Long Gyrations Poems
Long Gyrations Poems. Below are the most popular long Gyrations by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Gyrations poems by poem length and keyword.
Hank hired on fer a dollar a day an' found.
He wuz knowed as th' best bronc buster around.
They wuz allus a roll-yer-own a-danglin' frum his lips,
An' he wore his jeans an' chaps low on his hips!
He wuz lean an' lank an' had spent years in th' saddle,
As bow-legged as pliers, spending so much time astraddle!
Wearin' an ol' slouch hat an' well-worn boots,
He'd rode many a wild bronc out uv rodeo chutes!
"Thar stands th' orn'riest critter alive!" th' boss implied.
"Thar ain't no mustang 'round I cain't tame!" Hank replied.
Other cowpokes ambled to th' corral to enjoy th' show,
An' with knowin' grins watched Hank earn his dough!
Th' bronc jes stood there snortin' with fire in his eyes.
Hank could see trouble! Boys, wuz he in fer a su'prise!
Sech hossflesh he'd never rode! He'd never seen sech gyrations!
His ol' bones had never experienced sech sensations!
He wuz throwed, stomped an' wedged agin' th' fence.
With his pals cheerin' him on an' things a-gittin' tense,
He 'lowed, "Boys, I give up! He's beat me good!
I reckon I'd better find myself anuther livelihood!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
When blackness turns into light
Society could not deny
what we saw
with our own two eyes.
We saw blackness
turn into light
soulful stars
illuminating
white nights.
Jackie was a pioneer
his love lifted us
higher and higher
his black voice
shining bright in
the white night
his acceptance there
was no denying.
James Brown led the way
when there still
was segregation
blacks and whites
in Baptist churches
but in separate
congregations
His voice was strong
his blackness shone
his body contorted
in rhythmic gyrations
his voice was heard
when people listened
and saw as useful
this racial integration.
His strength and stamina
on the stage
and his voice made you
want to get up and dance
those who saw him
knew that maybe
racial unity had a chance.
Then came Marvin
yes that Marvin Gaye
he blazed a new trail
a new way of thinking
never encountered before,
music with a social conscience
that stirred a whole nation
to even question the war.
Then there was Sly and his
band mates the Family Stone
they were unique and special
mixing races together musically
but they were all alone
Then came Stevie
yes he was a wonder
his talent as a musician
there was simply no doubt,
his music resounded
a message of peace and
harmony was what it
was about.
Then came Michael
and Prince at the
very same time
two forces of black nature
twisting and turning their
blackness into light.
Music of healing the world
and the crying of doves
transfixed hateful gazes
into havens of love.
And don't forget
Luther Vandross and
Teddy Pendergrass too,
their songs of love
helped conceive a
million children or two.
If you never lived
at a time like I did,
growing up with
Soul music's beginnings
it would be like being a
football player who
never experienced
winning.
Now they're mostly all gone
but their music still lives on
we were witnesses
to the legends
in the making.
Now the message carries on
hope is never really gone
it's still there
for the taking.
John Derek Hamilton
April 25,2016
In quiet glimpse I look at the shadows on the walls
By candlelight they move, as two make loving thrall
Undulations, gyrations as shapes dance in rhyme
Amidst the wanting moans, torso's quietly grind
The flicker of the flame shows off your porcelain skin
Churning butterflies disperse as you welcome me within
Your body I lovingly caress, my heart skipping beats
Closer to me you hold, our love shall not retreat
Sighs and joyous moans amidst lusting kisses
By candlelight we love, sharing sensual wishes
The flicker of the flame bows as we ignite
Now in darkened glimpse, spooned for the night
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/love-20.php
So many falling stars!
A meteor shower bursting
like a miniature firework,
Silvery sparkles diving down the sky,
There behind the northern star
Down to the hazy horizon
Far from the Centaurus constellation.
Sinking in oblivion.
My love urged me to make a wish.
Do falling stars grant any wish?
No reply. My love had wandered off.
Worried I felt the spontaneous gyrations of my heart.
I strayed in the dark park searching,
Hearing coyotes howl, owls hooting,
Mice scuttling in the under wood.
I hunted earnestly hoping to see her there.
But she had disappeared
As I looked up at the last falling star.
Wake up, man, love comes not from stars.
And yet it was such a lovely sight
That I was not ready to deny my dreams
no matter what anyone might think.
So I wished with all my heart.
Just one falling star might come true.
My love was waiting for me ardently.
See, she was behind a tree
Hiding from the falling stars.
Cowpoke Hank hired on fer a dollar a day and found.
He wuz knowed as the best bronc-buster around!
They wuz allus a roll-yer-own a-danglin' frum his lips,
And he wore a pair of 44 shootin' arns on his hips.
He wuz lean and lank and had spent nigh thirty years in the saddle.
He wuz bow-legged as a pliers havin' spent all that time astraddle!
Wearin' an old slouch hat, bandana and scruffy pointy-toed boots,
He'd throwed a ton uv steers ridin' outta county rodeo chutes!
"Thar stands the orn'riest critter alive!", the boss implied.
"They ain't no mustang 'round I cain't tame!", Hank replied.
Other cowpunchers ambled to the corral to enjoy the show,
And with knowin' grins watched as Hank earned his dough!
The bronc jes stood thar snortin' with fire in his eyes!
Hank could see trouble brewin'! Boys, wuz he in fer a su'prise!
Sech hossflesh he'd never rode! He'd never seen sech gyrations!
His old bones had never experienced sech joltin' sensations!
He wuz throwed, stomped and wedged agin' the fence.
