Long Latex Poems
Long Latex Poems. Below are the most popular long Latex by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Latex poems by poem length and keyword.
To fully be safe, we would have to live somewhere else right now.
Move out of this galaxy onto another planet away from the pandemic.
But this is what I would suggest.
One. Wash your hands over and over and over all day long.
Which I never do.
I would suggest wearing a mask. I have one hanging up in the kitchen.
I do not wear it, because I do not go anywhere.
I live in the country, so I never see people.
I would suggest wearing gloves. I have some but figure I am allergic.
I have a horrible latex allergy, so wearing them is out because I do not know.
Whether they have latex or not.
They say have the flu shot; this is not possible for me.
The flu shot contains latex. If you do not know that, you should.
To be safe – stay inside, do not go anywhere, shelter in place.
I am terrific at this, have spent five weeks doing this.
However, my husband is running around out there daily.
So who knows what he is bringing home.
Does he take a mask? Yes.
Does he wear it?
Who knows?
This pandemic thing is beyond irritating to me. I am tired of it.
I want to see my friends. I want to go to dinner.
I want to play with my grandchildren.
Staying safe? Sure. It sounds good,
but it is confining, confounding and devoid of so much joy.
i remember now
the sucking whoosh and rattle
of my life
as I was uprooted
still squirming - caught now
in the slalom clutch
of a blood smeared latex glove
a world as cold as a morgue
coagulated around senseless perceptions
a fluent reality that dripped slowly
into clotted forms
for a moment I wallowed
in that instinctual mud
that is both a sacrifice
and a subterfuge
a lamb born not to suckle
but to swallow all before it
if i was aware of anything
other than
my newly crushed heart
it was just the fading echo
of an erstwhile progenitor
either weeping
or laughing
iPhone Maniacs
crankshaft tendencies secure a brace of sly meatballs
truth daggers entice the worm girls with petite pastas
creature lilacs uproot themselves for pink dippity-do gels
white nylon ghost legs roam outer space in latex leotards
metacarpal syringes find porous outcries in the gloaming
crankshaft tendencies welcome the tilted exonerations
iPhone maniacs fondle frothing bananas mindlessly now
demon spiders ooze inside the crawlspaces wanting meat
cross-eyed priestesses suck on wax candles in the vestibule
black-robed choirs sing hangover music to the dribbling
rock music annihilations played by stoned dudes in shades
temples and taverns shake as the truth daggers hit earth
now the worm girls are dancing with the iPhone maniacs
She did it all, everything that I wanted,
She went everywhere that I went,
She did the things that I loved deep down,
After handing me her consent,
To do what I wanted, whenever I chose,
To do whatever I said,
On the road, in the park, on the seat of the court,
And then out the back in the shed,
And she obeyed all the things I demanded she do,
No matter how strange or absurd,
Like telling a story on the phone at work,
Moaning each delicious small word.
She did it all, every day when I wanted,
She did it with all sorts of objects,
And she did the things that I love deep down,
Wearing nothing but shiny latex.
I love that she did whatever I wanted,
I love she obeyed every day,
I loved being dom and she my small sub,
When she did whatever I’d say.
I got told a joke this morning
It really made me smile
So I thought I would share it on poetry soup
But in my own unique poetry style
A lady went to the dentist
She sat in the dentist’s chair
She was feeling really nervous
She wished she wasn’t there
The dentist thought he would put her at ease
As he put on his rubber gloves
He told her a little fictional story
Of a Canadian rubber glove factory
Into vats of latex the employees dip their hands
Big hands, medium hands and small, all the workers think its grand
They peel them off when they are dry
And into labelled boxes the rubber gloves lie
The dentist works on her teeth for a while
The lady doesn’t move or crack a smile
Finally the dentistry work is complete
The old lady arises from her seat
She gets on her coat and pays her bill
There is something on her mind still…..
Do they use male staff to produce condoms in a similar way?
The dentist laughed and said have a nice day
Jan Allison
25th April 2014
Sixty years have passed.
No one knew how to spell its name.
No one knew when it first opened.
