Long Mixes Poems
Long Mixes Poems. Below are the most popular long Mixes by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Mixes poems by poem length and keyword.
a secret rendezvous in the woodlands
trees dripping with soft morning dew
moss giving rise to our mounting desire
oaks seeding life and naked adventure
pining for cones of passion and pleasure
nature knows best how to release sorrow
in bed with soft undergrowth and canopies
base instincts foundations of new growth
an ocean of love passion and kindness
drift wood for shelter pebbles and shells
summer storms surfing a shoreline retreat
beach hut full of memories and reflections
tanned skin beach towels and seaweed
fog horns a lighthouse guidance and sun
flooding remembrance high tides of joy
nude commemoration of the cycle of life
mountains ridge in tune with our raw union
waterfalls cascades rapids wild water rides
meandering streams join a delta of delight
a kestrel approves and showers ovations
hollowed in granite resolve a cavern invites
to get in touch with karma and circular path
of an earth spinning tell tale meaning of life
a short spell of warmth after a timely solstice
while logs on winter fires gather in our souls
marshmallows melt on their own suspense
lavender scent mixes with cinnamon fragrance
mingles in anticipation of mid afternoon glow
as the days become shorter our longing remains
joins our blessed hips mindful of marital promise
the pure knowledge of winter heightens the moment
for when we get old our youth still holds us together
27th June 2020
Sugar paper petals rippable Hibiscus
Musk sap via jungle civet melts to jelly
Turkish Delight icing, licked clean fingers
Rubber soft texture entices tongues joyfully
Mallow centesimal stripes boiled candy
Star picket stick pink pigment saccharine
Temptress in dress derived from deer manly
Restless gypsy tastebuds buzz within labyrinth
Gender column calm offers an absconding
Seductive glands have universal indulgence
Elon holds obstinately to his Mars 2030 colony
Stamen aims telescope towards closer emulsion
Satellite dish observation grants mans' wishes
Expands our command of unimagined planets
Future mixes musk fusions for either expeditious
Sows anise seeds for Mars far sighted inhabitants
23rd January 2023
Written for Contest: Musk
Sponsor: Anthony Biaanco
Enduring Winter's tedious doldrums,
I relish the slightest sign of an early Spring,
it is my favorite time of the year!
The honking cries of migrating geese returning
or the dripping drops of icicles melting
fill my heart with hope and promise,
and I can't hide my smile.
I love the subtle earthy breath of Spring
carried aloft upon each scented breeze,
and the tactile feel of a warm, sensual sun
caressing my face.
Green inks the canvas, dripping from Nature's brush,
as She mixes Her palette of pigments,
and paints the colors of Spring.
Yellow daffodils, purple trillium, and pink
cherry blossoms come into bloom,
seemingly simultaneously,
as color explodes on the scene.
Robins and chickadees start nesting,
and life feels refreshed and renewed,
ready for the summer sun's sensational rays.
HERE COMES THE HUNGARIANS
A sign hangs like a star upon a building:
“HERE COME THE HUNGARIANS”
Delicious dishes that will please
The American and European palate.
My sisters on the right and my brother on the left,
Pressure cookers upon the stage.
Paprika to make you pretty, will make you blush.
And yes, plenty of sour cream.
Paprikash chicken with sour cream gravy is our specialty,
Served up with plentiful eggs and flour in buttered dumplings ,
With a side of dills or creamy cucumbers.
The four chefs will compete and make theirs the very best.
We will have to expand to sites stemming out from the South.
Our cousins will handle business in the Northeast, near Buffalo.
We already have family involved in flooring and carpentry
And one is the big boss of a well known restaurant.
We roll up our sleeves, the cookers ready – 1,2,3,4…check.
My sisters have a glint in their eyes whilst my brother plays innocent.
I have to tell the truth, one sister’s moved aside, for it is her spouse
Who mixes and pours. The pressure’s on. Dining room’s quiet –
Until the doors open at 5:00 p.m. sharp, and the crowd listens
For the familiar whistles, and the kitchen banter. Wine glasses
Clink over sparkling white tablecloths and they savor the smell
Of onion and chicken, beginning to thicken into browning gravy.
As the customers eat their savory meals, my dad plays
The Hungarian Czardas on his clarinet. And the satisfied
Tongues sway to the folksy dinner with oohs and ahhs.
This five star gem, okay I brag, will rise to historic fame!
