Long Hit the spot Poems
Long Hit the spot Poems. Below are the most popular long Hit the spot by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Hit the spot poems by poem length and keyword.
It's been six years since I've known you
And six months since I've left
You took advantage of me
But it's me who handed you the key
Day after day I would come to you to vent
Instead of ink to this paper
I'd put weed in this wrapper
I'd light it up and smoke it
And then I'd feel much better
It's a place like no other God damn it feels so good
But when the high goes away I'd feel like I'm no good
The relief was only temporary
So I had to double my dose
That's when I realised I started going broke
I started of with alcohol but then I moved weed
And when that wouldn't hit the spot I started popping pills
The high was just extraordinary
There are no words to explain
I wanted more I needed more to elevate the grade
I stuck a needle in my arm
And then I felt no pain
My life was like a roller coaster
Which I could not contain
It's been six years since I've known you
And Six months since I've left
I wonder how many people today still mourn my death
Soup friends are just...out of sight!
When lonely and sad in the night
Their poems I read
And come up to speed
Then everything seems ALL right! ;)
Poems in shapes and sizes
Poets in different guises
Some are really hot
Their words hit the spot
So welcome to the prizes!!
Some write of nature and plants
and rhymes are written of ants
Some hot body parts
Some mention the arts
While others write raves and rants
Poets have stories to tell
And mostly, they are all swell
Some write about S E X
Their great big "dog" Rex ;)
Or how we'll all burn in hell!
Try out a contest or two
A collab of muse and you
haiku may be fun
word games and a pun
Don't stick to the tried and true
you must at times take a stand
Just hope that you won't be banned
write "naughty" but "nice"
Add lots of hot spice
and hope that you won't get canned
This SOUP has tidbits galore
one taste will make you want more
Soup diet is great
So don't hesitate
Eat up!! There's more soup in store!!
A revised edition of an older write. We need some levity. It's not really my thing...but hey, trying to be versatile but still old school. Each limerick is 77557. I know the meter is not always spot on, but....it's not really my FORM! ;)
Sweet Things
Aunt Candy was the candy lady and her name fit just fine.
She made mountains of chocolates, every kind.
Whip whistles that popped, crunchy things that dropped,
In your mouth, from a spoon, you sang a tune.
White chocolate, like snow.
Out-lining the holidays with winter fun.
Dark chocolate, mysterious and romantic,
only for the older crowd,
the daring “do’s”, the lovers of life.
Milk so sweet, and fun to eat.
Shaped… and draped… on a cake…
Foolish children eat and eat, they can not see their feet.
Smiles on their faces that make you laugh.
My memories must be strong, as now she is…gone.
It is up to me to carry on.
A bag of chocolate and a melting pot,
that is a good beginning…
to hit the spot.
If there was a pill that I could take today
This pill could hit the spot without delay
And this pill was the same shape as your loving heart
It will cure all my ills and my pains for a start
It can make a path down to my weary soul
And it can build me up and make me feel whole
If this pill is your love and you send it to me
Then I will swallow it quickly and just wait and see
This pill must come with a strong warning too
Will you take my heart shaped pill I sent to you
This heart as a pill will work for the one and only
Cures all the ills and stops one being lonely
If affected don’t drive or use heavy machines
Give to the one you love, and start living your dreams
© 23/01/2013
Contest Entry for The Pill of Life Contest sponsored By Russell Sivery
I hit the spot.
I marked it with a dot.
It's my spot—
An 'X' ringed.
A bullseye claimed,
filled with jet black ink—
Not a blot with rough edges that seep out,
but one with a sharp outer perimeter.
It's a point pretending it has a yard of space around it,
on its own plot of land, casting no shadows.
I shift a bit; neighbors start crowding in.
"Stop Right There!"
"It's my spot you're on!"
I feel the canvas moving under my spot,
or is it all the jostling moving me — page, plot and all?
Now I'm bouncing in a crowded jumping castle.
Dots blurring into one another.
Stippled footprints mark where spots once stood;
touching down elsewhere — here, there, otherwise.
