Long Decadence Poems
Long Decadence Poems. Below are the most popular long Decadence by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Decadence poems by poem length and keyword.
We used to just have a cup of coffee
Black
Possibly with milk
Maybe with sugar
Mostly on Sundays and with cream as a bonus
Today they call it caffe latte or cappuccino
Americano for the purist
From a fancy machine
With intricate pads
Anytime everywhere all day long
Espresso and hard pressed for choice
Salted caramel mocha
Strawberry frappuccino
Machiato or Mochaccino
Did the wallet grow with the taste
But the ultimate gimmick on the luxurious decadence scale
Chewed and spit out seeds collected for Monkey Coffee or
Kopi Luvak or palm civet beans basically half digested poop
For one hundred dollars a pound I volunteer to add enzyme
And flavour to mucus secretion purely organic and human
Free trade maximum wage and organically tested intestines
At a price I would consider to s(h)it in a greenhouse in Iceland
Or gaze at Taj Mahal Paddington Station or the Eiffel Tower
Volcanic eruptions with Ricinus oil are available at a surcharge
Gluten free habitat and vegan production site can be arranged
Hypo allergenic and guaranteed lactose tolerant for milky coffee
The crap has no limits and animal welfare comes at a premium
Ingenious and indigenous I vow to cater for all upper class smells
Calibrate flatulence and ingestion ablutions elimination and harvest
So you my dear customer can metaphorically kiss my solvent behind
Who says that one cannot turn faeces into money by milking some fools
09th January 2020
Circus XX 2
_________________________________
Welcome one all,
I picked up a straight jacket just for you
climb into my wild world of corruption
challenge my diverse spotted intellect.
Come on in.
have a seat on my spiked throne
feel the satisfaction of its pleasurable foreplay
it will tickle your hidden treasures
Stay a while...
let me play with you...
in my psychotic playground of doom
I shall light the fire in your fancy
Trapped...
not yet...
you're just in a box of illusions
let it swallow your senses
A dream...
hardly lover...
I have only ignited a fire long put out
and secured an insecure spot in your being
Taste me,
all my unholy of holies
and gulp for air as you overindulge in my sweetness
your curiosity amuses me
Let us not quarrel over confusions,
enjoy the sinful red tape routines
the act of balance is quite a trip
will you be self-righteous?
Dip me in marigold colored swirls,
this is your fantasy arena
where marshmallows are the pillows
on your slow floating boat to the milky way.
but somewhere..oh somewhere
you are lost in the morbid abyss
and I caught you like a spiders web
won't you folly in my decadence a little longer.
Enjoy the sting of my corruptive force,
we shall indulge together in forbidden play
let me lace up my corset
I will pay your flesh with my whip.
Dream on the keeper of the Stars,
we are nightmare pleasure seekers
awaiting our harmonious O's
as we slither bare upon your folds.
Banish us NO LONGER>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
7/15/15
Jessica Thompson
It started with candy corn
on Hallows eve when I was ten,
as dad escorted us from house to house
on that windy night.
Sadistic pleasure was mine,
as I bit the tiny white tips
from each piece and threw the rest away,
while marching to the next house.
Such destructive pleasure changed the way I ate
from that night forward.
No longer did I eat with polite accord
or cater to normal desire.
Food was heretofore decimated by fork and knife,
cut to pieces and consumed
with vengeance by anger
and growing desire for more.
Formative years turned into teen angst
that only increased the distance
between myself and the world,
with uncontrolled craving and binge.
Everywhere I now look, I see food.
Food on magazine covers,
in commercials on TV,
even a food network
Supporting my lifestyle
of decadence
and gourmandian appreciation
of sauces and desserts.
I understand your envy,
acknowledge your disappointment
of failure, while I excel
and try not to flaunt my excitement.
Just because my weight exceeds
what my scale measures,
doesn't mean I have to modify
the way I live.
No. Life only goes around once,
and for me,
it's a paragon of pleasure,
at least four times each day.
But every year at Halloween,
I support the neighborhood
and give kids candy corn
minus the tiny white tips.
I saw on the TV yesterday
that you took home the bronze,
a woman who barely qualified,
whose odds were rather long.
You had the skate of your life,
with lutzes and salchows,
congratulations are in order,
this is your moment now.
And you who won the silver,
I understand your pain,
favored heavy to win it all,
but falling short again.
Edged out by a hundredth,
that must be hard to bear,
but what you have done today
is no reason to despair.
We can’t forget the gold now,
or the media’s new golden boy,
so stoked about victory
that his interviews annoy.
He thinks he is the greatest,
and he proclaims as much,
guess the gold went to his head,
the fans are thinking such.
Yet all his spoiled antics,
and the decadence of fame,
makes me think of a medal
that is much better made,
not won for a mere sport,
or racers out of the gate,
won by men who truly have
accomplished something great.
Won by men with no mini-balls
charging down Little Roundtop,
stabbing at a grey horde
through fire, smoke, and shot.
Won amidst a tribal chorus
of shrieking, shrill war cries
when two American peoples
could not bridge the divide.
Won in the muddy trenches
amidst the gas and poison,
and flying through skies above
to find the Lost Battalion.
Won by that Great Generation,
they’re not made like that no more,
men who charged Iwo’s black sand,
and Normandy’s bloody shores.
Won in the forgotten war,
by a sacrifice at Kangdong,
and in the high elephant grass
fighting tyrant Viet Cong.
Earned in mountains and cliffs
of savage Afghanistan,
won by people who exemplify
the true greatness of man.
This medal is so revered
but it needs to be said,
these heroes rarely wear them,
cause most of them are dead.
It may take some courage
to be the best on a ski,
but it takes so much more
to battle for this country.
