Long Menstrual Poems

Long Menstrual Poems. Below are the most popular long Menstrual by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Menstrual poems by poem length and keyword.


The Elevator Diaper King

The man in the elevator farted,
The smell was like a rotten salmon fish,
He mocked everyone as the gas parted,
Since provoking our anger was his wish.

Alas, he stained his white pants with his mess,
He couldn't leave the smelly elevator,
Yet he needed a toilet to access,
He begged a shirt from a nearby waiter.

He refused because of his bad manners,
A woman gave him four menstrual pads,
That he used as a protective banner—
Like young children, he turned it to a fad.

Another kind woman gave him a skirt,
Had we not known, he would have claimed Scottish,
Still the skirt was stained with a little squirt,
We wish his foul manners he'll abolish.
Form: Rhyme


Eternal Paradise

When I dream
of seeing myself on the New Earth
I feel at home with the Lord
always the feeling joy, peace and tranquility
through the golden city of twelve pearly gates
no longer will I need to wear my glasses
no longer will I have to suffer from sinuses
menstrual cycles or neurotic disorders
because the father will reconstruct my body and soul

I dream of my face and hair
appearing as radiant as emeralds in the sunlight
no cover ups, filters, perms or dyes
more elegant than my mundane flesh
or even a gazelle wandering the fields

I will even wear brand new clothes
no jeans, t-shirts or flip flops
but an unspoiled gown of white fabric
more superior than
gleaming sapphires and rubies
mirroring those at the Transfiguration of Jesus
© Mia Pratt  Create an image from this poem.

Premium Member Girls' Grit

"I should not go to school today,"
Says every girl who feels this way.
"I've got the monthlies and the cramps,
A flood, a flush, and uterine camps.

My mood swings low, my temper is high.
Nature's tide flows, I can't deny.
My abdomen's as hard as rocks,
I've counted twenty bathroom stops.

Yet still I rise and face the day,
Pack necessities, and make my way.
My back is sore, my clothes are tight,
But I'll push through with all my might.

I ache and moan but still, I go,
To learn and grow, despite the flow.
My head throbs when I slightly bend,
But assignments I'll still attend.

My muscles protest, my patience wanes,
I fear those unexpected stains.
My feet are swollen, my chest is sore,
But I'll keep striving, that's for sure.

Concentration's hard to keep,
When cramps make me want to weep.
Emotions flood, but I stay strong,
In class, I know I still belong.

My stomach churns like stormy seas,
But I'll raise my hand with expertise.
Skin broke out, but the mind stayed clear,
I'm more than just the pain I bear.

I have cramps, but my heart is steady,
For challenges, I'm always ready.
What's that? You say you understand?
With support, I'll make my stand!

At home, I'll help and do my share,
Though my body screams, 'It's not fair!'
In school, I'll learn and participate,
My potential, I'll cultivate.

For I'm a girl with dreams so vast,
This monthly trial will soon be past.
Through pain and flood, I'll persevere,
My strength and spirit are crystal clear!”

Thunder Arrives

Night thunder arrives.  Occult spacecraft descend,
hurl giant underbellies of sound downward.
Climactic events galvanize grouting.

The next boom is distant,
other places are scorched or illuminated 
by quixotic hosts -
you never know with astral mythology.

The crackling of flaming grasshoppers,
then on the roof, a thud and flopping of fins,
as armored coelacanth are thrown out of their skins.

Only the menstrual blood of virgins 
can ward off showers of frogs.
Parallel lines collide; stunned pigeons drop 
from the darkness.

From upturned trashcan lids, Venus is seen
rising from her scallop.
She is sexually charged, triumphantly aglow.

About her, the fallen twitch.

