Long Drop Poems
Long Drop Poems. Below are the most popular long Drop by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Drop 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!
Listen to the rain. It sings. It whispers.
Listen to the rain. It heals. It covers.
I lay in the grass. Thinking. Wondering. The rain falling, splashing on my cold pail skin. Splashing on my hair. Dancing on my dress.
It's falling all around me. Covering me. Protecting me. My body. My heart. My soul.
Healing the wounds. Covering the scars.
I close my eyes and feel it's cold touch. Drop by drop. Sinking in my skin.
I listen to it fall. I listen to it whisper. I listen to it sing. I listen to the wind. Blowing screeching. Screaming. Pounding the rain against my body. Against the grass. I lesten to the thunder roll. Roar. Growl. I listen to the lightning crack and slash the dark sky.
I'm thinking. Wondering. Hoping. Hurting.
I'm thinking about you. Wondering about you. Hoping for you. Hurting for you.
I miss you. I need you.
The pain is unbarable. I can't stand to be away from ou. I can't stand not feeling your touch. I can't stand not hearing yur voice.
So I lay in the grass. I listen to the rain sing. I listen to it whisper.
I let it heal me. I let it cover me. I let it cover the scars.
I listen to the rain. It hides my tears. Washes them away. The wind carries waya my worries. My doubts. The thunder hides my cries. My sobs.
But the lightning brings you. Brings images of you. Brings memories of you.
I can't help but smile. I hold you dream catcher and tags tight against my chest. I hold our picture.
Another crash, another stike. I get you for one more night.
The sky gets darker and darker. More and more memories of you flash through my mind.
The rain grows harder, the lightning grows longer.
In the grass I lay, smiling, soaked. Clutching our picture. Clutching your tags. Clutching your dream catcher. The last memories with you.
I will meet you again. I will see you again. I will be in you arms again.
We will make it.
The wind dies down and the rain slows. The thunderstops, so does the lightning show. My show of you is over.
Sad once again I lay in the grass. Listening to the rain sing. Listen to the rain whisper.
I look at our picture. A tear escapes my eye.
I miss you. I wish I could be in our arms again. I wish you could hold me. I miss being with you. I miss hearing you.
Another tear added to my growing fear. My growing saddness.
Another tear for you. I miss you. I need you.
Alas, you may have noticed if
you’ve looked around the world these days,
you don’t see werewolves or zombies,
no vampires or mummies at play.
The whole world seems to have lost that
thade of mystery we once knew,
The creatures that stalked us of old
have become remarkably few.
There’s still a few out there, I know,
good old Dogman up in Michigan,
but for many of these creatures
their wild days have come to an end.
Now what’s the reason for this loss?
What has brought about this strange thing?
That’s easy enough to explain,
we humans are great at killing!
Yes, just as with normal animals,
we kill off what might be a threat,
something threaten might endanger out lives
is something that we can’t abet.
So just like predators and small pox
we saw the job was done,
heck, we published how to kill them
in all of our horror fiction!
Stakes, silver, garlic, and headshots,
we let all the world know how to win,
to the point out nights have become safe,
free of all the creatures of sin.
But if you still want to see them
then I have some good news for you,
you can see them all down at the
Endangerer Horror Species Zoo!
Now we got ghouls, goblins, wendigos,
your Demons, your banshees, and sprites,
we got all of the B-team monsters,
but most folks come for the big five.
I guess we should start with the werewolf,
each must roam in his own separate pen,
their spacious and lined in silver leaf,
we don’t want them getting out again.
The only ones left are the old ones,
so old they no longer transform,
they just stay werewolves all the time,
apparently this is the norm.
whatever the case, it’s good for us,
people can see them fur and all,
through a foot-thick one way mirror
that forms the enclosure front wall.
These eight foot beasts eat messily,
yet people gather when they feed,
yhey act appalled by the whole thing,
Yet they consistently watch the scene.
And when those lycans howl loud
it pieces right down to the soul,
ten times the fear of a normal wolf,
the spine tingles, and blood runs cold.
But people like feeling afraid
so long as they know they are safe,
sometimes we’ll drop a rabbit in there
so folks can watch the beast give chase.
Why do so few of these beast remain?
think silver bullets plus machine gun,
most of them now are heads on a wall,
we’re luck to have more than one...
CONTINUES IN PART II.
Since the begining of days when my heart became an advocate of concrete paths, I have
come to understand the joys that are unprecipitated fears and the fears that are purpose.
