Long Mix Poems
Long Mix Poems. Below are the most popular long Mix by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Mix poems by poem length and keyword.
Mornin coffee thinkin of you!
Simmers thoughts of a wonderful brew,
as dreams of romance percolate into view!
Such an awesome aroma I sense,
if we were to become more intense!
How's about a warm slow roast,
somethin that you'll like the most!
And if you want to make it nice'n hot,
know Im gonna like you a lot!
Here's some sugar for your cup dear,
with visions of holding you near!
Cafe au' lait is a tasty treat,
but bet your the one thats really sweet!
What a rich blend we've found,
and I look forward to stickin around!
Guess I better get a bigger pot,
well considerin all the luv you got!
Starbucks gives you lots of frothy foam,
you know I cant wait to get you all alone!
Wishin you have a bottomless mug,
so I can give ya lotsa hugs!
Hey care for some Arab-bic-ka,
you wont mind if I grab-at-ya!
Gettin dizzy the smells so heavenly robust,
why honey you might like if I just go for bust!
Want to wait for a traditional slow drip,
and get better acquainted with your upper 'n lower lip!
Expresso has a very strong flavor,
but girl it's you I really want to savor!
Fix'in yours up all real creamy,
and gettin it nice and steamy!
Oh so sweet and yummy,
brings a taste of joy to my tummy!
Shots of Kahluha makes a good intoxicating mix,
and I would crave to give you a nice fix!
Yep just hoping that you'll spike my cup,
and really stiffin things up!
Darlin for you I'm makin it strong,
so maybe I can kiss ya all night long!
And anytime your ready to take a drink,
deep within your arms I long to sink!
Be glad to fix ya a mocha delite,
and still be kiss'in ya come early daylight!
Next there comes a double shot latte,
your turn to show me how your so risque!
Carefully made you'll never find any course grounds,
your tearin me up with all them sweet moanin sounds!
Just ask me to prepare yours with a french press,
and surely you wont last long in that lil mini dress!
Amazing what happens when you roast a little bean,
lacey silk stockings tempt where to get in between!
Just hollar whenever you want a cappuccino,
now what about that juicy maraschino!
Ahhh the heated scent is so incredibly aromatic,
why honey never knew your so kinky 'n acrobatic!
So whenever you ponder for your cup,
k-n-o-w that I'd like to just fill you right up!
Mmmm talkin bout good to the last drop,
whoa babe I'm about ready to pop!
Thinkin you might go for a really fine grind,
I'm about ready to lose my mind!
My elementary school was a box full of broken crayons.
You know, the kind that no one likes to use because they fit inside your hands like a hug that lasts three seconds too long.
Me and my classmates wore
hand-me-down smiles.
They were too big for our faces. We figured that eventually we would somehow grow into the sound of our own laughter, put on our happiness like gloves and wear our skin as if our bodies were made by Louie Vuitton, just hoping to be more than tattered pages ripped from the torso of coloring books.
More than the aftermath of two runaway trains headed to the same direction. Our parents drove their affection without insurance, and we are just head on collisions with no coverage. We got shattered windshields for eyes, and tongues made out of safely glass held together by super glue. It’s no wonder we spoke broken English.
With an entire orchestra drowning inside our throats, veins like guitar strings, our voices cracked like the self esteem of single mothers who carried us in their wombs like Molotov cocktails, and prayed that we would somehow find a way to mature into land mines
exploding underneath the feet that have trampled them for too long. These women, they dream in a language only fully understood by the tiles of an abortion clinic on a busy afternoon.
They raised us on top of broken promises made by men with grape jelly in their spines who were too busy jamming to their own
two-cent mix tape that they chose over their priceless women.
We didn’t come with a screwdriver. There is no picture on our box to show you what we should look like when this all is over.
We were just put into this world with a note that read
“Some assembly required.”
We were built inside of a neighborhood that looked as though it was slowly loosing a fist fight to cancer and kemotherapy claimed all of it’s dreams.