The First Times With My Daughter

the first time the doctor said to me you're going to be a mom
the first time I felt my child stir in my womb
the first time I looked at her when they placed her on my stomach
the first time she smiled at me and I knew it was not gas
her first tooth, her first step
the first time she said "Mama"
her first sleep over and I called every hour to see if she wanted to come home
her first pajama party and she would not allow me in the room
her first crush, her first heartbreak and we talked about boys over ice cream
her first menstrual cycle and I gave her that talk about the birds and the bees
the time we went shopping for her first bra 
and she chose the one with the little pink bow on the front just like I did
her first car date and I had more information on that  boy than the FBI
her first prom and I took so many pictures 
that my husband snatched the camera out of my hands
the first night she was gone away to college and I cried and worried all night
until she called me in the morning and told me how great everything was 
the first time she told me she was seriously in love and asked for my sage advice
the first time I meet the young man, who I thought was taking away my baby
and found out he was perfect for her
the first time she told me she was getting married and she showed me the 
engagement ring and we both jumped up and down with glee
the first time I saw her in her wedding gown 
and I couldn't speak over the lump in my throat
the first time she told me she was pregnant 
and she was so scared and excited at the same time
the first time she placed my granddaughter in my arms
she looked at me, kissed my cheek and said "Mommy I love you
and I pray that I will be as great a mom to my child as you were to me"

the first time I realized that this vibrant, intelligent young woman 
is the essence of me, a legacy that will continue on in my grandchild
the first time I said, "Thank you God, we did good".


Parts Unknown

Inside a woman’s head is a dangerous place.
They’ll be many iterations for them to save face.
They’ll see another woman’s lipstick on the rim of a cup.
Which was Gin and Ruby Red that you just turned up.

They will beef and squabble, erasing any ********.
Then, blame it on you, calling it major rejection.
After that your are charged with booking booty calls.
You wonder if its pre-menstrual, or pre-menopause.

You are truly befuddled on where its coming from.
Don’t look for logic, ‘cause there’s absolutely none.
Patience is truly a virtue at times like this.
Just keep your mouth shut and endure the ****.

This too, will pass, you keep telling yourself.
While wanting to wop that ass, asking God for help.
A woman swoops down on you like a military drone.
With thoughts out there somewhere in parts unknown.
Form: Sonnet

Nina Parmenter, In An Arp Me Tern

I'm flattered by Nina but need to take her to the cleaners,
and splat her inbetweeners with fluid from wieners.
Don't mock or beat down Bath when you're Bristolian,
you were all conceived in a seat in the Odeon,
and you should defuzzle that muzzle after a dozen shots
or your muzzle will rot, 
it puzzles this Bard from Bath when you say I act hard, that's daft,
I craft the first draft with regards to retards,
but I don't spar like "gangsta", more prankstar, thank ya.

Hip hop Choco-latte, 
ow the Arty Farty Party is to tarty for a starty,
this is too easy I laugh at thee, not smarty, 
Bath's beautiful with history it stores,
Bristol looks like it fell out of a horse,
we've got James Dyson and Jane Austin,
you've got Baldrick and webbed off spring.

Of course you went off course with the Bath beige bit, nit witt,
but if we are beige, Bristol... sage and onion,
If I'm rhyme goo you're rhyme ga ga,
rotating between that and blah blah,
Nina Parmenter my off par mentor turned mental,
I'm a stray away from putting this to an instrumental,
cus I think you're menstrual, coincidental  
you say my mouth before my mind, 
this is written down, no noise, 
talking out your behind.

I see you wearing glasses Bristolian,
but I'm from Bath we're different classes, I'm nearly done,
if people in Bath are strange then Bristolian DNA aint got range.
And I sense your bitter remain poke, "Bath Farage",
I'm Mr. Bath At Large, 
so LEAVE WON of your remoan votes in the garbage, that's GAR-BAAGE.

I know your only joking and fun poking 
through rhyme freedom and I sometimes free dumb, 
the outcome of a lout on one, shouting out me bum,
but you saved it in the end with a bit of innuendo,
good poke, I'm off to play Nintendo,
you're tender when you bend so I wont stick it in your endo,
I'm a good bloke.
© Nick Trim  Create an image from this poem.
Form: Rhyme

LOVE ME

I’m in the phase of my menstrual,
Where I’m very vocal,
And I want to talk about love,
Romantic love to be specific,
How it elevates you to another galaxy,
A lovely exciting world you see, 
A world, before unimagined,
Full of possibilities
Wonders and amazing entities.

