Long Lipstick Poems
Long Lipstick Poems. Below are the most popular long Lipstick by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Lipstick poems by poem length and keyword.
I've always lived in Southern California.
I've never heard of summer rain.
This notion, I have to say, quite honestly,
Strikes me as insane.
I might as well speak of fluffy penguins
Who live in the Sahara,
Or opine on the wit and wisdom of pigs
Who wear lipstick and mascara.
Or interview an illustrious duck
Who opens his bill to sing,
"Won't You Come Home Bill Bailey", and then
Composes "The Rite of Spring."
I may just as well play mumblety-peg
With a hamster wearing braces,
Or play high-stakes poker with a wily fox
Who deals me eights and aces.
Or dine on blue marbles and split-pea soup
With a seasoning of Tums,
Or perform "Swan Lake' or "Claire de Lune"
On just harmonica and drums.
And now I'll slide comfortably into my fridge,
All wrapped in cellophane,
And say from the top shelf, "that's about all
I know about summer rain."
With one stocking up and the other rolled down
the old lady waddled her way to town.
Her flowered dress sported stains of breakfast.
Her hair was matted, like a birds nest.
Lipstick circled her lips, like a circus clown.
The painted smile veiled depression and a frown.
While quizzically looking up at her face,
the small boy clutching her hand tried to keep pace.
As she shuffled her way down main street,
she chatted with anyone she chanced to meet.
Often she would point with pride
to small boy by her side
As the boy grew older, he began wondering
why she couldn’t tell they were pretending.
Couldn’t she hear their humoring lies?
Couldn’t she see the laughter in their eyes?
Couldn’t she sense the embarrassment in the air?
Perhaps she couldn’t care? Perhaps she wasn’t aware?
Being locked in a child like state
may not be the worst fate,
Because children can make up places
where there are no staring faces.
He smothered her with lipstick kisses, every part of her body aroused
Where within her he had lit a raging fire; that just couldn’t be doused
Under his experienced hands as becomes submissive without any will
Opening her love gently enters with a view of the inner demons to kill
With his lipstick lips pressed against her breast her inner waters break
His mission to own her, this woman he will as never to the end forsake
He's riding her with a passion; he is taking her with his own calm force
Knowing her overwhelming lust for him, her own un-redeemable curse
Releases from deep within him a red hot fire which for him over-comes
And with his last lipstick kiss upon her eventually for him she succumbs
These two bodies that rose up in unison and which died in eternal bliss
An inner ecstasy that could only be reached, because of his lipstick kiss
-Dr President Lady, please launch the nuclear war button-
I'm packing up my girdle; I'm heading up state
Where society thinks only men should run for president
Chill with Bill, on the side show Hill
Subsequently, he got tripped up with his hand in the biscuit jar
This poem is not about me... It's not about, Hilary
I'm here to cheer and throw off an early vote voluntarily
I'm numbering my days with the aces
Until the 2016 U.S. Presidential election
Only in a woman, you’ll find confidence and determination,
Someplace out there is our leading lady in disguise
A woman who sits down and pee's with pride
A woman Like Hilary, whose place was denied in the sun
I will vote for a woman who is not afraid to lead,
Grab up her crotch, and fight for all the right reasons
Repaint the town white and her fingernails red
Blue lipstick in the breeze, a tommy gun in her possession
A million dollar diamond ring,
A mink from all cultures of the globe
Sing hallelujah, Amen Praise the Lord!
Pink ribbons of freedom,
China can test all her might,
It's time to feel the empowerment of a woman's delight
There she’ll be’, sit down and enjoy,
When it’s time to hear her voice,
The bullet will miss her beautiful mind,
She'll Raid the Democratic Nomination moment of the blind
Her ego on the side; when it's time to reason with society
Feel the shattered glass feeling when sharks attack whitey
Cop Out the Republican Bully
Black Ops the Democratic Liar
For women can reach, preach, and teach,
Nursing a world, collaborating with every mind
A barrier to be breached, a blessed moment to come,
If you require a true hit, vote for a woman in the Oval Office
Who said Mrs. Wonderbra can’t launch the nuclear war button
By:)
Every artist knows
Their canvas is not complete
Without a pop of passionate red.
