Long Dermis Poems
Long Dermis Poems. Below are the most popular long Dermis by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Dermis poems by poem length and keyword.
moon …
beams that burn -
that turn my surgings to slag
my teeth to serrations,
hungering …
can those silly sentients not see the
verity in my veneration, you?
do they truly think it’s only art,
only … verse?
that my blood runs in
these inky scratchings alone?
‘why pen these dark tales with such legitimacy -
such … clear scope?’
oh … why, indeed!
for were they but tales, they would
hold their own undoing -
such silly stories spatter the centuries,
but my secrets speak from the dark
of nightmares, whispered
they move with the muscle of truth
and bear witness to
the fiery curse …
I wonder, is my affliction as
ancient as your mares and mounts?
do those careworn crinkles hint of
a lifeblood unseen
that drips its poison to my arteries at
each milky plenilune?
with a single ruddy lesion you
tore the sun from my sky -
drove my days to the shadows,
the beast, blossoming …
did you entrance her, too, the one who
broke my skin to weeping -
who lit this pyre?
am I now but another minion of
your pale presidium,
bound by iniquitous urge to sever other
souls from the daylight?
if only that laughing lad I was
could’ve known why you tugged so
hard, his verdant heart …
why your shimmer ‘pon the sea
timed its cadence,
out-dazzling the sunrise …
why every kiss - every lass’ fair dermis
required your blue baptism to persuade -
to pique my passions …
perhaps then, with such portent,
I might have learned to silence your
alluring murmur in my ear,
and hardened my marrow to
your warm, wicked drug …
but the truth hid from me in the shards of
your strangling shadows
until your diabolical delirium flooded my
blood, thick as mud
brought by a human far too
exquisite to spurn -
a warm wound, opened in burgeoned intimacy
your scourge, igniting my veins -
mixing serum with torment
and ripping, like unfettered flesh,
the bright-born sun …
from my days.
“Dream in Dreams"
My mind awakes to taste the tongues of those words you release. Yeah its speaks to me!
Am hungry for those pink lips merry and mellow I wish to soak in.
Commanding and demanding those words dig in...undress your tongue of such tone oh twinkle toes, bathe me with lying lips that speaks me an undying truth.
The night burns black
My dreams lay still living a coward's dream.
I lay with my eyes shut, opening legs I lust of.
So smooth as white streets with lines aligned to digest this illness I splash in ink, the injuries, your skin, I walk my pen on pure brown dermis.
I want to rise with me in you, writing heads to come. A separate head is coming, I am cunning but take this white and erase sadness, pain and lies written on your inside.
I want to wine drinking wine, lip singing on your breast with noise.
Necks should be broken swords, flashing lips to melt in fusion forcing me in you! You in me!
Push harder and harder
We shall become one.
I beg you unlock my needs, please me please!
The world is a war outside, hide me in bosoms that heats my love a global warming. Set legs a waiting bed I wrap this broken pen in.
I stay away to not fade away for every look I look at you these lips see and these eyes speak!
Yes I become dysfunctional for I dream dreams of having you.
Why won't you admit?
I see the same in you.
I see potential behind fear serving a sentence beneath that skin.
I see you sitting waiting on he who is sitting.
I see you trying for trials I have tried.
Just north at the back of your head lays a mind so cohesive to mines.
We both dream in dreams.
Wake up, this is life.
Feel this heart beating
Hear these lips speaking
Watch this fear fading.
Let me lead this dream.
