Long Doubly Poems
Long Doubly Poems. Below are the most popular long Doubly by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Doubly poems by poem length and keyword.
As i passed through the door
She lay on the bed
Her Golden locks
Flow from her head
This petite girl
Curvy and slight
Has captured my heart
And all its might
Her tanned body
Captures the sun
From her heavenly chest
To her pert bum
She invites me to undress
To lie on our bed
As we touch each other
Signals read
Bodies explored
Avenues entered
This blonde and her guy
Evenly tempered
The scent of love
Encaptured by two
Hearts pumping
As they fuse
In motion they love
Carresing each other
This Mr of Men
Enters her flower
Girations flow
As their bodies absorb
Their spray orgasmic
Doubly adored
The sighs and pants
Quieten down
As they lie content
In their quilted gown
They start their dream
This bride and groom
In their palace of love
The Bedroom
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/love.php
Make hay while the sun shines.
I grew up as a closeted polypathic nature-mystic
on a marginal, at best, family farm
in Michigan.
This farm was my embryonic home,
an extension of my vastly loved and nurturing Mother,
more than my workaholic homophobic Father,
who most emphatically did create a patriarchal god in his own image.
His farm was for slave labor.
Her farm was a garden for growing healthy wealth.
I loved Mom's Multi-ReGenerational Family Farm
like an extension of my ego-mind and anthro-body.
And, like a turtle without a shell,
when I first headed off to Ann Arbor's University
I brought my happy and healthy ego with me,
eager to begin my new adventure story,
yet I emotionally stumbled,
felt naked and exposed and depressed,
for lack of my embryonic habitus,
my eco-center,
my home,
my interdependently embracing love of sacred spaces
and their seasons of regeneration and degeneration,
growing still and fading without ego me
conjoining.
I was homesick,
but not for Nurturing Nanny
and Fearsome Father
or even Perfect Princess Sister, whom I cherished,
whom I could talk and listen with as whim might invite,
and, although somewhat more of a sore detachment from our farmhouse interior spaces,
my disorienting alienation from Ann Arbor
was as a too-urban outside place
just as my recreating resident embrace
favored my dorm and classroom youth-learning multicultural race
against more oppressive monoculturing times.
To this day,
despite a six week backpacking hike
along California's Pacific Coast Trail,
plundered by surreal vistas and fragrance and light and unspeakable beauty,
when I imagine a meadow, a field, a woodland,
a pond,
a barn,
an unpaved road,
a gravel drive,
a herd of cattle,
a pen of pigs,
a coop of chickens,
a litter of kittens with eyes still sealed shut,
I recall iconic scenes from this sacred originating home,
my eco-memory
calling my doubly-bound ego-enculturing self
back home
to where we permaculturally began together,
making hay while the sun did shine.
A SAILORS HALT
The sea arouse rushing with the valiant force of wind,
Seeth he, pose in fear, arms froze
With splash of the wind, eyes close.
If he Christ, would 'ave wish a quick resurrection.
Beholding the mighty rush, eyes smoked with watery execution.
The shipwrecking storms and daring thunders strikes
Although the new home he envisions do entice,
Still pondering, looking at his own ring, wondering,
Know'st not how the spring where comfort seem to come
Discomfort swells up to harm.
Bearing his cap and angelic attire which normally
Goes home with him timely,
Now goes with him to home of all homes.
Facely, he prepares to make the sea his eternal covering
Although there's no art to find
The minds construction in the face hovering,
The eye blinks for a moment
And see not what the hand does.
Mothersea roars and yawns as a lioness preparing for a prey
Making his troubles doubly redoubled strokes not go away
But he, a "sea lion" whose ship was his home
Still set with cap-in-hand, without spouse or seed, to leave alone.
Can sparrows worry eagles in the spacious sphere
Or Hare the Tiger, and try to scare?
Though faultless for the judgement, life to a halt and no more.
Adieu, for nature hath drenched and extincted God's last creation.
His book has finally come to an end.
VickWizzy
Vick Manuel Poetry {VMP}
Copyright ©2009.
Silently, you come into the room.
No one even notices you there.
I see you move to the unsensing groom.
