Long Cyclically Poems
Long Cyclically Poems. Below are the most popular long Cyclically by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Cyclically poems by poem length and keyword.
Used to jab the raggedly tagged faggots b/c sad crabby lads have had their tags grabbed badly yet wagged their drab as stag shabbily as it was dabbed from what came from the tab that came from the lab too reserved to gab at the slab of the drab of the somewhat cab like scrap that gave somewhat of crap before it shat itself after meeting the scapula that became like Dracula before it whacked half a spatula sized radically habitual, mystical ridiculously perpetual medically perpetual cyclically repeating ritual that happens to coincide with the Tik Tok enabled cellular tested, wrestled, meticulously meshed, caressed, messy radical, half-hazardously sexual, wrecked ineffectual, critical, still not quite literal, but mimical, of a cylindrical, syntactically, sporadically, lackadaisically, unanimously, fastened to the meticulously dastardly, massed, blasted, gassed, wrestled, brass, brash, bastardly, bass-like, mass mighty, hat-having, hiss-heaving, bereaving, belief-bound of a be more than beneath the beat up and bleak beak bitten breezy bean and cheese pile of raked leaves style bowl of chips and dips script that the lady with the bloods and crips lip gives as people sit with a ship to New York style trip seem to forget as they lose their because of the tip that hits one when instead of their mitt that would grip somewhat of a catch in a fit that would lick the one who sits with the kit of the fictionally fit mystery that blissfully bit into a tic while it in turn was lit with the mix of the hysterically, rarely, heretically, medically dissed fizz of some **** that would knit a new tit because of an antipsychotic, moronic blip on the screen of some that geographically, sporadically, masterfully admittedly mentioned, could cause retention of some invention, that one would mention if only and if one was sick, with a little grit left abreast a messy Mexican directionally challenged malice but talented callous chalice wielding balanced rally style for a carousel encampment trampled on and possibly tampered with tampon treated, bleached, beaten...
Stones,
Mortar, and brick
Nowhere to turn without feeling sick, stoned
To my stomach
A bottomless pit
Unheard, smothered by a thousand succinct voices' verbose drone
Speaking as they spew toxic, putrid bile in the pit of my stomach
Plummeting, swirling dizzily in circles - a cyclone - cyclically, alone
Booming, the whispering silence of lucidity's susurrate disruption weighs heavily on my thoughts, placidly as it sits
Like boulders, slowly sinking deeper into quicksand - the bottomless pit of my stomach
Swallowed by immovable, inescapable stones,
Mortar, and brick
I made some mistakes, let my head get straight to jealousy
One thing I could never get over was that instinctive tendency
I was the easel to your painting, the necessity but not necessarily
You leaned against my support, just to fold me up and discard, victim of your dissection
Strokes fulfilling your streaks of confidence, unfinished to perfection
The easel of your time until my predecease
Paintings can’t revert
Easels are reusable
I’ll support a new masterpiece
The nails and screws holding me together are withering
Unable to decide between beauty and grace, cyclically dithering
I don’t want to make the same mistakes
Gambling my love for you in sweepstakes
You can all argue which way
Is the true way the Universe was made.
For me, point is it's all the same: Universe was born.
You can all question about whether
The spectacular God's been proven real or not.
For me, point is that divinity's strongly influenced history.
You can all go about wondering
If there's really a hell, heaven, reincarnation.
For me, point is we already have our own hells on Earth.
You can all keep on asking why
There are so many different religions and beliefs.
For me, point is they all share a common similarity.
You can all mentally scrutinize
What happens after we die.
For me, point is firstly naturally all physical senses die!
You can all beg for
The answer on why we suffer.
For me, point is it could be cyclically bad karma.
You can all have the right
To take for granted all of our differences
And to finally have our souls realize…
You can all disregard
The eventual realization of eternal occurrence.
Point is that we're all in this world's time together.
“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!!!!!!!!!!!!!
"Whole Wheat"
Trench coats
Pantyhose
Riding lo
Knee high
Nehi soft
Drink
Drunk
Drinkers
Drunk on a
Plasibo
Please no
Tell me it's no
Lie
Laying on like
Mayo laid on
I'm toasted
Tomato
Lettuce but no
Bacon beaconing that
I'm vegan BURP
My lactose
Baby
Can we hang
Out before
I kill the
Ah...
Conversation
Turning to views
Of political intrigue
Triggering
My AK-47
Mouth to
Shout
Out out loud
Loudly tattarrattat
Meaning
Absolutely
Unrefutably
And
As usual
Casually
Nothing
In any of the
USA God save
The queen of the
King James
Joyce hidden
In Gideon Bible
Phrases proclaiming
A swerve of short
Of a short to a
Bend
A way
A lone
At last
Loved
Loved long
As Adam and Eve
Long
And for
Always will
And always will
Cyclically forever
Endlesslessly ever
Be
Once upon a time, in a land far from far away, tiny people with big feet and small toes danced to a harmonic beat.
They made drums out of beats and made beats out of drums.
And with their small fingers, tiny strings rhythmically plucked.
Women and men alike, found joy bearing children and through the process of age, inspiration became synchronicity.
Attune to nature, this time, life cyclically spun like the spider’s web.
Jingles were jams and jams became jingles.
Song bound this community with such harmonious power.
That of which could not only heal, but also make miracles . . .
Doubt had lost its place.
Fear was but a distant melody.
Music fueled the sky with ultrasonic rays.
Energy had been burning within every single being.
Fire was not.
Earth was so.
Wind was a blessing.
Reigning supreme was consciousness.
Singularly found gallivanting within all who remained tiny.
Collective bonds harnessed such power that no manmade mechanism could ever come near such power.
These men and these women looked to the children for guidance.
For were it not for their innocence and bliss, no life could sustain—
And once upon a time, these glorious people had been long since forgotten.
Left lost in a land that is far, far away…
The end
Friday, March 3, 2017
Gleaming wager’s chart spells filmy odds
And tip triers to toss wee mites for more;
To forfeit modicums of ground for vaster
Acres wider than the fabled Midas shore.
No curse greater than lost chances fair
Baked and gilded to enchant and deke,
Verily sure-win swoops altered mid air;
Glittering talismans foiled in their peak!
Each day under Fortune’s ogling suns,
Gambles’ lusting eyes dreamingly leer
At the cyclically winding mill of chance,
Heavy with sudden wealth's fetish fear.
Even now swift-tossed coins fruitless go,
Innumerable ages after the maiden shot;
And any flopping dice still wouldn’t count,
Till Bill’s vulpine wads trickle in in a draw.
Millions of eons past nature's trite element,
Odds will be spelled and big wins still bent.