Long Make out Poems
Long Make out Poems. Below are the most popular long Make out by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Make out poems by poem length and keyword.
I lounge lazily on my deck chair
up high in the spacious loggia
loafing the time away, patient, waiting.....
The ocean ebbs into the small bay
as the sun sets far away over the horizon.
From below electric lights flash on
one by one and guitars are strummed.
The smell of paella wafts up
towards my rumbling stomach,
but I sit on, unmoved, immobile, waiting.
The summer heat is scarcely relieved
by the faint ocean breeze. Salty sweat
runs down my unshaven face,
a welcome taste as my tongue licks
the sides of my parched lips.
The murmur of people reaches me.
She has arrived and the guitars sing.
So does my heart as I behold my wife.
Slowly she pirouettes on her dainty toes,
her skirt resembling a veronica,
like a cape that baits the bull
in a Spanish bloody arena.
I cannot see her red, red lips
that taste like lavender in height of summer,
I can just barely make out her silhouette,
her sexual curves, her lithe footing,
her inviting mien, her head held high,
a proud senora dancing just for love.
Soon the dance will end and I...
why I just wait till she'll come to me,
in the dark cover of the night.
with a tequila and a night of love.
Wounds Of Love
__________________
Hey I gave you all my birds of dimple
As I loved the umbrella you offered
A lovely nest for my mind so nimble
A bouquet to hold my suffering shard
Little did I know you'll begin looking
outside your heart for new light-falls on pool
Though my sea shores you were still exploiting
Called it spectacle wonderfully cool
My mind felt the lack of haemoglobin
In the flute like pressure of your fingers
I could feel the disease in the Robin
Was worried how long the lyric lingers
You left me starless in the space above
I spend my dark days with the wounds of love
________________________________________________________
Fragrant Fireplace
_____________________
Well you have to feel a dry vacuum
For satisfaction from a possession
Now that you say you are in ashen gloom
Come back darling and cure my obsession
Let me open my doors again to breeze
And enter thousand birds from deep forest
Come home sweet heart step in absolute peace
Once again let me ride the crimson crest
Some chapters of the book I had misread
Some sweet metaphors we could not make out
The fireplace is fragrant and intense red
No more misreadings no further fallout
Let us breathe in scarlet and blue breathe out
Look at lovely snails in colourful snout
________________________________________________________
25/10/2016
There’s a storm on the way, that will deliver a blow
No travel is advised, and it’s not because of snow
Visibility will be impacted so you better hunker down
It’s going to bring a flood, please try not to drown
You need to be prepared, so check your emergency kits
Replenish your batteries and make sure your life vest still fits
Batten down the hatches and furl your sail
Hold on tight, it’s going to be a fierce gale
You can weather this storm if you know what to do
Listen for the message that will help get you through
It’s going to hit really hard and it will hit very fast
This will not be the first and it won’t be the last
There are many storms of life that will cause a fuss
Pay attention to the exits and where you sit on the bus
If you choose the right captain, then you’ll make out alright
He will protect you from the storm and guide you through the night
The dirt is here, the dirt's in my mouth
Screaming noises I hear as my friends and comrades are cut down
Explosions that sear and tear through my mind
The mud and the blood, a mess of gleaming life shot to hell
Under the cold of the moon on this sharp winters night
I signed up to be free, a kings shilling for me
I can't face anymore of what I have to see
I can't kill anymore when I see the fear and dread in their eyes
If I lay here and pray a bomb may quickly end my life
My leg's have been shattered by bullets, I can't move, I can't fight
I can't bear to live if it's at such pain and sacrifice
As I turn I see through the smoke and the mud the silhouette of a life
I make out who he is - a friend of mine!
As the smoke clears I see the cold stare in his young eyes
They are looking at me but my friend is not there
As my heart beat fades, as my eyes start to wear, I sink into the mud thinking
This no-mans land has too many no-man's stares.
"A graveyard is the only place where all distictions are leveled and the rich and the poor rest together in peace".... By Poet
Though the sun had begun bleeding in the West
With an explorer’s gait, I walked jumping over gutters
My track, flanked with knee high grass and nettles
Also, wild bushes of all kinds that grew in clusters
Strange enough, my track ended in an open space
Enclosed by cracked walls, now a forlorn territory
There are raised mounds, overgrown with weeds
I can easily make out, it is an ancient graveyard
Hush… hush is the place, here no bird sings
There is a mournful silence that deepens
Through the weed grown path, no traveler walks
The place, some morbid warning portends
Vacancy alone greets my pensive eyes
Here the wind sighs in silent sobs
There is a muffled horror all around the place
Even the leaves chant a sad refrain
In these ancient graves sleep our forefathers
Their toil and trouble ended on this earth
They must have been perhaps heroes of the land
No more are they part of world’s victory or strife
Some graves are marked by crosses and head stones
But most of them are nameless, worn out by the years
We do not know how or when came their end
Did they die in old age or die in their prime
Or perish in a battle or struck by some pestilence
However, their names are blotted out from life’s tome
They have become inseparably one with the elements
And they lie here motionless exuding a strange aura
I stand with a heavy heart by these moss grown wrecks
Thinking I too shall lie here once, devoid of all opulence
Leaving all my hard-earned possessions behind
Without a name, thoroughly forgotten by one and all.
_____________________________
Feb.22.2023
Writing Challenge – G-Words poetry Contest
Sponsor- Constance La France
Foreword: I wrote this poem while listening to Tchaikovsky's Sleeping Beauty Waltz. The lines were pretty much impromptu so please be considerate when it comes to the wordings. Thank you :)
Once upon a dream,
You thought it was all real
But can't you see that it is
In fact purely imagination.
