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.
Peeling Back the Bubble Wrap
Peeling back the bubble wrap on the ancient of days,
Back to when Nixon was still presiding,
He, leading with paranoid deliberations,
Sold his yeses to the Goldbricks, and the Mustard Men;
And while he was dipping into the rubbery tides of the latex surfers,
I found your shadowy pointing breasts, shivering outside my backdoor.
You were standing in the dark, waiting for me to turn the key…
1973 was the year you taught me how to love a woman;
You, at 21 years, and me, ensconced in the stereo-lit darkness,
Of my dimly-lit bedroom on Hoover street;
You, wearing a wool skirt and that ruffled low-curving blouse,
With those tan buttons, like a half dozen corks, ready to be popped,
And you, sitting at my black upright piano,
The 1907 Schumann, made of stubborn black mahogany, and
You, with your long curved nails, femininely tapping the ivories,
Soliciting an intimate song I have since forgotten, but can still hear,
Your cylindrical tan legs pressing the piano pedals,
Like a fragile dancer made of fine glass, and
You, exploring human desire with determined pressings.
And then, into your garlanded home we strolled,
Hand in hand; And with our lips, we cleared the stoney path
Leading into the sun garden, amongst the cats and the posies,
And found astonished silhouettes behind the peephole.
Still peeling back the bubble wrap on the ancient of days,
Back to when my door was locked, and a green candle burned therein;
I saw you in the naked flickering, riding the tree of silver ascensions,
And with five pulsing fingers, I eagerly picked your finest flowers, over there,
Inside the throbbing, sun-lit bed of this poised sun garden; then,
You told me you loved me. Told me what I never wanted to hear,
“Even now, with me on top of you, in this silent grinding darkness,
I cannot bring myself to lie and say, ‘I love you.’
There is something about you I don’t want to know.
Yours is a long and complicated book I do not wish to read.
Your mind I cannot calibrate, or truly understand, so…I am sorry.
I deserve to be called an ass, deserve to be brushed off like a gnat, but
With you, my shoes never seemed to fit. My ears never seemed to hear.”
...when the copter went down, witnesses heard you scream…
“I am truly sorry.”
I looked at the room broken bottles blood fragments of clothes.
maybe a tooth from somebody not fast are to drunk to get outta the way of a conversation
turned bad.
The juke box had almost made it threw but it just had to
play that one song that caused it to become a target
for a flying cue ball.
And I herd someone speaking to the toilet I thought maybe
I wasnt that hungry after all.
As to what caused the riot slash the human tornado of fun I cannot say
But in my opinion that jukebox had it coming always playing the wrong songs at the right
time no one likes a smartass.
And that drag queen could sure throw a mean left hook.
While looking fierce and lip sinking to madonna at the same time that my friends take true
talent .
Seems as though the register had went on vacation but they
left the wild turkey and pretzels thank god happy hour was almost apon us.
And theres nothing worse than telling a proffesional drinker as myself
theres no snacks it's like tellinga kid theres no santa claus.
And that big fat guy in the red suit with his little dwarfs
were really just some of momies friends.
I always wondred why santa was so into getting the crap beat outta him
by a woman in a latex outfit calling herself mistress Claus.
Yes coffee always made things better mixed with some of my personal corn whiskey yeah
grandpa may went insane and herd voices from drinking the stuff but at least he always had
someone to talk to.
As I looked at the chaos that was my headquarters memories came to me in a flood the
booth were I met my first wife.
that same booth were i caught her with my best friend and worst enemy and santa i swear
he gets around.
So much for online dating dam you napster.
I should just stick with street walkers and circus people.
And I think after my tweenty first DUI
that it was good i never had a license to start with.
cause i really hate losing anything.
It's a shame about my mind.
So really other than this little get togather turned riot turned
love in turned back to brawl turned into
big kid slumber party.
It was after the jukebox had to put in it's two cents
that it all turned to .
For nothing kills the mood worse than a bad song
at the right time.
Love always Dr Gonzo
I studied cosmology for 4 years before I realized there was no mention of make-
up or hair styling.
I saw the movir "Superfly", and didn't understand why they never even showed a
zipper!
I wanted Lasix surgery- but, due to being stupid, I wound up with Latex surgery;
now I have "boobs".
I love movies- and had my heros- and I was classified a "copy cat". But I got tired
of the hair balls in my throat.
I'm probably the only one who considered suicide by H-bomb.
I ordered a "Blair" catalogue, expecting a book about witches.
I had a car I nicknamed "Flattery" 'cause it got me nowhere.
Ever notice that some hospitals have a "detox" ward? Does that mean that
somewhere there's a "tox" ward?
