Long Moaning Poems
Long Moaning Poems. Below are the most popular long Moaning by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Moaning poems by poem length and keyword.
The never ending journey
It can take you anywhere
Name it and you're there
As two hearts melt into one
It's an explosion of passion
Seeping out to light the night
Lusting hearts coming together
Emotions held captive within
Candles burning brightly now
Shades of midnight blue
Light up the purple skies
Desperate hands touching
Tender is the night we touch
Lying within each other's arms
A thousand eyes watching us
As shadows fly across the sky
Some are passed, some still survive
Make my way down the chamber of love
I hear such sweet moaning from above
Hands touching flesh to flesh as
The scent of us mingle in the air
Flashes of the cosmos floating thru
The infinite wisdom surrounding us
I like it this way as we touch ~ yes
This is the way I'd like us to stay
You take me there where I want to be
there is no time or space with us as
Love's passions receive their message
And we drift away on clouds of lust
Poor kitten with sad eyes and drooping legs, almost lifeless,
hanging from a long hook: who could have done such
a terrible thing to a pet that needs kindness?
How can someone threat a cat with much
wickedness and not feel the evil touch?
Your useless meow will not be heard by no one,
the collar is too tight and it might choke you to death;
only the one who has hung you up there, to suffer alone,
can take you down to end the misery by restoring your breath...
footsteps approach, it's not her! But hang in there, kids laugh!
Their faces turn pale as they get closer, but their little hearts seem to be fainting
upon discovering the kitten so miserable and they scream gripped by fear,
"Snowbright, not now...hang on life, we are coming; Snowbright, we are coming! "
Oh, finally the breathless kitten looks down as she is welcomed by a frantic cheer!
Hasn't anyone heard a moaning cat hanging by a hook, and not lift a ear?
The laughter of the wind .
The silence of winter.
The punishment of determination.
As she pushed and pushed ! Moaning to get him out, it was the realization of stubbornness being born.
The father in those dark times , dissapeared like snow in spring drowning his shame and sorrow, in dirty skirts and cheap whiskey in dodgy corners of the Jozi city.
Just before he got his head out of the placenta... he had a vision! A prophecy!.
Life was never going to the all "rainbows and unicorns" but sweaty palms and lonely nights.
There was light! At the end of the tunnel , because Pa returned to the Delivery room.
With the realization of who was coming to the world.
An Artist but not your everyday Picasso.
We see them sitting in towers
carved from ‘learned’ ivory,
insulated by their tenure
from the world of reality,
poisoning their students minds,
putting bad ideas in their heads,
the kind that in a century
left one hundred million souls dead.
They know they face no consequence,
they even blacklist all others,
it’s the students who pay the cost,
in the real world they all suffer
for imbibing leftist nonsense
that they learned at academy,
betrayed by malign professors,
by ‘elites’ who are not elite.
We see them strutting in Hollywood,
convinced that their fame is greatness,
they want us to watch ever film,
yet our values they dismiss.
Thinking they’re on the cutting edge,
and the we’re all just inbred proles,
they think that lying well on film
makes them the people in the know.
Yet most of them have more spouses
when most people have fingers,
all their rapes are upsetting,
the pedophilia disturbs.
Once called the city of angels,
now just a Sodom on the sea,
a mess of ruined human souls,
an ‘elite’ who are not elite.
Glance upon the creative scenes,
you’ll find many more of this kind,
like the ‘artist’ who wants thirty grand
for a spray-painted orange rind!
Or maybe the plotless writer
who calls it ‘literary fic,’
bad characters just moaning on
about how they’re damaged and sick.
Don’t forget today’s architect
with his swiss-cheese ‘masterpiece,’
it’s supposed to be a building,
nut I looks like concrete feces.
I wouldn’t take any of this
even if given out for free,
they’re making all art hideous,
these ‘elites’ who are not elite.
Then there are all of the blowhards
who make up the modern news,
thinking that you will only see
the things that they pick and choose.
When any man with internet
can see through their partisan crap,
and lord do they get all annoyed
when you call them out on that.
If they cannot win they censor
and double down on their madness,
the idea that they can’t control us
is one they cannot stomach yet.
Those fools will tell me it’s raining
while I walk down a sunny street,
it is far time we tear them down,
damned ‘elites’ who are not elite.
They visit me here though they think me dead
They all think me a long time gone
The mausoleum is quiet, with only a dark shadow
Creeping upon its ancient walls, and thats of my own
The heavy door seems to creek all of sudden I think
Outside I hear the sounds of what seems like footsteps
I open that very old secret door which leads to my rest
And with a heavy heart consumed by this fire, I prepare for the kill
But then, outside, there is no one, no one is there
No one out there now to steal from me this time in here
Outside now I catch only the furtive and dark shadows
As I hear the lonesome cry of a howling wolf or hurting bird
I dart quickly another look again to my ancestral and cold coffin
My fateful resting place is one more time again safe
No friend nor foe to release me to free me tonight from my woes
And from all of my black and torturous betraying thoughts
I, Barnabas Collins, I stand here in all this darkness alone
As I close my weary eyes for another moment and rolling time
Then again I hear the wind moaning and hear the wind weeping
The dogs are howling and my wounded heart abates in the wind
They're my only companions in my endless and perpectual sorrow.