By:Ramone J. Young
Poetic System Kidz Entertainment
(Stories of Angie)
It was a five ringed circus
Complete with the ragged remains of a tourniquet
Heavily fringed by the under eye baggage of a bloated nefarious
Clown soul that is
Blowing across the freeway garnished with the white plastic baggies
From the local supermarket factory
Now fluttering like proud flags from the tops of trees
Spawned by an alien race
It was on a highway headed home that
I nearly ran over a kid high on societal delusion and
Upon pulling over near the canyon's edge
I shouted towards this cipher to no avail
A wind tunnel
Afterwards a mumbled mixed nursery rhyme
While hobbling away with a hollow body
That floated over curb blocks and arby's remains
Into a distance that was too vast to measure
Was all I was sure of
In this
I saw the effigy transformation that
Grasps everyone from time to time
If only the magnetic train could ram through the clouds
Speaking directly to synapses long derailed
With the urgency of a needed 7 beer urination during protracted conversation
Let me go
Looking deep into this mirror to see the molecules swirling
About this illusionary image reflected
Some wells runs deep
Some are saucers filled with swampy oil
Self created sideshows with a surplus of freaks
Oh yes
The rest is purely the constructs of madmen and deviant spirits
Itching to burn the dermis and the frontal cortex
Plus limbic
Tricks and trades of the craft
Welcoming a spill out of the most financially false origin
Singing like a lark touching both wires
200,000 volts of pure pleasure
Spell patterns of truth for the first time
Ah, the self of self is running on electrons and vapors
Smiling like a netted acrobat
The unicycle is unmanned
Gyrating though this monkey business
Yet the music continues on
On scarred green corduroy couches, lined with age, sighing under my weight-
Like bearded old men, releasing ages of wearied wisdom,
Slipping in their sleep-
In rooms wreathed in smoke, wafting between breaths of laughter and exhale
And somehow beautiful, electricity in the music that shallows me out
And haunts.
I see the wooden floor, again, as you lead me, my feet moving to their own beat
Pound, pound, my heart and my shoes,
Do I know what’s happening?
And the rhythm I have is my own, but you don’t mind. Two hands grasp mine, warm with
sweat
Restraining, I have no escape, I breathe but I don’t know how.
Can I meet your eyes?
Two black holes, a vortex, pulling me into the tornado and the storm,
And the calmness in the middle, intense as it sparkles and shimmers in clarity,
Fading out cat-calls and undertones of despair.
Fading me into you, dissolving me through layers of dermis and epidermis
soaking silently through cotton and fear
A puddle on your now-closed eyelids, wrinkly in determination
smoothing out in waves of hope.
And then –you’re here, I feel
Shaky confusion, slippery thrill, wet and winsome glory
Searching, and finding -so I thought-
And sudden twists and turns
Do you know where you’re going?
And then I feel it, the smile, maybe you won’t
It grows inside of me and gives birth, to a tiny laugh
In high falsetto, notes dancing across a page
Barred inside snow-white fields, but exploding with mirthful mischief just the same.
So am I, and you may imprison me,
But I sing “in my chains like the sea”.*
*from Dylan Thomas’s “Fern Hill”
Twenty-three ...
The freckles on your nape,
Tiny islands of wonder on your silky dermis ...
I have traveled every one, many times.
Day-after-day I sit here at the desk behind yours,
Oblivious to whatever algebraic nonsense is being purveyed on the board,
Utterly fascinated by every little detail about you and yours -
How you squeak at the end of every sentence,
The way you tuck your chocolate brown tresses behind your ear,
How your neck curves so perfectly into your shoulders,
The way you reach back to play with the clasp of your pendant,
And how every-so-often on a good day, a really, really good day,
You rest your right hand on your left shoulder,
And wiggle your fingers like a fan, in a private wave ... to ME!
(Well, I like to pretend it's a wave to me, though we rarely speak).
Oh, the romantic fantasies I have concocted here,
Sitting behind you every day ... adoring you ...
The dragons I've slayed, the battlements I've scaled, the wars I've won!
I have memorized your wardrobe and counted the buttons on each,
I can name the perfumes you wear - seven in all ...
Every tidbit you speak is like sacred manna from heaven,
And I a starving angel, enraptured.
You sit here, within arm's reach,
Yet you are worlds away.
Someday, perhaps ...
Someday.
~ 2nd Place ~ in the "I'm Crushing On You" Poetry Contest, Julie Leigh Rodeheaver, Judge & Sponsor.
GOOSEBUMPS
I experience sudden keen sensation on dermis
with tiny swellings erecting skin hairs momentarily
owing to excitement, fear or strong emotion.
Within few seconds all calm down.
But I recollect childhood days,
towards past to chase and to gaze.
Memory of eruption of goosebumps on dermis flashed!
Several attacks I had experienced,
But all happened on a kid under twelve.
I apprehend that’s an air-borne allergy
affecting few children owning sensitive skin.
Few times mostly at eve in winter,
sudden rashes in lots of little lumps
as inflammation termed goosebumps
appearing on cutis causing itching burning sensation.
My grandma was prompt to put me on bed lying supine
and applying herbal remedy
by rubbing wheat-flour all over body.
I was asked not to touch or scratch on lumps.
She then covered me with a thin blanket.
Within two or three hours
all swellings slowly sank to fade away
releasing skin tone absolute smooth.
