Long Hers Poems
Long Hers Poems. Below are the most popular long Hers by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Hers poems by poem length and keyword.
My father had a Dick Tracy nose,
sometimes referred to as Roman,
beneath which were his thick, full lips.
His fraternal twin, on the other hand, had thin lips
(Genes are strange things.).
I don’t know where on the family tree either inherited them,
but I do know that my father’s proved dominant:
I have them,
my daughter does,
(I no longer have any idea what her mother’s were like.),
my son does.
I was never aware that mine were my father’s until,
upon seeing a photo of her grandfather,
whom she never knew,
my daughter remarked that he had “fish lips”
like hers and like mine.
I showed her a photo of her half-brother,
whom she barely knew then,
and, yes, there they were.
There are many traits that my father imparted to me.
Sadly, not all were as wonderful as his fish lips.
But I’ve been told more than once
that my kisses are soft and sensual.
What more can I ask?
She sings in soft tones,
her magic exists beyond the obvious.
Listen closely to her wanting,
She is wrapped in a trancendent light.
A dreamer,
chasing white rabbits.
Grasping for the infinite,
with delicate hands.
A moth,
Dances within her luminosity.
Flying on yesterday's wings,
carrying smiles that are meant for tommorow.
Witness her as she waits to exhale.
A daisy chain,
tied around her wrist.
A future promise to be kept.
For within her spirit,
exists a burning passion!
She waits for one who is worthy,
of her consuming flame
Although she is unaware,
hers is a temporary sadness.
Happiness flirts at the edge of her dreaming,
waiting for an open window.
His shadow hidden behind frosted glass.
Shades of green,
turn brilliant yellow!
Buttercups dance around her feet.
Her laughter floats across the meadow,
as happiness runs to her open arms.
Together they skip, towards her apple tree.
For hers is a faith that trancends the temple.
Her spirit sought and found salvation.
He had been with her all along,
I can see it in her smile.
The rain has passed and sunshine now resides in her eyes!
I recall the very day, in every male teenagers wish
It's to lie with one's first love and entering loves bliss
Well for me it was so beautiful, below Saltire blue skies
We lay in a field of Barley, looking into each others eyes
To the heavens we looked for guidance, but it was there all the time
It's the feeling of sensual adventure, two hearts in wanting find
Counting her buttons I remember, whilst my heart beats so fast
Seeing her heavenly beauties, left this Highlander in gasp
It's when she teased me in it's removal, her breasts now fancy free
Gravity in young never spoke, it simply mesmerised me
My hands in hers now taken, her denim shorts now slide
Down bronzed Summer skin, simply captures my eyes
Her body excited, so pert, there's a hunger in wanting desire
The craving to join as one, under Saltire skies in perspire
Hands become clenched tight, with a promise of released in flow
How wonderful it is, to be united where nature grows
I recall this very day, in every male teenagers heart
The excitement that delivers us, where many a lifetime starts
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/love-20.php
Window to the Soul
The eyes of lovers are open doors, unlocked by true love and intimacy.
Each of us holds ourselves captive in that inner panic room, that shelter we begin building upon our first disappointment and heartbreak.
Every hurt and betrayal adds a brick or stone…a log or nail to that tranquil room that protects our fragile, egg shell souls.
Their eyes were locked together once.
Hers like the glowing amber of whiskey as the light shines through the glass.
His, the earthy green of a moss covered rock, sheltered under the canopy of majestic trees.
She gave him the intoxicating power of her untarnished soul.
He gifted her with the safe refuge of his woodland hideaway, his eager inner-self.
Sadly, his gaze began to falter, his head lowered to hide his shame.
Unable to escape into her lover's abode, she became frightened, her power wasted on common sights.
In rare moments of connection she hoped and exhaled. But all too soon his far away stare looked past her.
Without moving a muscle, he veiled his soul.
He tore down her refuge with inattention, neglect...
