Long Leather Poems
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> Walking into that bar
>
> That nefarious den of
> iniquity and evilness
>
> Twenty drinks too sober
> The scent of bad craziness
>
> Hung in the air
> Like an over ripe mango
> Desperately seeking to have
> sex
> With wild, dressed up bananas
> Running around with the Orange Man
> Down the Street
> The Moon looks out on the mad
> scene
> Sniffs the air
>
> Saying, "Man, this is
> bad craziness"
>
> And runs away to join her
> lover the Sun
>
> In an orgy of drunken
> forgetfulness
> The Planet Mars, not amused
> Chases after the maiden Venus
> Under the cold, calculating
> glances of the Planet Pluto
> The Moon and the Sun
>
> Rent a room in the Hotel
> Venus
>
> Across from the Jupiter All
> Night Diner
> Cosmic **** kickers
>
> Out for a night of Earth
> bashing
> The Earth trembles, shaken
> Moans with passion
> And I awake
>
> Saying, that was bad
> craziness
> Out there on the edge
>
> Between the inner me and the
> outer Zone
> I went on down the road
>
> And met a lady
>
> A outlaw lady on the far side
> Money, power, passion
> Rolled up in a bundle
>
> Electric chemistry
> Fills my head
>
> Zapping my brain
> Into demented muscles
> Paranoid, pulsating images
> Scream out
>
> With mad passion
> And demented noises
> The night turns ugly fast
>
> And very, very weird
>
> Weirdness in the air
> Scent of bad craziness
> The moon
> Is freaked out
>
> The Sun falls asleep in the
> gutter
>
> And I say to myself
>
> I'm just another cosmic Guy
> On the loose, on the edge,
> On the wild side of things
>
> Watching the show,
> Unfold,
> I wonder, is this all
> A drunken bum show?
>
> Who is the star, who is she
>
> The maiden up there in the
> bar
> Black, leather jackets
>
> On stage naked visions of
> nightly lust
> Dancing with an attitude that
> could kill
> An elephant in heat
>
> And the Moon
>
> Continues to dance across the
> evening sky
>
> Satisfied, allows mankind to
> sleep it off
\ Yet another night in the City
> of demented Angels
>
> Finally rest as the sun comes
> up
>
> The masks come back on
>
> And I walk down the road
>
> Putting everything back into
> the box
> Until the next night
>
> Of bad craziness
> Lets the wild beast within
> Escape its leash.
>
> Bad Craziness rising yet
> again
Placed 1st in Contest
rain shine so divine
sprinkle blessings kissings wet ~
feet in leather boots
~~~~~~
Rain-shine sound patter
mad hatter
Alice lost in whimper drops
coatless with Rabbi Rabbit
ruling
\|||||||
////||||||||,,,,,
///////.////////||||||||||||~~the r
Ain in
sPain f
Alls mostly
on the //////~~_____?•
plain rain is my gain drip
to refrain D
from disdain r
O
Keep p dripping
Ing
everyone
SANE planting \\// \\// grain …..
::::::::::
torrential rain potential
Puddle H
Ubble Oo00orainnoshame
huddle close
s
H
O * * *
wers for blue flowers | | |
so they cower
in ROYAL tower /////|||||||::::::://///\\\\\\
///\\\\ a shimmering sleet
of rain glimmering
on street
rainbow sheet covering
a fleet of SHIPs
2 dip so neat
sweet
RAIN AGAIN bleat bleat
SODDEN EARTH
joyful mirth
|||||\/\/::::::::||||||•••girth birth water
w a t e r FILTER b
R
OK
en
G. R. A. T. E. F. U. L 4. RAINDROPS
buckets of rain
there’s a hole in my bucket
rain s
E
e
P
s
sneaking
holy r A i N
Rain S. h. I. N. e. ••xx
ON ••
_______\\\\________
you remember that one time when ava fell off the swings and cut her knee?
how everyone laughed at her for her childish hubris in thinking she could jump and land,
unscathed, from that high a distance?
how the laughter roared as they watched a 9-year-old cry
and clutch her knee with both hands,
creating a burrow for blood under her nails?
how, without a moment of hesitation,
you ran to her, helped her up, and walked her to the nurse’s office?
yeah. didn’t think you’d remember it, if i’m being totally honest.
well, that moment, watching you put her arm around your shoulder for balance,
so she could hop her way down a flight and half of stairs for a single band-aid,
i think I fell in love with you.
maybe love is an exaggeration,
but looking at these old photos of us,
with your hair flying in the wind and my hair tucked in your helmet
as i clutched your waist for dear life,
the two of us,
flying down the freeway on your motorcycle,
i can’t think of a better word to describe my feelings for you.
these pictures,
now covered in layers of dust,
remind me of everything that could have been.
