Long Miming Poems
Long Miming Poems. Below are the most popular long Miming by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Miming poems by poem length and keyword.
your eyes close …
mine stay open, bewitched
my lips move soft along your cheek -
a sublime dermal journey
from nape to mouth
I brush yours with mine, as if
miming a sigh
and they part ... slowly ... sweetly
I pull back, slightly, then press again,
tender …
our lips fit … perfectly
the way my fingers fill the spaces
in yours - the way our
bodies merge like buttery heaven …
tongues touch and dance
twisting, loving, playing ... exploring
I taste, then tickle your teeth
running my tip along their
clean smoothness, as a stick atop
a white picket fence
(or fingers across piano keys)
seeking every corner ... every flavor
I savor each delectable nuance
that your pretty cheeks hide -
the wonderment of saucy spices
guarded by that dazzled smile
for me alone …
craving, you share the tang of mine -
remnants of your nectar still
clinging like honey …
it all mixes and swirls with
our sugary tongues -
a delicious delight …
a few stray strands of your platinum
herbal tresses caught between …
relenting to my fantasies
and the electric sensations that
flood my core -
our mouths devouring, hot
my eyes finally close
and I plunge your depths
lost in you ...
in our HUNGER.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Completely Your Choice (21) Any Theme, Any Form" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Strand Pick F, Any Theme, Any Form" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Love Is The Answer" Poetry Contest, Lu Loo, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Completely Your Choice 21, Any Form, Any Theme" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
Le Squirrel Sat For Le Painter
His canvass set
And oils based,
He zeroed onto her providence.
His lips miming
Rhode Island here
Big Apples there.
She scowled her impatience.
Her eyes dismissing his.
Although,
Him noting her dark chocolates,
Sweet looking,
Cloaked as balls of fire,
And a posture gorgeous and erect.
And so was he.
She was a beauty
And a beast ...
As levity was short on her,
But long on him.
If only she would give in
It would make for better strokes,
A better potrait.
Thus ill fated
In his mind,
This potrait sat on thin ice.
Little squirrels jumping in,
Ski jumping off her nose.
Swoosh!
Another one.
Swoosh!
The third missed.
Crash landing on her lap,
Smiling.
A caricature off and galloping.
His horse neighing in absentee.
Seeds of a lampoon sprouting.
His mind jumping
To conclusions.
He raced.
The potrait moaned.
He dabbled a little oil here,
A little oil there.
A pinch of rouge
On her cheeks and lips,
And highlighting a reflection
In her pupils.
Chocolates never looked so bitter.
He finished with sparkles
In her hair, flaming.
He paused,
Adding a little depth
and gradation to her forehead,
pointed and blunt,
like a squirrel posing at his party.
After all she was.
For hues,a reddish brown, and swirls,
No mistaking that of Le Squirrel.
He had a little ways to go
And a lifetime of laughter.
He added squirrels jetting
From her mouth and ears.
And that bushy tail,
He thought
Wiser of not making
Her into a **** star
His mind thinking,
her seated, the bushy tail
jetting up between her thighs.
No.
Upon realization,
her eyes squinting at the portrait
in disbelief,
Le Squirrel screamed.
The shrill heard around town,
Making the artist rise.
connie pachecho
8/31/17
Inspired to write this poem after reading entries
to the Artwork-Poetry Contest
A laugh is a soul's explosion of insanity.
Knowledge of acknowledgement in vanity.
A crazed affinity with deja vu timing.
Taboo of thought in neon silver lining.
An out of body experience welcomed within.
Micro possession in a miming obsession,
with dilated dial in audible font style
and expression.
A laugh is a pseudo lust in pseudo love.
Headlining, silver tongued language of
squealed wink, grunting blink, snickering choke of drink.
from above.
A syncing of honed thinking in volume linking
the brink on.
Wave of notes confused bang of gong,
in mode-icon.
Surge of mental drowning,
with smile singing mused
connection system of its own downing.