You see at a young age I was told that no matter how much furniture you move with a Honda Civic, it’ll never be a pick up truck
but have you ever wanted to be more than what you were made for?
Was there ever moment in your life when all you wanted was to be more than the wounded options that circumstance has nailed to your shoulders?
People question why we even have the audacity to breathe. That’s why when we walk it looks as though we are apologizing for our lungs.
But we ate not sorry for living this loudly.
It’s the only way we know how.
I lay in my bed.
Thoughts come in waves.
When will it end?
The Dragon slain.
No amount of time.
No person, no thing.
Can change the fate,
That the needle brings.
Sights of Orange,
Delight my eyes.
I pick up a crystal,
And to no surprise.
I crush it down.
In that damn orange cup.
I’m so overwhelmed.
The sinking feeling abrupt.
I carefully decide,
The amount to pour.
Then mix it with water.
And dissolve once more.
I take off the cap,
To reveal the shine.
Of that needle so enticing.
That it blows my mind.
I feel so small.
As I stare at that point.
My body quivers.
I can’t disappoint.
Thoughts of guilt.
Invade my brain.
But my body keeps saying,
This will soon end the pain.
So I draw the solution,
Into the stem.
Then flick it twice.
Let the bubbles settle in.
I slowly push the air out.
That’s collected on top.
And wonder to myself,
If I will ever stop.
But I shrug it away.
And again think of pain.
Then tie on my tourniquet.
And say “ it” again.
The veins start to pop.
And spread on my skin.
They bulge and prod,
And trickle within.
Sometimes this takes hours.
Sometimes days of my life.
I get so frustrated.
But search on with strife.
I stab myself over and over again.
Until the blood flows red into my syringe.
Seeing the blood,
Makes my whole body weak.
But I surrender with ease.
No more words can I speak.
I push the plunger forward,
Till she entires my veins.
Down to the last drop.
Empty and insane.
I wait just a second.
Pull the needle out.
My body turns to fire.
This is what it’s all about.
From my toes to my head,
Her venom spreads.
Ecstasy at last.
No more feelings of dread.
Then the fire fades,
Just as quickly as it came.
And then there’s just calm.
A final break from the shame.
I’ve given my life to this process,
So many times.
The bigger the shot.
The bigger the crimes.
When I’m in this state,
The dragon has one.
My mind and my heart,
Become unspun.
I do terrible things,
To all of my friends.
My family, my children.
But she always wins.
I always think I can only do one.
But that’s never the case.
The cycles just begun.
“The devils tool” I’ve heard it said.
Takes every ounce of life.
And leaves you for dead.
But you rise up and start
The process once more.
A zombie. Tortured chaos.
I don’t know anymore.
Oh, fear! The sinister finger of a tornado!
Twisting, spinning, spiraling in turbulent
toroidal twirls of angry winds and high
pressures, few forces - natural or nay -
are as destructive or as frightening or
as beautiful! Yes, I am myself afraid
of those weaving beasts of spinning
horror, for there are few things as
certain to bring unavoidable death
and destruction, but I have also
always been drawn so to their
violent beauty and power, and
their affect on atmosphere and
light. There is little anyone can
do to avoid their wrath if they
find you, and that assured ill
anger of nature is why they
are so reviled ... buildings,
cars, animals, trees, bits,
pieces, farms, insects,
trucks, people, pets,
houses, things that
grow, move, stand
still, fixed, loose,
secured - there
is hardly any-
thing that is
outside the
mix of the
horror, but
if you are
a broad,
strong,
long,
flat,
....,,,,~>>~,,,,....
- Smooth, deep, thick, hard, layer of the finest concrete, then you are SOLID! -
Submitted on November 22, 2020
To the "SHAPE UP" Poetry Contest
Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor
~ 1st Place ~ in the "The Shape Of My Art" Poetry Contest, Line Gauthier, Judge & Sponsor.
It is easy to forget that in the main we die only seven times more slowly than our dogs.