Do you bring gifts, wine to cheer?
Suddenly, your presence is felt with eyes
Drinking you in with bewildering puzzlement.
Men in wonder turn with hidden guise.
Do you bring wishes, words of benefit?
Where do you come from? Were you invited?
Will you be welcomed here? Tell us your
story to evoke good will, or should we be ignited?
Do you bring tidings, or something more?
The groom turns to see you come close.
His expression lightens in recognition.
With quickened steps he stops nose-to-nose
enfolds you tightly, relieving the tension.
“Welcome brother!” he loudly cries out.
“You, the older brother, gone to serve.
Home for this joyous union!” I shout.
We greet you with respect you deserve!”
So the brothers set strong resolve
To revel in the doubly cherished juncture.
Four short hours too quick to dissolve
the bond, too powerful to puncture.
Don't take me Lightly (Poem on Light)
I am Mr. Light
Listen to my plight
Physicists call me diplomatic
But still, for them, I am aristocratic
Sometimes, I am a corpuscle
Casting Shadow for an obstacle.
I also behave like a wave.
For communication to be my naive.
At very high speeds, I travel
For atomic riddles to unravel.
New phenomena I detect
Invisible things are in my closet.
My energy lies in a photon
Believe me, I knock out an electron.
I do reflect, I scatter
but never loiter.
I diffract, I refract
But never retract.
When there is a path difference
I cannot stop interference.
In phase constructive, Out of phase destructive.
Nevertheless, I am a detective.
I get reflected, absorbed and transmitted
But still, I am located.
Old phenomena I signet.
Unknown Crystals I detect.
Ruby makes me doubly refracting
To leave me ordinarily and extraordinarily illuminating.
My vibrations can be confined to a plane.
For polarization to find a lain
Without me exploring thing can remain at bay
Nature relies on me to make me a hopeful ray.
Author
Dr. Patankar K. K.
Physicist
Rajaram College.
Kolhapur.
When I was a Big Brother
for Jason,
an African-American 10 year old male,
we went into his apartment
so he could look around
for a long overdue library book.
As I accompanied him
from room to sparsely furnished room,
looking in nearly vacant closets,
cupboards,
drawers,
the only book we found
was a phone book,
looking silently neglected
much more than actively abused.
My first white male privileged
feelings about his Mom
had to do with blaming her
for probably not even feeling ashamed
for her irresponsible choices
while economically and politically administering
their bookless house
in this pre-WWW information age.
But, then I began asking questions.
What could Jason tell me
about his Mom's life
when she was his age?
What were stories
familiar to her,
read
or retold
or experienced
and re-experienced,
therapeutic or traumatic?
Through this widening narrative moment
of multigenerational conjecture,
hypothesis,
questioning,
contemplating,
I also learned to question
what traumatic straight white male stories
are experienced by gay
and bisexual
and transsexual 10-year-olds,
regardless of racial identification,
And by 10-year-old girls,
perhaps regardless of racial identification,
or even further amplified
by being doubly,
and silently, outside
straight white patriarchal privilege.
I found myself
suddenly
tearfully
incapable of briefly imagining
much less deeply,
unflinchingly contemplating
the trauma
of growing up poor
and lesbian
and black or brown
or too red
or too yellow
without any books
or stories,
read
or retold
or experienced
about how her 10-year-old life will matter,
could be healthy, someday,
would ever be felt safe,
unless held shamefully silent,
Not appropriate material
for books
or retelling
or experiencing straight
white
male dominant stories,
economic
and political narratives
about retributive trauma
and not multicultural
restorative
democratically inclusive therapy.
