Long Copulating Poems
Long Copulating Poems. Below are the most popular long Copulating by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Copulating poems by poem length and keyword.
Came, Sprawled couch,
His voice getting softer and softer
Slim
Prayer,
Cheap sloping gimmick of N|Nature,
Madly
Reaching
Grabbing last splash
of
Downed B|Banjo Bourbon…
Mysterious radio Volume,
To Compromised bouncing,
As Middle of the Highway unrolled and Hugged
W|While they kissed and fooled Around.
Shadows fell across the Side-Walk
Shortly thereafter and Picked us Up.
Us in the Non-Plural
And non-Specific
Sense
And in other words
It wasn’t me
And I Didn’t see it Happen, Officer.
It was: Sullen Clouds with Guns,
Shiv-Packing Ghosts of Spent Bodily Fluids,
Thin Noncommittal Air and Water Junkies,
Suicidal Reverse Satellites Sodomizing Planet Earth without a Condom
And the Occasional Well Dressed middle-aged Detective.
“I once... was completely broke”
“and all I could dream about Was one last, long and perfect Cigarette”
“abandoned on a nice cool bed of grass"
"just waiting for me to lay there"
"Stare up at the sky, incinerate it"
"And send smoke signals on up to Jesus.”
Now wherever I go,
I toss un-smoked Cancer onto lawns
In some feeble attempt
T|To Send Help
To me
From the Future.
“As Far as I Can Tell”
“So far... It hasn’t Worked”
I Once Spat at the Sun and Missed
(For whatever Reason and Why)
And That night The Moon camed Unhinged with a Childish Squeal.
Fell One Mile (or However Far Heaven is Away)
And Landed, Splat on my Heart.
Its Been Broken Ever Since...
But lately
I've Decided Not To try
and Fix the C+Cracks.
They seam to Let the Light In.
Yes, Officer, Yes
(But Really,
I am in tune with the copulating rhythm of the Universe)
It Just Doesn't know how to Keep a Beat.
(And in Other Words)
(Yes, Officer, Yes)
I Am Implying that Tonight
I Called you He{a}re
To Report that the Universe
Just Stepped on my Toes.
(And I Would Like to File Charges)
--- "uh... Sir... I'm here about the car on Fire in your Front lawn..."
"Yes... I Know"
-thend-
Came, Sprawled couch,
His voice getting softer and softer
Slim
Prayer,
Cheap sloping gimmick of N|Nature,
Madly
Reaching
Grabbing last splash
of
Downed B|Banjo Bourbon…
Mysterious radio Volume,
To Compromised bouncing,
As Middle of the Highway unrolled and Hugged
W|While they kissed and fooled Around.
Shadows fell across the Side-Walk
Shortly thereafter and Picked us Up.
Us in the Non-Plural
And non-Specific
Sense
And in other words
It wasn’t me
And I Didn’t see it Happen, Officer.
It was: Sullen Clouds with Guns,
Shiv-Packing Ghosts of Spent Bodily Fluids,
Thin Noncommittal Air and Water Junkies,
Suicidal Reverse Satellites Sodomizing Planet Earth without a Condom
And the Occasional Well Dressed middle-aged Detective.
“I once... was completely broke”
“and all I could dream about Was one last, long and perfect Cigarette”
“abandoned on a nice cool bed of grass"
"just waiting for me to lay there"
"Stare up at the sky, incinerate it"
"And send smoke signals on up to Jesus.”
Now wherever I go,
I toss un-smoked Cancer onto lawns
In some feeble attempt
T|To Send Help
To me
From the Future.
“As Far as I Can Tell”
“So far... It hasn’t Worked”
I Once Spat at the Sun and Missed
(For whatever Reason and Why)
And That night The Moon camed Unhinged with a Childish Squeal.
Fell One Mile (or However Far Heaven is Away)
And Landed, Splat on my Heart.
Its Been Broken Ever Since...
But lately
I've Decided Not To try
and Fix the C+Cracks.
They seam to Let the Light In.
Yes, Officer, Yes
(But Really,
I am in tune with the copulating rhythm of the Universe)
It Just Doesn't know how to Keep a Beat.
