Long Dingy Poems
Long Dingy Poems. Below are the most popular long Dingy by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Dingy poems by poem length and keyword.
Darkness is he, soulless totally
It's abyss he commands, desiring what he sees
In front of him stands a virgin, pure as the driven snow
For white he knows it is, upon she his darkness will show
Long haired and silken clad, his lusting eyes allure his own
Is it fear that makes her pert, or the fear of being alone
*~*
Upon his lap she stands, so minute to his ogre mass
Her silken attire now torn, talon fingers on she he grasps
Innocent flesh he craves, to satisfy his empty soul
In his lusting abyss, his darkness will soon unfold
*~*
Petite, pert so perfect, ageing hands of his darkened past
Cup her porcelain charms, so grotesque is his grasp
Leering eyes of void, now alive to this virgins flesh
Excitement fills his wants, this maiden near total undress
A strangeness falls amidst this darkened scene
Has she succumbed, is she in the middle or has she seen
*~*
To his torso of centuries old, attention is drawn to he
Reciprocating she kisses in touch, with drooling eyes he sees
This virgin standing in front of him, allured now is she
So minute to his ogre mass, content she appears to be
*~*
Lips touching taste, eyes closed, are they in wonderment
Has she entered his darkened abyss, or is he now heaven sent
Lashing tongues, like a fencing épée now drawn
When his dark met her light, I struggle for the forlorn
Breaths are seldom apart, it's as if magnetic, they are
This join of abyss fuelled white, seems so bizarre
*~*
Lecherousness in his tasting rush, her scent he delves in deep
This virgin, this maiden so taken, to him now she seeps
Like diamonds, her pertness rises, en-capturing her charms
So different when she stood before him, all in alarm
*~*
Tailored they are not, such a difference in size
This virgin maiden so white, soon to be in firm cries
Thralled he now becomes, induced in his darkened dark
He now revels in his taken, amidst thighs of perfection arch
Forlorn has now become, a joining of lustful desires
Black locks now sway with delight, the dark now afire
*~*
Positioning, seasoned they are, in joyful joining crave
Now the darkness has seen the light, in typical deprave
Sighs now resonate, amidst his darkened dingy hell
The allure of purring white, increase his darkening swell
*~*
Past a dingy boulevard
his lean shadow trails
as the empty nook of hunger groans--
carrying a young waif's riddled song.
Through rambles with ghosts, his eyes quiver
within pools of fevered hallucinations.
All twisted roads leading nowhere
for surely, he would never be missed.
A thin sigh quietly gasps
while he begs through the midnight air;
that young feet roam in unknown corners,
as the empty nook of hunger groans.
Like one anonymous status,
he coils in a fetal mould on a pavement--
till whispers of tales echo upon the breeze,
carrying a young waif's riddled song.
Laura Loo's Contest: Sad Free Verse In 2017 Only
Written 3/25/2017 Submitted 7/31/2017
If the height of arrogance
Is overconfidence
You'll never worry about that with me
Because I'm as humble as they come
My name is Christopher
I'm a 27 year old man
Who indulges a poetic vice
Writing whatever he feels
And let's not get it twisted
I've got numerous flaws
My right eye isn't straight
I've got some extra fat
I get emotional when I watch sad stuff
Or lose dear friends
And I'm quiet to a fault
A shy man with social anxiety
Whose greatest revelation is poetry
Because it allows me to say how I feel
When I'd otherwise be at a loss for words
But there are many reasons
For me to be your man
I'm neither self-righteous
Nor judgemental
I'm neither self-centered
Nor condescending
I'm a gentle spirit
Riding the wave of life
My heart is full of love
Just waiting to be yours
My mind is full of thoughts
Just waiting to be shared
My soul is full of wisdom
From 27 years of life
I often sell myself short
Because I'm afraid I won't fit the bill
But as twilight descends on my youth
I'm hoping I can find someone
To spend these cold April nights with
Give me a chance
And you'll discover your own reasons
I should be your man
I'll cook your dinner with finesse
And be your 3AM ear
I'll give you foot massages after a hard day
I'll be your biggest fan
Behind only your parents
Our love will light the city on fire
And paint over dingy walls
And neither of us will be perfect
But in imperfection
The greatest perfection is found
Because we both know how hard love can be
And how much pain a broken heart is
But if we take our broken hearts
And tape them together
It'll be like they were never broken
All I ask is for one chance
And you to believe these reasons
For me to be your man
The bottle is half-empty,
and my thoughts are half-crazy.
