Long Lubricating Poems
Long Lubricating Poems. Below are the most popular long Lubricating by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Lubricating poems by poem length and keyword.
A cacophony of sounds fills the air.
Bodhrans beat and the jukebox screams.
Flutes and fiddles mingle in a mad race
overpowering, the drone
of drunken revelers in the back room.
Daddy’s darling bounces upon his knee
wreathed in a smile rivaling the brightest sun.
Dinners play their spoons and dash their knuckles,
upon the hard black stained surface of oak tables.
Toes tapp, muffled upon carpet-covered flooring
and Guinness flows, frothy, dark, and thick,
cascading, from brass spigots, lubricating the tenor's pipes.
And in the dim, buttery warmth of candlelight
the accordion wails as Old Aunt Tillie dances.
The greeter-teacher,
the smirkier at the door.
I feel his gimlet eyes at my back
and though it is 5o years later
and his mouth is now plugged with dirt
his leer can be traced
in the brown water stains
of mottled walls.
A female slave-unit whose name was ‘Miss’
I cannot recall her ever speaking to a child directly,
only through the thin lips of her personal intimidator
a third level teacher who spat into her ear
as if sexually lubricating her fears.
I am put right by a serial wrongdoer.
A second tier maniac with a lust for rhetoric.
His large hands flay like wind-sails, they
slap books and heads.
On, on,
through narrowing corridors and echoing rooms
counting sadists, ticking off
a long mental list of ghouls
all dead and gone
except for the abusive drills.
One dead grinning fish-head
even opens a door for me
as I leave forever.
~ IN THE STYLE OF NICANOR PARRA ~
I write as my heart dances or cries
whatever I like whenever I want
______as crinkled leaves fall from trees
undressing twigs for winter’s battering
only to dress up again in pink
blossom
sap lubricating lips
I write anything
I want to breathe again
words shower from clouds
form as homes when I’m cold and hungry
unsheath when window panes
suit me not ….to fly forever and away
it is only that my veins need to run clear
and joints not creak when oil is sparse
may my poems strip all pretence
all contest…all division
poetry and physics
embracing where existentialism floats above our heads
so we may root flesh in ground
and a l l eat bread fresh
So let my verses trigger or
soothe as cream we sometimes lick
soles still touch loose sand grains
wrinkled skin blemished by dark of turmoil
or knots or waiting _______
run on lines with ancestral winks through seas
docks, spaces, ages, blotches, steps
— —+++ to jam sandwiches
I seek no pomposity or accolades
let them fly on raven’s gloss
I greet you always in the name of the unelite the unpoetic who trample sidewalks
barefoot poets
splotches in air….. sun damaged
with alphabets singing far or near
let each poem hasten unpretense
hail margins of cities, farmyards
where aged and hungry hold back the waters of tomorrow
sucking seconds of time in threadbare
trousers
take it or leave it …
so may all despair swallow this poem
my care sleeps now
At the window I wait
For my love to be home
Back from the war
And it's deathly roam
My longing to enjoy
The love of my man
To hold him so tight
My wantings to run
To bathe him and sponge
His war torn soul
To rinse the dirt
Of man's murderous goal
Soothed and soaked
I join my love
Lathered and scented
Soldier and dove
I hold him close
So tender in touch
Caressing my man
To enjoy him so much
We exit the bath
Lie in front of the fire
Drying each other
For soon my desire
His silhouette
In the fire glow
Manly and proud
In wanting grow
We lay down together
Touching, kissing
So many years
All this was missing
Exploring and caressing
Like lovers anew
I welcome my darling
Through heavens dew
Like a fresh breeze
Over my body he lies
Taking me gently
My groaning thrives
His torso captured
By my legs and arms
Displaying our lost love
Sharing our charms
In the glow of the fire
Shadows bounce
Lubricating our souls
Our bodies announce
The missing years
In the cries as we sighed
My husband came home
But so many have died
.
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/love.php
Reverie
Saturday in the arms of Mother Nature
That state – in between – just before one leaves consciousness
in order to cross the threshold into that world of the subconscious
That place between semi wakefulness and the land of dreams
where life is surrealistically richer, deeper than reality
and clearer than the images one sees in the world of dreams.
In this fantastic, altered state of being, I felt, I touched
a beautiful pink where all life begins, and begins !
My lips, my tongue, my fingers tips sailed across a body
of pure water, caressing every atom, every epithelio
of life, stroking your soul from head to your little toe
and back to the world of pink, where sweet lips met mine,
lubricating my tongue in the most passionate French kiss
your motherhood has or will ever have known !
My state of reverie !, my dream, but not your reality.
The reverie of my Saturday, I’d love to make your reality !