2nd Place Winner
9/4/2016
My Imaginary Restaurant sponsored by Silent One
Physical body is mass
its last true destination is clay
mixes at the end
Heart is a baby
in the lap of chest
needs descent care only
Mind is like a horse
goes everywhere in need or not
Conscience warns to control it
am means purely a being of soul
not physical body
A savior judge with in surely
For Contest: 101 in a ROW contest -4 - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: PD
she reaches behind the smokescreen
of her sunken eyed curtain veils
films of tears void of translucence
stoke reminiscent ashes that trace
another blinding thick-skinned defeat
hidden by camouflage and smears
touched up campaigns of bravery
her retinas a web of hallucinations
illusion delusion cataracts and dreams
stirred but not entirely shaken as
she reaches for another glass to empty
while numbness mixes with mirages
of victory over hits and misses
on battle lines of reconstruction
a palisade and shield from truth
her sentience slips into severance
from memories epiphanies and falls
from grace as she applauds the circus clown
and crazy court jester she became to be
in sadness badness insanity while
holding on to fragmented shards
screeching on the palette of many
a brush with fate curses and agony
she is a survivor of abuse and violence
exploitation and deliberate transgressions
and reaches deeply into her resolve
to allocate anger to where it belongs
instead of blaming her own kindness
she lifts the olive branch closer
to her tumbler spits out the hemlock
and trusts that tears will dry
once excoriations have dried up
until then she is not the drunkard
she is made out to be by sycophants
and hypocrites who spiked her
drink of life but merely coping
for the moment and longing for solutions
29th July 2021
I plant a seed by the sea and allow faith and courage to water it for thee I watch it grow with the passing wind until the heaven above move the substance within and the avenue of hope breaks through the gate and daylight stares straight in my face and my spirit suddenly came alive and ignite the passion in the sky.
I woke up this morning with nothing on my mind, the universe was still and water began to pour from the hill and I said to myself where in the world would I want to be than in the presence of a stranger that cares for me; the one that knows how the world flex and what I do when I am out of breath, it is the other side of me that goes up in flame and bring down the sudden rain and mixes the water with the earth.
I watch the solemn minutes roll by but no one was there to attend to my silent cries so I ventured out in the avenue of hope, and there it was standing in the middle of the street blocking traffic passing on either sides of me. With strong optimism and favor from the sun, it clears the path around me and sets my spirit free and the wind rushes in.
How solid are your thoughts when enlightenment emerges from the skies and pulls you out of the dark; it drenches your soul with meekness, roll you on the ground with gentleness and presses it lips against the ages of time and everyone starts crossing on my side; they were coming by the hundred, the thousands and millions were walking by my side going to a place where peace and love abide and the olive seed sprang from the ground spreading its branches all around and the people flourished in various town .
And just across the distance we saw her sitting in a golden chair with a crown on top of her head beckoning the people to come, she stretched out her hands and they leaped towards the avenue of hope and Cleopatra received them in the town where destiny is bound, and they finally found a place that they can call home and for a hundred more years they could not roam.
The Avenue of home became their living sanctuary.
In cut throat fashion the sadist kindly applies the garrotte
The guitar is a bit out of tune and needed some tension
Two love birds in soft tune and no further strings attached
Lights nearly out and the old record player blasts Ode to Joy
But some times these sex games take an unexpected turn
Eros and death go hand in hand until the therapist is happy
Slowly the noose tightens but fails to dis-please the masochist
I am supposed to suffer in pain and plead for more punishment
Yet the world turns fuzzy and and I disapprove of such pleasure
Ecstasy in all hues and vibrations produce one eternal moment
A stroboscope flickers to convulsions of unbelievable delight
Near death mixes with rebirth in parallel translucent tangents
Cuts open avenues of unbeknown faccets of present past future
Which melt into one as harmony’s fuse slices the lute into bits
Every neuron becomes visible and galaxies appear in the mind
Stashes of transmitters flood the cold and yet blazing hot brain
Loops of eternity mingle with nano seconds and conjure a dream
‘I am the chief executioner criminal victim and perpetrator in one’
One final breath and intoxication reverts back to shackles and whip
As intranet **** and devious aberration fade away into begging
‘I must have imagined that sado and maso were as tight as a slipknot’
Nirvana sliced and dissected will never again beckon so splintered
03rd February 2020
Contest Pick a Title Vol 13 Lyric
Sponsor Edward Ibeh
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.
Finally, she could get down on her knees again, not in prayer but to touch rosemary and lavender which had begun to send its fragrance into the spring and rising warmth in nature’s heart. There was no sense of regret that winter passed with revolving anticipation of summer. As she felt soil and weeds slip through her fingers, her hands embroidered new patterns in gravel and time yard directly from the canvas of happiness. A daffodil had been waiting so long to cheer her up and bowed its flower towards a flock of birds picking earthworms and seeds, ready to digest the feast and spread it way past horizon and hedges. Blackberry thorns never bothered her much and she could already taste mouth-watering sweetness on her palate as words gathered to put emotions into poetry in motion. The garden shed was overgrown with Honeysuckle and Virginia Creeper and gave thanks that her secateurs had rusted like an artefact of personal narrative. She had once cut the lawn with household scissors, but this time she decided not to prune or stunt what has to grow for a change. The garden bench needed a lick of paint though and she mixes dandelion, blue bells and wild garlic with linseed oil and saffron tincture and moves the drift wood sculpture closer to the Victorian sash window.
silken fragrance swirls
perfumes season and pasture -
fondles the future
time treasures present
unwind ephemeral scent –
only the wind knows
spring steps to the fore
portrays essence for poems –
transcendent serene
firewood settles
under leaves piled up awaits -
autumn's inglenook