I'm a musician-I've been, for years, trying to join a "Rubber Band". Guess that's a
stretch, huh?
My house is so messy, I don't remember the color of my carpet.
I used to be a department store buyer. But I could never afford to buy stores.
I suffered from chronic pain for years. Then I got divorced.
All this talk about "role models"- boy- just go to the bakery!
I have a very high IQ- but in my case it means "Idiot Quota".
Someone once scolded me about my self-depreication. I replied-"It's better than
self defecation!"
Everytime I went to the psych ward I signed in as "Randall P. McMurphy" true!
confused? see "One Flew Over the Cuckoo Nest".
Russian? I don't know, they seem to move pretty slow to me.
Napoleon Bonaparte? I don't know, I've had a number of Napoleons from
various bakeries; I never found any bones.
I guess the Nazis must'a needed a lot of underarm deodorant.
Cell phone? I don't know- seems like being in prison is hardly worth it.
If we capture Osama Bin Laden, instead of death, I'd make him watch Billy Mays
commercials 24/7. (Too gruesome to even think of!)
Jock itch is a bit_h. Glad I'm not a "jock".
Wars never end, they just change names.
I once spent a winter in my old home, alone- no heat, no gas, no phone,no
food,sometimes no electricity. Ever have your underwear frozen fast to your
body? True!!
Well, my friends, till we meet again! Here's to Soup!
In an irrevocable warp speed instant,
my head collided into the likeness of drying tar,
absorbing each horrid layer of concrete.
That pitch-black, tacky substance covered my body,
so that I was trapped, sightless, into immobility.
With pounding pain, like a full force baseball bat swing
to the skull, like a head cold amplified myriad times,
my brain screamed for release
inside walls of perpetual pressure,
with nerve spasms massively extending
beyond the central blow.
The stench of blood-covered latex gloves
and hand sanitizer attempting to halt disease,
had me guessing that I was in a medical facility.
I could taste metal, as if I was becoming part machine,
conforming to constant monitor beeps.
Morphine drips slipped me into hallucinations,
or maybe just distressing dreams.
My opaque mind tingled for air, breath gasping
like an incessant snore, mouth slightly ajar.
I imagined drools somewhere, but felt no dampness.
Numbness soon overcame most pain,
setting me into a panic of possible lost limbs,
lost neck, lost head.
Dread of the unknown
cast me into a guarded sensation of
always falling, anticipating the jarring end.
Unable to scratch intermittent itches
or ask for assistance, I twitched inwardly,
trapped in a corridor of horrors,
with siren flashes passing through the darkness,
running for a door or window to open,
or if locked, to kick vigorously
through this mind prison.
There are no doors. There are no windows.
Only echoed pounding of
familiar voices floating
surrounded me.
I could smell my wife's Tea Rose perfume
upon approach, accompanied by
my three mostly grown daughters
with their authentic scent of home.
Some named friends and acquaintances
came at arbitrary times.
Some offered slurred words in somber tones.
Some were simply saturated in silence.
All were drenched with unspeakable grief.
Each loved one's screaming drop of saline
made me cry inside, but I doubt it seeped outwardly.
I longed to reach out to wipe away their liquid sorrow,
but my muscles were limp, each limb
like a redwood tree branch in stagnant air.
As I pick up where I left off from the Intro
I bring you the Outlook as I peer through relationships like a window
The chance of seeing real love is narrow
It seems Cupid doesn't know where to aim his arrow
Cupid my Cupid
How could you be so stupid
The way girls treat boys
Like toys
The way boys treat girls
Like squirrels
Got them going nuts
Teens and adolescence in love?
You must be nuts
Ages 13-19 is filled with lust
Their conscience still underveloped
They don't know who to trust
20s-30s
That age group can slide
Because at some point they have a hunch about what they want inside
That's the flagship age to get married
Couple says vows
Bride gets carried
These days it seems no one wants to be single
Once you pop you can't stop
Sex is like Pringles
I guess it's ok
As long as its safe
If you're in love with your partner don't let the feelings be fake
Children wait until you're older to get under those covers
And if your hormones rage out of control shake hands with a rubber (condom)
Most teen girls hate the feeling of latex
Then goo goo ga ga
The babies are born next
I'm just calling it how I see
Relationship game is dirty so I'll be the referee
All of a sudden the world is in love
My God it's sickening
As i write this my pulse is quickening
Now now some couples really do love
Til Death Do They Part
To the world above
I just think the word "love" is greatly misused
The Constitution of Love
So often abused
Our society thinks it's amusing
Fifteen year old in love?
