Long Drip Poems
Long Drip Poems. Below are the most popular long Drip by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Drip poems by poem length and keyword.
Mornin coffee thinkin of you!
Simmers thoughts of a wonderful brew,
as dreams of romance percolate into view!
Such an awesome aroma I sense,
if we were to become more intense!
How's about a warm slow roast,
somethin that you'll like the most!
And if you want to make it nice'n hot,
know Im gonna like you a lot!
Here's some sugar for your cup dear,
with visions of holding you near!
Cafe au' lait is a tasty treat,
but bet your the one thats really sweet!
What a rich blend we've found,
and I look forward to stickin around!
Guess I better get a bigger pot,
well considerin all the luv you got!
Starbucks gives you lots of frothy foam,
you know I cant wait to get you all alone!
Wishin you have a bottomless mug,
so I can give ya lotsa hugs!
Hey care for some Arab-bic-ka,
you wont mind if I grab-at-ya!
Gettin dizzy the smells so heavenly robust,
why honey you might like if I just go for bust!
Want to wait for a traditional slow drip,
and get better acquainted with your upper 'n lower lip!
Expresso has a very strong flavor,
but girl it's you I really want to savor!
Fix'in yours up all real creamy,
and gettin it nice and steamy!
Oh so sweet and yummy,
brings a taste of joy to my tummy!
Shots of Kahluha makes a good intoxicating mix,
and I would crave to give you a nice fix!
Yep just hoping that you'll spike my cup,
and really stiffin things up!
Darlin for you I'm makin it strong,
so maybe I can kiss ya all night long!
And anytime your ready to take a drink,
deep within your arms I long to sink!
Be glad to fix ya a mocha delite,
and still be kiss'in ya come early daylight!
Next there comes a double shot latte,
your turn to show me how your so risque!
Carefully made you'll never find any course grounds,
your tearin me up with all them sweet moanin sounds!
Just ask me to prepare yours with a french press,
and surely you wont last long in that lil mini dress!
Amazing what happens when you roast a little bean,
lacey silk stockings tempt where to get in between!
Just hollar whenever you want a cappuccino,
now what about that juicy maraschino!
Ahhh the heated scent is so incredibly aromatic,
why honey never knew your so kinky 'n acrobatic!
So whenever you ponder for your cup,
k-n-o-w that I'd like to just fill you right up!
Mmmm talkin bout good to the last drop,
whoa babe I'm about ready to pop!
Thinkin you might go for a really fine grind,
I'm about ready to lose my mind!
Placed 1st in Contest
rain shine so divine
sprinkle blessings kissings wet ~
feet in leather boots
~~~~~~
Rain-shine sound patter
mad hatter
Alice lost in whimper drops
coatless with Rabbi Rabbit
ruling
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plain rain is my gain drip
to refrain D
from disdain r
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Keep p dripping
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everyone
SANE planting \\// \\// grain …..
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torrential rain potential
Puddle H
Ubble Oo00orainnoshame
huddle close
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wers for blue flowers | | |
so they cower
in ROYAL tower /////|||||||::::::://///\\\\\\
///\\\\ a shimmering sleet
of rain glimmering
on street
rainbow sheet covering
a fleet of SHIPs
2 dip so neat
sweet
RAIN AGAIN bleat bleat
SODDEN EARTH
joyful mirth
|||||\/\/::::::::||||||•••girth birth water
w a t e r FILTER b
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G. R. A. T. E. F. U. L 4. RAINDROPS
buckets of rain
there’s a hole in my bucket
rain s
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sneaking
holy r A i N
Rain S. h. I. N. e. ••xx
ON ••
_______\\\\________
It was as real a fear as any that one could encounter.
Fear is torment, and comes with the purpose to intimidate and eliminate. I have encountered the fear of punishment and fear of bodily harm. I have feared darkness where one is at a loss of his surroundings.
As a child I was terrified of polio shots administered once a year.
There are fears that come and go, and we learn to adjust and adapt. There are myriads of phobias and fears that threaten us all, but there is a fear I wish to share. It is a fear with which I struggled and have had to confront, conquer, and dispatch.
I fought for several years until I conquered and overcame 'the fear of failure'. This fear did not accompany me at birth as if I inherited it from ancestors. I created conditions and aspirations that painted pictures of accomplishments and achievements whereby I dared not to be anything less than the master of all my hopes and dreams. I could not accept the normal or the mundane. I believed that I would excel no matter what. However, I came to realize that I was being captured and imprisoned by my own mind set. I was becoming obsessed and driven to avoid what I perceived as an unacceptable life, and thereby becoming afraid of what might become a reality. Thus the 'fear of failure' in reality reduces one's abilities and capabilities.
