Long Expertly Poems
Long Expertly Poems. Below are the most popular long Expertly by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Expertly poems by poem length and keyword.
Somewhere along the way we lost sight.
Somewhere along the way we lost the feel.
The world spins along in its way. The earth
sighs at its human deal.
How many hardships sail on its seas? How
many people suffer?
A nature bent on selfish greed, a nature
of ferocity and killing lead, a very human nature.
The years we work, we strive hard to see
more years yet uncovered.
For what of those people sleeping in the
streets - their dreams and lives are shattered.
Where is this equal, this equality when the
beauty of coloured skin is hated? Where is this
equality when female intellect and skill is berated?
I watch a star flicker endlessly and hope humanity
finds a breakthrough. I watch a spider spinning so
expertly and feel somethings in life are so amazing.
I feel the temper in the air and hear history crying
in the night winds. I close my eyes and sense despair for
what we have made us.
Such beautiful clarity is within my life line
No longer asphyxiated by darkness I'm fine
Experiences come frequently with bold exceptionality
I find myself expertly escorted into a new spirituality
Giving and receiving affection on the most simplest of terms
Finding flowing Infinity with perfectly banked turns
Finding deep tranquility in the here and now
Giving my ideal love to all that let me show them how
This has never been a journey without darkening
But in all those that have crossed my path what I've learned has been starkening
With all the words spoken that I've sealed with a kiss
All the verses to paper that my pen does never miss
If your reading this then I humbly invited you
To see the reflection in what I write too
Feel it's meaning as if it was meant for your eyes only
For I possess enough love for the entire world to never again be lonely
We were not so poor
To be ungrateful
For what we lacked.
Full plates in a heated house
Made it seem undue to complain
For lack of poetry or a candy cane.
Ne’er a penny in a bush
Nor gift under the tree was for us
With corn, milk and eggs a plenty.
We dared not wish for more.
Each night we knelt in thanks
Before dreaming of a hotdog,
Birthday cake, Christmas
Gift, or a dime to buy
An ice cream cone.
The weeds we kept at bay
The trees chopped expertly
Our toil stayed the rest.
We were not so poor
To be unthankful
For what we lacked
As we hoed the corn
Milked the cows
Feed the chickens.
Starved of play we were
too busy making hay
To be ungrateful.
as he enters he switches
off the lights
particles of light peep
through the blinds
the air filled with tension
we haven't been here in this
space in what seem like ages
the smell of flowers so
overpowering
I shield myself from his gaze
his hands move over my face
he gently kiss my nose,
slowly moving to my forehead
the ease in which he does it
calms me
serene in preparation
as he expertly yet gently
awake all those senses
which lay dormant
the moment is now
it is just the two of us
while we explore -
flirt with the senses
the shadow moves over our
naked bodies
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She listened to his story
As he spoke accented words
She couldn't help but follow
Others said she was absurd
Much smoother than chocolate
Honey dripped from his lips
A tingle in her bossom
He brought fire to her hips
When he asked her for money
He said it would be okay
It would be temporary
Just a loan he would repay
From out of her pocket book
In his hand she placed a check
He said "Thank you, my darling."
As he kissed her on her neck
Up to her room he followed
Expertly removed her clothes
She writhed upon his body
As inside of her he rose
All that she had imagined
Was experienced that night
She was not disappointed
With her legs she grasped him tight
Exhausted she lay sleeping
As he quickly slipped away
Heading off to cash her check
He had felt he earned his pay
In the morning when she rose
There was a smile on her face
By the time the check had bounced
She'd be gone without a trace
Expertly I sit down,
the recliner jumps to my command.
The friends of George Washington are here
they come bearing paw paw and cloud berries.
I am a native morning in Appalachia,
there, where all is fair,
peace tailspins out
as two plastic flamingos mate
in a squeaky rubber pool.
I tune in to watch another mind.
King Kong is bouncing up and down
using my brain for a trampoline.
Yesterday's wine bottle is empty again
I pour myself out;
sip those sweet red puddles of existence.