It was forever, like the infernal summer heat.
It stands indelible at the end of my street,
at the end of my episodic hippocampus.
Everyone congregated at this cozy corner store,
this neighborhood fount for stories, jokes,
convenient food and cheap toys.
There were only a few shoplifters,
usually snarky boys slightly older than me.
They were never caught.
The guy behind the counter
never caught anything he didn’t want to see.
Perhaps the store’s namesake,
he worked slavishly, anxiously alone.
One frantic day, he spotted vomit on the floor.
Bolting into the backroom,
He returned with mop and pail
only to find the mess entirely missing.
Snickering, snarky boys hid their latex toy.
A harmless prank, some would say.
But somehow, in my tenth year
I felt sorrow for the overworked man.
Nothing ever changed.
It all lingered like the infernal summer heat,
the gripping stillness of eternal summer.
This neurotransmitter of neighborly connections,
This hub of gab and gossip,
Home to my first financial transactions,
Home to penny candy, bubblegum cards, and Mars bars.
Home to grape soda, Twinkies, and Wonder Bread.
No one knew how to spell its name.
No one knew when it permanently closed.
But the potent sugar-coated flashbacks
have lengthened my life.
Invisible
Ah to fly
Like Superman
And save the day once more
Or X-Ray rescue captives
As I laser-melt the door
Perhaps I climb
Tall towers
And swing without a care
Between the skyline scrapers
Catching villains in a snare
Or my muscles flex
In latex
City restoration is the goal;
As I zoom around in vehicles like
Some dark knight of the soul
A metal suit
Protects me
While my heart burns like the sun
With my cape-less banter shielding
Vulnerabilities, every one
The years behind have taught me..
That heroic can be small
No need to spin the planet
Or smash right through the wall
Instead, it is in wisdom;
The timeless gentle start
Of the smile that lights the shadows
On the dark side
Of a heart
No need to be invisible
Why not let your shadow fall
On the desperate, lonely stranger
We start with one
And save them all.
Jinjagoliath
25th June 2022
AI. man
An important city was bombed a hundred times
during the long horrid night
I read one person was killed; how amazing is that
The newspaper report does not ask questions.
I have a mental picture of an AI person who looks
like a man in his thirties, knows everything and
speak every language you can think of, except
perhaps a local Indian speak in the Amazon
you can’t knock him over as he is gyro balanced
and his political opinions are pro-authoritarian.
He lives in Ukraine, whose army is indestructible
the leader is made of latex and sprayed on beard
tells the naïve and adoring audience he has won
the war for us in the West, but a can of lubricant
wouldn’t come amiss
What makes the hiking up mountains more striking?
What makes the driving more fun than arriving?
What makes the ocean-ing worth the sun lotioning?
Gear!
Gear makes the biking much more to my liking,
Gear makes the camping way less spirit-damping,
Gear makes the gardening less callous-hardening,
Let's hear it for Gear!
Now softball-leaguing is way more intriguing,
Now boogie boarding is much more rewarding,
Now even jogging feels less like a flogging,
3 cheers for the Gear!
Titanium! Spandex! Aluminum! Latex!
Hi-tech! All-weather! Light as a feather!
No wonder I struggled for many a year -
I had not the wherewithal to buy the gear!
Not a room for the waiting
or the receiving of the waiting,
but a room for a liquid thinking
a turgidity
that trickles through plastic tubes.
Is this where doors remain jammed
forever between Hospital floors?
Unseen, a wall clock drops
heavy packages of time
into narrow chutes,
latex handprints are shaken
from sterilized surfaces.
The regularity
of beep and whir mechanically
sucks light in and out.
The yoke recalls it shell.
Desiccated fingers
squeeze a phantom pain-ball,
morphine as cold as ice
is delivered
to an unknown address.
A swish of a starched presence,
fingertips retrace
scorched fever-lines.
Eyes creep toward the voice.
Consciousness
scratches a self-portrait
upon a white neon sun,
a hesitant, primitive etching.
A nurse adjusts the electronic pulse
of a free-floating mind.
Space expands under her hands.