When I released myself from the drip of such a fear, I became free to let go and let me be the best me that I could be without trying to please and convince me as well as others of how wonderful I could be. It was a fear from which no one else could emancipate me. God's wisdom and grace granted me the sweet freedom from the fear of failure.
09132017 PS Contest, Fear 2, Debbi Guzzie
Late night summons madmen,
madams, bold streetwalkers,
picking pennies from the gutters
as the merchants close their shutters
and the homeless crouch in doorways
in their rags, against the cold.
Black or white, no compromise,
no colours clothe the empty streets,
as Bobbies tread their lonely beats,
the watchmen rub their crusted eyes
and settle into vigilance,
no accident, just circumstance.
Midnight passes.
Leila in her bursting bodice
lingers, guesses who I am
and flaunts her body, all the same
to her, a customer who'll pay
for twenty minutes' satisfaction.
Dressed in taffeta and lace
she'll never even see my face,
night's sweet anonymity,
the very definition of her name.
Later, as the moonbeams shift,
and cloudlines disappear and drift,
come images in stark relief
of twisted metals magnified
that catch the eye, suspend belief.
Abandoned building, hollow-eyed
and squinting in a death mask grip,
skeletal, once filled with pride,
now empty, and for ever tongue-tied,
cadavered, and condemned to drip.
Still later, the street-lamps spot
the cats a'creeping worldly-wise,
and rats along the quayside waiting,
ready for the avalanche
of waste into the yawning dumpsters.
I have seen the children sneaking out
before the dawn comes crawling,
dirty little ragamuffins forced
into leftover clothes,
weepy-eyed and snotty-nosed,
playing with a rotting carcass
or a broken bicycle.
Pre-dawn, and the street-lamp sputters,
merchants come to raise their shutters,
regard the fading moon, and mutter,
'yet another day.'
Begone, O Bride of Midnight!
favour us with not another glance,
put your spells away,
you'll not lead us in our daily dance.
Behold a wrinkled substitute,
a crone who likes to think that she's a queen;
with as much grace as she can muster,
she flusters, fidgets, lonely in her room,
feathered and be-furbelowed
and plays with her decolletage,
she's mutton dressed as lamb.
The smell of stale tobacco
and a whiff of old perfume,
no longer with her entourage
she dances out of rhythm to the tango,
rusty and unconstituted,
wraith-like, a phantom in her tomb.
At twenty past I'm home at last,
the brass plate spells my name;
come inside!
familiar and gratifying,
slippers by my bed still lying,
dressing gown and cap are crying,
here abide!
The sheets are turned and ready.
I leave the night and take a final bow,
grateful for the here and now.
To the authorities, your hands may be clean...yet to those who matter most...to those
looking up at you now with welled up eyes, your hands drip reddish black with my
blood...the children catch a glimpse of your sly victor's smile...quickly you hide it
behind a newly saddened facade, feigned and fabricated. The price of your happiness pales
in comparison to it's cost, woman...you just don't know it yet...
In this life and the next, I shall be your dark shadow...I shall haunt you without mercy.
Though you won't see me, I will be there. I will be the cold breath on the back of your
neck...the sense of impending doom that pushes down on you. When you hear a noise in a
dark room, it will be me, crouching in the corner with claws out, watching you in your
trepidation, whispering your vile name...I will be the chill crawling down your wretched
spine...the catch in your throat when you can't breathe and I breathe anew...
I will be all of these things for you, Rita...this is the least I can do to repay you.
Tell the children what you will about their father...the painful truth will be reflected
back to you every time you look into their confused, mournful eyes...when they stare off
and you try to catch their tears, oblivious to the waves of sorrow inside. Your victory
will become the wolf disrobed of the sheep's clothing. I will be the puppeteer of your
remorseful conscience, as it wraps it's hands around your gargoyle throat and ever so
slowly, takes your life.
Though my thoughts became my fantasies, I never had your murderous resolve. Tell everyone,
tell the children that you never wanted to keep them from me, that I could come by
anytime, like you always said after months of painfully endured reality...no one will ever
believe you. Everyone knows, Rita...especially the children. Pray for my words to unetch
themselves from the forefront of your demented mind...still I will dangle them in the
background. Our beautiful children, your little pawns, your poker chips with a
pulse...will come to truly know their mother.
