Long Lubricated Poems
Long Lubricated Poems. Below are the most popular long Lubricated by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Lubricated poems by poem length and keyword.
Puzzle Man
Sex is sex with connections
According to “them”, chemistry plays a part
There are a lot of ins and outs, ups and downs with coitus
It has been suggested certain parts are needed for functionality
Utilization of external & internal parts might be required
Facts of life in accordance with birds and bees philosophy
“They” say it’s all about relations, (perhaps aided by vibrators or vibrations)
There are 3 kinds of sex;
1.) Playing by oneself with one self
2.) Sex between 2 persons
3.) Orgies? Or morgies? Or mortgages? (ménage a trios might fit this
category)
I’m confused about mortgages and it does not sound like fun
Then there’s sex with animals but that’s just wrong
Commitment plays another part, free will with honor, monogamy
Other people pay for it. (Don’t get lost. Stay focused. We’re talking sex.)
A business transaction, that comes with or without diseases
Trying not to be litigious
“They” also say other things regarding human beings and sex
Compatibility, social, economic, religious components weigh in
All is well with puzzle man….if he has a home, a job, a car
The car, as far as we know, always trumps a bike when dating
Competition is healthy in relations “they” say
Parties involved in coitus know
Sex doesn't happen on its own
One must be properly lubricated and maintained
Like an auto or chu chu train
I imagine it must be like a banana penetrating a donut
Not a savory sight
Again…. You need a home, or shopping cart, or car
Even up in a tree will do if you’re in the mood
To be accomplished
Reading books on what parts fit with other parts is desirable
They say the most important thing about such things is love
I wouldn't know about such things
It’s all a puzzle to a little man like me
I only have a bicycle you see so sex is out of the question
Also, I’m only 3
Mother is about to bathe me
She had better keep her hands to herself
I want to figure these things out alone and by myself
The Octopi Jars
by Michael R. Burch
Long-vacant eyes
now lodged in clear glass,
a-swim with pale arms
as delicate as angels'...
you are beyond all hope
of salvage now...
and yet I would pause,
no fear!,
to once touch
your arcane beaks...
I, more alien than you
to this imprismed world,
notice, most of all,
the scratches on the inside surfaces
of your hermetic cells...
and I remember documentaries
of albino Houdinis
slipping like wraiths
over the walls of shipboard aquariums,
slipping down decks'
brine-lubricated planks,
spilling jubilantly into the dark sea,
parachuting through clouds of pallid ammonia...
and I know now in life you were unlike me:
your imprisonment was never voluntary.
Originally published by Triplopia and The Poetic Musings of Sam Hudson. Keywords/Tags: Octopus, Octopi, Medusa, Sea Angel, Angel, Angels, Nature, Sea, Ocean, Aquarium, Aliens, Imprisonment, Prison, Boat, Ship, Ships, Shipwreck, Animal
can you imagine my disappointment...I believed her
...she might of been the one...that one woman
that has eluded me my whole lifetime...but...
...she...she was...
she was just blowing smoke up my ass...
story of my life...it's just never right...so many frauds...
but her....well her I trusted...I was willing to try...but
well she did me wrong...
she did well with the Vaseline...
lubricated my ass clean...
but when she shoved
that PVC up my bum...
well...that I liked!
the smoke?
that was the problem it was too hot,
your suppose to let it cool...
she let it go when it was
still hotter than burning coals...
all my friends...well now they call me hot pants...
it's not funny...I had severe...burns to my hole...
every time I have to go...you can hear
me yelling...feels like the pipe in reverse,
exiting instead of entering...it burns...
it bleeds...
but what hurts the most...
what really upsets me...
...as long as I live I will never...
what hurts the most,
...she won't take my calls...
my ass has healed
and I'd like to see her again...
give the pipe another shot...
she said she liked me...
called me good looking, vibrant,
kind, generous, intelligent ,
witty...but she didn't mean it,
I guess...
she was just blowing smoke up my ass...
...yes please!
The whole of my life is rather mundane, endured only until those few minutes gained; Yes, granted reprieve from this daily drudge, and allowed for the nonce, even if begrudged, to hold a feather,very sharp, to write with the tip. Slow and steady like a man taking sips…from the water of life after a long weary trip.
When all the gears are lubricated, operating efficiently, and the needs of the world weigh on someone else, the mechanism of creativity connects with the crenelated cog of self.
Dominoesk works cause my hand to haltingly write. Heart to mind, mind to body, body to hand, hand to quill…okay, so it's a keyboard, alright.
Emotion, like sand after a beach trip, pours forth from places usually dark, not seen, unlit.
Using that water of life and the sands of emotion, I build my castle with words and notions.
Intricate battlements, portcullis, bailey , and arrow loops. Protection from arrows of interruption, darts of responsibility, and soldiers of the Soup.
Until, Inevitably the drawbridge is breached, the end of my time finally reached.
Slowly I surrender my feather sword, in this messy, mixed metaphorical world.
The oven timer beeps and the phone rings, bringing me back to my life of mundane things.
Unaffected by the external, you ask?
But no, that is impossible. However,
our insides can be lubricated with the Holy Spirit.
The Holy Spirit brings consolation, peace and joy.
Holy water, brimming with fire, light us up from the inside,
warm and tender. When we know
from whence our hope comes from —
from the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ —
we surrender. Joy bubbles up, composing our exterior,
not without the existence of tears but alongside them.
