Long Moistens Poems
Long Moistens Poems. Below are the most popular long Moistens by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Moistens poems by poem length and keyword.
AGE OF LOVE
To love and to be loved,
as socially observed
is the prime passion,
need not to mention.
Teen-ager or youngster
It does not matter.
Ladies and Gentlemen
Senior Citizen!
All welcome in field of love.
Same age? Not to reserve.
Most humans develop attraction
in contemporary generation.
Yet, neither rare nor impossible,
Rather always permissible
Affairs between Ladies and Gents
as going on from ancient to recent.
Age of loved one may be much more or less,
not hampering mutual happiness.
Amour is a flow in bubbling blood,
washing two hearts in passion-flood
Younger or Older? No questions.
Two souls unite, and emotion moistens.
12/15/17
Third Place
'STRAND SPECIAL U' Contest by Brian Strand
Written: March 09, 2024
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It's utterly aquiver and ambivalent
With is a glimmer of modesty
His fame stems from promoting peace
But who holds the power to bedraggle?
Let's embrace bel esprit, compassion, and mercy.
There is a path betwixt utterance and ubiquity
where knowledge flows freely
In quiet sternness, it evolves...
It wraps with a meandering debate.
Behold those who wept covertly,
Who wastes these precious tears?
When some dreams come to a halt,
Life endures and perseveres.
Who moistens their life, oh you?
Who bathes, but why won't submerge?
When water drifts away and out...
The monsoon remains never fades away.
A sacrifice can lead to martyrdom,
They have a way of shaping history
And confronts the dishonesty.
Fostering defiance and optimism,
aim for an idyllic future,
Leave a legacy.
And participate in upheaval.
What purpose does the blood serve?
Is it futile to draw that to a boil?
What's beneficial is the blood?
Is there a way to safeguard the soil?
Everyone raised a voice in reply,
Ahead of us is a fierce opponent
For the sake of the homeland,
We will shed our blood.
Thus she slowly packs her bags and leaves
sated by the touch of pollination’s breeze
moistens soft petals of flowering wings
succumbs to the drone each buzzing bee sings
squeezes a raindrop – a tear if you will
for seasons in passing cannot sit still
nor do they tarry - wish to stay on
for with their passing another is born.
Life is not troubled by its limited stay
nor sunrise diminished by each fading ray
for moments are moments and each holds a place
in history’s shadow - season’s retraced.
Summon the heralds - sound a glad tune
welcome July – bid adieu to sweet June.
John G. Lawless
©6/25/2019
Twelve tree frogs sing in loud chorus
on this damp, foggy morn
Their vocal would break the sound barrier
By it nature is torn
Fog caresses the valley
Settles loosely on trees
Exaggerates the silhouettes
Moistens all the leaves
The frogs have removed the silence
Their din walks on nerves
They need another residence
Where they won't be heard
Ship them to another planet
Box them up in damp wrap
Let them start a new settlement
Send them, get them trapped
My prayer for rain was answered
This morn is nice and cool
The frogs loved it also, singing
To God their thanks refueled
For a moment I was ungrateful
The constant din distrubed
Now I am accepting of the sound
Let them sing unpreturbed
The tree frogs or rain frogs came out
in wild excitement last night following the rain..
Sponsor: Elly Wouterse
Contest: A Positive Poem
Written: Tuesday, June 24, 2014
Bleak winter Melbourne morning,
a cold wind coming in
from across the Bay
and blowing down the street,
past the Esplanade Cafe
with the smell of coffee
and warm air spilling out
from an open door.
I stop, look at the cake
and pastry display through
the window, the basket
of freshly baked croissants,
Danish pastries topped with
strawberries and apricots
and glazed with syrup.
A cloud of steam
from the espresso machine
adds a touch of the surreal.
Anticipation moistens my mouth
on the sight of French vanilla
slices plump with custard
and cream, muffins erupting
from their papery patties,
Portuguese tarts, thick slices
of carrot cake topped
with icing. I savor each
with an imaginative bite
and decide my treat…
then groan. I've left my wallet
at home.
( for Deb M )
Stark pineapple sap burns the tips of tongues
and tackies the soft pads of curious fingers.
Humidity that moistens the laughing brows
also drenches nervous palms.