But then, 
Think about it, 
This is the only way love can be,
Without this elevation, love seizes to exist,
Such a great feeling, unreal as it is,
You’re special now, no longer just a particle of humanity
You’re a representation of God Almighty,
Unconditional love,
Not having to do sh*t for you to be given some loving,
Not something you can buy,
Not even with a Biafran shilling.
Form: Rhyme

50 Shades 0f Blood

1..A rusty door-nail leaks a drying crust.
2..The taint of copper pennies.
3.Salt licking the scars of the unhealed.
4..A sunset burning dry corn.
5.Eyes bruised by anger.
6.Lips cut by stinging words.
7.Money burning holes in red letter days.
8.A fledglings mouth bleeding hunger.
9.The abrasions of fiery passions.
10.The plasma of inflamed desires.
11. Poinsettia’s in a snow storm.
12. Droplets of deep regret.
13. Squashed cherries, red berries, and ladybugs.
14. Clawing finger-nails.
15. A surgeons restless dreams.
16. Iron oxide in ferrous rocks.
17. A bull, a matador, and a slashing fear.
18. The breath of a bucking bronco.
19. Poppies thriving on a battlefield..
20. The face-paint of warriors
21. The face paint of the murdered.
22. The skull stomping feet of Kali.
23. Daily pinpricks.
24. A wet dagger in the dark.
25. Prints in a crime scene.
26. The blushed snorts of a wounded deer.
27. The prayers of a sorcerer.
28. Hands washing away guilt.
29. The chaotic splatter of magic.
30. A thought tied to revenge.
31. The spurts of feeding frenzies.
32. Gills caught in unbreathable air.
33. The dark secrets of vino veritas.
34. Rubies bathed by candle light.
35. An aroused areola and nipple.
36. The pulse of a ********.
37. Sandstone at sunset.
38. The nightshade luster of tomato skins.
39. A bad moon rising.
40. The froth and suds of a punctured lung.
41. The tears of a Sufi poem.
42. Menstrual flow in the time of the moon.
43. The eyes of a night hunting cats.
44. A mime artists poking a tongue.
45. The lining of a dictators coffin.
46. The simmering heat of fevers.
47. Reflections in a sleepless eye.
48. The body heat of love.
49. Birth and the open womb.
50. The end and beginning of all that live.

Aye Miss the Trials and Tribulations of Expectant Fatherhood

no emotionally ecstatic experience compares 
   to the seminal instance 
   whence spermatozoa 
   (from profuse ejaculation) beget

the miraculous propensity 
   to procreate despite the steep odds 
   female fertility fosters potential impregnation 
   fusing the hereditary debt

of feral, fiery, fomenting friskiness 
   fueling fancy free footloose fornication 
   prior to seminal fertilization union 
   sans ova doth induce fret 
full ness in tandem with 

   diametrically opposed exultant sensations 
   (biologically, embryonically, microscopically, 
   et cetera) seismic shocks inject  
when deliberate intent arises to disregard 

   applying prophylactics choice 
   plying reproductive roulette let
which analogous fruitful uterine plain 
   bastes the "cooking" egg omelette  

which impregnation upends cessation of "self" 
   first and foremost asper desire to breed
wrenching role of "me" as operative 
   of webbed world de jure upon 
   consummating that most miraculous deed 

necessitating yet for the fecund female relief 
   from messy menstrual cycle 
   she becomes temporarily freed
that perhaps a novitiate (or even a gal practiced 
   in the euphoric family, she instinctually 
   abides prenatal signals that heed

without feeling debased, harangued, lectured 
   pedagogical, polemical, puritanical, et cetera blast
assessing copulation enjoyed gloriously, 
   ineluctably, kinesthetically 
   lectured by elder, especially cast

in thee reel life drama, that nine months 
   til offspring utters initial whimper 
   elapses exceptionally fast
emitting a radiant golden halo wishing 

   to bottle confluence of hormonal secretions last 
ideally fully awake to the birthing process, 
   when juiced the first stage of maternity past
cuz every moment thee inconsolably 

   (perhaps colicky infant) 
   gets first dibs to suckle, 
   which round the clock nursing 
   consumes moments many vast.
Form: Elegy

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