Long Deflower Poems
Long Deflower Poems. Below are the most popular long Deflower by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Deflower poems by poem length and keyword.
Traveling through the jaded discourse
With bartered pen and little remorse
Brandishing sharpened scalpel; tour de force
Unabashedly seeking all texts from lexicon to divorce
Developing underlying themes to alter the broader context
Freely abridging each verse to establish the pretext
Isolating each stanza to create a subtext
Inferring connotations to establish a hypertext
Disassociating words to broker more inflection
Delinking phrases building new bridges for reflection
Deconstructing patterns to sculpt out a new direction
Decoding mores and values to foster introspection
Voiding punctuation; compressing verses to scuttle metric time
Extrapolating dominant motifs to devalue the inculcating paradigm
Decoupling dissonant accents to deflower the sublime
Erasing phonetic schemes; disbanding symetrical order; decelerating rhyme
He mistook her for a hooker
And you bet, she’ll not forget
Thought she’s painted, she ain’t tainted
And for sure now, she is sore
As to whether wearing feather
On your thong is simply wrong
Or if lace around one’s face
At the heart makes one a tart
There are many for a penny
Who deflower by the hour
And they’re mainly dressed plain-janely
Better wake up, it’s a shake up!
Check your mirror, see it clearer
It’s your mind, that’s what you’ll find
Stop expecting, start correcting
Though she’s scented, she ain’t rented
God wears the bling,
Its a constitution ting,
King Chazza going to fix it,
Give the corgis their biscuits,
Now he's got the crown
He can turn that frown upside down,
There's no way his Regal reign
Will get washed down the drain
The Patri, mono and hier archies
Rely too much on his malarkeyGod wears the bling,
Its a constitution ting,
King Chazza going to fix it,
Give the corgis their biscuits,
Now he's got the crown
He can turn that frown upside down,
There's no way his Regal reign
Will get washed down the drain
The Patri, mono and hier archies
Rely too much on his malarkey
To dazzle the curious populace
That might wonder if now its the time and place
To shed the over familiar embrace
Of a pale, stale, overripe monarchy
The media's wet dream fantasy
Filling front pages with hyper hysteria,
'Did Andrew deflower a teenager under the wisteria...?'
What will it take for everyone to see,
He's no emperor and, without clothes on
He's as naked as you and me....
Feel the fever of soul’s fire,
the flame of thirsting warmth,
soaked in sins and silence ~
like petals parched for passion;
the rain that mourns softly
without the voice of thunder,
yet every phrase I frame
sounds like sonnets stitched from
sparks of sinister stars,
studded into the spirit of splitting skies…
So forgive my toxic truth,
vines of violence, venomous vapors
flowing through vain veins
like sensuous scents,
awaiting the kiss of a Gemini sacrifice.
O gardener of dreams, storm-keeper,
in your eyes there sprouts hope ~
paradise pressed in patience,
while I, the devious dahlia,
forgot how to trace suppressed highs,
homing sighs of an obsidian rose…
I still long for your reveries
to deflower and devour
the delicacy of incense,
blooming and breathing
in secret beneath skirts of sepals;
you hold the divine strings,
musing in the melodious garden
of my touch-starved heart,
wishing your skin
would undress this want,
fingertips tapping tulip tempests…
Tonight ink keeps quivering
like a cherry blossom
on a wounded branch,
unclothing scars and metaphors
I weave to articulate an aching armor,
preserving the poison within…
For every throb and echo of arteries
could steal the heat of the moon,
scribbling a simple saga
on the calmness of your palm…
And if, to unlock this darkness,
love must forsake all peace,
if, to claim your light,
pulse must please the pigments
running through lethal lines,
I will not ask you
to bleed or burn for me;
I’ll surrender to solitude ~
quenched in quiescence
in the fields of the forgotten,
evermore, a love-sick letter unsent…
sunday morning angel
blue wings and purple hair
fingers tattooed at the tip of her shoulder
if the sun vacates your skies it's over
children sing songs of burgundy rovers
I am your rent my lover
camel crushes
rated your sweet plushes
crowded voices
but no one hushes
the chaos is lovely
but it's the misery that touches
my sunday morning angel
arched smiles
a mother apart from her child
it's been a while since you last foul
you're just a number on speed dial
outside the cafe
a voice some what raspy
a favor indeed
if you choose to ask me
deflower before me
and life just may not last me
city towers
you and me minus the hours
in the neon lights
walk the stars that fail to touch the sky's
apartment 1210
where art thou twelve sinners
the cellos that failed everyday men
the displacements
only seen through a heavens lens
the saint of Orleans
bard windows
crucify your friends
i'll lend you a noose to tie your ends
and when it all ends
think of my sunday morning angel
she never warned you of danger
but she adored the insanity within your anger
my sunday morning angel
is like loving a widower
you never know
what's on the other side of the window
buildings that touch the sky
ceilings that never die
capsize the truth
baptize whatever you knew
there was a time it was just me and you
"songs in a book reflect vacancy"
A Garden rejoices when it envisions colourful exquisite blooms everywhere filling the empty spaces.
