Long Innuendo Poems
Long Innuendo Poems. Below are the most popular long Innuendo by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Innuendo poems by poem length and keyword.
I Never Cease to Wonder
By Franklin Price
9/22/2109
I never cease to wonder
How our leaders are today
How the truth's of little matter
In much of what they say
How they're using innuendo
And untruths to overcome
Never saying how they'll lead us
Are, we the people, that damn dumb?
The media goes right along
Reporting what will sell
Market share's what matters
Even when their noses swell
Lies put on the front page
Until they're proven wrong
Retractions, put in small print,
In the back where they belong
Where is the journalism
That put honesty in news?
Gone when it disagrees
With opponents and their views
All sides act the same way
As they pull us all asunder
How can they do this to us?
Well, I never cease to wonder
They did mock us ...did they not?...the mockingbirds?
I say they did!...innuendo infuse...as pellucid as she...they mocked us!
...gossiped luridly about us in luscious low tones like the old hen in her
folding chair...nothing better to do than judge in ripples to her cluck...her menagerie...in their horribly ugly dough smeared aprons...their blue heads tilted in close at twilight...their murmurings...wet currants of milky weighted ancestral opinion...like the too sweet fragrant frangipani of yesterday's casket bouquets.
They are the last vermillion crest of an ending era...the harsh setting sun
of discrimination's descent ...now blurs to a color rich flag and nation...The Mockingbirds ...be damned!
For 10 words 10 lines contest
You can’t handle the truth…
And so you lash out in pain
You hurt and you maim
Innuendo, the game
Flaming, you flame
What a shame!
A SHAME!
You can’t handle the truth…
And so you fabricate lies
Dress up a pretty disguise
Compliment mesmerize
Word trophy prize
Not wise
Not wise!
You can’t handle the truth…
And so you implicate
With hints you sedate
Your conscience placate
Pride vindicate
It’s still hate
It’s HATE!
You can’t handle the truth…
So you write a small rhyme
You cover the crime
Throw around grime
Slippery slope slime
On heartache you climb
Not this time
NOT THIS TIME….
Eileen Manassian
It was a reflection
on the possibility of deception,
cloudy skies of threatened grays
allow my thoughts to rise and pray,
tell me America by midnight stars
is this who you really are?
Believing in rumor, innuendo, and lie
have you come to yourself despised?
What you see, what you believe
is tragically ill-conceived
if there lay only lie and truth denied,
reflect a moment, take two, review the lies
comprehend the facts, the reality that exists
is this really you and how America persists?
Open your mind, your ears, and your eyes
perceive the deception in the lies.
These citizens who voted
made their choices quoted
Share your desire for a better nation
but violence, ignorance lay within anticipation
the hopes, the dreams, the promises once made
in a history of lessons on parade.
The future waits for generations to come
be careful, deceptions let you believe conspiracy has won.
Flirt with me. Flirt with me.
Can’t you see,
I want you to flirt with me?
Share with me an erotic fantasy.
Talk sexually and explicitly. Flirt with me.
Bat your eyes,
Lick your lips,
Secretly touch me with your fingertips.
Wink at me,
Bump into me,
Flash me some skin when nobody else can see.
Whisper sweet nothings in my ear,
Tell someone I’m sexy when I can overhear.
Flirt with me.
Verbally and physically, flirt with me.
I know
You know
How to use an innuendo,
Text me,
Email me,
Attach a picture with nudity.
In a crowd, get me all alone,
Be provocative on the phone.
Near your husband give me a subtle touch
That makes it impossible for me not to blush.
Flirt with me. Can’t you see I want you to flirt with me?
Save me from life’s banality,
Tell me things you want to do to me.
Even knowing it will never be,
I’d love to have you flirt with me.
Flirt with me.
past retentiveness
absurdity would not last
you or me
idiosyncratic
riddles held not held
pain lurking
an obdurate innuendo
bonafide
talks uttered
not uttered by me
an acquaintance
whimsical bearing
I can witness
concurrently
a squandering
magnetism balanced
voluptuousness
blurred cipher
withstanding at the egress
nevermore ingress
taught apotheosized
in conundrum
THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE without grammatical symbols the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and respond thus making the form a two way interplay and often a unique interpretation by the enigma so derived. Poem inspired by Poet Brian Strand.
