Long Engorged Poems

Long Engorged Poems. Below are the most popular long Engorged by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Engorged poems by poem length and keyword.


Premium Member The Unfettered One

Plucked flower once clumsily graced a girls curls,
Now crushed in the wake of her ascending swirls,
Comfort be gone as bees holds dust for another,
Swarms of butterfly's doth aimlessly hover,
Yes, it was a bothersome thing,
It will pass for others to bring,
Drizzling fate from silvery clouds of one-liners,
Trickling o'er laughing grass, chuckles from flowers,
Smiles grew everywhere, a forest was chanting,
Far grays thunderous silence mid dull strikes of lightning,
Whilst a cheery red robin sits on a limb,
Gave me a tune and tweeted a hymn,
A rainbow arc set adrift in motionless skies,
Half of that lost in obscure disguise,
A moth sits on my clothes, drawn as if it was light,
Does not budge when shaken, not even a strike,
Eyes on me, as they interpret their assessment and define,
Requires close touches, made speechless, 'twas divine,
Teardrops from elated eyes as fetuses of euphoria,
Forms and slides on cheeks fleeted journey of my utopia, 
Breeze stems the short blades that grips the weight of me,
As enmeshed toes wraps in taller swords from cool earth neath, be,
Wanton for more goes unclaimed and was ignored,
Droplets adds, from a few to a downpour, engorged,
Clone the day, immerse it well into aspirations hold, free it back to where fantasy's exist, except the one,
Unfettered I chased myself homeward, drenched yet fulfilled for having lived this day regardless, except the one.
Form: Pastoral


Amoxicillin

I sleep while nature squeezes under my door.
A dream of the swamp blooms like a water-born disease in my polluted
senses flooding my throat, nose and lungs.

Breath rattles heavily through damp fabric and pushes tears through 
infected lids.
Salt cracks and crumbles from my eyes in brittle flakes.
Nature is in this house.

From within the walls, soaking wet tendrils transmit intricate messages. 
Tapping. Smearing.
Mud at the water’s edge swallows my legs in muscular contractions that grip me hard and hold me sucked into the slime.
There is comfort in my restful sludge as I slowly become a celebration of waste. 
A new smell is in this house.

I fumble, prod, rip, and slash at the dirt-smeared welts in the hope of exposing bone through paper-thin skin.
Insects have burrowed beneath bleeding fingernails and laid their sodden eggs inside tear duct, nostril, and mouth. 
Swollen and stretched, the engorged tissues begin to rupture as they rhythmically pump soupy discharge onto saturated sheets.
I hear my laughter in another room.

From the banks of the swamp, I watch amber lilies drift away on dark, green ripples that shimmer with an oily gloss.  
Their moist, heavy perfume clings to my tongue like a sugary membrane.
I slowly lift my head towards the clean blue sky and open my mouth wide. 
I hope God can see me, feel my restructuring.
One by one, black, twitching mosquitos swarm down to feed from my gaping mouth.
They bite and suck the blood from my blistered lips and force their way down into my lungs and stomach, filling me to bursting with their fluttering wings and delicate stings.
I cramp, bruise, tumefy.
Cells divide.
Segments fall away.
New organs grow.
This is my fresh suit, my next phase.
I do hope God can see me.

Okay What Fiend Stole Thy Body Electric

Thine distorted reflection rippled 
within rain maker's pool 
   upon a midnight clear
full moonlight sonata 
   flooded shallow abyss, 
cleaved fractal structures of silence 
reverberating deathly hallow from 'ere
to infinity, whence magic wand 
whipped out from 
   whereabouts unknown 

wove disenchanting spell 
   atop me shaded noggin more'n 
   fifty ruffle lake  suns
   Dorian Gray pictured here
to fore, awakened 
   from drunken stupor, 
whence sober self 

saw repulsive trouper 
   fluid dynamic image jeer
at pot bellied, dead panned, 
and ad libbed the mere
ore image lam bent, 
   mutilated spindled 
various horrid aspects of 
   myself nine inch 
   rusty nails impaired 

which, aghast at such 
   creepy distortion i didst rear
like a bucking bronco unclear
how this horrid, jagged, 
   limned paragon did wear
a grotesque disfigured Joeseph Conrad
   lost within heart of darkness – maybe Zaire

