Long Massage Poems
Long Massage Poems. Below are the most popular long Massage by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Massage poems by poem length and keyword.
Little white paws, running thru my halls,
opening all the closets, chasing red balls..
Little white feet on the window sill,
studying the birds as they hop and trill.
Hoping to go out, zero in for a kill,
devour a little birdie and leave it's bill..
Little white feet avoiding the puddles,
hates to get wet, prefers warmth and cuddles..
Little white feet awaiting their massage,
likes the motorized tool, not my effleurage..
Little white feet perched for a treat,
awaiting some temptations or marshmallow so sweet.
Little cat feet now groomed and neat,
at rest in my lap and quietly asleep.
Nocturnal nerds now Priests of Power
Crank out the code grim and dour
Grimace and groan, grind it like stone
O, you miserable dim ones and zeroes
Bite your nails and pull out your hair
Finish that program ere the sun can stare
At your flushed cheeks and ghastly complexion
At the look on your face of utter dejection
Pop some speed, another amphetamine
Tap out binary digits, massage that machine
Pent up in your cubicle tight as a knot
The screen bristling with tension, electronic rot
Your brain's slowing down, your mind's in a fog
Your heart pounds ever-louder as onward you slog
Curse your damn curser and slam down your mouse
Your soul fairly screams: "Get out of this house!"
You come up for air and you shrink from the light
The daytime for you feels like darkness and blight
Back to your dungeon, where digits are heroes
Back to your miserable dim ones and zeroes
Submitted for "All Dim Ones and Zeros - Programming Contest"
Sponsor: Brahn Bailey
She be like the Queen of Sheba,
the most beautiful beauty I’ve ever seen.
She walks this world with a majestic gleam,
shining bright as angels beam.
I just want to protect her from all that’s mean,
the men, the pain that she has seen,
making sure it stays a has been.
Make her feel the one and only,
grow old with her so she’s not lonely.
She'll be my best friend while her best friends a girl,
spend my life trying to give her the world.
If she lacks confidence I’ll still believe,
as I sit with her and impart belief,
if she fails I’ve hugs to relieve,
but she’ll always be a winner to me.
I’ll be her joker when she feels down,
and if that doesn’t work I’ll put arms around,
let her know it’s always us two,
not alone whatever life puts her through.
Always support her without a thought,
let her be the one for which I fought,
perfection found in perfect flaws.
You’ll never hear an insult,
if you want me I’m yours,
be together but you’re never her in doors,
if you don’t that’s cool but a kick in the balls,
I know I can be the fool of fools,
with many flaws, to make a few if yours.
I’ll give you a massage when you’re sore,
kiss your neck maybe do some more,
but if you’re tired I’ll let you snore,
a personality that will never bore.
I’ll keep you warm when life gets cold,
separate beds when we’re smelly and old.
And every morning I’ll tell you you’re beautiful,
until you’re fed up with it cus it’s the usual.
And if you’re face was permanently scarred,
I’d still love you, it wouldn’t be hard.
I know it's late, but consider this your valentines card.
Have you ever had a massage of any kind?
During the process,did you,your teeth, grind?
I always thought you get this tender,sweet, relaxing feeling;
Until I became a massage client who left squealing.
What was going on inside my brain,
Accepting one to mount that pressure where there was pain?
I'm not a fool, but I hate that often times, I act dense;
Closing my eyes, toughening, that you may think I'm meditating upon sense.
Once upon a time, I willingly used my hand and chose,from the variety,a tatty dress;
I took that rag home, put it on,glanced and smiled at my beauty all as a mess!
So, I was talking about a body massage,
A body manipulation that feels good only as a mirage.
Resenting what is truth on ground,I winced;
Upon my therapist drawing closer,I flinched.
A burning sensation of discomfort and pain,
Digging through my tissues to the thinnest vein,
It's a wriggle,wiggle motion, in solemn responce to the tingle;
Love is a beautiful thing,yet, I choose to remain single,
For disappointments await in all corners,
It's an all-around world,like the defence of snorters.
The doctor gave me rules, one; that I should get massage oil;
And now, to the men that enjoy smooth ladies doing it,I was yet to be a foil!
Two,she said warm water could do; this sounded more natural;
Healing by something made by the one,whose powers are supernatural!
The massage oil in my bag,a cool melody ringing in my heart,
Out of my home, I walked with good posture,perfect gait,all smart;
Ready to meet my doctor,to feel the soothing touch.
And the long felt back pain would be no more, for I the other day,I prayed about it in church.
What,I thought was the perfect therapeutic body massage,
A moment in a hell of torment I spent,like playing a visage!
She was not delicate,
she was an athlete,
poised, confident,
yet withdrawn.
She had competed,
pushed herself to the
edge of her limits,
overcame the long,
dull, training sessions,
and finished her race.
Now she stood with her
team mates, her adversaries,
watching the sports therapist
knead their muscles, ease
their tension, reward their
success for they had all
succeeded. She pulled her
hat down tightly over
her head, and watched,
edging slowly closer.
Finally, she committed
herself to the inevitable
and took her place. It was
a simple occipital release
technique, and it had dislodged
the hat from every head.