Every stop sign knows
They will not be honored
If they are not the right color
The flag would be blah if it was only blue and white
If you look at the world flags, most have courageous red.
The Irish have a form of it in their orange.
Glossy blue-red lipstick gives us a feeling of the fifties
When women hid their blatant sexuality
Saving it in the bedroom, when they turned into hungry tigresses,
Tearing their men apart with pure sensuality
Restaurants use joyful red lavishly, understanding she encourages eating.
Unsuspecting victims devour food at rapid pace, taking home seconds.
Children see red and think of the circus, popcorn, or a fire engine.
Excitement, pizazz, a happy ending to a blah day.
Red was once the color of an angry old-maid teacher’s pen.
My theory is that she was no tigress
because she had no man in her bedroom.
Red is for the passion, sensuality, and warmth.
Red is for sexuality and pizazz.
Death
by Rabindranath Tagore
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
You who are the final fulfillment of life,
Death, my Death, come and whisper to me!
Day after day I have kept watch for you;
for you I have borne the joys and the pangs of life.
All that I am, all that I have and hope, and all my love
have always flowed toward you in the depths of secrecy.
One final glance from your eyes and my life will be yours forever, your own.
The flowers have been woven and the garland prepared for the bridegroom.
After the wedding the bride must leave her home and meet her lord alone in the solitude of night.
Keywords/Tags: Tagore, translation, Bengali, death, coronavirus, final, fulfillment, life, come, whisper, joys, pangs, hope, love, secrets, secrecy, flowers, garland, bridegroom, wedding, bride, lord, night, solitude, funeral, eulogy, farewell
Only Let Me Love You
by Michael R. Burch
after Rabindranath Tagore
Only let me love you, and the pain
of living will be easier to bear.
Only let me love you. Nay, refrain
from pinning up your hair!
Only let me love you. Stay, remain.
A face so lovely never needs repair!
Only let me love you to the strains
of Rabindranath on a soft sitar.
Only let me love you, while the rain
makes music: gentle, eloquent, sincere.
Only let me love you. Don’t complain
you need more time to make yourself more fair!
Only let me love you. Stay, remain.
No need for rouge or lipstick! Only share
your tender body swiftly ...
Look at me —
glorious, glowing —
bathed in blue light,
dying slowly with 4G speed.
My soul is buffering.
“Talk to someone,” they say.
As if I haven’t
typed my grief a thousand times
into search bars
and still got no answer
but a smiling emoji.
I know 842 people.
They watch my stories.
But no one remembers
my voice
when it’s not performing.
Connection?
Yes, darling, I’m well-connected —
to cables,
to curated illusions,
to people who’ll send you a heart
but forget you exist
the moment their phone dies.
My loneliness wears lipstick now,
because apparently
pain should be aesthetic.
Even despair must have
a filter.
I posted a cry once —
cleverly disguised as poetry.
Got 217 likes.
No one called.
Isn’t that love in the hyperconnected world?
I smile with my teeth,
but not my eyes.
My inbox is full.
My life is not.
They say:
“You’re too sensitive.”
As if sensitivity is a disease
not caused by this world’s
cold, charming cruelty.
So here I am —
applauding the silence,
dating my own shadow,
sharing reels with the void,
saying “I’m fine”
in high resolution.
Darling, this isn’t loneliness.
This is
performance.
This is
existential comedy with bad lighting.
This is
the echo of a world
that forgot how to feel
but never forgot how to scroll.
"Novitiate"
Wading through
turgid mainstream
Novitiate makes her
way to the bottom rungs
of the Clean Team
Where dreams are
captured a.m. p.m. .
on the run with
weeping neutered minds
zero sublime
same old, same old
Asks herself,
“Where’s the substance?
Am I gormless too?”
rewards are Molasses,
Sugar Plums and
Glory, if that's you
It’s like dipping your spoon
in Alphabet Soup
re-arranging letters.
Shirley Temples with
no flaming
Bombe Alaska clue
pour the brandy,
light the flame.