Jim Harrison (1937 - 2016) - The Road Home
First Bobo, a cocker spaniel,
I remember only from pictures.
He ran way before we moved
to Canada when I was four.
Second Kizzie, a cockapoo, Mom got
when the family moved to Texas.
I only saw her on holidays and such
as I stayed in Canada. She lived
long and was with the folks when they
retired to British Columbia and was
into her teens before they put her down.
Third Sadie, 3/4 Newfie - 1/4 Bernese,
a big black dog, with a big appetite
for apples from a special tree and
the socks our daughter, a toddler
cast off around the house.
I still chuckle remembering
the scattered remnants lining
the farm lane that spring.
She was over ten, and in pain
when we put her down.
Her ashes remain in an urn in the garage.
Fourth Rizzo, a fencejump cross of
Gordon Setter and Belgian Shepherd,
my wife and daughter got him from
a friend, while I was off on a canoe trip.
A headstrong dog who would take off after
a scent or car to return when he pleased.
On leash, he'd almost pull you off your feet.
With age, he grew territorial and
after the third biting incident, I took
him to the vet to be put down.
But she gave him to an older lady
with a fenced yard who put thirty
pounds on him and he lived to
fourteen or fifteen.
Fifth Hailey, who was five when
we got her from the shelter.
A Border Collie - Shepherd cross
and definitely our daughter's dog.
She'd bounce foxlike through the fields
and on evening beach walks, loved
to fetch sticks we'd toss into the waves.
She was over fifteen and failing when
we put her down, days before
our daughter's wedding.
No urn this time.
Sixth Xena, a Shepherd-Collie cross
and beyond doubt a princess
but more sweetheart than warrior.
She has the canine equivalent
of ADD and a bark first policy
when something new appears
and will retrieve sticks or balls
until your arm falls off .
At over eight, she's running strong.
Seventh, Sam, a mostly Shepherd mix,
she's our most 'rescue' rescue dog,
smart, loyal and obedient
a wantobe lap dog with a feral streak.
She responds in kind to aggressive
dogs and we muzzle her on walks.
Now five she'll be with us for a
good while to continue the tally.
The mind is a womb
Copulate it
Let the semen of reason
Part the legs of its cervix
And you will see
When moth struggles before its born
The power of its dreams for flight
Words are eggs, you know
Virginal eggs,
I saw him hatch them into bricks
Of ideas that he could carve
Like an Edna exhibit
All copulation must spontaneous
A true gentleman has that gift
Not to force his feelings
On his betrothed
He was also scholar, you know
A sort of poet
That prefer metaphors to the conflict
Of chisel and wood
He had such a mastery of the rhetoric
I mean he understood them better than us
For he did not only speak like them
But spoke their strategy better than them
I sometimes wondered how he knew himself
Apart.
Its sort of seemed ironic
That he did have the anger that Fanon composed
Unless wit is a subtle part of it
May be environment is such a part of it
The cool, I mean
We say that about Manchesterians
Roxborough,
If it could produce the soldier-scholar
Could not have produced just a little fire
Even for the cremation of his brother, Roy
Perhaps it was the mix blood ...
Busta said that his mother was Taino
I do not understand is who mixed them though
There is an overt statement of force to be made
A rape scrubbed from the memory
For how could one half of hm
Become so invisible ...
The mission I mean.
I must rule
More than wood, and more
Than water
For my destiny
Is more than what men may leech
So I am not exploited
I am killed for this robbery
And here I am left
A dead man on a throne
Here I am
Shrouded with self government
And staring into the empty eyes
Of children
So why do I love him then
Was it alone because my father
Fashioned my world for me
Gave me this icon
For proximity the barbarians
Who snatched my mother
Washing her white linen one day
From the sweet river
Do not take that thought to the bank
Where my children play
This man deserves his accolade
If only for taking blindness from my mind
If only for letting me know
The chain had never rattled their
And even in their own words
I could look at the world
And ask "why not?"