or Zulu-land, this 
   soaked silhouette half bare
from waist to head showed unmanly 
sagging overly engorged breasts 
plus right and left elephant sized ear 
egad, THAT CANNOT BE ME, 

yet upon performing 
   self exam a glare
ring outburst ensued, 
cuz thy once 
   bronzed handsome physique 
now grist for a Joker to jeer
and fodder made 
   for television series created, 
directed, and executed by Norman Lear
which role might be 
   temporary for Halloween, but near
lee every SINGLE day and night, 
thy aged dusk fraught hominid jerked, 
leaped, pooh poohed I ham ill prepared 

to accept, roistering, rollicking, 
rueing this Frankenstein scarred
complex deplorable edifice able, 
ready, and willing to be tarred
rather than evince flabbiness, 
gruesome homeliness, instance 

when no objection would arise 
to live out the remaining days of this life
as the world wide web turns, spins, rattles...
and voluntarily sign myself into a stew ward
with (at minimum ), a ghoulish, gnarly, 
gummy self activated door 

leading to privet hedge row trimmed 
topiary resplendent yard
cuz every cotton pickin, friggin, 
fingerhut lickin portal iz barred
dated Friday the thirteenth 
   with **** face on that card!

Premium Member Investing To Thrive

Win v Lose capitalism
evolving
could only emerge from prior Win+Win ecopolitics
of predominately altruistic relations
transactions
communications,
verbal and nonverbal.

Prior coperatively evolving Win+Win dominance
is ecologically necessary
and logically implied
to derive anything like
Win v Lose capital-engorged 
monopolistic wealth economies.

The opposite is not also true.
Win+Win altruism
evolves only as further emergence
from prior cooperative ecopolitical relations,
more resonantly resilient
compassionately pleasing
than Win v Lose degenerative unraveling
dispassionately displeasing.

The Melancholy and the Pale Machinery Part Iv

Of pale melancholy
And the infinite fall 
Of broken machinery 
Cast upon vast shores 
Decimation reservation

The prodigal son returns 
Jagged reigns of jaded egos 
Amber suns stretching upon seas of sanctuary 
Blue oysters cast a cult of personality 
Here is where the mechanicals recoiled  

Gears turned deep inside the obelisk 
Onyx realms reaching to monolithic cities
Blacken the sky is on fire of desolations dawn
Volumes fills my fancies with arcane dreams  
Milky white universe’s immaculate ejaculate dynastic

Covers pale melancholy machinery of it…
Drips and drains into serenity 
Tides borne cryptic things from ancient depths 
Fathoms different shores 
Odd engines images forges, engages, enrages

Facades of the Deities
Castings from altered shores  
Drudged up in desolate depths 
Dark quagmires in nightmares explore
The Melancholy and pale machines implore

Something fetal feral twisted engorged
An abomination spills upon the floor
A pale machine of marrow and blood 
In spines broken bones 
Hooked finger Nails Nine Inches long 

Pitch black eyes watch a haloed star 
Of holocaustic blooms 
In infernal flowers, flames, flurries 
Something seeps, creeps, down deep, furies
Lurches on to heavens door 

Breeds, seeds, forsaken monstrosities
Of pale machinery and mythic beings, 
The melancholy of humanity, 
A pale something expires 

Eternal winter of 
            Broken Machinery 
                       cast upon vast moonlit shores

                                 Where am I


Think Again!

You think you have me down pat
So, I’m going to move when you say this or that
Go scrub the rust from the pipes in your head
Can’t you remember I escaped your bed

Your heart engorged with congealed blood
Can only be cleared by a massive flood
Don’t think I’ll go throw a pity party
A stand I should take since you were forty

I’ve long stop feeding babes with spoon
This time, I need, myself to groom
Crystal clear, stream of water
This to myself I’ll joyfully gather

Nurturing hope, change and love
Redeeming the grace, from God above
So, with my new self, let me bond
Need no disquiet here to stand

So go!  Go with your selfish greed
No longer with your ache I’ll seed
So, with my new self let me bond
Need no disquiet here to stand
Form: Rhyme