Ignite something,
heart, mind or soul
covert intelligence
wonderful electric
minds pollinating
intellectual beehives,
"where's all the dripping
honey?"
Novitiate dreams
Go punch a hole in the sky
block all emotional rissoles
it’s not a question of
do or die
the Game is called
take-the-ride, at all times
avoid blood-sucking Vampires
Strict insects in an
ultra strict machine
watching their wings
flutter pretty, all beat
in time bang against
a silent wall
koutou three times
It aint about numbers baby
nor who’s who in the Zoo
it’s about writing your story
lock, stock and smoking barrel
keeping it true
Cover all mirrors
old is dead
born is new
Mornings rise with Sun
Fold your cards,
Hearts are trumps
Win-Win
what's done is done
time to de-robe and run, run, run
You're a novitiate skating
daily in your black
Nun's habit, it's way way
tragique, it's all a bit,
"La députée a raconté
une histoire très tragique",
find a new Boo.
Passports,
TRANSIT LOUNGE
Airport
Escape the Zoo.
Time to Do-the-Do
Novitiate throw
off your Black habit
Perfume
Rouge lipstick
New shoes
Yeah, put on your
Kavorka
New You
Double Deluxe Choc Chip
take the double cream
and cherry too.
Escaping the Zoo
True Romance.
OUR STORY
Me and You
(Lovejoy-Burton/2018 Jan)
"Temple of Love"/Johnny Hollow
https://youtu.be/p64wbdRBzjk
In waiting for you, my love, the seasons have snowed in black and white,
The landscape of our time together has been painted in trenches of lingering silences,
And every moment without your voice, an eternity crystallized in waxen clocks,
The autumns have passed with winds that leafed through memories like pages rare.
Since I've been waiting for you, my love, so many years have slipped by...
The long road of your absence has been sprinkled with shooting stars,
The weeping celestials, in the night of my soul, are the lighthouses of an abandoned edifice,
The city of my heart is in mourning, and its streets bare and numbed.
And the mournful sunsets of violet purples,
Are faded lipstick marks on the rim of a forgotten glass,
Yesteryear's dreams have become cobwebbed in untamed thoughts,
Where are you, love lost in the fields of lavender of unshared evenings?
I waited for you at the crossroads of roads, a spider's web stretched between yesterday and today,
Where vows of love were carved in wind and promises of smoke,
Like shadows that dimmed beneath the flicker of candles nibbled by oblivion,
The springs have faded, the celebrated red chestnuts have rusted, in a leaden festivity.
Yet no one passed by there, no echo, just absence as a heavy cloak,
The gate to you seems locked with a thousand padlocks of steadfast memories,
By the sea I dream of you, a foam statue waiting in silence,
Only the waves, prompt in mysteries, confide to me the secret of the parted.
The ocean of my soul waves its unseen wings,
In the close murmurs of hidden shells on endless shores,
I wonder what solemn horizons, what illuminated passages have you walked since you left?
The waves respond with froth of cold regrets and with untouched, uncreated prints.
And this evening, again, the violins cry beneath my window,
Soothing their longing in faint voices piercing the amber sky's infinity,
It's the autumn of a soul that submerges under time, under yearning, under an unconsoling sky,
In a lamentable dance to the notes of romance, which fall away like leaves in the wind, wandering without end.
fire consumed your last letter today,
I set it ablaze and then watched it burn,
your handwriting in fire had a sway,
raised and fell with a final flip and turn!
I had saved them for years in box upstairs,
every letter you wrote from that first day,
love sealed with lipstick, single or in pairs,
Each read many times, beginning to fray!
what can bygone days of memory bring?
tears of sorrow and two hearts full of mourn?
can it reverse fortunes to make hearts sing?
So I set it ablaze and watched it burn!
I have floated a letter in return,
down the river near the old village shop,
I watched it over waves in its sojourn,
should it reach you it has just a full stop!
last letter I burnt is now blackened ash,
like hopes and dreams from our days that are past!
my post with full stop is not balderdash,
just a final point about love ... now lost!
Written 06/Jan/2021
Mystic Rose Rose
The Last Love Letter contest
20 lines each with 10 syllables!