The founding fathers are protesting
the inflationary cost of saltpeter,
the flying fusty powder of their wigs
makes King Kong sneeze.
George Washington is taking
a well-earned nap.
The recliner rears up
ready to get going somewhere -
anywhere will do.
my fingers are vital for almost everything I do
including combing my hair, and picking up my dog’s poo
I use them to sweep, vacuum, and sort the mail
to live without them would be worse than a day in jail
Fingers bake cookies, for they hold the spoon
They also steady telescopes, so I can see the moon
Fingers are handy for wiping extra paint on my shirt
They put on make-up expertly, ask my pal Mert.
My fingers like to type up poems, stories and such.
I like these tiny appendages very very very much.
Tonight when I go to bed I am going to thank God for them
Unless I forget, because when I am tired I can get rather dim.
Time disorder is common in a concert meant for those who rush
one organized by adrenaline and moderated by passion
a boomerang transaction, where the receiver and giver are the same
in a speedy interplay, faster than lightening and confusing to the clock,
a deal where the expense is simply the profit.
Her effect in this cold feels like warm hell in cracked ice
proving that sexuality is the best chef, which leaves her expertly baked
for this burning tease to dispossess the rain of its rainbow.
It’s time to do nature’s homework with an instinctive craft
where lust is king and fantasy, on a red bikini.
This enticing invitation with a humid feel can’t be given a missed call
I deserve the death sentence if I let go of this appealing grip.
Sliding through her flat front with a distracted composure
sinking into her back door protrusions with that sense of entitlement
feeling those submissive rib bones like the keys of an organ
all in one body capable of unfreezing the ice of antartica.
Lips melting into mine like a burning candle wax
two mountains with tips, the only gateway to the pink skies
in need of my suck, they stand round, firm and below her rubber shoulders.
She gladly wears my impatience like a fitted leather belt
complimenting it with accelerating moves in dire need of a stabilizer
folding into each other as we dance the ‘lock and key’
then every cardinal point is met by our sliding, rolling bodies
and greeted with the appetizing sounds of our clapping torsos.
Feasting in the accommodation of her wrapped gorgeous limbs
oblivious in pleasure’s park from the blanket of her flesh
erotic hospitality not in history books, served by the sheets of her skin
I’m wild, lost in reality, faded in sanity as both bodies prey on each other
displaying a vigil of powerful affection void of the pause button
for the sun to delay its rise as it hopes for a continuous replay.
Waddle with me in a downpour of rain
Singing in a symphonious refrain
Jumping in puddles, splashing everyone
Simply because we will have lots of fun.
We'll fluff up our feathers, inhale fresh air
Twist and shake until we have no breath there
Because we are smarties, we have it cracked
And expertly do a ducky class act.
One two and then quack, one two and then splash
Allow alluring eyelashes to flash
Look to the left and then look to the right
Dancing and prancing from morning to night.
Then we can dream elating ducky dreams
In the wondrous world of fantasy themes
Arriving there, surely one can't do wrong
Waddling to the tune of a ducky song.
I am to him a Stradivarius, a treasured violin
His bow expertly caresses my supple strings
My body moans when tucked beneath his chin
Revving to his rhythmic pulse, my heart sings
I am the delicate ivory he strokes on his keyboard
his adventurous fingers roam over me in staccato
Those romantic interludes he's adeptly scored
accompanies intimacy to the point of crescendo
I am the mouthpiece on his golden saxophone
Our blues brings about passion and lustful desire
From a distance I hear the pitch of a lone trombone
Emotions build with the heat of a roaring wildfire
Across the well worn bridge of his idle acoustic guitar
I yearn for the virtuoso's touch to strum my chords
But there's no harmony, although we've come so far
No gliding glissandos found at the tips of drawn swords
Now he plays mournful melodies on a native Hopi flute
Reflecting our lives in every wistful and somber note
We're both lost, wandering like phantoms in pursuit
of lost love. We're adrift without oars or sail for our boat
With each wave a tear falls as I lay sheltered in the bow
He sits astern listening to music whistled by the wind
staring at the far horizon with worry etched on his brow
Is this, I wonder, punishment for those who have sinned