For so long I have adapted to the muddy waters that breed beautiful roses with thorns of
such pure poison. Taking into my lungs the fresh air, this same air that is only fresh with the
will of foul principle, yet some how law. Speaking the language that has no sound and
somehow it is always too loud for its own good. Induction in the chase for things that keep
my temperature down in the summer while making the atmosphere a little warmer. Like
something chilly for my wrist ,neck, ears and hands. In the most artic of winters things that
keep me warm like having a personal zoo, mink, chinchilla, fox, rabbit, beaver, and ostich
and yet winters are still so cold. Realizing that somehow winters burn the soul, as summers
tend to freeze the heart. Love is the sound of nature and its remeberance of present. Eagles
scream through the air, colts break the pavement with 38 and 45 calibers of pressure. The
floating of land crafts with special made wheels, stars, spokes, claws, blades, all in chrome
reflecting the spite of happiness in this life. Delicate feminims that perform the sweetest of
actions with the audacity to control the wheather of man. Sunny days, cloudy months, and
years of storm. Pleasure is found everywhere and yet it is never found, so pain is the
blessing of that same pleasure seeked. With each passing day I appear cleaner, except for
my work related smudges(from the parkway to the kitchen, from the kitchen to the
community). All the things I want I have and still I have nothing. Today has been here a
thousand times and only once,tomorrow will pass as yesterday returns. This is where the
truest kisses come from angels, yet the only blessings are from the breath of the demon.
This is home, the city of hustle in the divided states of atrocity. So much passionate turmoil,
so much un-affordable affection that is afforded by price and un-conditional purpose. As the
tears of an infant blend with the crying of the clouds this waters brings hope of a changed
existence. One that is the best life, not heaven or hell, not paradise, but life as it could be,
life in a drop...a single drop... Of Rain Water! Live, Suffer, Celebrate!
Form:
Murk Rammer froze as he felt the nuzzle
of a snub-nosed thirty-eight’s deadly muzzle.
Louis The Retch poked it into his back.
“The jig’s up, Rammer. I ain’t cuttin’ no slack.”
Murk had been tricked by a double-crossing dame,
alias “Frigitte,” he didn’t know her real name.
She’d been his undoing, that cute little louse,
undoing the buttons on her bulging blouse,
then slipping out of her slip and her hose,
and her holster too; yeah, she had one of those.
He’d fallen for Frigitte, completely deluded.
She’d come on strong, delightfully denuded.
She’d kissed him hard and let him get a good grab,
but when he dozed off she skipped out and blabbed.
The shamed shamus woke up and found a clue
and went to a warehouse -- a decision he’d rue.
He’d fallen for the ruse, he’d taken the bait,
and walked right in to a date with fate.
That darn dame had put him on the spot.
He was one peeved peeper who’d loved for naught.
The warehouse was full of contraband goods.
They belonged to The Retch, a sleazeball hood --
lead falcons from “Malta” and vases from “Ming,”
dubious diamonds and other blarney-ish bling,
a lading of lies from a smug little smuggler,
who played for keeps and went for the jugular.
And now The Retch had gotten the drop.
No chance for Murk to call for the cops.
“It’s curtains for you,” the Retched one said,
“The only way out is to go down dead.”
“You win,” Murk said, with a little shrug.
He knew he was beat and waited for the slug.
A bullet in the back was the final payoff.
Fat chance The Retch would decide to lay off.
Murk heard the click of a cocked-back hammer
and waited for death in his taciturn manner.
Bang! went a gun – but not the thirty-eight.
The shot came from someone hiding behind a crate.
The Retch went down with blood on his chest,
then high heels approached; you know the rest.
Bad girl Frigitte leapt into Murk’s arms.
She just couldn’t stand to see him harmed.
And that had been Murk’s ace in the hole,
playing so well the Romeo role.
He wrapped his arms around Frigitte’s waist
and their mouths joined together, such a spicy taste!
Then he took her hand and led her out
into rain washed streets where wet shadows slouched.
Did Murk turn Frigitte in to the cops?
Or let love fill his head with mushy slop?
The ending of this tale I’ll leave up to you,
but as for me, I haven’t a clue.
life has it's ups and downs
it's highs and lows
with it comes a lot of crap
but what's most crappy?
Action speaks louder than words
now thats crap.
when you are in a mess
and four men are set to give you stress
only words can placate their vex.
To err is human, to forgive is divine.
iI know men that make it an habit to err
all their faults, in one day they bring to bare.
When they say sorry
you should be worrried
cos when your back is turned
your heart they shall surely burn.
Old wine tastes better
i have never heard a sillier chatter.
Give me bitters, ale or lager
whiskey, cognac, all even the better
inebriation the sole aim
whatever the taste am game.
Your vote is your voice, let it count.