B. J. “A” 2
February 18th 2007
They all said when you left
It would take a few years
And some time for me to move on from here
But this guy won’t soon forget
All the good times that we had
Yeah those days of ease and memories I hold dear
Yeah, I tried to figure it out
While lubricating a lot of fear
Yeah, the whiskey kept things inside of me
But the memories clear
In time I began to see
A future where I needed to be
And all it took was some warm tears
And a few cold beers
You know they all were right
I was holding on too tight
I thought I was fearin’ but I was just here-and all-alone
But with help from old man time
And some tequila, cold beer and limes
I took over the talkin’ to do some walkin’
On my own
Yeah, I tried to figure it out
While lubricating a lot of fear
Yeah, the whiskey kept things inside of me
But the memories clear
In time I began to see
A future where I needed to be
And all it took was some warm tears
And a few cold beers
These days I’m doin’ just fine
I still toast you with Tecate and lime
Cause in all these years
With just a few tears
I still hold you dear
And all it took was some warm tears
And a few cold beers
How does one define
great poetry? The best
rhyme in time? A musical
phrase that stays, reverberates
within the catacombs of a Devotee's
celestial sign, lubricating his every thought
as a priest's wine, sipping while he prays,
saturating his blood with the effervescence
of an all loving, redeeming deity; who knows
well His creation's need for affirmation, the urge
to write; so invented He, neat words in sympathy
to both inspire and delight –
Or is great poetry
more antithetical?~ no conscious effort
to unseal, for never prescriptively hermetical –
a sacrilege if sanitized like something
contrived for medically medical; enters the lull
like a masked virus in the night, awakening soundly
sleeping hands to their inherent flight~ a light
clicked on to feverishly, tappingly, divinely compose;
such all powerful driving might, pouring
out of every orifice I suppose: from one's mind,
eyes, lips, punctuating backside and
imperfect often grossly ventilating nose....
{For Contest : unintended innuendo
Sponsor: Unseeking Seeker
Date submitted: 11/5/25}
Line of inquiry:
[“as we passed her she did wilt
which caused in us sense of guilt
since our stance perhaps did cause
to put her heart’s joy on pause
though we’re gentle, not hostile
we diminished her soul’s smile
since our aura as she viewed
scent of love did not exude”]
~o~
she was from another starry realm
where Heart heralds as the only balm
it governs all aspects of Soul’s demeanour
which meant she needed no fancy armour
there energy passing flashes flaming
creations new, filled with intoxicating dew
such purified liquidity imbues Infinity’s Grace
with guiltless, shameless, lubricating pace
visiting from a skytown where nothing faded
eyes, ears, skin, nose and tongue jaded
superfluous sense organs centuries shaded
Joy, only sublime sensation boldly braided
how could we assess filament of her Soul
we had not yet attained her station whole
mind was our playground, still the master
where little can blast ahead or go any faster
auras defined by progress through timelines
when viewed by ascended goddesses divine
sometimes cause wilt or withdrawal so sore
not understanding our love’s sullied impure
we meant no harm, she just seemed strange
her ambience Love had no earthly range
resting at point zero seemed colourless
we beamed it dreamy stream fathomless
~o~
Reverie
Could this be my destiny ?
Saturday in my porcelain womb,
Enfolded in the arms of Mother Nature’s embryonic fluid.
That state - in-between – just before one leaves
consciousness in order to arrive , into the subconscious.
That place between wakefulness and the land of dreams
where life is surrealistically sharper, deeper then reality
and clearer then that of images, in the world of dreams.
In this fantastic state of being, I felt and I touched
a beautiful world of pink, where life begins, and begins!
My lips, my tongue, my finger tips sailed across your body.
They caressed every atom of your being – stroked your soul
from your head to your little toe, and back to the pink,
where your sweet lips met mine, lubricating my tongue
with delicious honey, in the most passionate, French kissing
your motherhood has ever, will ever know – my dream, not yours.
The reverie of my Saturday, I would love to make your reality.
B. J. “A” 2
February 18th 2007
seemingly undeniable certitude and conviction
handle hinges slats panels lock and key
maybe a cat flap for escape towards illusions
a trap door of revolving gates
sometimes we are framed by cemented beliefs
of what remains perspective and opinion
seeking for external validations
we fail to search for what is inside
stay on the threshold of immobility
minds need lubricating agents
rust prevention or sometimes a chisel
to determine what certainty is
a conundrum delusion of impermanence
which steals happiness and adventure
of open-minded investigation
there are moments however
when we can crawl out of a window
or simply break through walls
self-made incarceration is futile
and the chains shackling us
are the ones we crafted ourselves