He gave me a ladder to my education
That was some gift,
Quite the best of all I am given
O it so beautiful to copulate the mind
Or hold hands through the annals
And see this Manley,
This little fountain of great ambition
Flowing at my lips.
I use to lay down
And dream
About all kind of things
About loving and laughter
Living Happily ever after
Seems like a fairytale
We living
We on top
Like a ceiling (like a ceiling)
Caught up in our feelings
We make the perfect match
That's a fact
Love is where it's at(it's at)
Let's make this a little clearer
I want to be drawn to you
Want to be nearer
We like each other
Its clear to see
I Want you
And you want me
Lets work it out
See where it goes
Take this chance
Who knows
Its time for you to show
How much you care
The love is in the air
Late night convos
That last for hours
At a time
Hey how was your day
Its going just fine
Calling me just because
Lets me know im thought of
The smallest things you do
Are the ones that count
I love you
With every ounce
Every ounce of me
Now I know the best things are free
If you told me
This is how it feels
When you know the Love is real
Its amazing
And its feel great
To know that they appreciate
Everything whether big or small
My love is worthy
And to you I give my all
What we built
No one can break
The feelings we feel for each other
No one can take
We like each other
Its clear to see
I Want you
And you want me
Lets work it out
See where it goes
Take this chance
Who knows
Its time for you to show
How much you care
The love is in the air
You like me
I like you
What are we to do
Sit down a have a heart to heart
Beginning of a brand new start(yeaaahhh)
Learning from one another
The perfect illustration to a new cover
Now that's hot
And special
We going in this new friendship
Real careful
No rush
Take it slowly
Who cares so what
We just want to be
Different and cool
I just want to see
What it means to be
To be in something so good
Makes you want to sing
We are glowing
Were the lyric to each other voice
Im glowing
You the prose to a poetry that keeps flowing
Your my re to the mix
I am your perfect fix
I feel the love in the air
And it's so fun
We both finally found the one
Lets take a chance and a hike
You are no longer Mr.Wrong you Mr.Right
We like each other
Its clear to see
I Want you
And you want me
Lets work it out
See where it goes
Take this chance
Who knows
Its time for you to show
How much you care
The love is in the air
Written by:Concetta Hardnett
12/28/2015
The Christmas Cafe
I scratch my nails
against my head
and
ponder a while in thought,
but my soul turns bare
And Death twirls
his curled hair.
Taunting me
as my breaths
become caught.
Caught between
the living and the dead.
A cafe with dim lights,
like some sort of spiritual
dread.
Snow blankets the ground,
Raucous laughter is heard
As I see you cross the room
But don't say a single word.
Instead I conduct
A choir in my mind
And wonder if you'll come
To my own short demise.
But here in this place,
I swear to you it's safe
To whisper words of praise
to the left-behind days
Where you and I betrothed
We swore we'd never leave
And now that we're
Dying out in the cold
we can both pick
white lilies to grieve.
But you couldn't handle
the words and the ink.
And now that we're
a second out of synch,
Our very last winter,
for us, it crafts this;
A cafe caught in the middle
Of a wonderland bliss.
Where we can still meet our eyes
crossing over down the hall.
Where we can
Still
Pretend that once, we had it all.
But as I reach my gaze to you,
I seldom pass out of the blue.
You reach into your heart and pull
it from your chest to mix
with mine and the falling snow
And then, too late, you rise to go.
I pull you under blankets
Of death and grief and hell
And just before you go,
The door twinkles its last bell.
The shop is closing up, you see,
Except for its last ghost with me.
The pub empties
out into the street
The people socialize and scream
For they can still
ignite their dream
with our once burning heat
at the level of our true decree.
But none of that's found
in the cafe today.
And the door slowly closes
as you find your own way.
And the night starts to fall,
Gentle leaves flowing from trees
standing tall.
The branches are bare, and inside
there's decay.
But our souls still rot on
to live another day.
Just like our hearts,
As the beating won't start
But perhaps we can find some
Comfort
In knowing
That as we look out
at the cold winter snowing
That Christmas lights dim
And the faint choir hymn
twinkles gently on
underneath the same moon.