(And in Other Words)
(Yes, Officer, Yes)
I Am Implying that Tonight
I Called you He{a}re
To Report that the Universe
Just Stepped on my Toes.
(And I Would Like to File Charges)
--- "uh... Sir... I'm here about the car on Fire in your Front lawn..."
"Yes... I Know"
-thend-
this is a true if near impossible contest
how can you write a poem about mourning
and honouring the ones deceased in a war
without it being somewhat political
you do not have to be a feminist
and as a man I hope to be one
to know that the personal is political
and the private is a very public sphere
making decisions in groups such as
celebrating Memorial Day for example
remembering My Lai and Buchenwald
can never be an individual solitary pursuit
a poppy on lapels and automobile bumpers
where have all the flowers gone indeed
grieving purple hearts not lost in amnesia
are statements which involve statesmanship
gone wrong
missions failed
skeletons gathered
loved ones bereaved
ethics become immoral
for sure I do condemn all wars
and not the pawned veterans
artificial borders are frontiers of madness
and soldiers wrongly pay the ultimate price
for what insanity exactly for whose gain
a flag draped over a coffin appears to me to be
a euphemism and declaration of capitulation
to greed money power and humanity’s inherent bedevilments
and in that sense I have a place for thinking of the dead
I wish to have compassion empathy consideration
not just for soldiers fallen in the course of seeming duty only
but also for civilians slayed by unfriendly fire and contempt
like others I have often claimed ‘never again’ in vain
on Memorial Day I chose to read war poets and philosophers of peace
pray reflect meditate and hope as I suck in the pain that wars are causing
and on the matter of writing an unpolitical poem on this very day
it is like fighting for peace with weapons or copulating for virginity
‘live by the sword and die by the sword’ is never double edged
instead quite clear cut and it takes immeasurable guts to refuse the call
a tribute of distinction allegiance to conscience strength and objection
and to the principle that pacifism involves never forgetting what matters most
notes to the reader:
I spent 15 years in the Armed Forces and was discharged with honour and alive
I have a subtle feeling that I might not place in this contest
Vary Who Will Carry
When weight around you want someone to carry,
They will vary who up with must have to marry;
So scurry,
In hurray;
Searched and found no one which was very scary.
Jim Horn
Trump Who Had Hounded the Fox
Trump has had to keep hounding the fox;
When by are electrified he really shocks;
When in deep doubt,
His time did run out;
Small hands had hard time winding clocks.
(Were also hard to see and tell time with.)
Jim Horn
If with Trump we had to hold hands,
And did discover all of his demands;
Had demanded,
Under-handed;
Find small hands lost in the stands.
Jim Horn
Horn Cereal Series of Haiku
having initial, serial affects.
Ate no collusion;
Determined a delusion,
So changed cereals.
Jim Horn
Trump Great At Being A Grunge
Trump greatly likes becoming big grunge;
Election ballots and effort try to expunge;
Belly huge;
Fat deluge;
Deep into debt see us lunge and plunge.
Jim Horn
Time To Die Or To Travel
Mysteries of life must learn how to unravel;
If hurting knees what is best way to travel;
Nibbly knees knocking;
Sure was shocking;
Hit each one hard when you have a gavel.
Jim Horn
Cooperating andr Regulating Copulating
When you were cooperating and regulating,
And what if both parties we stated sedating;
A witness immaterial;
Stopped eating cereal;
Even did gain great control over copulating.
Jim Horn
Continued To Be Construing
Wonder how each other should be construing;
When contact and contack kept up renewing;
Here a kiss,
We did miss;
Were upset and both needed more ungluing.
Jim Horn
By some guy a girl was called a soul mate,
And has been severely criticized as of late;
Friendly only being,
We were all seeing;
May end up being beginning of a new trait.
Jim Horn
It was stupid of Walt
not to show it to Joan
before they got married
but he was too shy.
He had no idea
what to expect
but he never expected
her to laugh.
Not a laugh exactly,
more of a cackle
children might hear
from a witch on a broom
Saturday morning
in a cartoon.
Joan's laugh rang out
the first night
of their honeymoon.
Walt never got over it.
The marriage was over
even if it continued
for six kids in ten years.
Like many men, Walt
had no problem
copulating from afar
unencumbered by love.