I see my country is in terror
To much political makes our leaders fearsome
Foreseen the future is black
They plan to make a worst exit
For almost three years in office
No big projects has not displayed as accomplishment
The country's whole year budget is almost release
The political election is near but faint suspicion
Worst malady, the gold reserve have been sell abroad
The billions gain has nowhere to be transparent
More loans abroad has been found, no accountability
Transfer of funds from health surplus is diverted
To projects that has already funded to doubly funded
The Supreme Court has found more anomalous acts
As filed cases was serve to the leaders in sitting
More money matters comes in the open unaccounted
Where the purpose not meet but ends is doubtfully willed
People are in quandary of what will the end result to all of this
Dollar rate is stable at fifty eight or more than expected
The economy is quite alarming, more are unemployed
Every department of government has issue of corruption
Mainstream medias are not giving the good information
My people rely on New Social Media which are now in quandary also
Because of the freedom on voices my leaders are irritable
My leader is now onion skin, easily react not in a good way
The issue of not going to drug test is illusive, not acceptable
My people is suspecting my leader's questionable leadership
Making him the puppet of someone else's political ambition
The question remains uncertain of where my country is going
Is it to battle China or favor to someone else's allegiance
When will my nation have a true leader to lead this country
Into a First World Country and make Filipinos proud
Or when will our politicians ends their preposterousness.
So love, I soul sore love you;
Each and every time, I’m much enthralled with you:
I am doubly blued sadden in view;
My hearts eyes are blinded;
My mind is in chanted;
My arms are enwrapped;
I’ve fallen in the trap;
I’m just relaxed, in the love of you;
My heart, beats love my spirit soars;
High above the angels, I’m full of banter;
My mind is set to view;
My whole being loves you;
My hearts eyes are blinded;
My mind is in chanted;
My arms are enwrapped;
I’ve fallen in the trap;
I’m just relaxed, in the love of you;
So love, I soul sore love you;
Each and every time, I’m much enthralled with you:
I am doubly blued sadden in view;
I am that I am;
I am so in love with you;
I am that I am, oh, so I am, I am
I am so in love with you;
7/18/23
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2023©
Chronicler of Events and Emotions
As a Poet and as a Writer . . .
I’m a Chronicler of Events and Emotions;
I watch, observe, and record all that I see.
It’s truly enough to absorb and understand
Both the grandeur and depravity of mankind.
As I observe events—past, present, and future
And delve into any emotions that are at hand,
I make doubly sure to comment at will while
Showing no fear and sparing not the “sting” of
My words as a poet as a situation may command.
I can and should do no less on every theme I
Approach as a poet and a writer—for all of us who
Pursue this passionate path of refined exposition
Should realize that though we all may fulfill a very
Needed function of recounting and relating events,
Situations and emotions—we should never fear in
Providing, at times, a much-needed “conscience”
To a theme, event or situation as it unfolds.
And so it’s suitable for us poets to function at times
As a “conscience of mankind” and to be not afraid
To reflect this in our poems when the necessity of
A circumstance or situation pleads for it out of a
Compassionate need for human understanding and
Obvious decency.
For what are we as poets and writers, if we don’t
Undertake a deeper and more exalted approach to
What we do and really attempt to become “one” with
The human event, emotion, situation or relationship
We are writing about?
If we don’t do it—who will?
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved,
May 3, 2015 (Didactic)
*Appears in my new book under release date February 7, 2015.
Twins two headed, thy talents.
What on earth to say?
O kings majestic, paid rents?
Otherwise dismay!
Viralized infection?
Excuse means cut it out.
Downward thy direction?
Challenger lost his bout.
Ground, thy gold. First bought, then sold.
Polled and doubly old.
Warrior fierce, with hands a-cold?
Broken was the mold.
Things did not turn out right?
Well, smile on it awhile.
Counted stars in dim twilight!
Golem, please use thy guile.
Northward pointed all thy ways?
Dim like lingering days.
Stray not, travelers, from thy maze?
Carrion crows a-craze.
Flock of sun god, on thy left!
How to be bereft?
O dark chasm, stab to heft?
Open like a cleft!
Rock, thy rolling motion?
O portal, open wide.
What a quaintly notion!
Wormhole, thus woe betide!
Avalanches breaking free!
Devil seeking fee!
Dark fire blessings, may ye be!
Thunder o'er the sea!
Cold as harvest winters?
Autumn can have its chills.
Children can get splinters!
Grave robbers, paid thy bills?
Opopanax, thy delight?
Opium, pain is good?
Ore atop the hills of night!
Sirens sang of 'should'.
Doom, thy cloud. O burial shroud!
No use talking loud!
Widows, are thy heads a-bowed?
Fields of salt a-plowed...