The room is dark and dingy,
the air thick with the scent
of stale smoke and regret.
My mind wanders aimlessly,
like a lost soul searching
for a way out of this purgatory.
The memories flood in
like a torrential downpour,
overwhelming and unrelenting.
The whiskey burns my throat,
but it's the only thing
keeping me sane in this mad world.
The clock ticks away,
mocking me with its steady rhythm.
A burden weighs upon my heart,
forged by the gravity
of past missteps,
leaving me to ponder
the plausibility of redemption.
The words birthed from within me,
the verses and tales that spill forth,
appear as mere endeavors
born from desperation,
seeking to unravel
the enigma of this purposeless existence.
But still, I cling to hope
like a drowning man
clutching at a straw
in the raging sea.
The ink spills from my pen,
forming delicate webs
of truth and illusion.
Each word carries a piece
of my fragmented soul,
a plea for understanding
in a world that often
turns a blind eye.
The shadows dance on the walls,
whispering secrets of forgotten dreams
and lost aspirations.
I listen, hoping to catch
a glimpse of salvation
amidst the chaos.
The silence is deafening,
broken only by the hollow echo
of my own breath.
Through the haze of smoke and despair,
a glimmer of light flickers.
It is fragile, like a delicate flower
pushing through cracked pavement.
I nurture it with every ounce of strength,
for it holds the promise
of a brighter tomorrow.
In this dimly lit room,
I confront my demons,
wrestling with the ghosts
that haunt my restless nights.
The battle is fierce,
but I refuse to surrender.
I gather my shattered pieces,
rebuilding my spirit
one fragment at a time.
I may be a mere speck
in this vast universe,
but I refuse to fade into the abyss.
With pen in hand,
I write my way towards redemption,
seeking solace in the power of words.
For even in the darkest corners of existence,
poetry has the ability
to ignite a spark of hope
and set the soul free.
There is adventure, just waiting, as I open the door
A tiny bell sings a tinkle, (old lyrics, perhaps)
To a place of discovery... inviting me in...
But offers in fact, enough excitement to thrill me
I often drop by, one chance for a glance
A dingy old store ..., this place I adore..
I scour the junk, the discarded old trunk, a bit of history in disguise
Elbow to elbow, wall to wall...a sea of collectibles to capture my eyes
Upon every visit, a brand new dilemma...how will I decide in the gloom?
How can I use this? Should I buy that? Will I have room?
Nothing like it in the world! Nothing so lovely, oh how I love this little shop!
Will it be cheap?....Something lost in a heap?....It beckons me to stop!
As the lifting down from the dusty shelves, the musty scent of wood
Telling a story...pungent and sweet....restore it?....I could!!
That antique rocker, perhaps it was lonely....so lost and cold
Or those dusty dishes...on the shelf...I rub off the grime..the flowers are gold!
Oh yes...I could give it new life....let it see sun, won't it be fun?!
Buried beneath the rubbish.....where do I begin?
A treasure, I'll think...Soon after the clink that nourishes a till
For mere pennies...I will haul it home...paint, polish or shine...that's the thrill!
How divine! Once it was theirs..., lost in a time zone...now it is mine...
Swift on the track of the years that had left it behind....
Hers was a complete change of personality, moods, and friends
Her joyful happy self, turned rapidly sarcastic, mean, and secretive
Her eating habits changed; she did not need food any more.
Stopped eating with the family, painted her room black.
Threw her flute into the garbage. She had outgrown it.
Scoffed that she had ever been a cheerleader, calling them names.
Her friends stopped coming. She made new ones, they were in and out.
None stayed long. Just a few minutes.
Her family saw glimpses of her unhappiness as she ran in and out
Of her room, slamming doors, playing music, not doing her homework.
Her A’s and B’s nosedived into D’s and F’s, and she laughed about it.
Rapid distrust toward her siblings. Name-calling, which had never happened.
Stopped going to school until it was nigh onto impossible to keep up.
Sneaked out of the house at night; they never knew where she would be.
Left in cars with people she did not know. Parents blamed her friends.
It was their fault, not hers. She was their princess. She was perfect.
Secrecy became the norm. Her laughter became loud and ugly.