Premium Member The Lavender Sickness of Vervain

It’s misty green and blue I bleed from my eyes
And the pale moonlight watches as I tear my shirt
And jeans as I am transitioning from man to wolf

The scent of her clusters of camphire and estrus
Holy smoke and evergreen has got me howling 
As the thurible is swung I'm still howling, better run

It’s midnight purple patches that I use to bandage
The wounds after necking with a vampire, in my veins
There’s a fire of passion and I can’t help myself

Ironically, I help myself anyway, to another banquet of kisses
Your porcelain skin, and my engorged eyes filled with skies
This vision let down on a silken sheet, a sight for blood red eyes

Oh the lavender sickness of vervain 
And as you wait I have the musty smell of legends
To unfurl, and the crystal ball tells the future and past

Midnight purple patches and misty blue and green
Set the scene combining for this reverie of Aphrodite with arms
More arms than Shiva even Durga to pull at you

Don’t pull me under with you, my life is just beginning
Blackness, please leave me alone, I sleep in silver strands
As sleep demands and the sun is coursing over

Budding Beauty

Misty veil lifts
revealing early morning sunrise.
Spring buds engorged with life
begin to show wonder held within,
mystically unfolding natures beauty.

A crop of delicate colour,
gentle scents mingle in the air,
as tiny heads gently nod approval
to the bold, majestic crowns that stand
head and shoulders above them.

Respectfully each stands their ground
aware of passion needed 
to give their very best,
in short time of show before
shrivelling in death.

To nourish and nurture
the core of itself or the ground 
to which it seeds itself
by winds, rains or insects,
giving wake to stronger fellowship next year.

Premium Member In the whispering embrace of twilight's veil

In the whispering embrace of twilight's veil,
Where shadows lengthen and echoes of memory swell,
I find myself drifting in a river of consciousness,
Young boys, brave and bold, stepping into eternity,
Like crimson poppies falling on sacred ground,
Innocence forsaken in villages and towns.
The cold hand of death and the longing for peace,
Rifles, bayonets, and thunderous artilleries,
Chasing clouds and dreaming of ethereal dames,
Lives consumed by the relentless flames of war.
Sunrises in their hearts, moonlight in their eyes,
Yet sunsets came too soon, heedless of their cries,
"Mother, father, your beloved son shall return,"
As a thousand splendid stars on each face burn.
Crimson poppies adorning their uniforms,
Tender and warm, a somber adornment,
Crimson poppies beneath their nails,
In their boots; their final exhale.
Tea and meals prepared by mother's hand,
Now only in memories, their presence sketched.
Father’s gruff voice and playful fights with siblings,
Echoes of a distant life, yet empowering.
Home was now a trench, a brotherhood forged,
In the spirit of camaraderie, their hearts engorged.
On muddied ground, their last stand found,
Young boys, brave and bold, forever bound.
In the twilight of thought, where lives entwine with dreams,
A song of melancholy rises, a tale of eternal seams,
For in the silence of eternity, they remain young stars,
Shining in the cosmos, freed from war's scars.
Like crimson poppies scattered across the battlefield,
Their sacrifice an unending testament, forever sealed,
In a world where innocence and courage eternally meld,
Their spirits whisper in the winds, in stories forever held.
Mystic and dramatic, their legacy weaves,
Through the fabric of time, in twilight's eaves,
A tapestry of valor, in crimson and gold,
Young boys, brave and bold, who shall never grow old.
© Dan Enache  Create an image from this poem.

I Keep It Bleeding

Searching mindlessly with my reading light for a flashlight—
I used you as a comfort to get to his ultimate hue of bloom
Puking in a fine porcelain sink with a dirty trashcan in sight—
I opened on you pain instead of the other that could take it
Turning on the air conditioning with the window open—
I never let you help me; I was always looking elsewhere
Stabbing the can with the knife and leaving the can opener inside—
I left you hidden as I drilled on others’ for their pleasure
Watching a starved child on TV while eating a sandwich—
I engorged on your love as you bent over in emptiness
Peeling off a newly-formed scab from a cut on my arm—
I never let our relationship heal; I keep it bleeding!!!!!!

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