Written: February 12, 2022
1st place contest winner
A Strand (1073) Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
We spoke in semaphore of smirks,
A dialect of sideways quirks—
Our mouths full up with mirage and pun,
Unconscious artists come undone.
She, a flower in a field of noise,
Parsed our pose as preening boys—
Not cruel, but tuned to frequencies
That echo long through apologies.
Our verbs wore vests too tight with charm,
Syntax stitched with latent harm.
We hadn’t meant to start a war—
Yet metaphors, once launched, implore.
Intent becomes the alibi
Of those who never learned to pry
Beneath the comfort of a jest—
A laugh can undress all the rest.
She read our pause, our sideways glance,
Not as a walk, but a strange dance
In which the lead was vague, and yet
Each footstep left a silhouette.
I’m ready for investing in some ballroom real estate.
The music starts at nine o’clock; we’ll get there half past eight.
Be sure to wear your sexy dress. I’ll wear my sexy pants.
The rooftop lounge is under glass; let’s go downtown and dance.
Listen to the magic of that Spanish guitar.
It can take us far and away
Swinging past the limits of the evening’s expanse,
Gliding through the night like in some gothic romance.
We’ll tango through the crowd like irresponsible gazelles.
Then sip some fine champagne and eat dark chocolate nonpareils.
If I may seduce you with a mischievous glance,
I’d like to take your hand and have us go downtown and dance.
Savor the abrazo as we caminata;
Abrida with your foot touching mine.
Ocho walking backwards when I make my advance.
Gancho as we tangle in a sensuous trance.
Now don’t expect ballet with arabesques and pirouettes.
I never met Gene Kelly; didn’t work with the Rockettes.
But I’ll never let you fall if you piernazo by chance.
So, my pretty senorita, let’s just go downtown and dance.
Where would I go
if not right here with little to show,
while at my laptop pondering the view.
Sometimes, I get so busily obsessed
with by want of writing I am possessed,
so oblivious of nature that I forget to see.
The world outside my window
filled with life and song not innuendo
and a garden growing fast before too long.
If life overtakes me I would be forever in regret
I missed the wonders of a songbird's quintet
that disappears and fades as the day progressed.
But blessed I am by some inner call
that begs me look and enjoy the beauty of it all
from the garden growing in the timeline of my life.
So for the moment, however brief
walk the garden, breathe, smell the roses like a thief
as time passes and may never be caught again.
Wat?!?
No jovial banter? No easy give-and-take of rivalry? Naught there be a good-natur'd ribbing between courteous competitors? Nay a rusty-edg'd petulance on propriety's behalf? No acrimonious innuendo f'r the sake of the game? Nay there a parry and thrusteth of verbal interaction, given eagrly in the hon'r of athletic engagement? Not yea a poison-ting'd barb-or-two f'r a corky adversary?
Ah well, I s'pose 'tis f'r the best, lest naught gallant Prince Brady springeth from the ramparts and striketh said foes to the quick . . . dark h'rse ye sayeth? Aye, I grant ye such, but such darkness yea the fires of Hades himself shant cleave in their most earnest reakoning, n'r shall thither be any who abscond the ire of it's somb'r intent.
Hearken ye anon to the soundeth of the armorer's accomplishments . . . the busy hammereth closing cold the rivets, as valiant Sir Thomas shall likewise closeth the lighteth from his foes' furth'r days. Seekest thou mercy? Dost thy heart thump with the rhythm of a calleth f'r clemency? Dost thy eyes endeavor to findeth the spark of benevolence in Prince Brady's gaze?
No one - nay, not yea I - can knoweth of such things . . . but ye can, as all creatures of similar acumen art apt, prayeth. Thou shalt findeth eventual attainment on thy boney knubs anyway, best prepareth f'r such ends willfully, hands clasp'd and eyes to the heavens . . . thy doom is thy salvation, as is the glint of Sir Thomas Patrick Edward Brady's salient blade!
Consid'rest thou admonish'd.