Her prettiness was gone; her hair was dingy. She stopped wearing deodorant.
Grandparents wondered where she was at Thanksgiving and Christmas.
They were given many lies from parents and her siblings. Everyone covering.
Not my child! They said when the possible truths were pointed out.
That does not happen in our neighborhood.
We are not that kind of parent.
Our child would never be an alcoholic or a drug addict.
The entire family circled the wagons,
refusing to join neighborhood barbeques.
The children were taught that the people at church
were do-gooders, and look-downers.
The children were taught that the neighbors
they once adored were now the enemy.
They were protecting the princess,
who seldom came home, sneaking in and out,
When they were asleep. Not in our family! They said. Not in our family!
The do-gooders and down-lookers were prominent at her funeral.
They had raised children also who had been lured into
the terrifying swallow-up world of drugs and alcohol.
They had so many stories; horrifying real life stories
they had never shared even though they had innumerable
opportunities at church functions and bar-b-ques.
He wrote the lyrics to the songs
a thousand singers sing.
He stood alone at life’s crossroads
and felt the church bells ring.
He taught me how the feelings feel
he helped me hear the sound.
Of the bottom of a bottle
from Sunday morning coming down.
With pockets full of empty
not so sure that dreams come true.
Paper folded in his boots
to keep the ground from coming through.
Playing dingy honky Tonks
drawn to the neon light.
The beer that chased the whiskey down,
helped make it through the night.
No longer is he overlooked,
down on music city row.
The devil will never claim his soul
cause music won’t let him go.
A million miles of memories
a legend comes of age.
People come from far and wide
to see him take the stage.
Silver linings in the words he sings
and silver in his hair.
He sings of all the yesterdays.
He knows cause he was there.
An attitude of gratitude he remembers every chord.
Stopping on the way to ask
please tell me Why Me Lord.
Edwin C Hofert
Why Me Lord
8/14/19
Cloudburst Aftermath
Humid scent of soured pavement
rises from a city’s steaming streets
accompanied by rippling gutter streams
babbling and choking on floating debris.
I wave as wet winged voyagers
cling to tawdry, fragile craft
shooting the cobblestone rapids
of Boston’s Beacon Hill.
Wafting from the alleys of the rich -
the detritus of wealth - an acrid stench,
waste, mocking the grumbling bellies
waiting on line at the dingy soup kitchen.
I walk alone among Boston’s “Common”
looking for the “cracks” they “fell” through.
11/22/2017
submitted to – Choose A Topic – Heartbreak and Loss
A living corpse breathes on the bed
Light and Death cool the sweat
Beading on the forehead of blank
Centuries heeding on greed and a
Invisible monster numbered in the book
Of souls misting in the laughter of science
Come now the voices
Coo and be reborn into the bleeding
Tapestry of blood and violence
Sex and death pulse from the atom
Bombs and the makers of worlds destroy
The color like lead throats choking
On the beauty of a balmy window soothing
The pain in psalms ruptures butterflies and bees
In the breeze of yellow summer lying in haze
White sheets wrapped in murders’ dingy
Rooms fading windows lust stabbing
Each heartbeat a vision of nothing
-ness and the lyric of one more soft
meal and the murmur of crowds chanting
the name of digital songs evoking Gods
dead in the commerce of equations stocks
falling in the channels of streets babbling
from scabs of dreams dry and broken the
bread is poisoned words empty cupboards
crumbed with the myth of laurelled paradise…
The bottle took my
brother at the age
of 45
The crushing pain
engulfed me, I
prayed that I would
die
Drowning in my
sorrow I hit the
bottle hard
Alcoholism runs in
my family we both
were dealt that card
One year later
booze got brother
number two
Found him after two
weeks dead in a
dirty, dingy room
At 54 another
brother was found in
his home dead
A bunch of booze and
pills he ate while
lying in his bed
Oh dear god, I
cried, there’s just
one brother now
This next one you
must keep alive some
way, somehow
He quit the drink
when I moved in and
never complained at
all
I was sure the curse
had been broken, no
one else would fall
Just last month
while on the pills
at the age of 55
My brother put a
gun in his
mouth--we’re so
grateful
he’s alive
As for me I’m a
drunk too but sober
now for years
We got the curse my
father had---a
lifetime full of
tears
by Christine
Costello
8-23-14 for
addiction contest