Long Milks Poems
Long Milks Poems. Below are the most popular long Milks by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Milks poems by poem length and keyword.
A DREAMERS PLIGHT ON JUDGEMENT DAY
Give solely sovereign sway & Masterdom.
The air nimbly & sweetly recommends itself unto my gentle senses
To commend the ingredients of my poisoned chalice.
But this same thing we desire the most
That makes us say 'the one I love the most is the one I hate the most'.
The love that follows us at times is our trouble.
How tender it is to love the babe that milks me?
And make my face vizards to my heart,
Disguising what they are.
False face hide what the false heart knows.
From a dream, I hear a shout; a loud one
But hear it not, the dreamer; for it is a knell
That summons thee to heaven or to hell
For sleep is the cousin of death
Which keeps the face pale as lights thickens,
The crow flies away to the rooky wood.
Nights black agents rouse to their preys.
As a dreamer wakes unannounced from nightmare
And eats his meal in fear
Sleeping in the affliction of those terrible dreams
That shakes him nightly.
The torture of the mind which maketh lie
In restless ecstasy...
My virtues will plead like Angels trumpet-tongued.
Upon the sightless winds
Shall blow the realities (of life) in every eye,
Restrain in me the cursed thoughts that nature gives way to in repose.
Innocence & pity like a naked new born baby
Striding the blast or heavens cherubim riding on an horseback
Then arose to escape the thrills of the instant
Living a coward you ones own esteem.
And I asked: is it nights predominance or days shame?
But knowing where my path leads to; I follow my journey
Even when the dark night strangles my travelling lamp.
Would nature hold God's benison from those
That would make good of bad and friends of foes?
Maybe with vivacious or flushed face, we all go to the grave
After life's fitful fever, we sleep well
And be not disturbed, nothing touches us further.
Just like a possessive man trust are their great grandmothers
He sleeps well not, because six feet of solid earth
Hath not keep her permanently underground.
She would creep out - so many Lazaruses from the grave
But after the dead which goes to peace
And at the end, hears a voice cast from pure gold, calling
Heaven or hell, the book chooses
Even he who was left unwept, untombed,
A rich sweet sight for the hungry birds beholding
Leaves for a permanent and eternal home.
Get set.
VickWizzy
Vick Manuel Poetry {VMP}
Copyright ©2009.
In dawn's embrace, she strolls the dew-kissed fields,
Her tender touch, to morning's yield.
Silken hair, a cascade of midnight's grace,
Soft hands whispering, love’s gentle trace.
Beneath the boughs where shadows fade,
She moves with ease, the milking maid.
Her breath, a sigh in the cool, crisp air,
Her eyes, a promise, a daring dare.
Each motion, slow, deliberate, kind,
Her touch, a whisper, to the bovine mind.
Sunrise glows upon her skin,
A dance of light, where dreams begin.
The rhythm of her work, a sacred song,
A timeless dance, where she belongs.
Her form, a curve of pure delight,
In the gentle dawn, she milks the night.
In every glance, a story told,
Of warmth, and care, and hearts of gold.
The world awakens to her tender art,
The milking maid, with a lover’s heart.
My thoughts was that
She'll wait.
But she crept away with
my emotions.
She'd arrived like a lamb-
Even wolves in lamb's clothing.
She feed me with milks-
Fluids that has the looks of milk.
I gulped her milks and farted-
Never knew was farting away
My freedom.
Farted till i began purging-
Purging my desires and wills.
Then after causing me such harms;
And I cursing her arms.
She fled like a cheetah,
Whose prey made jest of.
I thought she'll stay,
I thought she'll spray
Lovely trends on me.
Thought she'll be my meal.
But never knew was:
A lamb with mild hoofs,
Who metamorphosed into wolves of scattered nails.
Digging misfortune in my way:
Dumping faeces on my path.
But she'd skedaddle,
All her proclaimed love are now fables.
She for years had me as fool:
Please what should i do?
17:21:17:13:42
Form:
I entered a little contest on the soup
Where entries were judged according to
Merit and favor and everything good
With a judge who knows poetry as they should
My entry was scribbled on the back of a card
Then written on paper in the form of a poem
Soon I came to the computer’s word processor
And wrote it all down with dashes and a formula
The words came to me through my hopes and ideas
Dreams that did soothe me with a muse that bleeds
Through insights and feelings that prompt me to see
Hues of rich scarlet and gracefully intimate scenes
Soon the words beckoned me with their ideas
To listen to the deliberation of rhymes and rhythms
Signaling delights that fought to be in sentences
That formed stanzas broken only by delightful couplets
I welcomed the verses so enchanting and fulfilling
Calling out to me through the flow of lines and sections
Causing me to see that both poetry and prose belong
To the writer who listens to the call within their soul
Would the judge of my poem see the light it illuminated
Or would they be drawn to the sentences that appeased
The disillusionment and discouragement that flowed inside
The pen who lost sight of the demands that it should win
Clutching at straws, I hoped for a wonderful victory
With the liquid ebony that milks adjectives and adverbs
From the rich prayers that drain through my heart’s veins
Soothing and blessing my aspirations with inspirations
Clutching at Straws Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Kai Michael Neumann
September 19, 2020
Where darkness bleeds its prayers
Over my spirit, blinding me
With the illusions, the images,
Blurred visions of yesterday, betrayed
By the silhouettes of promises,
Unafraid of the cool, clear skies –
Unafraid of the despairing night.
Where darkness milks the moon,
Wiping out the hopes, the dreams,
With reflections of memories,
Bold, vibrant hues of shame faced promises,
Vowing to be silent as the wind who knocks
At the door of starlit floods, flowing
Just beneath the surface,
Of mysteries, puzzling as insanity.