I think this when I see them,
young bucks claiming prestige,
can’t expect much perspective
since half of them are teens,
and I do not say all of this
because their gold is not deserved,
I say it so our highest praise
goes to medals made of Honor.
Game of pretence, is played out everyday
Our authentic self, seems to have no say
As we go about through needless parlance
Social etiquette cause of dalliance
Oft saying yes, when we wish to say nay
Hypocrisy becoming our mainstay
Subterfuge as way of life, here to stay
Silencing gentle voice, of our conscience
Game of pretence
Shifty eyes, lips that lie, thread of truth frays
One-upmanship our norm, the wayward way
Oh hermit! How will we pay our penance
Having consigned our heart to decadence
How much longer will lower mind hold sway
Game of pretence
16-February-2021
Open poetry 2 poetry contest
Sponsor: Charlotte Puddifoot
In my mind’s backstreets lurks Miss Insistence
Pushing self-interest and preference
Questioning my worshipful reverence:
“Are you staying in the Lord’s residence
As immune from sin-virus’ decadence?”
With angst trying to prevail in my heart
My mind welcomes Mr. Deceit’s sham art
Magnifying pride with arrogance-dart
Mocking my yielded soul to God’s rampart
As if saying “You’re wrong right from the start.”
Mrs. Doubt attacks my faith’s fortitude
Challenging intellectual attitude
Jeopardizing jubilant gratitude
So, I can’t soar beyond praise altitude
As my mind jeers, “Oh, what grand beatitude!”
Striving for bliss-filled, bursts with laughter-glee
I, from life grievous pressures, dare to flee
While Sister Mirth lingers in my mind’s spree
Saying, “Show countenance beauty, stress-free
Of delightful fruits from contentment-tree.”
By God’s victory, I aim to prevail
Despite Misery Woes-Foes which assail
My soul seeks the Lord Who hears my wail
Sharing His love and kindness that don’t fail…
In the backstreets of my mind*, God I hail!
*1Peter 1:13 Wherefore gird up the loins of your mind, be sober, and hope to the end for the grace that is to be brought unto you at the revelation of Jesus Christ.
September 24, 2019
(Dramatic Monologue with Rhyme Form)
2nd place, "In the backstreets of my mind" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Silent One; judged on 9/26/2019.
Here I sit pondering was it love? Was I your lover? I thought that what we had was love, but then you went back to her
I thought it was true, I believed in forever back then, and the word lover to me meant much more than just a friend
It may seem impossible, but I can still feel the heat of your breath against my lips, almost touching mine, but doing the dance of “What if?”
What if I kiss these lips and they completely destroy me? What will there be left? But candidly I had to see
I dove headfirst into those troubled waters without a lifeline, all the while trusting in the strength of your love wrapped up in the words that you used to lie
The meaning of your words to me they were crystal clear, but a lover was hearing them not a girl for whom you didn’t really care
You told me years after we had departed ways, that you weren’t meant to be a lover then, so why did you paint the picture that way?
If my lover isn’t what you wanted to be, then why whisper those words into my ear and against my lips? With all the meaning so subtlety
You are not my love………er and neither am I yours always, but I can remember the tingle of your fingertips on my skin and the decadence obscured in the words that you say.
London’s districts
Cricklewood, Greenford, and Edgware are nice districts of London; I lived there
Amazing moments, times, and emotions all of them. Wembley is my residence
Lovely nights, rainbow times, Wembley, and other districts gave me a great life
Lovely daily moods, amazing night desires, and colors, people, ladies, night lights
Oh, decadence! Why do you love me so much? How do I say thank you for my life?
Oh, decadence! Thank you for being my friend, and for all the unforgettable night moments
London’s districts, there are more magnetic places here, I love them. London’s dreams
London’s dream? No, it is a dream from London, ask for the photos, all are mine.
London, Central London, Westminster, Soho, Covent Garden, I love all of them.
Night
Life
London
I
Love
London
As God essence, bliss is our middle name
Head and heart aligned with voice of conscience
Each moment reborn, with joy we exclaim
Orientation energised silence
Once soul cleansed in clear streams of innocence
That that remains, free of both stain and shame
Ego cravings, consigned to decadence
As God essence, bliss is our middle name
Upon choosing to exit, all mind games
We slowly attain an inner balance
No fears or desires that we need to tame
Head and heart aligned with voice of conscience
Our innate, bubbling, childlike nonchalance
Paves the way, for igniting hearts love flame
All our nodes within dance in carefree trance
Each moment reborn, with joy we exclaim
No dark spots remain, in our aura frame
Ensconced in divine entwined dalliance
Vibrant emptiness is our claim to fame
Orientation energised silence
Pristine presence grants love acquiescence
Our life goal being Gods name to proclaim
Bliss in permanence, shining effulgence
With each breath flowing, attaining our aim
As God essence
18-April-2021
Glitter, Glamour, Glitz and Spritz
Shimmer and Sparkle, oh how we marvel at all the Ritz
It's a Holiday Fest At Its Best!
Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, Spiritual...
whatever your ritual, it's time to reflect, reconnect
and rejoice to be alive and revive our souls and minds
This is an awe inspiring, rejuvenating time!
Holiday songs and singalongs
messages to keep a song in our hearts
not just in December, but everyday to remember...
regarding Love, Forgiveness and Re-inventive Starts!
Now on to food, do you know what tastes good?
EVERYTHING*
There is so much to choose...
any mouth watering decadence
embraces my stomach a happy resident,
I look forward and I bet you do too!
A Fruit Cake in a Decorative Tin Bin...
Well, Ya' Know...
That's Optional! (SMILE)