She pulled her hat tighter,
and slowly relaxed.
The muscles were eased,
the tension allowed to
drain. Then – it happened!
The hat slipped, falling
to the ground. She made no
attempt to retrieve it,
made no attempt to cover
the emblem of her cancer.
When her post event massage was
over, the therapist picked up
her hat and handed it to her.
She did not put it back on.
She was beautiful, in the delicate
innocence of childhood.
She was an athlete.
John G. Lawless
7/2/2014
Glow morning warm
hugging
sleepy scalp and face embrace
outside sacred pink
yellowing fragrant dawn
Without fear of fading dark
or death
or sin
Welcome in
naked foot massage
pressure memories of walk
on stretching strings
Hang on
for this new day's feel good dance
Lay back
tummy up
butt and back below
Angel face
reflecting innocence of trauma
from hands on humane touch
empowering health
warming arms to shoulder soothing skin,
lightly felt wealth of recreation
Back
then front,
up
now down,
back and forth
Soft slapping rhythms
to these wellness rhymes
Songs we sing;
your turn,
now mine.
Signs of tender touch
engaging passioned humors
triumphant
or traumatic,
soothing
or sad
frightened
angry
mad,
invoking sacred rage.
Warm touch patterns
never scalding hot
And vocal rituals
nonviolent communion
accessible
to enable all
creatures lost
and small.
Two brown cartons
at dawn of light
and one at parting dusk
just before dream-filled night
And two more.
One at early bright
and one at brightest warm
as I'm sure you've noticed
five from dark through light
In our well-seeing
daily weaving care,
visible signs
for sacred wonders
and silent wealth care voices
Warmly embracing
inclusive sentient choices,
enabling these shared songs
our therapeutic rejoices
of out loud sounds
while feeling communion's dancing touch
Even more sacred,
profoundly aware
without verbal dominance
these soulful sounds
whispering our glancing
waving
circling sights
inside outsized well-sung voice
enabling healthy care,
empowering well-felt choice
Togathering
this glow morning hug
warm waking mindful scalp
and spirit face embrace
Without fear of fading dark
or death
or sin.
Don't get confused on what's really green. The henna........the trees.....the herb....the eyes......money isn't green, it's as dark as the evil it possesses , how greedy it makes us , all of us. Couldn't possibly picture happy life without the....don't need things to crave them. One taste of a dead president will have your life spiraling into a closet of give and take that takes and never gives. The cycle that replaces life. Green is the green that is green to the eye. Touch soul. Love is green. Smoke love touch the soul. Let it curl and embrace your insides till it's fuzzy fingers massage your scalp and release the blood back into your body. Don't let the paper over rule the plant. Mary is here , we don't need the bens and franklins. Earth gives us what we are. Weed give ourselves what we want. We'ed gives ourselves what we need.
In morning sunrise I see from balcony
Sun light comes in through kitchen window
I keep a bowl of water with mirror in it
Watch beautiful rainbow reflected on wall while working
I wonder how white light can be made of such bright colours
I have meals in my bedroom sitting in sunlight
Warm sun caresses my body giving me a gentle massage
Evenings I watch red sky and setting sun
From my balcony green trees are visible
Sunlight on one side shining, other side dull and dark
Birds chirping continuously full day melodious music player fills the air
At times eyes spot different bird that makes my day
Night comes enchanting moon, moonlight falls on my bed
I don't need a night lamp, I sleep watching moons and stars
My day is filled with happiness bliss and joy
And I realised all these things doesn't cost a penny!
Peanut a silvery bluey, pale blond, long hair Yorkie
Short waggy tail, floppy ears, brandy brown eyes
That melts your heart with his elegance.
He was supposed to be a petite five pounds
Pup, but by the age of five he became a porky.
I was told Mother Nature is full of surprises.
He has a mind of his own, “Stubborn,” true to his nature.
On our walks in the morn, if he’s done, he’s done.
He sits in the middle of the road and won’t budge; he’s won.
He’ll nip at my toes to let me know his done.
It’s embarrassing. I pick him up and carry him home.
When we get close, I put him down, to the front door he runs.
He loves a delightful back massage or a good belly rub
Or the back of his ears scratched. He doesn’t like the tub,
He knows what comes next, and don’t leave him alone.
He's a part of the family that has won our heart with tons
Of joyful, fast wagging tail, loving moments, and wet kisses
No one can miss and love us as much as he.
3/15/2023
Beloved Pets Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: BJ Legros Kelley
“Caress the broken heart with threads of muted sound”,
Let it rejoice for the tranquil it has found,
Take the wheels of its night sojourn,
Bring it to the daylight region.
Sing to the broken heart a symphony of hope,
Lift it from the downward slope,
Massage its wounds with a healing balm,
Still the tempest and bring it to calm.
Bind the broken heart with cords of joy,
None of these will any time cloy,
Let it rise from the gloom,
And come to a bloom room.
Broken hearts don't see the light,
It’s hedged from their sight,
They yearn for a soothing embrace,
From hearts pervaded with mirth and grace.
August 9, 2023.
No. 2