
So I just suck it up turn the other cheek;
I may tumble but I won't fall;
I may forget something's but not all;
And yes I still eat meat;
Cause I got all my teeth;
Remember your just trying to get where I am at now;
I'm a senior don't throw me away;
I'm telling you I'm history and I'm a part of God's glory wanna hear, come here;
Come here and sit down, I sit in a chair can hardly rise or go anywhere;
You see me and you stare I drive slow you begin to cuss and swear;
I won't do you ill;
I won't act like you will;
I'll take you today......
But I won't, I will NOT THROW YOU AWAY
Dedicated to all Gods people's 60 years of age to 100 years
Thank you for your wisdom, thank you for your life. . .
Written by James Edward Lee Sr. July 6 2015©
For the book Poetry to Bridge Generations University Of Nebraska at Omaha 2015©
This poem also found in 2020 POETRY SOUP BOOK:." PS: IT'S POETRY A BRILLIANT POETRY ANTHOLOGY"