It was dark in the bedroom.
Joan could have been
any woman.
Had he shown it to her
before they got married
and heard that laugh,
he would have left town,
embarrassed, you bet,
but there would have been
no wedding, no kids,
no divorce, no years
in a hotel room mailing
alimony and support.
After the divorce
things didn't improve.
Walt heard the laugh
in his dreams, in cabs,
on elevators, in diners,
everywhere he went.
He heard it after the kids
earned degrees,
got married, did
well on their own,
escaping the pyre
of their childhood.
At Joan's funeral
Walt told the kids why
the marriage had failed.
He said he shouldn't
have shown her
the poem the night
they were married.
She laughed because
she thought it was funny.
She knew nothing
about poetry,
nothing of his
efforts to write it.
This was his first poem,
the first of more than 500
published after the laugh.
Who'd believe a laugh
could end a marriage
before it began?
Over the years Walt asked
critics and editors
for their opinions
about the poem.
None found it funny.
The consensus was
the piece was tragic
in theme and imagery.
The experts were right
in more ways than one.
Donal Mahoney
Part 1
When YIN Hatha Will, YANG Hatha Way
Introduction:
ADAGIO!
said Sam, a Barber, to his strings
who wed Savasana to her beloved
Pranayama, breathlessly waiting
for her to relax in his waiting arms.
she did
deeply reveling in Ravel’s
ultimate crescendo of Bolero
their thoughts without body
meditating in a Methodist Church
no dancing sugar plums --
just asanas –
marching six by six, erect postures,
along the Ridge of the Road,
relaxing deeply,
concentrating on a Panorama
still barefoot bodies
sitting, standing, kneeling
all cross armed
cross legged
breathing – breathing –
s l o w l y b r e a t h I n g
Pranayama
copulating with
Savasana
from Dawn’s early light
Till Dark’s endless night,
Love’s song they sang
in silence
when Yin met Yang.
Yoga, The Love-Dance of Gypsy Spirits
Part 2
Dusk
slowly slipped
towards
deeply dark
abysmal night
Savasana seeing nothing,
sightless, seeking solace
relaxing –
Savasana so steeped
in savasana
itself
Savasana
stood erectly,
soundless,
silent –
one
l o n g
s i n g l e
note,
s u s t e n u t o –
s u s t e n – n – n – n – n – u t o o o o o o o h
breath less ly
h e l d
embraced in pranayama
while Asanas
manipulated their arms, legs, neck, spine
all arranged in flowing, fluid line
flowing smoothly like luscious wine
Pranayama praying posturing
a s s o r t e d
a
s
a
n
a
s
Kundalini singing chants
chanting solemn sounds of sirens’ songs
in these soundless silent nights
where
Pranayama
meets
Savasana
until
Ashtanga
rises
in blazing majesty.
Thistle Be Nettlesome To Weed...
Who (on a lark) doth
spur my distant soul
fully bellowed ahoy
quickly hastening
ye to catfish
as a way to avoid
this beastie boy
wherein America playfulness
of generic gull versus buoy
ought tubby coy,
where thee
(latter days haint)
feeble, (non fable us)
jerry-rig mock up employ
appetizing as pâté de foie
gras, flavored for
tastebuds of goy
opposed to dietary
strictures of Jew,
moost likely christening
implies holier than thou
(especially, asper those hoy
tee toy
tee upscale rich folk)
proudly prideful mensch
linkedin kindling joy
de vivre, while
quietly dwelling stoke
king traditions ensconced, poke
king and prodding youngest
generation to become
rooted like mighty oak,
within their mini mansions,
and attending synagogue,
solemn non joke
kingly seriously
commingling, congregating,
and copulating plenti
fully, while livingsocial
at least among other rich folk,
sans Mainline, Pennsylvania
a cohesive family tribe
dispersed members of Zion
prompting this atheistic
scribe try'n
to fathom long gone - NEIN
never forgotten Semitic
village people (mine
ancestry), who hailed and
harkened from Eastern Europe
wonder on this
eightieth anniversary,
of Kristallnacht, where genocide
cleft a jagged line,
where ponders thyself
countless relations
haunting as I dost
eat, sleep or dine!