Doesn't it sound confusing
Maybe it don't to you
But it does to me
They are wasting emotions
Unrenewable energy
It's a shame
Love is no game
It's more like a lion
Waiting to be tame
From what I observed couples aren't the same
Whether the pair is nameless
Or enshrouded with fame
Real love is too far up
Way above our aim
I'm in my right mind
I'm definetly sane
That's why everyone is hurting
Because love is pain
I'm still researching
My mind is my reference book
Ch. 2 of the Relationship Epidemic
The Outlook
Ch. 3 (Females) Coming Soon...
Now this poem right here is going to change a man/
This is going to stretch out like elastic bands/
From Dallas to Indiana to Alaska man/
This is going to go down in black history man/
See we rap about guns violence and sex tapes/
Older brother’s that take young girls and still rape/
What happen to our pride and our self-esteem/
What happen to our passion and our wildest dreams/
What ever it was, it was down right sorry/
We rather postpone leadership to buy a Ferrari/
And a lot of our young girls are wearing make-up/
And a lot of our young brothers sell drugs to purchase
Jacobs/
And that’s the same fellow who forgot his latex/
Now his girl got AIDS and not mention she pregnant/
Now her brother is mad and he’s ready to cap (shoot) him/
But that’s why I’m here for, for words of inspiration/
Now the girl is doing fine but she had sex before marriage/
But the baby couldn’t make it so she had a miscarriage/
Now she so depressed, she’s headed for drugs from needles,
To crack pipes trying to find that love/
All in the wrong places the devil in different faces/
She’s stripping at strip clubs, for tips so she can make it/
And the brother who got her pregnant he’s just sitting back and
Laughing and/
Got gassed (shot) a couple weeks ago for drug trafficking/
Yeah, see he paid the price/
Took God’s gift for granted the gift of life/
Now getting back to the girl she’s happy her man gone/
She used to be dark skin, but he beat her bad, now she’s
Redbone/
Her hair’s grown/
Back from wearing he use to snatch it out/
And on top of that kicked her out her own house/
So she had enough one day/
And pulled out his AK (gun)/
And said “The day you touch me again, you’ll die the same day”/
But that was before he died, and she’s making it now and/
Got her master’s degree and she’s making a hundred thousand/
Dollars each year, and daily she prays/
Pays five grand on medicine because she still has AIDS/
And I wish the poem could end, but it’s sad to say/
Of what happen to this girl still goes on and happens today/
Form:
METICULOUS
Thom Love Pruett – his effect on absolutely
everyone around him –
Impeccably dressed
Moderately slight in stature and weight
With features suggesting a certain hauteur and
With promise of shrill snippiness should he
be upset
His expectations of those close enough to
converse are maniacal
And apply equally to self
Things have a definite love of geometry
Yes! A geometry of things but
Just things like
A bathroom towel how it hangs just so
The kitchen cupboard all things at proper
Interval and height
You name it
Seldom, though, does Thom Love consider
flesh
another’s feelings
One might ask – how can such an outright
consistent prig have friends?
Well neat-freak Thom Love (never just
Thom) holds aces in the monetary and
political game
If you pucker up your ass-kissing lips and
do so with a loving smile
Thom Love might, so called, set-you-up
He rules the Pruett Tower with a strong
but latex-gloved hand
And you’d best be dressed with conservative
Care
Lest Thom Love – known secretly as Pru –
will assume his awful prune wrinkled
dried apricot stare
Blame it on his childhood house –
A dwelling of three odd souls –
Where all was in dusty dirty array -
dinner dishes stacked by a greasy sink
floors caked with brown stain
did I mention they had many cats?
nothing thrown away – books
magazines stacked high
windows grayed from tobacco smoke
I could go on and on
Well at 21 Thom Love came
into an inheritance
from a sane deceased member
of the Pruett clan
After his parents died in a house fire
He vowed to put all around him in proper
(geometric) orders
Should you run into Thom Love
He’ll not shake your hand but
Examine your clothes your studs your
glasses your watch with gleaming eyes
Dave Austin
Ding
The dryer just went off
I swear the timer just said 10 more minutes
Time to put my happy face on
And leave for work
Don’t forget to brush your gums
With fluoride issued toothpaste and
Wipe your butt with bleached trees
Made in some Chinese factory
Time to exit your box shaped cage
Made from plaster and trees
Open the door of your dinosaur recycler
and
Ding, Ding, Ding
The car screams with the door open
Your already at work
I swear that drive was at least 20 minutes
But just as you open the door of the office factory
Your boss dressed in a black latex suite
Walks out with a wip and a latte
and he slaps your ass
And you smile and thank him
With your happy face on
Ding
Oh
Won’t you look at that
Is it lunch already?