How do I know? I witness the life of faith.
She mourns with harp and prayers,
her ear inclined to the needy, praying for them
as they pray for her.
He smiles, yells out car window,
“Praise the Lord!”
Later I see him in church —
one of my friend’s legs is gone.
Her countenance glowed,
unafraid and steady
through her husband’s long illness.
Three examples. Many more.
May we be the tears that light up the souls
of those looking on, standing
in the shadow of the Lord, whose blood,
sweat and tears were shed on Calvary.
Our Lord’s joy as he spoke It is finished.
Imagine a pageant of pregnant grapes
brimming with juice — joyful and fruity.
The score of heaven in
thankfulness and Hallelujah!
2/11/2021
Contest: Joy Continuum
Sponsor: Unseeking Seeker
This thick mucous essentially
the defense mechanism of a healthy
body electric to restore biz zee nose
as usual, which for this mild mannered
liberal leitmotif from the chronicle of one
matted nattering nabob of nativity attests
congested mob functioning like
a well lubricated machine, yet
for the life of me, nary a handy dandy
blues clues evident as per, how
the human entity empowered
to steamroll over
any reasonably annoying bugaboo.
Ah, now if only a similar innate
defense mechanism arose
within the mental health,
that would be a supreme testament
to thine atheistic tasty mints of miracles
minus the attendant pharmacopeia
of this, that or some other drug to aright
skewered psyche (of this contemplative,
emotive and intuitive literate outlier),
whose sixty two plus eight shades
of gray matter went awry and skewed
toward tipping point (to cope with ordinary
cares and concerns of an uncertain
whirled wide web) found the bulk
of his life riddled with a joe king,
gun slinging tub back ha chew win,
bard **** wordsmith,
who doth newt like to utter any
cryptographic crossword.
Adventure begins at Eventfull_Tide.
A place that destiny becomes,
excited in power that chooses to reside
electric-marrowed,- bare in the bones.
The hourglass stops,- measuring
the interim annexations.
Prime is back again.
Where the waves of the substantial
seduce over the cosmic sands.
Open to possibility all frequency bands.
Become:
Nerve endings, lick-coated swollen
Oathed.
Given the sustenance that drips
down, polished, adorned.
Totem-Statute -borne-_-born-
The source is all and all.
Liquid is the quiet in freefall.
Thick and effortless.
Lubricated by the surge of mindsilver.
The uninitiated- moonlighting a
witness through whispered-
association of secret lever.
The Great Pond ripples of something
impending, flowing.-
In the silver mirror of the knowing.-
The silky smooth ultra wet
welcoming of significance.
Arouse the fogs of ceremony-
the mists of the extraordinary-
are awakened after a long slumber.
To remind once again of something more.
Held to expectation cast by citizens
Mirror assures return of gilded grins
Ballroom brag pats his back
Dancer has handshakes lubricated
Dignitaries' approval demonstrated
Slide through sludge of embellishing
Climbing supply sets steep trajectory
Chainmail armour can't crack
Schedule transferred into twenty four
Long clock pours hour numb typhoon
Two day growth rubs grey flat reflection
Ajar loss odds conjure slam of rejection
Glass heart arbiter fears attack
Campsite composed becomes complex
Company pivot competitively, sniff index
Windswept wolf is braced for coals' ignite
Empire pain laid relabeled, corporate heist
Exposed turgid slapped by lack
Asset confines his value crushed for cash
Worthless in combustion, a city collapsed
Identical colts interrupted
Bid for counterpart acclaim
Business fortune corrupts
consecutive boys verbatim
21st February
Tycoon's Forbode
Honeysuckle breathes in the shallow wind,
Life's lapel, with a side of ground scouting gopher.
Great rusted machines peak the interest
of the flower children who blossom
in their fields of hope and family.
Goliath Oxen and Thunderbirds
that burdened in oils and toils of heaven and earth,
lay there like ships fused with shoreline,
brought down by an angry sea.
"The follies of Men",
thought the Owl,
as it lubricated itself and shuddered a cowl,
admiring it's prototype as it flew by
in a curtsy dip and brotherly slant.
Sister chant.
She gave a little dance and reperched her stance.
Wondered about the Ai Owl
in Jason and the Argonauts
of magic and her sister, romance.
"Well, things are back to normal,
repopulation, the dinner bell,
down to earth things."
The eyes of the Earth are beautiful,
periscoping from the comfy nooks
to survey the land,
enjoy a little morning television.
The bones are solid and suitable
for the labors of love.
"These wrinkles are the folded fabric of time,
the bark, no different,
as it loosens it's cling,
old age has it enjoying last caress
on my earthen womb,
before Mother takes it home,
to be born again.
My seas and Mountain Dens,
caverns and open spans,
ready to deliver all over again."
Tenacious ichor tells entire construction
Divulges puerile battles during idle procedure
Relic compiling spotlight show seduction
Library ivory tower truth siphoning beseecher
Adapted lady adorns princely throne
Padlock hammocks tween valuable threads
Warm cove cocoon moors love's loan
Imbibing cover only, for information dreads
Mould folded within her novel costume
Pacifying massage, limbs lubricated levitate
Elephant keratin tusk thrusts impromptu
Smudge of shame fades chalk dust archaic
- Fifth September
Fabricating Sculptor