Prized Possession
When was it that society and religion
Became so afraid of the sexuality of women
Or was it just men who became afraid
Trapping and turning beauty into ***********
To suit the idealism of a capitalistic
Ideology
Made women its prized possession
There was once spiritual prowess in her nakedness
Once long ago
The symbol of womb and breast
Gave birth to life
And a possession was once the sexual expression
Of both women and men
Connecting
Copulating
In an essence of a spiritual unity
Defined by the pleasure both received
In giving to life
So how did sex become a sin
Dirtied by morals
And then sold in a tin
Of instant readily affordable self gratification
When did your own sexuality
Become a commodity
For them to sale
And poor Eve, lead mankind to ruin
And she alone made responsible for the fall from Eden
So shall she pay the price in cultural centuries
Of Christian and Muslim oppression
Such is the weakness of men
That by muscle alone defends them
Such is the weakness of men
That their God must of course; be a man
Such is the weakness of men
That in the face of beauty
It must be their possession
Such is my contempt of those men
Who cannot comprehend
Where their own lives began
And who’s wives and daughter now exists
In a poor excuse for love and worship
Trapping and turning beauty into ***********
To suit the idealism of a capitalistic
Ideology
Made women its prized possession
Inspired by Brandy Megens poem “News at 5”
Said the sacred green EcoFeminist
to the hard
and carnal red EgoPatriarch:
If one's only ego-weapon
is a hard erectile key
then every perennial trauma
will seem to be a locked
and toxic
traumatized
closed up tight
back and forth shut down
with all his might
anti-bright
Black Hole.
So it is
in monocultures,
where spirited nature
abhors a well-rooted YangWoke vacuum
As if pregnant enculturing wombs
were a personally disempowering
contradiction
of indigenously natured
panentheistic
naturally sacred inside
open hole systemic outside
root chakra Yintegrity
For resiliently optimizing
multiculturing cooperative
integrally copulating
co-impassioned
opening poles for otherwise
empty closed-out binomial hole
Metric bicameral systems
positive 1 through not negative 0
systemic yang/yin mediation
for wu-wei natural-ego inside
eco-spirited outside environments
AnthroSupremely
monotheistic privileged worship
through worn out right-hand jobs
nurturing compulsive 1's only tool
to relieve a LeftBrain dominant
verbal keynote loud overspeaker
So every not perennial
impulsive non-0 zone
win/lose deflowering problem
looks rationally Either/Or
and sounds Mine/Or-Thine
and yet smells potentially fertile
Refilling a locked-up integrity
integral womb
of polytheistic potential
compassionately awaiting princely One poles
fulfilling Holy win/win systemic Peace
with wellness Zero wholes
compassionately co-investing
zen souls.
THE COPULATING BEES2
by
JOHN M. ARRIBAS
He Was Supposedly Diligently at Work, I’m in a Scare
If He Catches Me Naked, God: Where’s My Underwear
In His Home with His Wife My Life, He’ll Not Spare
So I Go out the Window Naked: and Saying a Prayer
We Both Were Convinced He’d Not Discover the Affair
He Had Come Home with Flowers to Show Her He Cared
As Her Lover I Was Complacent, but She Was Prepared
“Who Was That Man in the Room and Bed We Shared”?
Twas the Gardener, He Was Assaulted by Killer Bees
I Let Him in thru the Window, When He Screamed Please
He Was Covered with Bees, on His Face, in His Nose
His Only Relief Was to Strip off All of His Clothes
Shaking His Pants Violently, He Aroused the Bees
In an Instant He Was Covered from Head to Knees, in Bees
On the Bed He Tried to Cover Himself with the Sheets
Then out the Window Clothes in Hand as He Retreats
The Bees Followed Him out Not a Single One Stayed
“It Seems That Time Is Causing Memories to Be Betrayed
I Remember an Event Some Time past You and I Played
When You Used this Same Story, a Well Preplanned Lie
I Admit it Was a Unique Tale a Fabulous Original Alibi
I Was the One Going out the Window Clothes in Hand
Poor Fool at the Door with Roses, Your Betrayed Man
This Is Not a Deja Vu, a Repeat Performance with You
So I’ll Take My Roses and Head out the Door, Adieu”