I swear I had
Ding
Oh Dang
What a day
Time to stop pushing paper made from trees
And start getting ready for my trip home
Into my gas guzzler I go
Seat Belt made in China on
Happyface can come off
And the day can begin
I can’t wait to get home and stretch my toes and
Ding Dong
Pizza guys here
I forgot cash, how am I supposed to tip the pizza guy?
Ding Dong
One second
You yell
Ding
Dong in your hand
Your jacking off to some chick who’s body is
Shaped like an hourglass
By some guy with a massive cock
And you just wish your little rooster crowed like his did
But her Butt looks like a tomato and oh
OH
A slice of pizza drips onto the floor
DAMN
That sure felt
Ding.. Ding.. Ding..
It’s your 5:30 am alarm
You wake up, pants half down
Pizza sauce on your forehead
Dick smells like cheese
You throw your cum stained shirt into the washer
While you get yourself some coffee beans made in Argentina
and
Ding
Time for the dryer
As you sip on your black coffee
In the shower
Ding
The dryer just went off
I swear the timer just said 10 more minutes
Time to put my happy face on
And leave for work
Form:
for Eric Mottram
"Nur wenn das Herz erschlossen,
Dann ist die Erde schön."
Goethe.
I
An important thing in living
Is to know when to go;
He who does not know this
Has not far to go,
Though death may come and go
When you do not know.
Come, give me your hand,
Together shoulder and cheek to shoulder
We'll go, sour kana in cheeks
And in the mornings cherry sticks
To gum: the infectious chilli smiles
Over touch-me-not thorns, crushing snails
From banana leaves, past
Clawing outstretched arms of the bougainvilias
To stone the salt-bite mangoes.
Tread carefully through this durian kampong
For the ripe season has pricked many a sole.
II
la la la tham'-pong
Let's go running intermittent
To the spitting, clucking rubber fruit
And bamboo lashes through the silent graves,
Fresh sod, red mounds, knee stuck, incensing joss sticks
All night long burning, exhuming, expelling the spirit.
Let's scour, hiding behind the lowing boughs of the hibiscus
Skirting the school-green parapet thorny fields.
Let us now squawk, piercing the sultry, humid blanket
In the shrill wakeful tarzan tones,
Paddle high on.the swings
Naked thighs, testicles dry.
Let us now vanish panting on the climbing slopes
Bare breasted, steaming rolling with perspiration,
Biting with lalang burn.
Let us now go and stand under the school
Water tap, thrashing water to and fro.
Then steal through the towkay's
Barbed compound to pluck the hairy
Eyeing rambutans, blood red, parang in hand,
And caoutchouc pungent with peeling.
Now scurrying through the estate glades
Crunching, kicking autumnal rubber leavings,
Kneading, rolling milky latex balls,
Now standing to water by the corner garden post.
a notarized copy of this testament
is on file with my attorney
in case of my untimely unearthing
by the invisible background
driving another stake through my lactating heart
but back to our comatose semiotic narrative
The Eel king rips off Bobby's latex facade
at last I have you captive Bandwidth
Bobby prepared to submit to his doom
the tendrils of the hideous Orchids on the Porch
feel their way into his crotch
humid vistas from the Matto Grosso
panned before his eyes
ars pharmacopia little muffin went Eel
now for your loving torment
Bobby was dragged to the Cistern of Woe
by a busload of nuns from St. Vagina
and tied into one of Escher's inhibition pretzels
above a pit of human eyeballs
Bobby had a plan murky at first
but with a blurred urgency that unveiled
his guardian cosmetician's skin graft
from the last epic rescue
it had finally healed abused and maligned
tho still on oxygen or was it toxigen
no one knew much less the narrator
too harried by fate for detail work
but I digress to a distressing degree
Bobby stared into the cesspool of his mind
illumined now by a wan spark of hope
he would gambit judiciously
the ancient and terrible pherome defense
as the squish of rain forest footsteps
and little gasps of manual stimulation came closer
it was Lemona the Eel King's daughter
a beauty that all the aniline dyes in the jungle
could not extinguish in waterfall's fog
he was instantly detrousered by
her steam engine of debauchery
within seconds her tongue
was down his throat to the car park
he heard the bell in her navel
and grazed like a sheep
the Eel King became visibly alarmed
contain your infantile carnality
insistent pride of my loins
to be continued
From "Engine of Didactic Beauty" available on Amazon
Artist Portfolio: http://walteralter.byethost32.com/