Foothills
The physics
of metaphysics …
the part I like the best
Where symbols yearn
as planets turn
—new twigs to build the nest
(Dreamsleep: December, 2023)
A Picture
Imagery and symbols
are worth a thousand words
Why poetry is lauded
but prose routinely heard
To paint each word intrinsic
as dawn brush strokes the day
Each verse leaves time uncanvassed
—mortality at bay
(Dreamsleep: December, 2023)
To Heaven And Back
If birds couldn’t fly
they wouldn’t sing
The world would stop spinning
and bells wouldn’t ring
Wings are their freedom
the sky their excuse
To heaven and back
—all hearts are infused
(Dreamsleep: December, 2023)
The Road Less Traveled
Does the truth
of the world
lie in common
experience
Mathematics
and philosophy
forever
say no
Innovation
and discovery
fight shared
understanding
One should always
be wary
or forever
—forgo
(Dreamsleep: December, 2023)
Bearing False Witness
Death by omission
death by nature
Where evil misleads
—deception grows
(Dreamsleep: December, 2023)
Lock Step
Poets
miming
poets
The blind
leading
the blind
Mud
stirring up
from the bottom
Concealing
a likeness
—in kind
(Dreamsleep: December, 2023)
Virgin Dreams
Creating something
as yet undiscovered
Consciousness battles
—as memory attacks
(Dreamsleep: December, 2023)
We find ourselves in different shelves in life to shape and sharpen thoughts
Thinking for a greater tomorrow just to breath the fresh beat of earth
Thunder strikes creating lighting to capture images that would last for Gods
Miming our moves as we elevate invention that was innovated by sin
Sinister mystery laying differently like last crast for peasents
Scrubing for more bread to eat to tick for tomorrow
Loosing hope soul attracted by soil splash flash dashed to the last inch of whiskey
Hearing whisper commencing prophecy plants combined to formulate a form of answer
Swearing for forgotten days to play
Oh child find what was made for us tomorrow to pledge probably gaze all bubbles nibbled through the wall
Who is this fancy face phased with the atmospheric figment
Waiting to be tint in colours of rainbow
Bow to vowl historical metaphor
Finding improper fraction fusing the leftover gas
Past hindered through the hour glass are the days of our lives going to be like this
Drilling drops of unravelling all travelers camping all army.
Ash N.N
The Construct of an Essence Forming
Collaborative custodians of remuneration for the poor
Commemorative symposiums on humans need for wanting more
Symbols of ancient mystery drawn upon cave walls
Thimbles of fragrant misery born from what a man recalls
A nieche in the marketplace, an advertisement that lies
A piece of someone’s face falling plastic from their eyes
The grief of the replaced calling out for compromise
Attitudes of servitude that call for investigation
Gratitude for the interludes that fall for the relief of compensation
Exactitude that can only conclude to stall the consternation
Platitudes that are borderline rude based on weak configurations
Instantaneous satisfaction born from greed and lust
Sub-cutaneous mathematical fractions that only scientists trust
Spontaneous interactions that are based on sense and must
Contemporaneous fine contractions that are born from the modes of break and bust
An ethical integrity that cannot be mistaken
Umbilical propensity that will not be mis-shapen
Ventriloquist alarmists miming political ideals
Soliloquies, pharmacists, timing hypocritical appeals
Contrite sensibility coming from a place of inherent goodness
Finite possibilities running the race of concurrent couldness
Hematite magnifications of ions colliding for war
Israelite pontifications of lions at the gates of Daniels door
Cocophonies of entropy expanding out through space
Topographies and symphonies sounding with an air of grace
Corroborrees and ancient trees expressing wisdom from a race
Soliloquies and poetry forming from a lifetime of disgrace
The basic convalescence of a soul pure as white
The corrupt adolescence as the whole begins to fight
The abrupt incandescence of a goal reaching the light
The construct of the essence of a mould in pure delight
Copywrite 2023 Elizabeth Morozl
[POET’s NOTE : This is the second of five poems on Revolutionary Poet, Bertolt Brecht : Spoken Word written in Blank Verse]
___________________________
It is not enough to assume safety, question !
audience and readers one with poems
writing is not divided, stories homed
engage, clash one with another find truth
what is writ, read, recited incubates
unaware embracing sagacity, sighted
as minds see yourselves in actors miming
bewail or laugh on easy seats, it matters not !