So enjoy your foul, pyhrric victory...these six feet of cold earth matter not...the grasp
I have on you now is surpassed only by my reach, and like an unwelcome guest at your door,
I will be the puppeteer of your painfully reflective conscience...I will haunt you forever
in the darkness.
Form:
O, elusive muse, mysterious and profound bruise,
you bewitch my soul, never to be found in the way of former use.
In your absence, I am left with bittersweet
caramello pain,
forever longing for your ephemeral archery reigns,
to stick your finger in and frost your tips, lips, hips.
With every plié, a heart skips a beat,
as feelings pirouette upon your rage
and bloodlust and cage.
Each soft tendu, a love story paged,
imbued with passion's fire, never to age.
But doth wrinkle rings around my heart like a chain,
loosely at first.
Then comes your tools of torture,
your sandblaster-twirls deoxyribonucleiy
amidst a dreamscape host given wage,
unfurls, serpentor,
hyour body, an instrument
for efficacies' grand gauge.
Through leaps and bounds, love's whispers
take shape, like an hourglass shaken
to be thrown to the Leviathan sea.
Given over to the carcinogenie of winds,
carrying own lamp of photosins seeding plans.
Your occulant lids, occupancy Inn
unfolding a tale stolen from Wonderland
with narrator mouth agape.
Like a hellmouth opened revealing iron rows
of oscillator teeth, of to then throe.
I know there is no escape, but surrenders
oasiatic retreat of blue snows.
From your sire nyour cover of cape.
Spellbinding me to the elements
like salt in the wound to taste and one to grow.
O, ballerina of love, your steps mesmerize,
evoking metamorphic fertiles,
lilypad touchstone monads of diodes and control pads and padded rooms of the matrixed "mad",
making us crystals of your rites,
constellate consulates of your Medusaic petrify,
metamorphed from pieces of coal-
fitted for pressure, heat of becoming
from your diamond bit drill.
But beneath the surface of t h i s-
frozen-heartless veneer,
y o u r c a r o m i n g d a r k n e s s
come to take me away-
lies a fire, a longing, a blaze yet unquenched
Ignited by the spark of hope,
a steal cable between your wench
the yearning for warmth
worked by passion match.
There eyes an unaided flicker,
Me, the Wicker-man
struggling against your vice grip,
your tangle of betrathed lisp.
I am tied by your poetry,
your visa drip, feminine W I C C A - Beltane slip
of slip.
A bridge too far,
of golden vistas burning,
now, there is no return.
For me, only to find your drowning sea or burn.
Jack is learning so much at home, he’s bright and cheerful and never alone,
there’s always something good to do, like playing with bubbles or a trip to the zoo.
Experiments with water and soap, testing if objects sink or float,
painting and drawing are so much fun, there’s so much to do, we’ve just begun.
Last week we went to BCLM, and learned how coal was mined back then,
no shower for you, when you got home,
a tin bath it was, but you didn’t moan.
No electric for your light, no tv to watch at night,
no pre-pack food or take-aways,
no fridges, freezers or microwaves.
History, science and a life of nowt, all learned about in a fun day out,
to actually see, with their own eyes, helps children’s brains to realize.
Being told things read from a book, is not the same as having a look,
to experience things through seeing and doing,
teaches us more in this life we are living.
A picnic in the museum grounds, then jump on the bus to look around,
down stairs first, to take a peek, then upstairs, to choose a seat.
Into the town we went on the bus, a man stood waiting and waved at us,
cobbled streets and lumps and bumps, down the road, past the petrol pumps.
Then to the narrow-boat for a trip, through the tunnels, watch that drip!
The limestone is white and crystal like, then out of the dark and into the light.
Legging the boat, through the narrow gap, is hard work for 2 at the back,
but we get through and come out at last, Jack’s glad he didn’t live in the past.
The chain-maker is doing a demonstration, he has a chain, for a link to go on,
he makes the link as we watch a while, “you would start at age 6”, he tells Jack with a smile.
So much fun we’ve had today, laughing and learning along the way,
looking at things, we’d never see, while stuck in school, at least till 3.