I can't even be cynical on this
their's always count more.
The patient dog eats the fattest bone.
My ***** just had a litter
and with every litter their is a sickler
he was the grunt of the squealers
he never got to mama's breast on time
and with time he died
a bone, he never had to dine.
Dress the way you want to be addressed.
It was visiting day at the prisons
on came a nun brighter than the sun
pious in body and soul, her gait straighter than a pole
she left their third leg rigid
am not kidding.
Every disappointment is a blessing in disguise.
Now this is no lie
am still trying to figure out who was behind the mask
when i got robbed on pay day.
A stich in time saves nine
I love this line.
when you try to take what is mine
believe me it wont be fine
even when you run to the court and get a fine
I will cut you up to bits.
and the stiches wont be nine.
The pen is mightier than the sword
reader, the above is one hell of a crap word.
when am with my big gun
you better drop your pen, cower and run.
Every day is for the theif, one day is for the owner
this is a no brainer.
The governor embezzled our money and left
he got all the praises... you should know the rest.
Make hay while the sun shine's
this should shed some light.
it was Norway inthe middle of the night
when the morrow came, there was still no light.
Make hay while the sun shines
is one hell of a crap.
cos when it should be lihht,
the sun is never in sight.
Let sleeping dog lie
i tell you no lie.
When all your Mutt does is to sleep and eat
when burglars come in to take and keep
you let the ungrateful beast suffer a bit.
Am I really the only one thinking outside the box,
When it comes to pension costs,
Regardless of whether people are able to work or not,
With some working til they drop.
Let me open my box and tell you how to stop the rot,
In my box is all the evidence that points to the life experience,
That those who are for a pension now due can bring to the table,
Along with the math's calculations that says how much they can give back,
If we ask their help,
To mentor the young and keep them out of jail,
To share a lifetime of knowledge that we may need if the internet breaks,
So, we don't end up back in the stone age.
To help on their good days or even good hours to reduce the rubbish pile,
That is costing us more every minute to manage,
Then there the hidden costs they can help us with,
When you start thinking out of the box,
Like, the longer we employ them when they are incapable,
Of doing their job there is a cost,
Or the fact that increasing their age of retirement,
We delay the intake of the young,
And if the age of retirement keeps going up,
The number of those unemployed for life goes up,
A cost that would burden us for generations to come.
Then there are the facts about the health problems,
With older people in workplaces,
Bladder issues,
Skin that is less resistant to knocks,
To name but two which will leave businesses no choice,
But to raise prices.
Another thought I came up with while thinking out of the box,
Is that to get the best out of the old work wise,
We should be looking at retirement as a gradual process,
With flexibility for gradually reducing a persons work hours,
And shifting them to light duties, including mentoring roles,
According to their individual health and abilities to do their job,
This should create opportunities for more young people to
Enter the workforce.
Then still thinking outside the box there is the mental wellbeing of
The aged which effects their physical health which impacts,
The overall rate of spending on health.
The more useful and less anxious people of any age feel,
Is a win in terms of real dollars saved.
If we can get more people thinking out of the box on this issue,
We will find it is not an issue at all,
Once the number crunchers see the new evidence,
That was sitting outside their box,
Who knows they might be tempted to think outside the box themselves.
"melliflous birds are still cooing in the forest of my amber dreams " (by poet)
a gift from my father - on the first day of college,
"Golden Treasury"...A book of poetry...
the first poem I read... "She Walks In Beauty".
I carried that book throughout my life, even when I stopped reading poems...
even when poetry wasn't the priority any more,
Instead I looked at recipe-books - how to improve my culinary skills,
and became almost a champion chef in a few months.
Wordsworth and Browning were far away from my thoughts,
Coleridge? Oh No! Porphyria's Lover, and Ancient Mariner...
did not exist in my world of reality!
how many glorious summers went by ~ how many frosty winters ~
Delicious food, excellent company,
chasing after active children, stressing about job-opportunities,
exotic travels, grandiose entertainment ...
had time for every little trivial thing in the world...but no time for
the book my father imagined his daughter would embrace the most!
then one miraculous day...when even my father gradually forgot
the girl who used to blossom in the world of words, and poetry....