Alienation tearing reflects without
who are specks when travelling, fleeing fast
in courtrooms, as empaths see bombs fall
explode over seas, implode naivety
remove barriers within refines, no hide
penetrate emotions, let words cut veins
ripping open crux exposes connections
alienation and antipathy tails pale
I'm here to wake up audience’s core more
shatter to bring Mother Courage to fore
fragmented world of war engage active
theatre seeks to hammer, shake seats loose
poetic therapy as mirror confronts
inner worlds jumping here and there
inspired juices whiffing extra miles
adoration requires not possession’s pews
Self cares zero about rules to be broken
crushing my bones crooked for knowing
nobody lives sufficiently for all sowing
this is my work and yearning, recognise
blending it exposes false convictions
scruples upon scruples is khaki to shred
raw is perception, insufferable flashes
alive only when not guarding dashes
Germinal ! make deep stamp upon own soil
listen clear (...) be own sage, stage shows toil
allow poetry into lightness of pure being
reintegrate famished divided, feed
go home grieving from theatres, recitals twist
speak to knights, hierophants, fools within
jar them off thrones of brocade comfort silk
for all must recall how dust is to evolve !
presence without demand
s t r e t c h
b u i l d
________________________
It feels muted.
Like a bubbling ache, miming the mince of my patronising murk.
The peevish petulance of my prejudice prompts an abandoned frugality so thinned to a destined demise.
Unlaced.
Untied.
Undone.
A portal so honed to the residual refine of my extinction.
The sterling silver glints off the ashen sheds of my abandoned flesh; she looks like a platter.
Each serving an amortisation to the segments of my pestilent seethe.
Every atom of her making nurtures a barbaric famine to the fester of her feud.
Each larceny a sacrificial suckle for the prosperity of her condemn.
I feel my ruins spewing in a sovereign decay of a cataclysm so heinous in its destruction.
So sinister in its devaluation.
So predatory in its death.
It feels muted; all my days blending one.
All my days blending into the countdown to my censure.
My day of reckoning.
On beginning to compose a new poem...
Assaying thoughts gambol,
scuffling as in an affray
née crushing, jockeying, stampeding...
demanding equal airplay
gushing as metaphorical think
spigot turned on full force airway
thru totally tubular cerebral
microcosmic aisleway
vesicular conduit fifty
plus shades of gray
exhaling sigh of relief, cuz
transcending writer's block
innovative talent with words
did once again allay
needless panic, where yours truly
finds himself punchdrunk
in some dark alleyway,
an unfortunate fate
Matthew Scott alway
avert reminding myself
to utilize ujjayi breath
hard driving gateway
into Pranayama practices
analogous to make
emotional transit thru
golden itty bitty
teensy weensy archway
infinitesimal impossible mission
to pinpoint areaway,
yet crisscrossing meditative
zen zone an array
of utmost nirvana
will never lead effortless
mantra buffeted concentration
not lead astray
and matter of fact
lightness of being
scaling metaphorical kickstarting
rah height aweigh
up yonder within
outer limits twilight zone
re: supraconsciousness
keeping at bay
non intrusive thoughts
ruff lee collaring, mimicking belay
boring bonafide dog obedience training
pant tum miming (think) begging
for limp bizkit, thus
canine loosens seat belt buckle
one notch braving violating
no trespassing sign
despite petsmart restriction
heavy populated wall tint
head nab yule Haitian
made Christmas benday
eerily resembling voodoo
cursed poppet summoned
if anybody doth betray
not being spellbound
hence, blithely skipping
reading future poetry (mine)
magic edict I dost bewray.
I wouldn't fall in love with my own image like Narcissus did -
the fool!
What was it that he saw that made him so give up his heart
for something unattainable.
I wouldn't fall in love with my own image like Narcissus did.
Perhaps it was the pool he so adored, well, if that be;
How then it did deceive him cruelly.
Poor, poor, sad boy; if he had but received real love,
instead of nothing but a miming mug,
I'm sure, that he would not have sought to waste,
So valuable a thing as love upon a flimsy face.
I couldn't fall in love with my own image like Narcissus did,
When what I see when I look at my face
are blots, not seen when I stand in the shade,
But magnified now I move closer in.
But then he had no spots, no wrinkles too.
Still, even if mine was so smooth,
That I could fool a women's touch with it,
I do not think I could, like him, pine after my own image.