Long Hot Poems
Long Hot Poems. Below are the most popular long Hot by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Hot poems by poem length and keyword.
ahh baby
dat aint what they said
you playin game
messin wit my head
look here baby
let me get dat
the night is ours
I want that drummacat
care re she mo
don't you ask
how bout you let me
spank dat A$s!
spend dah nite
grindin that thang
bring yo' draws
you gone need ah change
she say!
it's hot!
it hot!
I'm hot ripe and ready!
Hot, Hot Ripe and ready
why dude looking
who dat is
ya'll doin thangs
got sum kids
look let's get this straight
I like how you dance
come go wit me
let me get in dos' pant
tickle dat poo-nassy-dew
bussa couple off inside of you
eat sum eggs
when morning cums
soap you up
and lather you down
she said
it's hot!
hot!
hot!
hot, ripe and ready!
Hot!
hot !
Hot !
ripe and ready !
aint nobody home
let's go inside
take them strangs off
take me
for ah ride
give me sum of dat
sweet, sweet love
let me get me sum
grind my bone down
wit yo' tongue
sleep wit me
let me go down
whisper yo name
cause I love the sound
she said
how sweet it is
let me do my thang
she start kissin me
treat me like ah king
on the freaky side
she been round
no problems getting
her to go down
she said
baby it's
hot!
hot !
hot!
ripe and ready!
hot!
hot !
hot !
Ripe and ready!
The hot seat
The greedy men thought
They are wise
The selfish men thought
they could play us always
another bad card
The lieing men thought
they can always promise us
of change to get their
way through again
The false preachers thought
we can not see any more
Even the truth right in front
of our view is about
to turn darkness
All because they all
Wants to lead again
All becuse they all
Want to rules us always
Yet they forgot that
The are about to sit on
The hot seat
The hot seat
Too many fight for power
Every where
Too many gangs and
disciples are formed
Evertime for power
Everywhere
Too many innocent souls
has been guned down
on this hunger for power
Too many lives has been
devalued before and after
their power hunger
Yet they forgot that
the only power is the people
Power
So Now i realised why
they cant handle the seat
For they lack the knowledge of God
Where love is only the true way
to sit and remain cool on
The hot seat
The hot seat
Behind the closed doors
are too many secret agendas
By an evil cults and their gangs
Through their illusion comes
Manipulation as their logo
Evil loves power
So darkeness loves dominant
As they love to dominate
all important areas of our lifes today
Yet above all they cant win
the race
Yes They cant win
when the power is not of them
but for the people
So now i got a reavelation
As i see now
Only the righteous ones
are meant to sit on
The hot seat
A short letter to this Hot Summer Day,
I get it, you’re a furnace from the sky.
And you want to play chef, to bake and to stew,
Both my feet you simmer and fry
You battered and basted and blanched and broiled
As I roasted all day in the sun.
And to help this heat wave, you turned the kiln up,
And cooked me along to well done.
Even the swim in the pool was a ruse, trap and hoax,
As my skin copped a blistering scorch.
I’d like you to stop these pretty rays of light
This pretty hot scalding blowtorch.
To end this short letter to my friendly hot day,
Here’s a phone number of a guy who mends warm.
Give him a call, invite him straight over,
His name’s Cloudy Wet Soaking Rainstorm.
Hi, this was written in January during Australia's hot summer, but has never been put in any contests. I thought it might fit your contest. It was during the 45 degree C days where it was so mega hot. Cheers.
Were it so that a poet could find it:
the perfect combination of words
that would enlighten the hearts and minds
of all who read them.
But we all speak with different tongues,
and languages change,
and, even if they didn't,
the curious, uniquely crafted crystals
of our identities
interpret the one pure light in different ways.
Perhaps the revelation I perceived
on these hot nights here in Houston
touches no other but me.
In life, I believe I am meant to purify my dreams
and elevate my reality
until the two converge forever.
When desire and truth become one.
When beauty and eternity kiss.
When the heart finds the rhythm
to which it can beat forever.
written ~11:40-11:52 PM on 2024-07-30
Make the strings hot
When Eddie Van Halen is scalin’
Make the strings hot
When Randy Rhoads fingers explode
Make the strings hot
When Angus Young’s Gibson SG strums
Make the strings hot
With Pete Townsend’s windmill trend
Make the strings hot
When Jimmi Hendrix uses his mouth picks
Make the strings hot
When Jimi Page uses a bow on stage
Make the strings hot
When Jeff Beck serenades the neck
Make the strings hot
When David Gilmore comfortably plays chords
Make the strings hot
When Chuck Berry walks aviary
Make the strings hot
When Bo Diddly plays it fiddly
Make the strings hot
When you hear Frampton and Clapton
Make the strings hot
When you hear Brian May play
Make the strings hot
In a rockin' classical theme of Yngwie Malmsteen
Make the strings hot
Where Howlin' Wolf
Said Robert Johnson sold his soul
Make the strings hot
When Eugene Martone and Steve Vai collide*
(And Johnny beat the tempter sly)*
(Of all the Israelite kings)
One, a cunning player of strings*
Is there anything finer
Than that first cup of coffee?