And perhaps the soul will at last
alight
As in different worlds, we
count the starlight.
Finally
Accepting
That we'll both be dead soon.
my arms wrapped around you
warm to the touch
only on thing on my mind
i love you so much
my hand connects with yours
my arms wrapped around yo
draw you in closer
soft and smooth to the touch
as we lay there
theres no moment in time that has meant so much
your body seems to mix with mine
quickly churning all the feelings i have inside
my hands caress your body
you stir, open you eyes with your sexy smile
sunlight streaks across your face
giving you that look of even higher grace
rubbing your back at such a slow pace
giving you time to recooperate
time to breathe
time to wake
i knew this was no mistake
all the feelings i feel are real
teasing me with a passion
all is said and done- for now
our love will never end
not now, nor then
later tonight
the same will occur
i'll walk through the door
being making dinner
take a shower
wait till you arrive
take your coat off your shoulders
take off the weight that feels like boulders
kiss you hello
you know, nice and slow?
reach for your hand
lead you to dinner
a meal of such delight
already thinking to yourself, "i'll sleep well tonight"
i wash the dishes
you take your shower
we'll meet in the bedroom
and kiss the night away
let me caress your body
tell me all about your day
slip out of your clothes
kiss you all over from head to toe
slide under the covers
bodies mixing
bending and twisting
let our acts of love bellow through the air
the night goes on
but alas
theres so much to be done
smooth and creamy
sweet and filling
our movements slow down
catching our breath
our hunger way beyond being met
you unwind
i pull you closer
deeper and deeper until slumber is met
sighing contently
i kiss your forhead
you stir and steal my thought
i love you
both steamy and hott
kissing you gently
saying it back
you close your eyes for the night
rocking you slowly back and forth
my love
my heart
my soul
no greater truth be told
i begin to drift away into sleep
our dog curling up on our bed by our feet
another day is done
another night well spent
but alas this is not the end
just the end of round one.
A casualty of a personality similarity, apparently,
though it's not apparent to me,
maybe in a parallel reality with unparalleled insanity.
My motto is true individuality breeds pure originality,
I hate monos I do but inconsistency prevents rhyme simplicity.
However, I endeavour to be quite clever,
and mix this rhyme with a talent that only said hello
and let itself be known when I sat all on my own
and met my lowest low and felt all was an unknown.
After I boycotted social events
and my siblings kept a distance
through a transition to clearance
and all was different but for my parents.
When I could of drank and walked around violent
or gone back to cannabis as a daily requirement,
but I vented in silence and sat and wrote a sentence
to then rhyme it in an instant and express a cruel incident,
all done with rational thought and I felt happy with the result.
I found a talent up my sleeve
better than what I ever believed,
assured by my second poem called "Believe",
13 months on there are 400 more to read.
I've covered a whole range of topics,
writes of stupid silly to writes of serious logic,
but lyrical writes enabled
a plastic Eminem wannabe label
as though I'm unable to be a creative individual,
and so slated for not being an original.
It seems that Trim Shady alias will stay with us
and I'll seem ridiculous but the influence
that became the fake appearance will see a disappearance,
I'm Nicholas or Trim I don't initial my title
I'm not trying to be like Marshall whom is unrivalled.
I'll do it my own way with individuality,
knowing that alter ego is the only reason you see a similarity,
but I'll make you see I'm a singularity,
a personality out to become a familiarity.
Though I've balanced my talents over a vast distance using
rhyme to reference these events it makes no difference to opinions,
yet I stay driven because I was influenced by Winston and his words to the wars winning.
Let's be clear Churchill caught my ear like Slim and I listened in awe to him when he said "Never Give In",
so if the world goes silent I'll start to sing,
if you attack me I'll whack you,
if you distract me I'll trap you,
if you perceive me as fake
I'll make you retract that statement with haste.
I'm evolution at play,
changing and adapting,
but I'll always do it my way.