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.
A plethora of
hopes and dreams
born in glorious
first moments:
heartbeats and
breaths.
A most coveted
bountiful blessing
deserving of
unconditional love,
smiling upon this
precarious world.
The most joyous moment
suddenly shrouded
by crushing concern
and immeasurable fear.
Patience wearing thin
in the presence of
engorged, stinging breasts
and marked, stretched skin.
A grey curtain drawn
in dispair and pain
over an exhausted mind
and over-burdened body.
A sweltering shamefulness
creeps in on lonely,
endless days
and sleepless nights -
taking advantage
of inexperience and
insecurity.
A brooding rage boils over
into uncontrollably
weeping eyes
and quivering fists.
An outburst of emotions
sets into motion
a bombardment
of self-doubt
and hopelessness.
Swiftly
a warm caress
and innocent blue eyes
offers short-lived relief.
In the presence
of pure perfection
a deep gratitude
offers colossal courage.
Healing.
Inevitable.
OMG
By R Henderson
Painful sweaty clumps of air converged.
From Uranus it demanded to be purged.
Your body full over engorged.
But the contract of passage had been forged.
The close escape, the quest for relief,
Was obtained but ever so brief.
Out it came in the form of a queef.
But so foul it shriveled a leaf.
Plant life could not even be sustained.
The odor Uranus's neighbor was to blame.
The culprit called out their name.
An arsenal like this had no shame.
But the glory was not felt for long.
Before the bubbles descending sent out their song.
Chords of warning to quickly be gone.
But the noses within the perimeter of Uranus took too long.
For stay they did with bright shining luster.
As down moved the atomic cluster.
Holding on as long as could be mustered.
An old Uranus let lose of a down right dirty foul crop duster.
Four minutes straight the eruption blew.
Within the air even flew
Through the air a piece or two
of Uranus's poo.
No one had listened to the rumble that foretold of this one foul deed.
The pintos, the collards, the black eyed peas.
Caused an explosion that even stopped the refreeze.
The sweet smelling aerosol refused to be freed.
So the stench lingered on everything.
The eyes watered, and Uranus stinged.
You had to sit down exhausted as your bell it dinged.
Finally the relief that a fart was destined to bring.
I am hooked deep inside my cavern-hanging host
replicating in cosy subterranean cell
night-time radar feeding my needful innermost
viral reservoirs overflow with gruesome gel
I slurp onto scaly creature, grimly scuttling
fissures unfold, revealing gory condominium
caged meal within a meal, proximity shuttling
re-absorbed, disturbed, unsettling equilibrium
I emerge, swimming 'Trojan' in moisture flowing
aqueous channel opening, internal organ-treat
indulged, engorged, rapacious appetite growing
coughed-up bipedal phlegm, damp cold air to greet
I am scooped again, adjacent cloth, nearby skin
bodies pressing, heavy breath, compulsive sneeze
defences haemorrhage, weakened corpses grin
death is killing me, wretched repulsive wheeze
I seep through porous mask and sweating gland
my time is spent, havoc wrought, no place to go
anti-bodies gathering, hostile hordes at hand
I am oblivion but still have many names to know
Longing to be handsomely engaged
engorged by trusted
resonant Beauty
together again
and yet again
Our same embodied story
retold
nakedly proclaimed in bold
shameless
and blameless
lack of LeftBrain
self-righteous judgment told
manipulation cold
examination old
Passion's spontaneity
sentenced by far too many words
ritualistic promises
liturgical performances.
Our same feelings
falling into passion's overwhelming river
which never flows exactly our same narrative
unfolding in/out fantasy
embodied top and bottom rhythm
mindbody patterns given
while received
communions.
All true on our best nights
of naked sex
and, perhaps, on our best days
of transparent
vulnerable communion
greeting promises of each exotic
enlightening dawn,
benedicting rewards of each erotic
co-empowering dusk
as living multi-faithful trust
returns love's global-hopeful lust.
When finding no well-rooted health communion
in our anthro-privileged community
then we may be past wealth's time
to immigrate narrowly up
and linearly on
Or
we may find peace
just in time
to emigrate more deeply giving down
and taking in
Here co-present win/win
fulfilling mountainous longing's quivered
slow grown rivered
timeless eternity delivered
sacred shivered
Now
Bliss
co-empathic belonging
impossible to miss.
