Long Molest Poems
Long Molest Poems. Below are the most popular long Molest by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Molest poems by poem length and keyword.
monotetra
Our school’s sylvan woods hosts new guests,
A slew of deer ticks could infest
the ancient football stands with pests.
The coach is stressed; the coach is stressed.
Venerable dean is abreast;
he spots some juveniles at rest
and sends them searching for tick nests.
Nature's inquest, nature's inquest.
Opossums can clean up this mess.
The mysterious students press
dumpsters where possums feast and fest,
a quick arrest, a quick arrest.
The prisoners are put to test;
swiftly they move, nests they molest.
Tranquility! ticks are suppressed;
Coach is impressed; coach is impressed.
written May 9, 2016
The opal anchor clings, clutching, falling,
fetching the lapis lazuli. Mermaids flee,
frightened by the heavy ornament. Fate,
like chain links of Jacob Marley; shaking
of the seabed at the pounding of sin.
Gavel striking like a velociraptor storm.
Sand churns as if Scrooge is turning
in his bedclothes, his premonitory bed.
Sapphire eyes suffer the crashing. Abode
of ponderous tales, predilection of sharp
shadows, darting hither and thither,
reserved for the most heinous of beasts.
“The beast is dead,” speaks Amphitrite
Her children carol, “Ashes, ashes…”
They dare not speak the scathing name
of molest and neglect, mutilated beyond
recognition. His fists forever incarcerated,
His face, food for the scavenger fish.
Mermaids remain innocent of such leers,
never drawing near to earthbound treachery.
The silk sense of security constantly tending
to their flesh. Tails fearlessly splashing.
~ ~ ~
But if anyone causes one of these little ones who believe in Me to stumble, it would be better for him to have a large millstone hung around his neck and to be drowned in the depths of the sea.
Matthew 18:6 BSB
Know that I worship you on bended knee;
with kisses, too, I prize your tempting breasts
and maiden-head which begs me to molest
your virgin sex so deep and lustfully;
for each fine breast I'd give one-thousand years,
but more will I give for that pubic crest
of yellow wires that conceal the rest,--
(belovéd, I'd give an age for those frontiers!).
If I can give a kingdom for your heart
and love upon more love then be it so,
for possessing the best of you apart
from zeal invites only misery and woe:
a prince I'd rather be and just depart
from your globe than grieve you so, this I know.
If I pass through Gethsemane
to writhe in cold, dark agony,
if Fear's hounds track me through the night
till like a wounded fawn in fright
I thrash through forests, strange, unknown,
that seem so far away from home,
would love in me grow weak and die?
would stones of hatred be piled high
to mark the plot, engraved by Shame,
"It was here that love at last was slain!"
Would my heart lie entombed, content,
or would the stones by Love be rent,
and Love o'er Hate triumphant pour
because the sting of death Christ bore?
Or if my love were crucified,
rejected, left to bleed and die,
if Sorrow pierced my fainting heart
with every bitter, burning dart,
I pray that love would stand the test;
that while my soul Grief did molest,
I would not stoop to hate the foe,
but yield to pain that Love might flow.
Would Love in me refuse to die
and live again though crucified?
Oh, that the seed felled by Hate's cry
through suffering would multiply
and rise to reap the greater store
because my Love your sorrows bore.
© 1987, Faye Lanham Gibson
The ugly American likes waving the flag.
And dissing what he doesn’t understand.
He’s scared of change and threatened by intelligence,
But says he’s only honoring his clan.
The ugly American can’t think for himself.
He follows the herd spreading rumors and fear.
He’s a self-taught gomer, and a sucker for conmen
Who always tell him what he's eager to hear.
The ugly American is an immature child.
He wants to live in the past as though those days were gold.
He’d have worshiped Father Coughlin, and Kingfish Huey Long.
Now he champions a modern demagogue.
The ugly American doesn’t need to rob banks,
Molest little children or murder his wife.
All he needs to do is keep his head in the sand
To see the consequences of an unenlightened life.
The ugly American never looks in the mirror.
He prides himself on honoring his roots.
If he saw his reflection, he’d be faced with the fact
That he's as useful now as worn-out cowboy boots.
The ugly American likes waving the flag,
And dissing what he doesn't understand.
Memories' claws catch weakness, sore substitutes for truth
Mind's future sambas hipswung with anticipated brew
Mother bird waits for non viable form to peck forth
- Maybe deserves haven, hollow where wings never grew
Taken for pyschiatric watch, her dignity snatched
Wheeled through corridors' dizzying demented askew
Violent spine flings translate her refusal to succumb
Praise oblivion wets periphery drenched in dew
Crazy called, insane answered, chat ensued furious
Before corridors consumed, dance quenched, she flew
Rhythm of obedient pulse beeps sanity's seep
Doctors molest old memories trenched, vague faded few
Sigrid's void has only her instinctive drive to leave
Hopeful risen dandelion seed on next gust blew
August 30th 2020
Syllable count per line is 13.