On the verge of darkest dread, doubtful
Beckoning to the silence, still
As the unmoving ghosts, shadows fading
Into the moments, when laughter
Wanes and light erases the night’s brooding
Promises, with a beautiful beyond words,
Beautiful unlike anything I’ve ever heard.
Where darkness shines its glistening black,
Edged in shades of dejection,
Shame faced, the moon risks its light
To survey the destiny, beyond what was fate,
Just as meant to be as the heart,
Who realizes much to late –
The dark will fade, receding into the morning,
Capturing the dew on the roses,
Stirring blessings of sun’s rays in laughing haze,
Misty and musical, like a melody,
Blazing over the heavens, hesitant
Almost as ephemeral as the stars, the glistening
Brief as summertime and hesitating,
Like the moment when love comes by,
And, it feels like – one moment has captured the night,
Invited the grace of a heart who breathes…
In love’s embrace, there is beauty and peace.
There is love that never needs to see…
Beyond what it dreams - it seems – together,
Slow dancing, together…
There is the answer to every need!
Each day I go to work to graze at my desk,
I pass many a sullen cow grazing in the field.
They have ropes around their necks that bind
them to a peg,
And I a tie around my neck to bind me to my desk.
Through my large office window, I see calves torn
from their mothers:
Farmer wants their milk, and their milk he will have.
Through the door across the floor, I see my kids
turned away:
Boss milks my time and energy, and not a pint will
he share.
That's why my kids cry each day I leave for work:
'Tis the pain of knowing that when that night
Boss drops me home, all he'll drop are drops of me.
O lord, that's all they can have, my poor little kids:
drops of my energy, drops of my time—drops of me!
Whatever turns your crank
Whatever tickles your pickle
Whatever dunks your donut
Whatever waxes your dolphin
Whatever buffs your buddha
Whatever pops your cork
Whatever pets your monkey
Whatever frosts your cookies
Whatever spills your pills
Whatever trips your trigger
Whatever humps your camel
Whatever melts your chocolate
Whatever peels your onion
Whatever chafes your carrot
Whatever flops your mop
Whatever rocks your socks
Whatever teeters your totter
Whatever milks your goat
Whatever pings your pong
Whatever peels your banana
Whatever blows your nozzle
Whatever tips your canoe
Whatever flicks your switch
Whatever zips your zipper
Whatever blows your stack
Whatever... whatever... whatever!
On a velvet night, when man enters woman,
like a wave kissing the shore with repeated desire,
and the woman opens her mouth like a flower revealing its petals at dawn,
her teeth shine like stars that form the alphabet of the sky,
and the Logos, like an alchemist of dreams, milks a star of cosmic milk,
while the man, deep within the woman, ties a knot of infinity,
promising that they will never be two separate destinies again,
and the woman transforms into a flower swallowing light,
for the Logos, like a sculptor of destiny, unleashes their inner rivers.
These two, with their hunger for boundlessness,
seek to penetrate the mystery hidden behind the divine curtain,
and for a fleeting moment, they touch the edge of eternity,
but God, in His enigmatic and vast play,
unties their knot, to let love flow again, free.
Like a torrent of thoughts rolling through the universe,
the stream of consciousness carries us on the wings of unfulfilled desires,
where the sky merges with the earth in an eternal embrace,
and every touch becomes a verse of an unwritten poem,
where their kiss is a portal to unseen worlds,
and their love a silent symphony that fills the void with harmony,
where their souls dance on the edge of time,
blending into a cosmic embrace that defies the ephemeral,
until the invisible hands of fate separate them like a dissipated cloud,
in the endless ocean of memory and forgetfulness,
where love, like a hidden river, continues to flow beneath eternal skies.
The logical possibility to jump over the moon,
make sense when considered its cheese eaten with a spoon.
The same cheese became famous by Mozart composing Cinderella,
melted in on bread called Mozzarella.
The milks fat has its meaning by matter of form,
as one can pull it gently in its use to be torn.
The essence of man by Plato is conceptual confusion,
Aristotle’s answer was the rational animal conclusion.
The death is one of two things and metaphysical,
hypothetic nature in grammarless forms of being radical.
Abstract concepts to the point of phrase,
indefinable logic to stay confused in philosophical pace.
Nothing divided by nothing to multiply the zero,
trading and selling golden mirrors portraying the hero.
The hypnotic ability of linear verbal communication,
overwritten melodrama and its cultured sensation.
Caffeine clicking clocks in commercial wars,
to safe the astounding audience aspiration from taws.
Intensified intuitive balloons matching the color of the eye,
illustrative animated slices with the cherry on top pie.
Vulnerable velocity by vanity loosing lips largely,
absurdity with distinction established ambiguity fiercely.
Falsity and truth before sense and nonsense,
thinking one knows what is not known in essence.
Philosophical poetry may be with or without rhyme,
but it is never without reasons of confession in time.
I carry the ark of my heart
Upon Your tabernacle
As open as ocean does part
I leave it to your tackle
To redeem the rainbow's pledge
Before time comes to its edge
Almighty God the father
With You, I gat no bother
I lift up with grace, Your prominence
Upon Your tabernacle
As melting as honey milks eminence
Incomparable to spackle
Unlike men whose prominence fade
Over time but Thou can't be weighed
Loving God the son
With You, I do won
I rest my worries cum Your shining glory
Upon Your tabernacle
For my anxiety can't sustain this life lorry
When troubles shackle
All efforts gearing victory against defeats
For retreating fear that fairs to beat deceits
Comforting God the Spirit
With You, I got an advocate.