Heavy the darkness
While the world is fast asleep
Danger is lurking
Wolf on rocky ledge
Silhouette against the moon
Howling to the sky
Midnight clock striking
Engorged bats in frenzied flight
Deep red blood dripping
Wailing wind runs wild
Scattered clouds in disarray
Dizzy moon blinking
Lonely star trembles
Over stagnant pool, despairs
On stark reflection
Gleaming stalking eyes
Beasts of prey are on the prowl
Shadows come to life
From depths of darkness
Haunting spirits breaking loose
Ready hangs the noose
-------------------------------------
Contest: Any Poem#23
Sponsor: Poet Destroyer A
Placing: 2nd
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
Swarms of worshippers agitate the Sun
Sun unleashes fire on fire
While the morning Moon pines.
Living heart sacrificed, thrust sun-ward still beating
Severed head bounces block-like down wet black steps
Tipping into the open throat of the engorged beast below
Moon unnoticed slips sideways to touch his bright edge
Sun allows her eclipse to close then silently cross
Sun-starved minions slow and stop.
Away from swarm’s gaze Sun softens and sets
While Moon cradles him.
They join beneath the horizon.
______________________________________________________________________________________________
Inspired by imagery from the film Apocalypto, where the union of Sun and Moon eclipses the horrific human drama below, evoking the inner process of individuation.
French Bread
Your index finger
draws figure-eights
in the dusting of flour
on the counter top
where you lean
quite casually,
watching as I make
a loaf of French bread.
Then, laughing a bit,
you insert your powdery finger
into my right ear.
I’m startled...
I was so very focused
on assembling ingredients
that I wasn’t aware
of my surroundings,
at least not enough to see
your finger inching its way
toward me. I laugh too,
realizing the intimacy
of your floured finger.
Somehow,
I don’t believe
your interest is in my baking,
but I proceed on to
proofing the yeast
in warm water,
watching carefully
for the always-shocking
bloom’s suggestion
of the possible,
our palates fine-tuned
to the perfume
of earth and damp places.
Thus begins the slow tango
of dryness becoming wet,
a touch of salt-taste,
elements bound together
by the slippery
until there is inseparable oneness,
deep warmth in the joining,
the inevitable rising,
swelling seeking relief.
But not yet, oh no...
First there must be a pause,
a relaxation of the engorged,
consummation delayed,
then the pressure of my hands,
pressing-on,
pressing and shaping and pressing.
We sip our wine,
talk quietly, anticipating
the inevitable increase,
saying between us,
“We’re ready for the final phase:
the heat that binds,
coalesces the disparate ingredients,
yielding at last to the
inevitable delectable finish.”
Later, cooling as it always must,
we can’t resist
nibbling still-warm bits
dipped in melted butter,
feeding them to each other,
transcending words,
finding new ways of seeing
one another.
Written November 23, 2013
for Charlotte’s Scorchers.
On the open fields across the river
Where the land is parched sallow
The patchy grass in cold quiver
When the freezing icy winds blow!!
The grassy fields have tales to tell,
Of heroes and the many dead,
Of blood, of flesh that painful yell
As they are felled by enemy lead!!
Man against man in evil spite,
Reasons why? They hardly knew!
Religion? politics? Who was right,
Knew not who, and why they slew?
In boats and floats they came ashore,
With boots and hat camouflaged,
Young guns, stayed close to the floor,
Fright On face and veins engorged!
This was a job they were paid to do,
They were trained to kill or be killed,
No time to think or fate to rue,
But get the given tasks fulfilled.
The ruling men had rolled the dice,
And blew the horn for this crime,
Their words were bitter, cold lies
Greed for power, earn more dime!!
The truth is known from eons past,
That no country ever has won a war!
No gain is worth the lives lost,
painful memories and battle scar!
Still battles rage on years on end,
Those ruling men with evil plans!
Not for values, morals to defend,
But to benefit their native clans!
Across the river on desolate land,
where memories hurt, eyes are wet!
Crying hearts await, a helping hand,
But history repeats, no answers yet!!
Since we replay the events past,
Many more tears may yet be shed,
In political rants, the truth is lost,
And for a greedy few, many are dead!
Can we ever end these terrible pains!
And learn to understand the inner soul?
From love and peace there’s much to gain!
Shouldn’t that be Our life’s goal?
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.