Bears no representation
to my experience
(just thoughts)!
(This is a fictional poem)
You committed a serious crime.
You'll be in prison for a long time.
You seduced a thirteen year old student and I don't understand why.
I used to think that you were a pretty decent guy.
You were fired and arrested and your wife got a divorce.
You molested that teenage girl and you don't even feel remorse.
Because of what you did, that poor girl's life will never be the same.
You are despicable and you should be ashamed.
You appeared to be an honorable man, you really fooled me.
It scares me when I think of who else you may molest years from now when you
are set free.
Form:
TEARS OF AN ANGEL (part 1)
Obscurity of a Roman god of love
Painted in clouds with arrows and bows
Brandished baby cherub on a messengers mission
Before the folding off of this sheet
Thought of what a being I envision
Till I transited into this vivid ravishing vision
To shut the world behind this trance-like bars
Over this walls lies envy, hate and mockery
Take the solely route where men are left alone with you
To wrestle with the guard, the palm that bears me
Only to find broken wings, saturated
Tattered screams, not overrated,
That screeched into days,
Tears that heals as the balm in Gilead
And salty droplets like crystals.
She's stuck on earth, unable to levitate
Despair of a divinity. Is this why she cries?
The cherub made of fire and light
To serve me and excel in strengths,
Strengths that once failed me
But here you are; couldn't even go up the sky
To get me water from the clouds
When am soul thirsty and weary.
Your tears is all I drink now
Cascading from the windows of lofty hills
What have you endured
To draw this water upon your cheeks?
The hurting of humanity is disheartening,
The suffering and the anguish
Are like flames that can not be extinguished
You fell out of the height of understanding
Wondering the wayward ways of men:
Why we persecute and execute instead of succor
Why we kill rather than heal,
Why we hate instead of love,
Why we envy rather than appreciate,
Since we are created by Love, for Love and to Love,
Instead we molest and rape (you)
All because of beauty, body and our lust
Rain you drenched in watery shame.
VickWizzy
Vick Manuel Poetry {VMP}
Copyright ©2017
How to recognise a sheep - let me tell you, dear
The rules are simple, so take note of what I tell you here.
You can rule out any creature that has fingers, fur, or wings
Amongst its decorations, for sheep don't have these things
Neither will you see it with a scarf on, or a hat
Unless you see it eating one - a sheep just might do that.
But you don't see them on bicycles, and rarely on a train
They will not use umbrellas, not even in the rain
They are not messy like a pig, or grumpy like a goat
They do not delve in politics, though many of them vote.
A sheep's by nature placid, it will never get annoyed
Its brain is strained by nothing - it will contemplate the void,
But mind and body wander, it is prone to go astray
And it runs in one direction which is, typically, away.
If you see it climbing high, or swinging in the trees
These are not the sort of things that sheep can do with ease
Typically, your average sheep can normally be found
Standing with four little hooves placed firmly on the ground.
If he's standing in a field, on four legs and on grass
If he does not look that he'll molest you if you pass
If he's looking woolly, in body and in mind
With a woolly face in front, and woolly tail behind
If he looks around with the tranquillity of sleep
That will be a sheep, my dear,
That will be a sheep!
While sitting there with my soul being fed,
That sweet, tongued preacher preaching over my head
My mind slanting forward, a most wondrous strain
That preacher played melodies with my brain
His words rapt me with wonder and delight,
I judged my hearing better than my sight
It was Grace that brought me out of a pagan land
Taught my sinning soul to understand
That there’s a God and there’s a Savor too
Redemption, I never deserved, but the Savior I knew
My Bible told me that my heart, black as Cain
May, through Jesus, be refined, judged with no blame
But man, sometime wishes for the common good
But feelings alone, best be understood.
What excruciating pain when man must molest.
With pride and little understanding, from God’s breast,
For such is this case and I can but pray
Did I really see such spiritual sway?
The Spirit in wonder held such a force
Who dare the swiftness of thy course?
Soaring through the air the spirit did descend,
Slipped though the wall surpassing the wind
From star to star my mental eyes roved
and I scanned the sky for the unbound Soul
No one has ever seen the Godhead of the Bible
But many saw Jesus when he walked the earth.
and even after the resurrection. The Holy Spirit has been seen in different forms
Usually like a column of smoke.
My testimony is that I saw the Holy Spirit as clear air, quenched when
a visiting preacher tried to take over when the Spirit was at work in a church.
My wife felt the Holy Spirit pass us but did not see him. I wrote this after I started writing.