of everything that will never be.
i lost you so many addictions ago,
i guess i should’ve known when your words turned to lies,
and your lies turned to routine,
but i didn’t want to believe that the girl
with the bright pink hair and tacky leather jackets,
the girl that i had fallen so hard for,
was now gone.
that she had been replaced with someone who simply
went through the motions every day,
no longer able to feel anything for anyone,
someone who looked in the mirror,
wishing that the reflection would be blank.
the doctors say that your liver gave out,
but i think that the real cause was that you gave up.
i saw how hard you fought,
how you ran away from who you’d become,
leaving us behind in a race to find yourself.
you were gone long before the red line representing your heart’s last efforts flattened.
you’ve been gone so long that i’ve had to rely on these pictures
to make sure that you were ever real.
you’ve become nothing but a memory,
a hope, a wish for better,
a tragic story that i wish i never was a part of.
i miss you,
more than you could ever know,
more than i can ever process.
i miss you because no matter what happened,
no matter where you went,
no matter how long you’ve been gone,
i still loved you.
I try to fight them, those cruel clawing cold hands
that drag me from the pit, clawing, twisting, crushing me.
I must find you! I need to hold you, to be held by you!
So I fight, desperately, to break free, to find you.
I try to fight them, even as the feel of the ropes upon my arms
burning ever deeper, into my skin
. I fight desperately, as the leather collar bites into my throat,
and my breath leaves me. I try to fight, savagely, desperately, to break free.
Knowing I can never escape, that I will fail,
and knowing full well, what fate awaits us both.
I know not where they have taken you, but I can still feel you,
can still hear your voice, as it softly speaks of love.
, It is how I know you are still alive,
and that knowledge gives me strength to fight on desperately.
My body is ravaged, torn, the horrors those cruel hands have dealt, have broken my very soul,
yet I try, desperately to fight. I long for release into the void,
yet I can still feel you, still hear your voice, still know your love.
I know not, where they will take me, until the wagon comes to a stop.
Then, for the first time in almost 16 days, your eyes are the first thing I see.
You are alive, and when your eyes finally find mine, you look with such love, at me.
So again, I fight! I fight so desperately, but those, horrible cruel hands,
tighten their vicious grip, once more.
I reach for you, needing your touch, sobbing your name.
The pain, almost forgotten, gone, almost instantly. I struggle, oh, how I fight!
And so, I didn’t see. I didn’t see the first of the blows, that spilled crimson onto the snow,
at my feet. I screamed for you. I screamed your name desperately
as I watched blow after blow rip your body to pieces, in front of me. Your blood turning the snow to slush, scarlet staining my feet. I watched your soul flee as I screamed for you,
as the fight poured out of me. I watched, as they defiled you.
I watched as they ripped your body apart. I felt your soul leave mine.
I watched, as the light of the sunrise left your eyes.
My soul broken, my body savaged, I crumbled to ashes, there in the snow, at your side.
The numbness that overtook me, did nothing to save me, that day. I can still taste your blood.
Goddess above, I still taste your blood! No, More!
No longer, will I bear this well of horror, and tears!
Goddess, help me! I am drowning in it!
A Man of Strength and Courage
(A Man Of Beauty And Respect)
A True Story
Who was he? He called himself the
unknown Poet, my great great great
grandmother's uncle Joe. He lived
a long exciting life, loving one woman
in time of war.
A Martin Trapper he was, an artist of fine
design, a poet in his time, a fine gentle
soul of the universe capturing each
thought writing them down in journals
and poetry.
If you should ask him what he believed
in! he would say; “I believed in God, sounds
of nature, love of mankind, love of words
anything to do with nature is where my
heart roams best.”
He was true to his own beliefs, a man
of heart, determination, a man who
would walk a mile in another man's shoes.
He was the heartbeat of the land, a
true mountain man of the wilderness.
He wore leather, long hair, beard a loving heart
for all animals including the bear, he grew
closer to as he traveled the mountains
year after year doing his Martin trapping
for food. He was a God-fearing man
of courage and strength all his own.
He was truly remarkable, who
fought with George Armstrong Custer
and the men of the 7th Cavalry where
they met their fate and the Sioux on June
25, 1886, at the Battle of the Little Big
Horn'. Uncle Joe was sent to get
reinforcements at the age of fifteen
when he returned, they found them all
mascaraed. Including (George Armstrong
Custer).
Many of his journals, poetry and
sketches were burned in a trailer
fire, but to this day, still remember
at a young age trying to read his poetry
I do remember seeing some of his sketches
he had sketched with pencil by candlelight
in his cabin in the winter in the Canadian
Mountains.
One sketch I remember well was of
a lovely lady dressed in a long gown
with hair piled high upon her head
she looked lovely.