It's better than sex by a mile
It lifts up your spirits
Sets the tone for the day
And forces the biggest of smiles
People will wonder
What you have up your sleeve
They'll think you won at the track
Unknown to them
Is the fact you don't gamble
And you're not into heroine or crack
Now a hot cup of joe
Is addictive they say
But think of the lives that it saves
It cuts down on suicides
And domestic abuse
That sends young folks to their graves
It's a small price to pay
Makes sure you're on board
It keeps those Colombians employed
Instead of drug runners
They're coffee bean hustlers
As a bonus their economy's buoyed
So next time you visit
A Starbuck's or such
Remember it's more precious than gold
For keeping us sane
Our eyes on the prize
Puts a stop to our brains getting old
© Jack Ellison 2012
Charles and my predawn jog was a sweat-athon and as the sun rose, a heat-dome brightness tattooed crisp shadows in every corner. Any lingering coolness was burned off - evaporated.
It was 94°f, 3 hours later, when I walked to campus - why don’t we use parasols anymore? Drag on, radiant afternoon heat, please.
That was 100 proof sarcasm, in case you couldn’t tell.
Hot days seem to drag-on slowly, like waiting for a microwave or a droning, liturgy. It wasn’t in the forecast but I wouldn’t have been surprised to hear, “Today’s forecast is slow, really slow.”
Let’s start an Internet theory that the atmosphere is thinning or we’re just ants under a magnifying glass.
The finally setting sun left a blood red line under the falling blue dark, like a gash of wound in the skin of young-night.
Once my nightly obligations are done (classes, homework, reading), the silence can seem oppressive. I’m used to the never ending hustle, boiling drama and noise of seven suitemates - so there’s that.
On now empty nights, I’m tortured by the high-beating pulse of youth, and I pace my empty apartment, like someone restlessly waiting for their venti-mocha-latte at a Starbucks.
Can anyone suffer like a young woman left all alone?
Why, oh whomever, must I sip from this deep, bitter, undrinkably salty sea of solitude?
In this, my prime season, why do I only manage to exist?
My needs are in a shameful state of decay.
.
.
Cruel Summer by Bananarama
Habits (feat. Haley Reinhart) by Scott Bradlee's Postmodern Jukebox [E]
All That I Need by Ebony Loren, Matthew Ifield & Sebastian Kamae
Summer Shimmers
In my rear vision
Its super hot
But i dare not stop
Here
On the ruddy Barkley
If i get out
This car
I will become instant
Yum cha
As its steaming
Ruddy hot
Here on the Barkley
Theres no picnic to be had
At the dusty rest stop
The furnace of hell
Blows across the plain
Here
On the ruddy Barkley
Stark raving mad
Ye have to be
To drive the
Ruddy Barkley
Come the wet
I hit the grid at the border
Doing 140
Out here on the
Ruddy Barkley
No cop at the shop
To slow me down
3 ways at one end
Mt Isa the other
Camooweal
Yeah nah
Pay 5 star for none
Not much choice
Out here on
The ruddy Barkley
The fuels getting low
But i aint
Pulling me foot
As i cant wait
To finish the
Ruddy Barkley
My Astrologer, ‘Sex and Love’ horoscope, for Halloween, is grim and on-trend for me.
(Libra) “Get ready to take some chill-time - give yourself the space to recover. People pleasing is out, boundaries are in!” Yeah, I’m like Texas, I have unsecure boundaries.
Sure, I KNOW horoscopes are horoscopes but while other signs get unicorns & puppies:
Aries: “Use your deepest desires to please yourself, step into your power.”
Gemini: “Your curious and bubbly nature shines, shoot your shot for that special someone!”
Cancer: “Be at home in your feels, your needs & emotional expressions are valued, go deeper.”
I’m getting “Suck it up buttercup,” thanks universe - what did I ever do to you?
We’ve been scanning the teen magazine fall looks, “We’re living in a bold era, a time of expression!” They declare, which means dramatic-metallic eyeliners, goth grunge, bold reds and Beyoncé’s “Renaissance silvers.” Luckily, Yale’s pretty low fashion environment, because seasonal changes are a lot to keep up with.
I love Autumn, with its colorful leaves, pumpkin lattes and colder nights, but coming from the south (in ‘21), I had no idea how badly heated air could dry out my skin and hair (freshie year, my thumb literally started to crack, like a plastic Barbie).
In the spirit of fall fashion and maintenance, my entire crew made an Ulta store run this morning for hair masks, detox tonics and skin moisturizers - we’re ready, bring on the cold.
The best smelling places on earth are Ulta and Yankee Candle stores. In my religion, heaven smells like Starbucks in the morning, Chick-fil-A around noon and Ulta stores as the sun goes down and things turn dreamy and romantic.
I like my soup hot.
Slurping the edge of the bowl carefully
So as not to get burnt.
These aromatic words are better than any drug.
But just as addictive ... with no hangover.
Though sometimes it still gets me high.
Or makes me cry with its blatant honesty.
So, I thank you, you Wizards of culinary delights.
For easing my hunger pains. Teasing my taste buds.
Inspiring me to be a better cook.
I feel less like a stranger in a strange kitchen.
With thousands of friends with their tongues in my ear.
Stirring up the pot in my soul. Tantalizing my dreams.
And when my bowl is empty, you leave me craving for more.
You and I are not a lost Art in some back ally squat.
Thank you for letting me sit at your table.
And you're always welcome at mine.