Long Copulation Poems
Long Copulation Poems. Below are the most popular long Copulation by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Copulation poems by poem length and keyword.
Biological copulation draws Easter egg,
fecund gooey glommed gametes
heralding zygote
(adroit bitcoin currency)
describing extemporaneous fusion
generate hormonal influx
juices kickstarting life manifold
natural occurrence pregnancy quilts
rudimentary secrete tapestry
until vicar wizard yields
zealous adorable biological concatenation,
derivative extrapolated filigreed
Gonads heft, induce jointly knotted linkedin MineCraft
nascent occurrence
presaging quintessential reproduction, sharing third trimester,
umbilical venerated womb
yawping zee amazing baby, credit deoxyribonucleic acid,
enigma fantastically grand
husband injected jetted klatch, leaving microscopic nothings,
opportunistically pierced quarters, readied shutterfly trap,
uterus vibrantly welded
* * * * * * * * *
yoked zappa bun, cooked definitive enchilada,
formula generations hardy
induced jimmied kin, labored maternal newborn, one pricked queue,
randiness spurred testes ubiquitously, voyaged whimpering yelper
thence subjected to the royal treatment
whence reality inundates the full term offspring
upon a lifelong journey (initially as a foreigner sans in utero),
but willfulness viz life source secures survivor
against the pinging peccadilloes
learning by trial and error to iron out kinks
as one among the human league
since the modus operandi to transcend encumbrances
triggers built in impetus
to traverse poet tent shill pitfalls along
space/time continuum trajectory
which adversity only serves to net greater strength
since that instantaneous and spontaneous bitmap
encoded upon conception.
Form:
A Man
What defines a man?
Is it what he accomplishes in life?
Is it how much money he makes?
You are the epitome of nothing whittled down to a fine point!
You give honest, good men, a bad name.
Is it the fact that you don`t own up to your responsibilities?
Or could it be that you are a compulsive, habitual liar?
Or just a copulation of everything that you have done?
Or not done.
The good, bad and the ugly.
Why such harsh words, you ask?
Because you have let down, lied to, ignored, and totally denied the existence of an innocent child.
Who asked for none of your ********.
MAN-UP!!
This was Originally posted June 11, 2009, since ??
The sun comes up as usual
Having nothing better to do
Rifles take aim and shoot
Fully unloading on the target
A small oval object on the lawn
Thin shelled after being laid
Discharged bazookas leave no mark
Dynamite with lit fuse explodes
Not to worry
A rooster crows after copulation
Another chicken creation born
Tomorrow is another day at this location
To take another shot
At a poultry mystery for breakfast
Solved only in the morning over coffee served
At the crack of dawn as cannons fire on
A scrambled egg should be easier to produce
If the sun comes up as usual
Having nothing better to do
Legal ***********
The young man had the ability to get an ********
on demand, but to do this he had no sex life, as he had to save
his ability, but went around with constant lust
At the drawing class for ladies, the door was locked to protect
their blushes as they tried to draw a nude body with a creation
A lady - in a trance- got up an touched the man`s member,
once, twice, trice and he ejaculated all over her face, the hounds
of *********** broke down the door and ate the woman`s head.
blood on the floor and an orgiastic copulation; on the You-Tube
it was viewed one million times.
Open Denial of God Watch Yourself
Why U Breathing For After Your Breathing Done You WILL Believe
If God is real why can I see Him (watch yourself)
Answer is you do (Why! you breathing)
If God is real why can't I feel Him (look at yourself)
Because you can (Why! you breathing)
He's real because you'll confess it (watch yourself)
Maybe not today, Oh! but you shall with your last breathe
(Why! you breathing)
Sperm met the egg after copulation? (watch yourself)
The SPIRITURAL CREATOR ABBA FATHER (Why! you breathing)
Maker of all and is (watch yourself)
Keep denying Him (Why! you breathing)
One day after physical life you'll be responding (watch yourself)
You'll no longer be wondering (Why! you breathing)
For even your, both knees shall bow (watch yourself)
Out your mouth tongue shall confess (Why! you breathing)
Jesus IS LORD (watch yourself)
cry out to the nations (Why! you breathing)
Cry to your kindred brothers and strangers (watch yourself)
Why! chance entering in at your last breathe call (Why! you breathing)
While now alive you can freely worship in peace my Lord, My GOD
(watch yourself)
(Why! you breathing)
The question is better stop, denying Him
It's okay though, (Why! you breathing)
(watch yourself)
(Why! you breathing)
Open Denial of God Watch Yourself Why U Breathing For After Your Breathing Done You WILL Believe
Amen
3/3/18
written words by James Edward Lee Sr.
The apple fell already bitten upon,
a mossy soil coated where the tooth-cleaved.
Soon grubs worked their way out
of the pith
creating a teeming mulch.
Adam had fallen asleep again,
in his gut overripe grapes fermented
turning now to drunken snores.
The apple was changing, morphing,
the earth had gone into labor.
This had not happened in paradise before,
this was self-regeneration,
the copulation of dirt with air.
It was the flood of the moon;
Eve squatted. Her body was changing,
tidal rains washed her blood,
travail begot a tillage of arousal.
Her belly swelled,
instinctively Adam built a nest
of straw, green shoots and saliva.
She grew large, gravid, a tad snappish.
she sensed deep in her belly
that this coming birth
would be both sour and dewy,
an innominate delivery for sure
riddled with good and bad seeds,
and she knew not what to call it.