Lush green grasses are the attire it adorns and flowers become the embellishers.
Even a sad heart would feel enlightened & placid by visiting flowery garden.
In my heavenly serene garden.. once I sat and admired myriad flowers widely seducing the butterflies and bees through its aromatic succulent nectar and pollens..
They were all enjoying their appetizing feast.
At the same time..
I also noticed a pink hibiscus bud curled like a baby not wanting to bloom,preferring to remain a virgin..!!
I keenly observed as the butterflies were trying to kiss the petals and black bees constantly humming tunes to arouse it.
The mother hibiscus did not bother
Instead kept preparing herself to wither as her time was over.
The tiny bud wrapped the petals tight, covered her face and thoroughly weeped cogitating about losing her mom shortly and simultaneously scared by her predators who were competing around to conquer her heart.
Witnessing the struggle there climbs a saviour ant with his warrior team to save her from the trouble.He reaches to stimulate the tip & guarantee her that she will be safe and consoled her to stop worrying unnecessarily.
In few minutes competitors flew away and the bud was free from fear.
Visitor ants said "cheers" and left .
Mother flower bid good "bye" and shrivelled..
As the little one slowly unwrapped her petals to look at her world ..
A tear drop, up from the sky fell upon finally to deflower her.
She being fragile, now bloomed to be the most attractive flower in the garden.
I stood up went closer ,smiled at the blossom captured a picture and conveyed my first good "Hi."
28-7-2020
Second place in the contest.
Note:Petal, buds, blossoms, bees, birds, butterflies!
Poetry Contest.
Sponsored by Silent One.
on this earth
I'm a traveler of two days like others
here I strongly believe
every traveler has own guide,
own immigration law, own passport
own traveling right
on this plentiful wealthy earth
every traveler
just coming and going
here I've come as a beggar;
after coming I make me busy
stealing wealth,
robbing the other portions,
embezzling the others right,
deflower the other righteous youthful flower,
for the temporal throne, the others live I slaughter
I devastate the other traveling paths by ravenous power
on the time of going, I ask forgiveness
from the unknown almighty;
I pray the whole day and night
for the forgiveness from the unknown;
I make a pilgrimage visit to the so-called home of almighty
for the purifying of my traveling guilty path;
I cry on the bed of every going (death)
for the forgiveness
I believe in God, yes, I have belief in His power
I know there is one creator behind this whole universe
I believe the creator is almighty, omnipresent
He can do anything
He is the supreme judge
justice is His constitution
but no, no,
without the ruined (by me) righteous travelers
nobody has the right to forgive me;
even God has no right to forgive,
if no traveler of the earth forgive me;
in the supreme court of God
I do not know, is there valid any power of attorney!
But yes, God has no right to forgive me, has He?
-June 28,2019 Chattogram
Trancelike moments linger as I bid my time
a glimpse of angular contour, a face a smile
warmer then the melting sun his hand in mine
surreal in dreamlike state, his touch docile
as gentle as the rain that falls from heaven's lair
he, my imaginary lover my ethereal beau
is a memorized forbiddance, together we draw air
as we dance upon cloud nine without a care
Unreal as the twinkle of a star in heaven's realm
those hazy moments spent, devour me whole
they take me to a shadowy place beneath the elm
where we deflower every kiss, then lose control.
May 30, 2021
Sponsor : Constance La France
Contest Name: Writer prompt - dreamlike
if you start to miss the dark
you know the days become, too long
if memories are where you lay
then where exactly does your heart belong
summer means it’s time to move along
autumn is the song that moves the ghost
winter is a touch of New York warmth
everything after, is a kingdom’s fall
from where you turn and toss the most
you yearn for the ghost when snow fails the frost
a touch too pleasant to rush or admire
looking back at the ashes like you miss the fire
everything you lost to keep it warm
yea we were everything you lost to keep us warm
time means nothing when the hours begin to fade
the sun drips in fury as if it’s the price you pay
for living out of touch when the moon starts to crush
and those around you need you the most
yea i’m sorry i’ve been a ghost
moments become less when it’s all you have
tomorrow became too gentle to deflower age
missing all the pleasantries that kept us content
living in a scent of being mint
yea living is the scent of just being mint
if you start to heart the dark
you know your days become, too long
if memories are where you are
then where exactly does your heart belong
summer means it’s time to move, along
autumn is the song that moves the ghost
winter is a touch of New York warmth
everything after is a kingdom of fall
from where you turn and toss the most
Love,
It is not alone where fingers graze a cheek
that the softness of the skin is felt
when bathed and pampered
aloe'd and perfumed
the scent, in the stillness, is coming thru
glistening like the tips of the green green grass
freshly mowed
with the sun shinning down
on a finely tuned ...
piece of pure imperfection
I'm clover sitting close
where crimson's crushed her rose
laid in dirt,
with the inklings
unexplained
not complaining nor comparing
digging my way out
of another endless
senseless hole
weed me out and wish me luck
deflower all circumspection
we can't give in
no we can't give in
disrobe me amid anguish
wash away the heartache
and the pain
together, naked,
we'll be born again