I've lost the plot; I've lost my spot.
Just another orphaned dot,
set adrift, looking for a margin to belong in.
on a slate, forever being wiped clean.
I clamp down and dig in my heels.
Crampons bite into the ice floe.
Punctuation halts the slide,
puts its foot down—
my comma sheds its tail, and holds.
My Soup friends are out of sight
When I’m lonely in the night
Their poems I read
And come up to speed
And everything seems alright
Poems in shapes and sizes
Poets in different guises
Some are really hot
Their words hit the spot
So welcome to the prizes!!
Some write of nature and plants
Though not one about the ants
Some hot body parts
Some mention the arts
While others write raves and rants
Each has a story to tell
Most poets are really swell
Some write about sex
Their great big "dog" Rex
Or how love has turned to hell!
There are lots of contests too
One’s sure to appeal to you
Footles may be fun
Word games and a pun
I stick to the tried and true
I cannot write on demand
Or my muse will have me canned
I write what I feel
And that is my deal
But well wishes to this band!
Eileen Manassian Ghali
I’ve got those baby I want you things on my mind
Those ooh baby, pleasured bodies intertwined
She knows all the right places and my pump’s primed
exploration ecstasy, wondering what I will find
nasty deeds, my mom said would make me go blind
Up down backwards, slippery slide inclined
Cataclysmic dual explosions as we grind
Lick lips eclipse finding the place that drips
She hold the covers and bites her lips
I control her vibrating gyrating hips
“Oh don’t stop!” as deep inside my tongue slips
I don’t need no cuffs or whips
I make her so happy she does back flips
She’s drug free and still her mind trips
Faster, slower, what she wants she doesn’t know
She loves how I make her tingle from head to toe
Flush skin, that delicious heated she needs me glow
I’m Double Dutch flicking, she’s rocking to and fro
I wind her tight and right like a well strung bow
Pull back release, hit the spot gently blow
Precision accuracy I find the perfect place to go
She pushes me pulls me, rips at my hair
I could be bald but I don’t care
She pulls me up so she can grab me there
Minutes hours she answers every prayer
Where I begin and she ends I am unaware
Release vibrations the ultimate share
as into each other’s eyes we stare!
I perk my Joe old-fashioned style
In a pot atop the stove,
My percolator ancient,
Like a pirate’s treasure trove.
I measure out the coffee
And a timer lets me know
When 8 minutes have elapsed and then
My brew’s all set to go.
It’s French roast, strong and most important,
It is really hot,
The only way that it should be
So it will hit the spot.
I toyed with going modern –
The Nespresso had appeal,
But to change what’s tried and true seemed
Like too much of a big deal.
So I’ll stick with perking coffee
Like the dinosaur I am
For each morning sip allows me
To be happy as a clam.
In my urban habitat,
On a bridge’s ramp,
Heard a noise like rat-a-tat,
Giving me a cramp.
Taxi driver passed my way,
Pointing to my wheel;
Couldn’t hear, with traffic’s fray,
What miles would soon reveal.
Soon I felt familiar thumps –
Oh no! My tire is flat!
Riding over highway bumps
Tempts rubber to go splat.
Slowly rolled to a garage
Where they made a switch.
Gratitude in me loomed large,
But isn’t life a *****?
Just in case we think it’s not,
There’s plenty to remind us
That even days that hit the spot
Hide havoc, which will find us.
Could have been a whole lot worse
If fate did so conspire;
Still, my day became adverse
When I blew out my tire.
It's not a party without music.
No special events of amusement.
No voices of joy, that laugh out loud.
No dancing feet, to hype the crowd.
clapping shoes against the floor,
sounds of life, screaming for more.
Hands in the air, I can reassure.
"It's not a party without music".
No monopoly, no spades,
no poker, no charades.
No poetry to recite,
no beautiful bright lights.
"What is a song,
with no one to write"?
It just doesn't seem right.
"It's not a party, without music".
No down home cooking
to hit the spot.
No special guest, that mean alot.
No beats against the walls,
that knock, knock, knock.
"It's not a party without music"!
"It's just not"......