That winter was long and cold and Joe
never returned home from his trapping
the Royal Mounted Police found him dead
next to the creek by his cabin. He died
of starvation.
This is just part of his story my great great
great grandmother told me of her uncle Joe. I
wish she would have told me more about his life.
I want to pass this on to my family so they can keep
passing it down from generation to generation.
Copyright ? DerenaBree( All Rights Reserved). Publishing ? Man of strength and Courage®( All Rights Reserved.)
My new husband was a farm boy
who didn't like to roam.
It always took a lot of nagging
to get him to leave home.
But we were newly married,
I hadn't learned all of his dislikes.
I imagined us as travelers
who'd be going on big hikes.
So I was unaware of his sacrifice,
when he asked if I'd like to go
to the Exposition in Vancouver.
He probably hoped I would say no.
But I was more than willing
to go on a short vacation,
and it was more appealing since
we'd be in another nation.
We left early Saturday morning
to drive the one hundred miles.
When I thought of all the fun to come,
I could not hold back the smiles.
The closer we got to Vancouver
and our final destination,
my husband got more nervous
about the thick traffic congestion.
He drove right to the fairgrounds,
and didn't stop at our hotel.
I thought he did it to please me
and perhaps it was just as well.
There were so many great attractions,
we didn't know what to visit first,
and we ate so many exotic foods
I thought we would truly burst.
In the late part of the afternoon,
I said, "If you don't mind,
I'd like to go to our hotel now."
"You're right," my man opined.
They'll probably be filling soon.
we better go and lasso one."
I knew he must be joshing me,
just trying to have some fun.
He kept driving by the nice hotels
with signs "No Vacancy".
He drove on and on and on until
it really frightened me.
"You didn't make a reservation?
I can't believe that's really true.
We'll have no bed to sleep in.
What ever will we do?"
He kept on driving quietly.
Motel rooms had all been filled.
Although it had been a hot day,
I now was feeling chilled.
We were in a dingy part of the city
and were starting to turn around
when he saw a sign that promised
a vacancy would be found.
The registration desk was manned
by a man in an undershirt.
"Money first", he said before showing the room.
I felt like a piece of dirt.
"I think it's a flop house," my husband said.
I didn't like that term.
I though of rats and bed bugs and
it really made me squirm.
There was no way I'd get in that bed.
I chose a big leather chair.
With little to say, my husband laid down.
He was too tired to care.
I knew not what occurred in other rooms,
I heard footsteps and showers.
But you won't be surprised I know to hear,
nothing at all would happen in ours.
{ “Awareness : He began to decipher the instant that he was living, deciphering as he lived it, prophesying himself in the act of deciphering the last page of the parchments, as if he were looking into a speaking mirror.” -
Gabriel Garcia Marques }
_________________
Poetic Mirrors
Who is Shams and who Rumi
is like asking who is fork and who knife when apart they sing not a single song
to nourish my blood with verse and love
I, mercurial reflect
Who is mirror and who reflection
Is that me ? I ask you
watching your slender bones
move in soiled leather boots
your wild slow eyes reflecting YES !
when a maiden across the room
gives a wicked laugh of NO !
I, mercurial translate
Who is this dissident beret alongside me ?
Is it me ahead on a future road .....
will someone stroke my back
give me ear, lip or cheek
urging my body to be young in
takkies and snazzy chamois jacket ?
I, mercurial question
Aah ! Poetic Mirrors !
writing reciting assessing
give respite from a million images of Self
as I circle an unveiled Flow of Fate
fully awake to naked
poet
I, mercurial observe
catalytic
85
Feedback comes to those who apply and post and expect to receive the same
when you place a silver dollar in your mouth you scratch it with your teeth to see if
it is real a man bites down upon it and then looks and frowns or looks and
smiles upon the quarter he has found not silver or even golden but just metal of
some kind its zinc and copper mixes made in Betty Crocker's Kitchens. She has
a tray of circles all lain out upon her divine divan the tails side up for luck she got
this from the JESUS man who tossed his penny in an arc and tried to hit a mark
a line drawn in the sand and made his feet go march to live a different plan a
lifetime being mended his only love he found she makes the things he feels
inside brand new. She stirs her better batter up with a long and spindly spatula
she marks each coin with edges with the cheese garter greater. She takes the
grater to the table and turns each coin by hand she makes four of them for every
dollar in this land. They asked her who is on the image of the coin she laughed
and dimpled smiling she said it must be Dollar Bill. The George Washington
Dollar is the image used for the quarter he gets to be on two. When yew become
the President Of America you can be their two. She stamps the quartered dollars
on the side that just says heads with the handy dandy stamper set she got from
her Uncle Jed for Christmas Past. She turns the coins at last and makes the tails
with her old eagle eye she uses her new leather set to scritch and scratch the
bird the lines formed from habit of making millions in a set in just one day she
filled the Island of Manhattan with 24 additional sets they said they needed them
to buy Manhattan again the previous treaty had run out from the statue of
limitations set back in Washington against the law must be obeyed by every
man. When eye am making a bus ride and eye find a lot of pennies eye ignore
them when eye find a quarter eye do a little more than dance in place eye jig eye
jog eye trip on every log in my haste to find three more it costs one dollar just to
Board the Tran. Betty declined to speak just to the press for she is very shy she
said she knoes now who the image is on the flip side of her coin and eye did not
keep a dry eye when she smiled at me and said without a tremor or a miss it is
Washington, D. C.