...only to leave her helpless.
“Look at me!”, the scream rips from her glare.
“See me!”, her brow raises its mime’s voice.
Not able to continue this intimacy alone, for intimacy requires plurality, she looks into a mirror.
Loneliness demands frequent intoxicated binging.
She pours her whiskey gaze into herself and actively forgets.
Her naked, broken soul curls up without shelter, shivering, exposed.
As raw as a body, flayed to muscle and bone.
In this season there's a lesson to be learned so here I am
trying to soak it in, trying to walk on water so I don't sin
again...even though I feel like I'm losing the spirit reminds
me you're winning get on the offensive you know the
word now apply it you're winning never mind what he
says the devil is a liar, you made it threw the fire...and I
can't even complain life's good I'm straight there's always
gonna be struggles that's no debate and this woman she
arrived right on time that's what I was holding out so long
for right...someone I can relate to, share this spiritual
food with too, its long over due my cup runeth over yeah
hers too and I'm loving every minute of it, in her arms I
feel so covenant she's reached me on a level others
always wondered why they couldn't reach, still...I gotta
look before I leap somethings in life you just can't teach
right, so I pray he orders my steps day & night
She started a screenplay but it got insanely boring,
So she flipped to a clean page and began a novel.
By page two she could not bear it. It was not making sense.
I will write a poem, she thought.
Poems came easily. They were shorter. They did not bore her.
The punchlines were fast and clever. She wrote twelve poems.
This satisfied her urge more than a bit. She kept writing poetry.
A poetess now, self-imposed.
She hid them away for years. They were hers, not to be shared.
Let me see one, a friend begged. And begged. And begged.
She relented, and almost no comments were made.
An occasional “hmmmmm” which was not satisfying at all.
She did not show her poems again for a long long time.
The people who professed to love her the most were the most critical
When she did. They began to write poems too. They bragged about theirs
Which were so much better than hers.
Anyway that is what she thought.
She was totally wrong.
Died with a plethora of poems that were insanely good
Not knowing this at all.
They were burned in a bonfire by her nieces and nephews.
Many who could not read, and some who did not read
Even though they could have if they had wanted to
Which is more the pity.
The Mistress
On a starry night, a lost light found a loose soul.
Just when darkness met the light's gentle blow,
He introduced himself, and she was probably interested in his pockets.
He focused too much on the prize, overusing his budget.
A beautiful face and sweet legs wrapped his mind,
Forgetting the band in his chest pocket, an everlasting sign.
As part of the game, you laid the blame.
She didn't believe you and thought, "Men are all the same."
With your pretty wife and children marked as a commitment,
You walked out the door to find temporary entertainment.
While watching afar from my stainless glass house,
I couldn't tell if it was love or lust.
Rather, I knew she was proud of you,
And an achievement she wished she'd seen through.
Every night, I worshiped the air she breathed.
The way her clothes stuck to her flawless skin
She should have gotten everything she wanted.
Unfortunately, the seed never got planted.
A beauty every man craved endlessly, with brains to wonder yearned for.
She needed no makeup to be enchanting.
Her simple look and effortless charm kept drawing men in.
Spare her a glance, and they forgot their lives they'd foresaw.
I was one of them, until my bank dried up like a lawn.
As delicate as lilies, she was high maintenance with no rebound.
He wasn't hers but another's.
In the blur of stupor, she wished for the impossible.
The wife found out and beat her black and blue.
While the husband promised fidelity until he could find someone new.
The Middle Years
She'd been wooed by dukes and diplomats
From Nome to Nagasaki,
Kept by mobsters, bishops, bureaucrats,
And a movie mogul's lackey.
She'd been plied with jewels, a fancy car,
Designer gowns and furs
By lots and lots of husbands,
Not one of whom was hers.
For fifteen years she lived among the swank,
But at thirty she had nothing in the bank.