I found my precious friend collecting dust,
neglected, discarded, in the corner of a shelf.. couldn't believe it was waiting for me with a beating heart ~
each and every page came alive with a magical touch ~
still my name clearly visible, handwritten with my father's calligraphic dexterity !
almost shaking to spot my long-lost treasure, I cried!
overwhelmed with emotions, tears fell!
as if a candle burnt and melted.
every drop of tears brought back the lavender memories ~
of an exhilarating past... my passions, my yearnings,
tender dreams of lilac hues never attained, the abandoned path I was supposed to tread ...
a path strewn with lyrics and verses, ballads and
sonnets like blazing auburn leaves of autumn ~
now shockingly empty and despairingly barren.
the forgotten aspirations and never-met goals...the tremendous sense of loss,
of crushing heart-break, of torturous frustration,
all flooded in!
many lonely years have gone by!
melliflous birds are still cooing in the forest of my amber dreams
ultimately my first love has returned !
First Place
May 15, 2021
Inspired by “ He gave her a book” contest
Sponsor: Mystic Rose Rose
What happened?
I bolt awake, the heat of the fire
Still burning in my brain.
Oh, it was just a dream.
Or was it? I look at my skin,
Realize it’s black and bloody all at once
Cracked, peeling.
I sniff,
The whisper of smoke still in my nose,
My hair.
A tear rolls down my pitted cheek
As I remember, like I always do,
After I wake up.
Reliving that night.
The last thing I remember,
I was
Home, entwined in your arms
(your fingers were entwined, too, in the hair I’m stroking now).
The heat between our bodies
So strong, that I pushed you away;
I regret it now.
(I just wanted a little space.)
Because the heat then became suffocating, consuming,
As you rolled over and said
this wasn’t the same anymore.
I couldn’t breathe.
Soon, I was sweating,
100 degrees and climbing,
as you got up and packed your things
then left the room.
The slam of the front door
Was the catalyst.
My heart was the match,
And I the fuel....
I exploded from the inside out-
The flame ripped me open,
My skin started to blacken and smoulder.
Stop drop and roll?
They never taught us what to do
In a human inferno.
In desperation, I laid there on the bed
You and I shared
My tears nothing
but puffs of smoke
as they fell uselessly upon my skin.
The tears I’m crying now
In the hospital bed
Remembering
Are no more productive...
But my dear friend sitting next to me
Who pulled me out of the flames
Is there to dry them
And to console me
Telling me I still look beautiful
the wounds will heal
And that you aren’t worth them anyway.
I now know what I have to do
once I can leave this place.
Months later,
My burns have closed, now only scars remain.
I walk up the street to the house you and I once shared,
Now only a pile of rubble.
Picking my way through the charred remains of our bedroom,
A curtain scrap there, a chunk of headboard there,
A stray blackened sock,
I stop, and kneel down in the ashes.
I begin to sift through the ashes, the memories, with my finger,
Both erasing the past,
And bringing it to life all at once,
Until I have found it.
A blade of grass.
One.
Standing tall, strong,
And unapologetically green.
In the middle of the ashes,
With the ruins of our life together all around me,
I delicately clean the area around the blade of grass
with my finger, and
I smile.
What Democracy
Democracy, in Britain is nothing but a lie.
From the dictionary the word should be deleted
Whilst democracy’s the slogan that politicians cry
The majority of us feel that we’ve been cheated
With political correctness forced upon us every day
Just in case the casual word may cause offence
If you have a strong opinion be careful what you say
Even though you may be talking perfect sense
When we joined the E.E.U. I’m sure we took the view
It would give a larger market for our trade
Yet now our mighty nation has a legal obligation
To abide by regulations Brussels made
The referendum was denied, the politicians lied
These decisions were decided by the few
It was no doubt understood, M.Ps thought it would be good
With a total disregarding of our view
MP’s pull out all the stops to try to fill our shops
With G.M foods that we don’t want to eat
Whilst cameras check our speed on roads where there’s no need
We’d be better off with coppers on the beat
If when confronted by a crook you land a good right hook
You may think that he deserved it, it’s his fault
When he is on probation you’ll be locked up down the station
To appear before a jury for assault
When travellers leave a mess, you’d be spot on if you guess
That authorities will turn an eye that’s blind
Yet drop a *** end in the street and before it hits your feet
You will get an instant ticket and be fined
If asylums what you seek and English you can’t speak
Benefits are paid for your welfare
But if your British and your old, your property is sold
To pay for any time you are in care
If you chastise your child, because he has run wild
That law will on your collar give a tug
For no matter what you say, do-gooders rule the day
Even though the child may grow into a thug
In the interest of fair play referendums are the way
The majority decide just where we go
We shouldn’t change our laws or take part in futile wars
To massage a political ego
When we are due a big election, parties vie for our affection
Promising the things they have in store
It fair gives us the hump, they should take a running jump
They must realise we’ve heard it all before.
It is hard to understand who governs our fair land
Or who it is that makes up all our rules
Our politicians bore us, or totally ignore us
Democracy in Britain! It’s for fools!!.
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