“The Shedding of our Skin”
I am writing about the transition from lost now found,
Darkness to light, one being into another, death to life,
Old skin to new skin.
Its like the rejuvenation of skin
The restoring of flesh over flesh of an open wound
And that does not happen all at once but over a duration of time.
Little by little not specific, but unpredictable start to finish.
My skin was tough, tough as leather
It had to be broken in, sat and stomped on over time
It was miss-used, abused
Unappreciated, contaminated and unpurified with uncleanliness toxic substances, people, places and things.
Miss-guided with ill desires and will
But by grace my transformation had begun
Before it was to late there was a death to life ending activated
In my darkest space, In my mess
The shedding of my skin had begun
There was a shift in my ways my desires my walk and talk
My mind and heart had started to align up with the whispers of Gods divine word.
My old skin of the one-track roads, addictions, attitudes and desires.
I no longer craved or desired
My mouth was filled with affirming empowerment for myself and others.
I was able to articulate the things I felt, thought, wanted, and needed, liked and disliked.
Speaking fluent in the moments with no more hesitation or reluctancy holding my words or fear.
I am shedding my broken past of my childhood strongholds and obstacles.
Letting go of my resentments and anything that has kept me in chains.
I’ve moved from complacency to contentment with a peace and understanding I cant explain.
Compelled to be of service and good works with a drive of passion energy and love.
I AM SHEDDING
No longer stagnant in my engrafted past
Now free and flying through the fog, trauma and strongholds that once hindered me and my growth in so many ways.
Today my mind is renewed with thoughts and visions of life and light.
My new skin enables me to persevere on in faith and hope.
Trusting and dreaming of an abundant life sober and free
To properly handle and face life gratefully
Overcoming any of its obstacles that may come up against me
I am shedding with new profound revelations and abilities
My shedding has provided me with a variety of new talents and gifts.
Something that my old skin would have never allowed....
Continuing to shed “The Shedding of my Skin”
As mortal veils dissolved, our bodies merged in the ossuary's somber symphonies, two mistress awakened by the velvet-wrapped cadavers, our disinvested hands tracing syllabic patterns across the olive verdure of our skin, as maelstroms of lipstick tormented our intimate geometry. Kissing amidst ribcages and scavenged lullabies, our filial ***** tingled with an unresolved finitude, lost choruses awaking from armature wounds as compatibilities laid bare.
The azure gemstones of our sweat-drenched pores harmonized with the relics scattered about us, a Kolossus of Korova consumed by the clingy threads of our detachment. Quivering heartbeats elevated the ambiance, suspending the predisposition of neglect, while scratches on the cryptic monument inscribed our entwined destiny. I sulfured lips, poised at the sorceress-close mic.
A snarl-like grin spread like a firebrand, smoldering with provocative ferocity as I ravished the venue with tongue-flicked promises, conjuring the haunted echoes of our ecstatic love. Ghosts of our abandoning, whispers of our surrendered reveries, and shadowy allusions to lost frenzies began to undulate, like an eerie tide, through every crevice and cavity of the place, leaving only the acrid tang of our desire and the spectral whisper of "evermore".
Laughter and teardrops entwined like conspirators, as our kidnapped captives, vacant-eyed and warily bound, cringed within their gilded cages, their suffocated pleas dissolving into silken suppliance, amidst this twilight tableaux pyxis o madness, we beheld each other, our psuches conflated in a whirlwind of circumstance and whimsy, our gazes piercing the veil of regalities, and our breasts, beating in tandem, like a tempo of tender complicity.
Fore in that golden instant, innocence and abomination, zero and infinity, coalesced, and we knew, without equivocation, that ours was an amour born of estrangement, grotesquery, and co-creativity. In the subterranean realm of our laughter, a spangled whirlpool stirred, drawing all else, including reason, into its poisoned vortex, as we whispered, like doomed refugees, into the bitter wind, "pour l'amour de tous les diables".
Fervently the serrated teeth on the saw rang the death knell, twisting countenance rictus, then close casket, we heard wedding bells, as we crafted a hellhole requiem of faceless visages.
Boom.