Long Molests Poems
Long Molests Poems. Below are the most popular long Molests by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Molests poems by poem length and keyword.
If you fear an inappropriate tryst
In Day's, bright light will subsist
If attendance to your whims is remiss
For each foible pare one, entitled kiss
If my address too awkwardly I press
Only the passionate syllables stress
If my aimless loitering you detest
Grant each day one, solitary egress
If sanctimonious attitude does distress
Let charitable heart baser traits bless
If beaming eyes, shapely figure molests
Focus my stare on your stately crest
If my squeaky voice your nerves test
I'll drown the variation with lemon zest
If feigned loyalty, I laboriously confess
My lips with time's shadow compress
If from my wit sentient mind does desist
Only time-tested Limericks will enlist
Innacurate mariner's spear
Molests sand, sending
reprisal's quiet return
wrath of a once in seventy
year storm
Wounds sailor in scorn
Misguided barbed harpoon
missiles silt, shore bound
Beasts swim by...
Breaching, phallic
Burrowed harpoon
breathes in between
spaces grains give
Tide brings drink
- Salty stew of recourse
- rubs sins' reveal
Altered memories
can mingle with blood's dissolved
culmination
Persuasion picks apart iron
Dagger's gradual horizontal
rusts as a Christmas tree
spruce in nasal cavity
Flavour seasons meat
for next festive season
4th August 2020
Submitted for: Chantelle Anne Cooke
Contest: Heart's Truth
When melancholy drowns my interests,
all seem lost; when black bile's ooze then molests,
I travel through the valley of this death,
lacking life, hope—even desire for breath!
So, myself from blackness I amputate,
spurn whether to self-murder (and brave this fate?);
and lay aside despair and misery,
to fall in love once more with Poetry.
For two loves I have, God and the Muses:
one gives, the other neither refuses.
Before long, the Parnassus heals me in time;
and I grow strong before the end of this rhyme!
For mightier than despair is the Lord,
and the poet whose pen conquers the sword.
Healing
Could it be possible for love to heal the troubled, the wounded?
All those damaged souls, who’s ghosts haunt their every hour!
Could love bring them back from the brink of emotional extinction?
Give them back some of the innocence they, at onetime, knew?
When one thinks of the genocide of our First Nations People,
Think of the genocide of their spirit, those remaining souls.
Could it be possible for love to heal the troubled, the wounded?
All those damaged souls, who’s ghosts haunt their every hour!
When one thinks of the genocide of a child’s psyche, hers or his.
One has to wonder what part love plays in this destructive game
man plays as he molests, sexually abuses, emotionally, mentally,
verbally strips naked, to the very marrow, the essence of a child?
of Nations, of the first Peoples residing upon this little blue planet,
past, present and future. Will love give them a glimpse of a future?
B. J. “A ” 2
May 9th 2017
Under her blanket of protection,
she lies still to escape detection.
As shadows gather in the moonlight,
anxiety grows during the night.
Her heart's pounding in a rush of fear,
apprehensive that he may be near.
And she waits for the doorknob to turn,
igniting hate's indelible burn.
The door creeks open, her eyes snap shut,
and panic ties a knot in her gut.
As her panties get slowly pulled down,
tears flow, and he counters with a frown.
She is in shock, and the games begin
as fingers stroke her shivering skin.
And alone at night, he breaks her heart,
innocence dies, and trust falls apart.
A father molests his precious pearl,
numb to the pain of his little girl.
And her mother, blind to his deceit,
makes her daughter's suffering complete.
The naked night, the wailing wind;
leaves in their flight are summers end.
Betwixt occult and morning’s light
moon stands, it’s her birthright.
Ghost-nests revealed in abandoned limbs;
wind wails and peals its adieu hymns.
Birds left will feed on frozen meals;
squirrels will plead for fruity fields.
As Earth beds down for an annual sleep;
wear no frown no crawlies will creep.
Parchment colors paint the ground,
Fires for lovers will abound.
In autumn as the Vandyke leaves fall, lovers truly have a ball.
When winter’s cold molests the air, spiced rum and cocoa we’ll all share.
Shutdown Day 21
The White House
Demolishing what was supremely notable
A wrecking of a Ship Of State unseemly quotable
East wing amidst the devils wings
A First Lady has in it blingy things
Like Blackbeard’s filthy lucre
The sea's treasure troves hook her
Taken the cargo of what it once stood for
Torn apart brick by brick a democracy we implore
Left is nothing but its shell
Fill it with devils’ gold and chime your bell
The Ballroom
Is it he and his faithful spouse
recreating a King’s Palace madhouse
How she yearns for a ballroom
A yearning for a youthful—not for a content trophy groomed
His words we could hardly construe
Music to his ears nonetheless he’ll delude
that the funding be all His,
certainly not the people’s that is
You can’t pull the wool over His subjects' eyes,
sprinkling a few pennies about—not our millions He lies
Ring The Alarm
Authoritarianism is here! Enforcing obedience
to authority at the expense of freedom with fear
Because He shreds the Constitution
Should He be granted some royal absolution?
Or let Him be the mad King George the Third
and declare Him unfit but fated to rule the herd
Bulldozing our regret
For His Marie Antoinette
Already losing their heads
Over (meaningless) shreds
Loyal is His henchman Ingrassia,
who evokes his Nazi streak of nausea
Wishing MLK Jr’s holiday to the circle of hell
As a Vice President shrugs his shoulders and sighs oh well
Whistleblowers you best beware,
This nominee bidder does not care
The People’s House
Tis isn't the modernization which rankles me,
it’s non-participation or permissions by the free
He molests ‘Our House’ —His temporary abode
Let our defiance find strength and our resolve unfold
Klouds in my weary eyes again, my love
Underestimated with abominable lies - where do I begin, dove?
Try to break free from the chains of rage-like strife that cuts like a jagged knife
dangerous, insidious voices that say: "DO IT" an infiniti times
end this madness and sadness before I go oddly insane
my memories of childhood molests my frazzled mind...my bewildered mind...words I cannot quite find...
Seven times, I've told you to take the knife away from my hands...
Tortured and tramautized to the bone again and again and again, I fear
Rise to the highest heights on Earth - that's how high my anxiety truly is
Frame of mind shattered and torn - scarring my numb cranium
Everyone is worried about me now! I trace kuts upon my wrists and I bleed on because of HIM.......