I was grown up.
Goosebumps were never aggressive to choose me.
Those had left me forever.
11/18/19
'Goosebumps' Contest by Delilah Ventura
We wend through life with hopes of one true love,
Quite rare, such fits, that match you like a glove ...
A blend of souls ... divine inspiration.
Once heaven found you naught but in my dreams,
Yet now you're real, sweet angel, though it seems ...
This sacred gift ... divine inspiration.
Smooth tresses, golden silk, frame eyes of brown,
Those swirling depths where I would gladly drown ...
To love's abyss ... divine inspiration.
Oh moonbeams dance your dermis like doubloons,
The sweet price paid your form, as passion swoons ...
The carnal cost ... divine inspiration.
Each moment that I spend wrapped in your wings,
Means one less wasted 'midst those lesser things ...
A realm of you ... divine inspiration.
How long I've sought the truth of heaven's light,
Thus, now through you, dear angel, life is bright ...
One in our love ... divine inspiration.
~ 3rd Place ~ in the "Pick-A-Title Volume 14 - Tristitch" Poetry Contest, Edward Ibeh, Judge & Sponsor.
* The title and name I chose is "Afflatus" *
With much disdain i say this
That much like we adapt to environments
Our environments molds into us All we experience
We are what we endure.
Wish we, and by we I mean he
could've shaken this tainted water from his dermis
Overtaken organs, now worked its way in
to the core of being, his infrastructure.
He is what he is, just as well
I wouldn't want him to change now
Just then, when I was impressionable
when I should have been spared his misfortune.
Yet in his head its normal to be
the way he was and is
He knew no other way to survive
Perceiving himself as a hard, great man.
HE IS, OH, HE IS..
Now i've become a hard, great man
But of this Beast, Maturity is a thief
For it, not quietly and with both hands, stole my youth
my carefree, in front of my eyes.
As i got older, the less cynical he became
for the first time he acted like a friend
And me, me being the great, hard man that I am
Ignored him reaching, trying to grasp MY heart.
A big Pat-on the-Back OLD MAN
Look what I've become.
Turned me into this hard, great man
Instead of your son.
I am Him,
I am Misfortune,
I AM EVERY MAN.
That About A Face
Previously responsible concerning an adolescent resplendent facial hallmark,
Awarded to privileges and sanctioned embellishment favoring enhancement,
Over time, years chip away unnoticeably o'er worn breathless moments,
Taunt texture of an arduous youth evaporates in a whimsical hallucination,
Face delicately immersed in a penny-filled wishing well made full by an Irish spring,
Whereby, encroaching four-leaf clovers anticipate deviating hands to favor,
For a wealth of squishing palms to rub gently the verdurous lucky
chartreuse petals,
Against foretelling fluctuating skin with moisturizing balms that saturates the aged cavities,
Alas, rebellious slaves to periodical moons ebb the epidermis as once kept promises reneges,
Former fields of the dermis yield a harvest worthy of an ample supply of suppleness o'er a lifetime,
Where cherished glorious heyday occupied a magnificent proffered face for cameras to envy,
In the advance of time, I am content to gracefully tender the waning years for a fair measured distance as a camera poses for a closeup.
2019 December 22
Animals in top hats,
Ride bicycles en road,
Spoked wheels and pedaled spats,
Round about, in ornamental spode.
Animals in monocles,
Spectate in obeisance,
Cuffed by inked chronicle:
Renascence-linked complacence.
Animals in Model Ts,
Toot along en route,
To queue below burlesque marquee,
Bloating bruit by gloat and brute.
Animals in suits,
Sustained by entree manner,
Tasting morsels, cheering lutes;
To labor, bond and banner.
Animals in petticoats,
Puffed in crinoline,
Corsets sweep beneath the bloat,
Ensure the meal’s unseen.
Animals in linen,
Lain in duvets, eider down,
Sunken pelt a skin had been in,
Before its fur had come to town.
Animals in animal,
Adorned disguise of dermis,
Woven threads of blastemal,
Posture vermin with a vermis.
Animals in animals,
Piquant bones to gnaw,
Ascetic starving cannibals,
Feed on creed and law.
Animals in groups,
Extensions of the self,
Lain in egg to cracked coops,
Atop a thrifted shelf.
Instead of rounding out our edges,
To conform our shape to objects,
End the heed, the empty pledges,
Be animal: love and sex.