She pawned her diamonds, sold her gowns and her furs,
The car was repossessed 'cause just the payments were hers,
Got her picture in the tabloids with some slanders and slurs,
Villonia Beebe was no one's baby anymore.
She took to pandering and cruising in malls.
A john, a judge, would like to help her, but he hadn't the balls.
She learned it's hard to be a call girl when nobody calls,
Villonia Beebe was no one's baby anymore.
Two more years went by in bars and walking the streets.
She'd like to meet a handsome guy who's loaded and sweet,
So she could settle down and turn that trick into a treat,
And then she'd be somebody's baby once more.
At thirty-two she thought she should get out of "the life",
Go back home to Arkansas and be someone's wife.
She'd soon get back an accent you could cut with a knife
And become a real hillbilly once more.
The Toad Suck men were simple and quite easy to please,
Though the way they buzzed around her made their wives ill at ease.
Still, she made a decent living on her back and her knees,
Villonia Beebe'd come full circle for sure.
Then one night she met Homer, at a barn dance, of course,
A cute and awkward guy who said his nickname was "Horse".
One ride and she's not had one single day of remorse,
ViIllonia Beebe was someone's baby once more.
She sometimes contemplates her life,
When she takes the time to bother,
From beauty queen to trampoline,
From doll to moll to mother.
She doesn't miss the jewels or car at all,
And fur just makes her itch,
But if truth be told, a part of her
Sort of misses being rich.
But Villonia is content now with her lot,
Especially when her "Horse" is hot to trot.
Biting into the dead,
he tastes the aftertaste of burnt ashes!
The meal of her emotions,
buried alive within silken strands.
Blood inside sorrow burning,
sweet desire weeping...
Yet, it cannot possibly extinguish his pain.
Bleeding heartbreaks do not expire.
His eternal torment is fortified.
Into two pieces he is equally divided.
One who feels he has his back against the wall!
The other who has not a care.
Free falling teardrops,
salted within life's passionate carnage.
Nails in his mouth for he is iron born,
attaching beauties have felt his plunging sword.
His sanctuary is a dream catcher.
He's stuck inside it's Web,
hanging there above forever,
until she takes his last breath away.
Always now, in this moment was he formed.
Long before time, he was destined to be hers
Until they meet again his heart pauses.
He will not know eternal glory,
until her love courses through his veins!
As he has promised, he will succumb to her
The angels then will sing
Rejoicing bells will ring out grateful notes
Both will finally atone for their sins!
A collaboration with Liam Mcdaid. Thanks for accepting my invitation.
When Liam first sent over his verses I had no idea where we would end up.
I thought you might find the process of interest. Here are the words Liam started us off with.
Biting into the dead remains of ashes burnt
buried alive blood inside sorrow burning
sweet desire weeps bleeding heartbreaks
in two divided one who has had the back against a wall
Freefalling teardrops within life's passion
nails in the mouth attacking beauties sanctuary
a dream catcher stuck inside a Web
hanging there forever
until you take my last breath away
always yours until we meet again
eternal glory as angels will sing
rejoicing bells ring grateful
I hope you enjoy the inside look.
Healing
Could it be possible for love to heal the troubled, the wounded?
All those damaged souls, who’s ghosts haunt their every hour!
Could love bring them back from the brink of emotional extinction?
Give them back some of the innocence they, at onetime, knew?
When one thinks of the genocide of our First Nations People,
Think of the genocide of their spirit, those remaining souls.
Could it be possible for love to heal the troubled, the wounded?
All those damaged souls, who’s ghosts haunt their every hour!
When one thinks of the genocide of a child’s psyche, hers or his.
One has to wonder what part love plays in this destructive game
man plays as he molests, sexually abuses, emotionally, mentally,
verbally strips naked, to the very marrow, the essence of a child?
of Nations, of the first Peoples residing upon this little blue planet,
past, present and future. Will love give them a glimpse of a future?
B. J. “A ” 2
May 9th 2017