Long Hedonist Poems
Long Hedonist Poems. Below are the most popular long Hedonist by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Hedonist poems by poem length and keyword.
I’m Tweety Bird and ‘I tawt I taw a puddy tat,’
But what I mean, Trump’s nightmares fear a democrat,
I’m as yellow as your hair, tweet,
Feel sure you dye it fair, tweet,
Vulgar antics towards opponents, shows lack of morality
Fake tan, untruths, arrogance and more, sadly your totality.
Become a mature American leader Mr. President,
Your unacceptable rapport with world leaders has evil intent,
Sorry, you are just a reality show,
A favour, take a bow and go,
You fuel Racism, Feminism, Semitism, encourage Supremacists,
Build a wall, which Mexicans dig under, such a hedonist!
President-elect Tweety Bird, stop your victimization, it’s become boring,
Debateable If you possess, any political finesse, for war hoping?
Hurriedly looking for a vaccine,
I Tweety Bird, first in line,
Side effect, maybe both of us losing our yellow fluff!
Would discuss climate change, but know you’ve abandoned this, rough!
He went on a pleasant trip; he had a change of mind
He did not know swimming, not at all, you could find.
But he wanted to be, in the midst of the shining sea, out there, a hypnotic call.
The sea never takes anything mercilessly away
Returned the body days later, identified, they say.
The weather, then, was coloring the tree leaves in the most charming fall!
He had many, many friends, and he was a friendly soul indeed
Had a purpose of life figured out, only to the fullest creed
Though he was not there, life went on under green trees. Dense and tall.
He had a T-shirt on, he took some photographs with his friends
Nobody talks about those now; some talks turn in vain as life ends.
He was only a dead soul, not to be disturbed; and the silence was in utter thrall.
There were no rumors around him, and nothing was so striking, I can say
He had no special friend, but he could be a friend to all, definitely you may say.
I wish I could add more, to make it more colorful, befitting to the reader’s call!
Too many days passed by now, oblivion could be a more helpful, fitting word
Sometimes he is still remembered, in heavy hearts, silent prayers to the Lord
And perhaps a fathomless sea heard , as she is the most hedonist reader of all!
7-20-2019
Tri-Con Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Emile Pinet
The chromatic cords
of splendorous spring
embroider arcane art
on convivial tapestry
embellished elegance
dramatically drapes
the luminous landscape
of vibrant vivacity
as dream-drenched
blue lagoon
gets lashed
by idyllic eyelids
and
the lotus petals
of luscious lips
painted poignant
on silken canvas
of content countenance
the dulcet design
of narcissist facade
of innate pride
swathes furtively
the secret scars
of suppression syndrome
expunged.
The toiling time
revolves relentless
on convoluted canvas
etched with
fading felled leaves
of auburn autumn
in life consumed
while
the winter spider
weaves with strands
of twilight moments
the ordained web
with senile streaks
around hollow eyes
staring forsaken
at forlorn fringe
of weathered wasteland
as the lustrous lips
the fading flowers
lose withered
pristine patina
hedonist psyche
refuses to gauge
the grief of loss
the face morphs
into metaphor
for living panorama
captured by
the sanguine snapshot
of concealed charisma.
Under the curtain of night, where stars murmur ancient enigmas,
Dwell the true metaphysicians, hidden among excess and hedonism,
Through the extension of senses, through the martyrdom of their desires,
They uncover our nothingness, the abyss camouflaged by life's ephemeral feast.
In the dance of shadows and light, among the whispers of forbidden dreams,
The hedonist sacrifices his soul on the altar of undying pleasure,
Through rituals of ecstasy and agony, he strips away the veil of reality,
Discovering an inner realm where darkness and light embrace and dance.
Through ironic laughter and the deep whispers of the night,
Their senses are open portals to unseen mysteries,
By martyring their senses, they open the gates to infinity,
Finding in the ephemerality of existence a chasm of hidden meanings.
Under the pale and enchanting moonlight, brimming with secrets,
They extend their vision beyond the conventional horizon, touching their own mystery,
Falling into the abysses of shadow, they discover the finite essence of each dream,
Echoes from the soul’s chasm, where nothingness shines like an unseen star.
In goblets of nectar and the hypnosis sung by fog's sirens,
They martyr their senses, revealing an unseen world,
In tears of pleasure and suffering, they embrace their transient death,
Finding in the fragility of each moment the axis of their universe.
The hedonist, in his sacred chaos, between destruction and creation,
Is the explorer of entwined darkness and light,
With each step through the abyss of senses, he reveals the beauty of nothingness,
For it is only through the martyrdom of our desires that we uncover the depth of existence.
Thus, under the mantle of night, we learn from the mysteries of the hedonist,
We stretch our senses toward the unknown, martyring desires,
For only then will we find the abyss hidden beneath each fleeting gleam,
And in the bittersweet melancholy of life, true magic will be unveiled,
Showing us that within our nothingness dwells infinity.
Christmas does not come alone, It comes with the new year too,
A new year invites resolutions along,
The resolutions may be funny, old or new,
This year I can use bitter neem sticks,
or abrasive powders for brushing teeth,
Tooth powder may be eggshells and bricks, I want to become a hedonist in breathe,
Who pursues worldly life's pleasures, I am typically fond of eating sweets, I want to taste different dessert serves, Like the ancient Roman king's stories, who made vomitorium in the Palatine, And wanted to make empty in the stomach, I can use hands for eating meals on anytime, Meals like the fried goat's tongue and duck, . I want to play the old game dice,
Which is the game of luck and tradition, Try to drink the barbaric beer with ice,
And sleep in the nest of grasses in position, To attract and treat every person equal, I can wear brown mask for all the days, If there is any funny resolution of will, . I shall follow it for your satisfactory ways.