Dorian Petersen Potter
aka ladydp2000
copyright@2010
July 22, 2010
The Truth
The Truth stood downcast in the lie,
Morose, disappointed, oppressed.
Sitting idle about to cry,
Moaning in dark, deeply depressed.
How long it could stand indolent?
The Truth stood downcast in the lie.
In dismay seemed to be silent.
Neither fled nor wished to fly.
The Truth chose opportune-bed to lie.
At precise moment it would burst.
The Truth stood downcast in the lie.
Morals have firm faith and strong trust.
Universal Laws can’t go wrong
Killing lies Truth will glorify.
Now Truth must sing Victory-song.
The Truth stood downcast in the lie.
07/29/16
The Truth Stood Downcast In The Lie.
By John Lawless
Aggrieved and incensed a lot
I thundered some dull abuse
Que sera sera said a passing sot
Act Betimes or else, there’s no use!
Some possess the wit to cut
At anyone who stands in their way
Sometimes a Parthian shot
At times words to disarray
But many of us cannot find
The words to appease our souls
Someone’s words blow us blind
With rage and we drop our goals
Only after the moment does pass
And moaning Alas, we just toss and turn
Do we think of the way and pass
That make us less with ire burn
Yet does it all matter that much
To riposte an insult and cut back?
Off a firm tree, cut a tiny notch
Is that a massive deadly attack?
I love winter's slumber
when the forest is peace and quiet
I can hear the snow fall
all the trees creaking and moaning
but not all creatures are sleeping
many are out and about seeking food
even playing in the fallen snow
I stop to watch a little squirrel scampering
thinking of his warm den
perhaps a hole in an old tree
packed with fallen leaves maybe even fur
loaded up with seeds for a winter's slumber
oh listen, the birds are singing
their tweets and chirps echoing in the forest
it is like a thousand violins
like a winter symphony just for me
icicles hang from trees like chandeliers
dripping, dripping, swaying
sparkling in the cold winter sun
I come to a frozen pond
where water still trickles
gently
a few deer are drinking the cold water
but when aware of me
they dart into the forest like graceful shadows
many footprints are in the snow
I see the lynx paws and imagine these majestic cats
prowling at dawn or dusk for food
leaving the safety of their dens
they are made for this Canadian winter
with thick beautiful fur of multi-hued browns
my mother had a lynx coat
of course at that time furs were a thing
thankfully the lynx in Canada are protected now
I am distracted by a newly fallen tree
winter is hard on the old and feeble
even in nature winter takes many
perhaps this fallen tree can become a home
for little creatures
I come often to the frozen forest
where winter slumbers
it brings me such tranquility
I love the stillness all around me
as winter wraps me with beauty
open your eyes and your heart a whisper
the forest is not dead but just sleeping
the hibernating creatures are safe in dens
the rest are skilled at survival
even to the smallest winter bird on a limb
they know to gather in groups
just then snow starts falling
lovely snowflakes dance and whirl
twirling
The forest was lush green and dripping of moss and rain,
Glittering flowing streams meandered past dark foliage and trees;
And wild flowers dropped their petals into the water,
Where they drifted down waterfalls into sapphire blue lakes.
I listened deeply to the rippling water kissing the wet rocks,
And the forest was loudly chirping and breathing and beckoning me;
Then I heard my name being called from a faraway place,
It undulated in the tangled branches and whispered on the wind.
The voice called my name over and over and I ran towards it,
My sobbing a loud moaning wail lost in the vast forest and streams;
Then,it was dark night, the blue sky had withered away,
The stars trembled as I ran through the maze . . .
Then, I awoke . . . weeping.
______________________
November 4, 2013
Poetry/Verse/Tangled Dream
Copyright Protected, ID 13-1013-771-0
All Rights Reserved. Written Under Pseudonym.
Submitted into the contest,
Mid April 2019 Premiere Contest,
sponsor, Brian Strand
Sixth Place
Mouth
The Female Version
Moist sensual lips
Open to receive kisses
Undying love projected
Tongue to find the unexpected
Home to many phases of love
The Mouth
The Male Version
Moist sensual desires
Opening the lips, moaning pleasures
Undying probes as your lips devour me
Tongue quivers inside joyous pleasures
Home to the warmth of loves flow
The Mouth
Ancient Version
Moments of prayer bring us to silence
Opening, lips ready to kiss the heavens
Underneath passionate tongues seek out pure bliss
Touching the will of god, to be happy
Humbled as my lips touch the Serenity of love
Penned by Seren Roberts and Arthur Vaso 2013
Notes: The first verse is actually a poem penned by Seren Roberts here on soup. I thought it was very well done, and saw similarities to a very ancient poem below. Her poem also made me smile, and thus came the next 2 verses. This is less a collaboration and more of a hijacking with duct tape! :) At the same time as reading her poem, I was also researching woman poets who wrote love and sensual poems from the 7th to 12th centuries basically the Golden Age of Islam, in what is now called the Middle East.
If I keep you in my eyes until the world blows up I’d still want you more . . .
I know too well those marvelous lips.
By Allah, I’m not lying if I say I love sipping their finerthanwine
delicious dew . . .
When you break at noon you’ll need a drink and you’ll find my mouth
a bubbling spring and my hair a refugeshade.
Hafsa bint al-Hajj Arrakuniyya (twelfth century)