You try to hide it,
Disagree and deny it
But one cannot really stop you
It's all up to what
It is you believe or not
You shut everyone out
Stayed inside that dream
Afraid for it to end
Like a wonderful symphony
That's bound to play its last note.
You waltzed, allowed it to sink in
Sooner or later you'll realize
It was all just a dream
But no, you kept dreaming
Smiled to yourself
You thought I was joking
Or did you know what I meant?
You started laughing
Gave me that look
You knew something I didn't
I tried to comprehend
But you wouldn't let me in
What were you dreaming of?
What's so great about that dream?
What does the real world lack
Compared to that transparent world?
You seemed content
Filled with peace and joy
Then everything became a blur
You tried to tell me something
But couldn't make out of it
Your words spluttered out like anagrams
I listened once again
But then I woke up.
There’s a place, a space
Parallel to ours
I wear the same face
Have the same shoe size
But I wear fancier duds
It's a suit and tie
My hair is short, not long
I’m not sad there, I’m smiling
There must be no one to beware of
When I look in the mirror
I can kinda see him there
Staring back at me, somehow, I can tell
We don’t believe in God
Or heaven and hell
My vocation, my education
Is just beyond my comprehension
What is it that I do, exactly
In that other dimension
A world without war
Where people live without fear
Without wheels, or tears
No one seems to cry
I can only wonder why
No TV, or phones smarter than me
I’m still old but younger
Younger than here, anyway
I don’t walk with a limp, or carry a cane
I seem a little less insane
I can see a toothbrush
On the bathroom sink
Hygiene is just as important
As it is here
I probably don’t stink as much
As I do here
Even though I don’t see any deodorant
Like I have here
I’m all clean shaven
Not like here with my beard
But I'm not seeing any razor either, there
I can only wonder what I’m thinking
Or what I dreamt the night before
Who is this guy? Staring back at me
Who does he see; does he even see me here?
Perhaps he can’t
He’s got his mind intact
Not like me whose sanity is packed
Tightly around my neck
Making it hard for me to breath
He seems so much more at ease
Perhaps there is no disease there, either
Behind him, I can barely make out
That there’s a picture hanging there
A painting, of course, they have artists too
Of course they do, of course they do
I think it’s a family portrait
So, he’s not alone, like me
He looks so strong and confident
No glasses resting on his nose
No wrinkles on his forehead
He doesn’t have a pierced left ear
His head is slightly tilted, perhaps it’s on his right
I can also see a clock
I can almost hear it ticking
Away time, my mind, my heart
The sun blowtorches its way into the water,
fragments, and the bottom is an aqua sky
webbed by white-hot lightning.
Here and there, legs hang like halved mannequins
disappearing into a squiggly-bright ceiling,
through which you can make out
the slurred shape of a poolside palm tree.
The deep, guttural grooon-grooon of
the water’s stomach growling is all you hear,
dredging up a similar sound from your subconscious,
last heard while you were immersed, long ago,
in another fluid world.
The water suddenly internal-combusts
in a tangle of arms and legs,
flailing in a fizz of a million tiny bubbles,
some kid having just somersaulted into the blue.
Soon, another’s face splashes down before you,
slightly albino in the shining water,
bug-eyed with silvered goggles
like a child alien from a waterless planet
discovering buoyancy.
Then you realize it’s your own kid,
wobbling from side to side,
toothy, hair waving like smoke
as he dog-paddles away.
You come up for air, breaching the surface like a
graceless dolphin,
and clarity hits your ears,
a momentarily soundless din.
You can already feel your skin heating up
in the blast furnace above water,
confusing because there are beads
running down your face and neck, cold.
You suck a lungful of air and push yourself under again,
but not before catching a glimpse of your wife
drowse-browsing a magazine on her sun lounger,
and the two umbrellas,
the big one shading the miniature one
stuck in the snowy slush of your pina colada.
Lovers cling to each other’s dreams.
This is why I can sit again
at your kitchen table in the morning,
butter bread, and drink your herbal tea
even though I always need black coffee,
I did not tell you that
because I had dreamed myself
to be in love with you
and everything you did and liked
not knowing I was reflecting your love
and your dreams,
Ideals choreographed,
tranced us, it was a dance
between lovers as strangers.
Even now
I can enter your small bedroom,
in your London apartment
with your Persian cats,
in a time long left to slumber.
There we will make-out again
with those perfect people
that we never were
while dreaming of another love
we had then yet to meet.
Many dreams flash and some stay
a little longer and some decide the future.
They hold the beautiful things,
and make believe u to be in perfect world of yours.
Some are to good to be in dreams than to be in reality.
The path to catch a dream is
always fascinating and adventurous,
even when its twisted.
They show the universe which u never knew,
and the future which never thought
that to be of yours.
And the person holding u whom u love
but may not be the same for them.
The untrodden and crippled bridge
to achieve the dream is alluring,
than same plain old path.
its always the journey which is
exciting rather than the goal.
Sometimes a distant dream is more fetching
than a dream come true,as we envision
only the beauty of it and not the ugliness.
Be happy that some dreams are only in the fantasy
at least you are alive dreaming about them.
It is more fabulous in the journey then in the halt.
we vividly describe the journey not the destiny,
path may be twisted,complex but it is what
always think of ,how we fought the odds.
Dreams are always wonderful,depends on what we make out of them.