Remember when you came to me;
all excited, delighted,
tickled
Dancing around questions;
euphoria sprinkled.
Your sensualist;
hedonist
Seeking more
without a flaw of imperfection.
Simplicity captivating
saturating
Love, Oh sweet love
a little dream of
sunshine.
Lightening brightening
tantalising
Desire.
The flames of passion ablazed
the past of then erased
Reflecting then and only when
Your precedence prevailed.
How you took me to this other place
a fantasy full of grace
I was gone without a trace
Lost in the most handsome face!
WOW !!!
YES !!
YES !
Yes...
Remembered when I first saw you,
Right on time and love it grew
and grew...
Who taught the Shakespeare of a prosody
Or a book of words comes and coalesced
In every verse of Shelley romance and tragedy
'To a lady,with a guitar'escaped the summit of breast
For every physicians why the feather decents
For the every poets how they flutters
Not a hedonist but prophetic soul of fancy presents
And humns and shored on their mossy cutters
Kings and folks,sailers and merchant
Brethren and sistren speaks of bard of Avon
Thracian Orpheus wept in Shelley's mastery of poetic ardent
Therein the sullen dorado scowl in river of Devon
Ever hoped to greet mine those pierian spring
The pen snug in because mine thumbs are ageing
Written: June 17, 2026, for a contest sponsored by Edward Ibeh
***********************
I.
We rise to a pulse that breaks the silence.
a line of gold across the morning.
beckoning us forth before we are ready,
Before we hear the race has truly started—
a quiet request rising from inside.
II.
Morning fades to a pale, uncertain light,
half-selves drifting as dust in the air,
still clinging to the scent of who we were
before the world grew heavy with choices—
before gold glimmered in the distance.
III.
We move as an elfin, uneasy group,
carrying dreams stamped bright but brittle,
Hearts beating flinty against the dark ahead.
A ray of gold shining amid the gloom.
a gleam we believe is fate.
IV.
Vintage bruises sigh in the backyard.
echoing with every step we claim.
We ignore the noise, but it pursues,
shadows that mirror our breath —
reminding us of what we had tried to leave.
V.
The path narrows where memory fades,
where doubts slip through, akin to wind in a seam.
Some carry anger as a hidden ember,
some cradle hope as fragile as a leaf—
all us drawn by the same distant glimmer.
VI.
Night rises with its ghostly forms,
the scent of earth and storm-swept branches.
Our veins burn red with restless longing,
hedonist and skeptic arguing in the ribs—
Yet still the gold glows ahead.
VII.
A wanderer utters truths he can’t verify,
But belief does not alter the nature of the race.
Gold is not an offering waiting at the seal;
It is a mirror in transforming light,
Reflecting what we prefer not to stare at.
VIII.
Pages of our past ignite as we stroll forward—
ink-built towers of selves we nearly became.
Empathy thins, love sharpens, then softens,
And slowly our shadows loosen their grip
as daylight widens around us.
IX.
At last, we reach the hollow gold,
quiet, patient, shimmering without demand.
Not a reward, but a sanctuary for the lost.
a nest for the selves we shed on the way—
And in its luminescence, we arrive at last.
Springtime fervent fresco
shines on the easel
of embellished topography,
embroidered filigree
enshrined
in Monet landscape,
luminous
in effervescent elegance
with sparkle of sapphire lagoon
in dreaming ebullient eyes,
entranced,
and with lustrous lotus petals
of luscious lips
ardently parted,
painted on silken canvas
of convivial countenance,
magnetic,
carved with narcissistic contours
of innate pride
with dormant Dorian Gray syndrome,
subdued.
The sands of time
roll over wrinkled canvas,
from winter twilight zone
senile spider creeps,
weaves weary
with the last strings of hope
webs of facial furrows
of creased contentment,
empty eyes gaze,
forlorn
at weathered wasteland,
regressed,
find in desiccated garden
the faded flowers
lose patina of passion,
enticing once.
Hedonist psyche refuses
to gauge the grief of loss,
trapped in transient notion,
sanguine,
for what is a face
if not a metaphor
for proclivity panorama,
sustaining snapshot
capturing mesmeric moments,
frozen
in timeless frame
of concealed charisma,
contained in cauldron
of boundless beauty,
transcendent.
My current companion is my cat,
My mini-predator
Right now half dozing peacefully beside me.
She isn’t really mine,
For a cat belongs to no one.
My cat is the perfect hedonist
Unlike my dog who thinks it’s all about me.
Still, I marvel at her controlled power and grace,
The way she goes from sleeping
To ready to spring and pounce in an instant,
My tiger in a ten-pound package.
She captivates me by being sometimes aloof,
Sometimes affectionate when it suits her purpose.
What is behind those wily, intelligent,
Inscrutable green eyes?
I don’t think I truly want to know what she’d say.
I might find what she really thinks of me!
But we accept each other
And we have an understanding.
We are friends if I accept her friendship on her terms.
I feed and care for her
And in return she allows me to admire her.