Everything is damp and hot and on fire and sweet.
Sticky fingers course my arm, eyes glide over
my body~ half naked, glimmering with summer dew
do-
do you love me?
Say that love conquers all,
and that you won’t clobber my pulsing flesh.
Say you will not love me.
I only want respect.
For I have learned I may only choose
one of the two states.
Keep lying out of your sweet pineapple mouth
saying you do not love me.
and kiss me, trail your syrupy lips down
down my
skin~ lush and liquid
until that very body trickles.
And smile with your treacled mouth once the tap stops dripping sap
and say you do not love me.
And hold me in June-night’s heat.
Bare and sandy feet run wild across the summer beach
and unworthy mouths will dance the citrus dance tonight.
And the pineapple is almost run out.
and I am pulsing faster now
Quickly~
make sure you do not love me.
*~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~*
Words numb the mind whilst on paper,
idleness advocates,
a lost quill to favor a floor;
tossing profits to err,
that challenges remnants respite,
from energies spirits,
their internal venous chambers,
timely formulation.
Bach, nay Beethoven symphony,
caress the ears to muse,
a muted voice moistens lips, drains,
the endless sands of time,
as its host, vaporous spirits,
engages a review,
of Cherubs galloped chariots,
steads Athena’s harp plays,
illumes familial revue.
Sadden and laughter, exposes,
the stillness mummified,
as the blanketed sinks down low,
perchance a remedy,
will enlighten the slumbered gist,
as seasons in transit,
regulates targeted gamut,
palls nightmares, enhanced dreams.
*~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~*
A throbbing heart moistens cornea
worries of the mind puffs a face
a dripping nose is most ugly
vulnerable spirits cling to bodies
A cave is dark all day long
Rains make nights darker
men can dance in darkness
but who notes the music?
The musician dreads sunshine
the cave will remain his kingdom
so longs as he makes every note sweet
with promise and hope of a bright dawn
A promise builds hope
swirl of dance prepares soul for ejaculation
of a confetti of spirit, new cave, green tune
a bonfire to rival the yellow shy ball
The cruel nimbus breaks its waters
The caveman retreats like a tortoise
for the sun has aborted its rays
No music today
The hope maker is away
to sweeten his notes with money
Only if the caveman sweetens his dance
with honey...
brave the winds to await summer
And yearn for days when love duly appears,
Long enough till daylight erupts
Into a sizzle of wistful rendezvous-- While along the pier, a cruiseship far Moves toward me , my warm delight.
Preparing foil of blossoms fresh,
My hand trembles as the sail nears That my flesh moistens from the wait,
as passengers alight from the door:
Still, your silhouette becomes a haze,
evanescing into air...
And this heart begins to fade
in crushed pinpoint of night...
a fleeting trance
Just like so? God how I hurt:
Now my screams slip into oblivion, a
moment erased
By a vanished dream thinning
as summer weeps.
For Silent One : A Dream Contest
2/19/2019
In a white realm, where optimism drifts away.
Frescoed moonbeams on walls, in swirling array.
Such silky cream and vanilla, delicately sifting.
As the full moon lingers, its light briskly heaving.
Languid souls quest elixirs in ewers that drip.
Crystalline nostrums for life's moribund ship
Water mugs crammed with jewels of ivory,
Smidgen mellow, a malodor for the misery.
As we tackle the maze of vivacity and strength,
While anguish and grief seem the only wealth.
The moon's grasp soothes with a placid embrace.
A lambent chimera is a dreamer fulfilling grace.
Within the vault of night, dreams unfold.
As fingers of fate in the shadows reach and hold.
Impending doom may cast its darkened spell,
But within moonlit dreams, all is well.
The moon's magnitude moistens maligned hearts,
Mending muddles and melding the brittle parts
With sanguinity as a mentor, the moonlight dance.
A beacon of solace, a happenstance for romance
In moonlit dreams, the world is at peace.
As anguish and grief descry revered release.
A sanctuary of quietude, serenity, and grace
Dreams amid the moonlight, a sacred place
No longer burdened by the weight of despair,
In this ethereal realm, troubles strive for repair.
The moon's healing touch, such a gentle caress,
A soothing balm, a respite from life's stress.