With his pals cheerin' him on, things wuz a-gittin' tense!
He finally allowed, "Boys, I give up! He's done beat me good!
I reckon I'd better find myself another livelihood!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) All Rights Reserved
Chicago, you rooted me down while lifting me up. Providing the nourishment I needed since I was a little stump. I’ve grown so much over the years and now ready to brave a new frontier.
My root system traces back for generations. Sprouting offspring that remained planted for decades while weathering life’s gyrations. For most of my time I thought I’d stay grounded too. But the time has come to cultivate fresh soil to sow some seeds anew.
The uprooting is stirring sadness deep in the dirt of my soul. Separating from my forest causing me to question if I’ll still be whole. Realizing why it’s so painful to say farewell is because the amount of strong oak trees I was surrounded by was so plentiful.
The sadness is sure to come and go even after I depart, however my Chicago roots will forever remain entwined around the frame of my heart.
People in my school have names for someone like me.
Freak, crazy, weirdo, a spawn by the devil's decree.
I took note of every malicious word they ever spoke,
knowing that before long they'd no longer make me a joke.
None of them knew how truthful were their mocking words.
They had no clue I could spread my wings to fly among the birds,
with ravens that caw out for blood at the stroke of each midnight.
I'd fill their haunting dreams with images of daunting fright.
A snip of dried herbs, a pinch of fungal root, boiled in fat of fowl,
a concoction for me to savor, secreted to me by my mother, an owl.
Eyes that see through bloodshot color, they would see them too
when the full moon was high and the sky turned dark cobalt blue.
No help will they receive from a scream or gyrations to be free.
They soon will know they should never have made a mockery of me.
The time is near, my brew is cooled, now it's my time to have fun.
Tonight their dreams will be nightmares, a gift from the evil one.
With their eyes closed, they will envision they are being chased
by hundreds of bloodshot eyes, the likes of which they've never faced.
Black robes adorned, scepter of wormwood waved from my hand.
Eyes... wild bloodshot eyes, will seek vengeance at my command.
Fog advances to the bedrooms of those who sleep in peace.
My adrenaline is pumping, just a few more minutes until release.
A snarl of satisfaction I feel curled upon my blood red lips.
You won't belittle me again with your taunting nocuous quips.
NOW! I gave the order for the eyes to creep into their dreams
But my heart is beating too fast. This was not part of my schemes.
I can't see a bloody thing. What's happened to the spell I cast?
How long will this blindness torture me? How long must it last?
A truant officer was sent to see what had become of the freak.
Through a window he saw many ravens, all with bloodied beak.
No body was discovered. All that remained was a robe of black
and a note scratched upon the floor. "Too late to take it back."
::::::::::::::::::::::::::
December 26th, 2015
Deep and Dark Contest
Sponsor: Broken Wings
Sponsor : Justin Bordner
WHERE LOVE LEARNS NO MORE
Where Love learns no more
two serpents crawling twine
one midnight black another
luminous wizardy white
entangled fanged bedazzled
circled by ultra violet rays
ultra red Sun the One
swimming in beet orange
mint mix elixir eclipsed
quiver quenches wreathing
writhing thirst as cerise
petals silently fall, crumble
dust to dust
Here howls no blackboards or
whiteboards no koki pens
pencils erasers or paint
no school bells ring
no Buddha
gongs neither singing bowls
no teachers gurus masters
or internet, memory, miles
history or futuristic dreams
nor Rumi poetic recitals
or even Gabriel’s angelic
harmonic frequencies
In deafening silence they
slither slide thrust open
skin on skin shedding
translucent spirals spinning
black imbibes white aglow
glistening melting moments
all else dissipates
two serpents exits explore
where Love has nothing to
learn but adore
God appeased appear
emits lochia, soar
observe serumed gyrations
entice enchanting narration
they remain darkly sage
silent shimmering sop
slippery slip illustrious dip
into hidden slivered
silver cords hanging
themselves naked new
wheeled throats bleed askew
Then from vulnerable bellies
delicate moths emerge
flutter one by one
become butterflies flit
making mauve milk
pixel pinprick serpent
eyes lightning shoot
first branches of
Tree of Life moot ~
an ethereal nightingale
tinkled appears, trialed
trigger timed
two serpentines transmute
into dancing flames free
stepping out of shadows
into silvery sematic glee
grace winged they disappear
into hymning hyacinth
Sky outlined in gilded
lyrical lore divine
In beckoning belly of Creation
L o v e has
n o t h i n g
to learn
Her clothes, casually worn,
she sashays with ease of skill.
And in a dress, stained and torn,
smiles, for a drink, or a pill.
She enters bars like a storm,
she's the queen of the alley.
And flaunting her fluid form,
she seeks her nightly tally.
Suggestive and exotic,
she starts with slow gyrations.
And slips into erotic,
offering sweet temptations.
Neon lights cast shadow-girls,
where tears of loneliness spill.
And in high heels and cheap pearls,
she sells a sexual thrill.
But deep within, she's a fake,
Reality mocks her ways.
And laughs echo in her wake,
while time steals her youthful days.
A cobra pair glides through the forest. The drought has virtually extinguished all available food sources. The male is strong and on his own he may yet make it across the treacherous terrain ahead but his pregnant mate cannot. He weighs the options and they confer in silence. A decision is made. They plunge into rhythmic gyrations of their final dance together in the flickering moonlight contoured by swaying foliage, scented by the elixirous fragrance of jasmines. The male then closes his eyes entering Samadhi before he is devoured by the female. His seeds within her hold promise of new life.
At cross roads of choice
We follow voice of conscience
Pulse of love divine