He is a European giant on interesting heels;
one of the champions of its domain and lords abroad;
the most visited geography in the world
which also enjoys copulation more than any other;
maybe, it’s no wonder breast and pussy are names of places
in the corners of its large pelvis
This mega super star isn’t shy of superlatives of its own
as he globally flaunts the tallest bridge
and his road bicycle race
being more globally recognized than any other.
Mont Blanc sitting above all other points in the continent
but unfortunately beats the rest in depression.
The Louvre is so known, that it is currently married to Mona Lisa
standing tall as a monumental pride is the most visited tower.
His identity is garnished with
interesting history of his monarchs
as one ruled for only a thousand and eight hundred seconds
while another survived two and thirty death attempts.
All these events give a chuckle to really ascertain that
he’s truly a historic, monumental, political and economic giant.
no emotionally ecstatic experience compares
to the seminal instance
whence spermatozoa
(from profuse ejaculation) beget
the miraculous propensity
to procreate despite the steep odds
female fertility fosters potential impregnation
fusing the hereditary debt
of feral, fiery, fomenting friskiness
fueling fancy free footloose fornication
prior to seminal fertilization union
sans ova doth induce fret
full ness in tandem with
diametrically opposed exultant sensations
(biologically, embryonically, microscopically,
et cetera) seismic shocks inject
when deliberate intent arises to disregard
applying prophylactics choice
plying reproductive roulette let
which analogous fruitful uterine plain
bastes the "cooking" egg omelette
which impregnation upends cessation of "self"
first and foremost asper desire to breed
wrenching role of "me" as operative
of webbed world de jure upon
consummating that most miraculous deed
necessitating yet for the fecund female relief
from messy menstrual cycle
she becomes temporarily freed
that perhaps a novitiate (or even a gal practiced
in the euphoric family, she instinctually
abides prenatal signals that heed
without feeling debased, harangued, lectured
pedagogical, polemical, puritanical, et cetera blast
assessing copulation enjoyed gloriously,
ineluctably, kinesthetically
lectured by elder, especially cast
in thee reel life drama, that nine months
til offspring utters initial whimper
elapses exceptionally fast
emitting a radiant golden halo wishing
to bottle confluence of hormonal secretions last
ideally fully awake to the birthing process,
when juiced the first stage of maternity past
cuz every moment thee inconsolably
(perhaps colicky infant)
gets first dibs to suckle,
which round the clock nursing
consumes moments many vast.
Observing the appearance of the Hale-Bopp Comet
in March 1997, the Heaven’s Gate Cult of San Diego,
California, chose to commit mass suicide.
We eunuchs run a starship enterprise.
These breeders are a cul-de-sac, life-wise –
it’s fatal, this fertility. Our sign
in silent eloquence beckons us, benign,
and distant safety looms. These perfumed petals
warn of replication. Bonny nettles,
acid sacs insistent, brilliantly
express us. The existing tyranny
of sexual torture, stifling status quo,
is not for us. Our star is here. Let’s go.
Our quest? The fattened calf, Finality,
the fertile farrow offered by Fatality.
This tyranny, Existence, has to end –
so says, with brilliantest insistence, our bright friend –
“Leave tortured sexuality behind,
enjoy the eloquent silence of Pure Mind.”
This lethel phiall of phenobarbitone
will free us from the fetid fleshbound zone,
the only way to stay alive and grow.
Let’s shed the skin that's dead. It’s time to go.
Safe distance from the urges that benight us,
a chance to live within this life’s detritus
like hermit crabs, is all we ever wanted,
abandoning the rigid shells we haunted
until our moment came. And now we’re leaving.
We’re shedding, shucking, shifting, shunning, shrieving.
No more of nitro-clover-copulation,
or aimless, shameless, overpopulation,
where carbon concentration camps are rife.
We’re going home. We’re dying into life.
In the depths where the hounds of nonexistence bark,
Vigilant guardians of silent eternity,
On the land of somber undulation, the dogs of death howl relentlessly,
They are the keepers of the secret in the tattered webs of time.
I hear their deep cry and recognize their feeble sentence,
Rainhearted, we cannot delay the ferocity of death.
Even if we strive in vain to tame the fleeting passage,
Enslaved by blind fate that leads us, pauses in nonexistence,
I confess with a shame-burned cheek emerging from the depths,
The greatest sin is not that we exist, but that we are not eternal.
The dystopia of death with its outstretched arms encompasses heavy horizons,
In the realm of silence where the spindle of light has never rolled,
Under the humble earth, we shall entwine coolness in a night,
Becoming amnesiacs to the thought that once animated us all.
In the great abyss of nothingness, an uninvited shack lays its threshold,
A refuge for souls that cannot withstand oblivion,
There, with knots playing with thoughts, I bow in respect,
In the labyrinth of silence, I kneel, making an altar out of the spark of a weary world.
Towards the cycle that returns, where the threads of life and death intertwine,
The warmth of a new beginning burns me in the tumultuous crucifixion that repeats,
In the myth pulsating in the depths, where life becomes dying the moment it enters,
After the forgotten universe lies, draped in yesterday's cloak over today.
The copulation of worlds, that cruel game of ignorance,
Childhood and old age mixed, the eternal tale,
Constantly enveloping us in the cloak of false hope,
I wander like forgotten dreams among memories that attempt to quench my thirst.
I let the echoes of deaf death soar over the embers of silence,
The poetics of a lost soul, the song of inkless passage.
Time flies and takes shape in the chaos of estranged grandeur,
Like an altar raised for the madness of unknown and unmarked gods to come.
Yet the dogs of death howl with a crescendo that shakes my bones of history,
Their tears reveal themselves like acid rain over dying and distant times,
Under the weight of the earth, our sins prepare for solemn decay;
We were born and live in a world where perhaps we shouldn't be.