Long Hid Poems
Long Hid Poems. Below are the most popular long Hid by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Hid poems by poem length and keyword.
Dancing to Sisqo
like a dad at a disco
that ain’t the diss though
you’re a straight up pissed ho
handbag on the dance floor
where your sandbag **** fall
straps see you trip fool
your ugly face hit sore
wake up toothless
seeking a toothbrush
though it be useless
what a flipping doofus
go home harbour a criminal
brain damage acts horrible
talking his world of bull
so thick you believe the tool,
keep mans away and hidden
they’re out to get rid of him
swears on his kid again
but the kid don’t remember him,
causes trouble is he worth it
when all say he deserves it
pause, think, is he nervous?
6 foot under the surface,
when you’re just a pissed ho
out to dance at a disco
now granting a wish so
this dreg ain’t a missed bro.
We hid in the cottonwood tree’s magic treehouse.
Spying on our neighbors.
Laughter rang out occasionally from the windows of some of their houses.
We clutched our stomachs and laughed.
Mr. Pete gave his wife a big hug at their house.
We all went, Oh, yucky!
We were eleven, and loved the height of our tree mansion.
Feeling like detectives, or FBI agents.
Eleven is such a magical time.
We used to haul all kinds of pillows up there.
It was my reading nook. On reading days, I was
off with pirates, or Pippi Longstocking, and we
were on the sea, which I had never seen
in real life,
but imagined
was quite
wonderful.
You can never get 11
back, so please enjoy it!
I stole all the stars and hid them in my heart,
Leaving the sun a chance to remember the day that will one day start,
When we loved, forgetting the night that demands its rightful place,
Maybe in a sincere haste, to love you again beneath the rain's embrace.
At dawn, our love ignites repeatedly and intense,
Letting your womb smolder with my immense offense,
Birthing the happiness of our flight without clear wings,
On the brink of a moment, a dream that forever clings.
In front of your nude icon, dizzy, I sigh and get drunk,
With you, without wine, in my eager mind that’s never sunk,
I come to you humbly, to worship, to fall at your feet,
Sipping memories to kill them, from dawn to dawn in a sweep,
Those old and forgotten ones, that no longer make you shiver,
Beautiful one, perfume of memories, inevitable scent of flowers that deliver.
Sleeping inside three oak walls and a creaky double door
Is something that hasn't glimpsed the sun
Since I first hid it from my pupils.
I've taken great care in decorating the sides of the wardrobe
With carvings of flowers and horses,
And everything else one would expect
From an old closet such as it.
I've stacked my plump balls of mismatched yarn
On the tippy top of its dusty roof,
so that when people ask me why I have such an old closet
In my new room, I can tell them it's for storage.
I've also locked the door with a little something I call
Omission and deflection, two very useful tools
I keep in the tool box under my bed,
Also not in view of any shafts of light that may trespass
Into the room through the bedroom window.
After a stem of light-locked-in-darkness I hid myself,
in the round rectangular of flowers dead-revived,
the celebration of my absence, the gift of no one unto none,
the isolated autumnal one with spring's venom in blood,
who whispers to me in thunder's voice: I can no longer can,
to answer your screaming silence, to catch hold of the moment
oasis-desert of burning hibernation, the night extinguished-in-flames,
a Tuesday of Sunday without the unpenetrated pain in head,
the elbows full of void prophesying the resurrection-entombed,
the other you of frozen summer, because you, my love,
you have always been gentler than the cruelty of loneliness.
In the dry lake of burning tears, ecstatic-apathetic,
the shadow of the flesh of your ethereal love collapsed upward
on the valley-mountain, the old childhood-pubescent, the fool-wise,
the blind-mirror from the threshold of the abandoned house-replaced,
of my gaze awake-asleep, rebellious as the stars-submissive,
through the sky-earth ephemeral-eternal, struck-caressed, wounded-healed,
the temptation-refuge, in the serious game of life-death of love,
that one of yours without you, with her without her, to lose ourselves counting:
zero as everything, one as no one, two as loneliness halved,
YOUR sadness luminous, MY immensity closed in the open palm,
in the square circle of time without time, where we found ourselves lost.