Jack looks at me with a smile in his eyes “thank you nanny, it was a lovely surprise”
“I didn’t know we were going today, to that museum to learn and play”
” I love being taught at home by you and seeing all the things I can do,
like making cakes and playing chess and doing experiments that make a mess”
We get home and Jack sits on my knee, “I’ll get that book you bought for me”
he reads his book to me out loud, I tell him ” I love you, you make me so proud”
so easy to fall, and so hard to break free
somehow as a child I knew
it was as if they knew my name before I had a clue
at 10 reading books about orphans
free from the church
the dignity of evil
nuns silently brought
the battle of addiction began without meaning
images crept into my head at ten
child orphans hooked on opiates
living on the street homeless
but somehow free
my time as a child skipped over
teen experimentation
no social life
and straight into motherhood
the first time I ran from myself
9 months of being a teen
happy, unknowing
thrown straight into postpartum trauma
with a child of an older man
who knew everything
gaslight dreams flickering
fading with every press
morphine drip, and 3 months asleep
surgical birth
I didn't hear her cries
asleep she was taken
my ship was sinking
bonds breaking silence
anger grew like a cancer
hurricane spiraling within
my fist at the end of the funnel
ready to blow
a target in the darkness
floating on hope
circled by the unseen voices
whispering my doom
seven years of a precious life
lost to me
“end it all”
“leave it all behind”
ashamed, grasping at threads
death refused to take me
shouting “fight with patience”
through the thick
the echoes lightyears away from my ears
20 years locked up as grown child
mentally fatigued
10 more years locked up in the standards
of what society calls marriage
an adult thing to do
pleading for help
from grandmother's psychology degree
with the words
“keep your mouth shut for your daughter's sake,
she needs both her parents”
I ran a 2nd time
chained to my abusers
demon bound chasing
with overbearing shouts
30 missed calls in a row
shaming me, nothing was ever the right thing
couldn't have me, so stole all that they could
and the only child I ever held
10 years of tears
angry and depressed
hating every new day
afraid of happiness
dreaming of death
unable to save my child
from barely escaping repeated
suicide attempts
kept away
stayed away
threatened by his constant
demanding
civil servants to tell me
no one could help
without a proper court installed judgment
hellraiser dug the chains in deep
waiting for me to succeed to the pain
that kept my nervous system alight with fire
Frankii <3 Fame
5-8-2024 1:11 am
Unadorned
Let me leave this temporal sky
Unadorned, unmourned, unwept;
Let no tears drip from cherished eyes,
Let no heart grieve for the bereaved;
Let no grief assail any face,
But the lovely chants of the Lord
Resound in every ear apace,
And His name be on every lip;
Let me part from this worldly place
Unadorned, in simple attires,
Decked with some flowers on the face,
Like the commonest of mortals;
Let me depart from this dull sphere
With delightful smiles on the face
With composure and with no fear
And name of the Lord in the heart;
Unadorned, let my ash be spread
At sea, between the north and east,
Where the rays of the rising sun
On the horizon makes their feast;
Unadorned, let but plain rituals
Be carried out for the bereaved,
As death is the end of one`s strife
And the beginning of new life;
Unadorned, unmourned, unwept,
Let my grave lie under the sky;
Let no dear one mourn the bereaved
As I`m soaring up very high.
Beyond the temporal body
Ever lies the eternal soul,
That saints and sages do reckon
To integrate the divine whole;
Adorned or unadorned, the soul
No pandemic can just subdue
And neither tempests, nor weapons
Can destroy or alter its hue.
.
Hi y’all, i’m ‘bout to explicate a poetic form which I have been sharing with those on the Soup for some yearz now (sparsely) yet, never expounded it’s dynamics.
For sum yearz now; i've dripped this new poetic form on the Soup's slips, not knowing how to explain the form to y’all. Though, i guess now iz uh great time,
i feel confident. So, let’s bounce (or drip:) to it!
Okie-dokie; mine new form iz called, "dip" likewise, it's cousins; “double dip", “triple dip”, “royal dip”, and, last but not least, “crown’d dip”. Therefore, for y’all hungry for teach; here'z one uv my exemplificationz uv uh “dip” ‘)
intro> az her lively
crossed
mine
look's see
juxtapoze> every hern
(s) 'bout
glister'd
az her lively
crossed
Mine
look's see
every 'bout hern
glister'd every hern
'bout
glister'd
^
the "dip"
*p.thuh.s...
The "dip" form only makes
sense 'centering' thuh write ')
*follow this format in all uv
edvard'z "dips"... intro
subject
juxtapose ,)