Long Nubile Poems
Long Nubile Poems. Below are the most popular long Nubile by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Nubile poems by poem length and keyword.
There's A Pedophile In The House...
(ah...ah...ah...ham eye white...???)
OMG,... and he looks...
SAY WHAT??? just like me???,...
absolutely NO WAY!!!,
would this sensitive,
respectful, "FAKE" veejay
quiet-natured, mindful,
loving, kind, underplay
justice invoking, hew today
mainly, gentle, friendly, "I say"
enlightened, democratic chap redisplay
any besotted abominable,
blamable, culpable, quay
esse chin hubble
despicable, execrable prey
dot door formidable,
inhospitable...overplay
ying faux indulgent,
NOR be mistaken
to assay, betray, convey,
display, expressway more fay
writ his'm to
gainsay hearsay, inveigh
jaw dropping "FAKE"
yuge weak accusations
(by a long shot), sans
basket of conspiring deplorables
attempting to assassinate
bigly believe me tubby "stupid"
winning loser to berate,
who doth unequivocally create
mine substantial vocabulary rumor,
versus 4th grade reading level
trumpeting librettist - thee great
test Don Quixote
(as falsely sung with hate
full sotto voce), and ramped up
as ill suited mate
a minus [sic] zero moron,
which doth hapt
tubby incredibly tremendous
disservice to bona fide classy idiots
with a lot of money
(like the millions and billions
of my golfing confrères)
given bent iron golf clubs
used by crooked Hillary,
when former Secretary of State
ideal for Putin on the Ritz
by far less exciting, with
Bill Clinton's flirtatious flits
trained pudenda purse
sin null property
of intern (NO FALLACY)
topped as southern delicacy dish
consume mated with buttered grits
pricked prurient peccadilloes licks
suddenly recalling seminal kicks
starting, how with Little Rock kits
he received assistance,
sans starts and fits,
eventually then nubile
ingenue Monica Lewinsky
called time out, cuz at her wits
end once assisting helping
express his "naughty bits,"
when done completing
cum mincecd secrete mission
blue dress draped
expensively furred
(i.e. tricked out) in her
"FAKE" minx hiding
sable animal spirits,
when animal rights
activists vehemently protested
out-coming result
slapping former president
with a PETA file.
A nubile young vicar named Jude
Was seen swimming, totally nude
The bishop said WOW
Just look at you now
Your assets - they need to be viewed!
Fiction write!
07-05-17
Invited him home for a drink
A toast as their glasses did clink
Robes down on the floor
Performing a chore...
How far will this story now sink.
WRITTEN BY TIM SMITH
The vicar bent over to pray
The bishop could not look away
So for his protection
Took up a collection
A robe now conceals his display
WRITTEN BY CHRIS GREEN
I think this story about being nude will sink low
I will tell on those guys, all I know
Those two men are not holy
The bishop's roly-poly
And the vicar used to be in a nude girly show
WRITTEN BY LIN LANE
The bishop was feeling romantic
The vicar thought the man pedantic
When the vicar turned around
To give the bishop a frown
The bishop gasped, "Lord, you're gigantic!"
WRITTEN DALE GREGORY COZART
Said Jude, will we both go to hell-
Said bishop, you never can tell
But please will you turn
I've got carpet burn
And my knees are beginning to swell
WRITTEN BY GARY SMITH
As the bishop continued to stare
He thought such a body's not fair
To see the nude vicar
was hard on his ticker
and soon he had to change underwear
WRITTEN BY ROGER ADAMS
Mother Teresa told me so
In the heaven we’ll dance too slow
If you want to come
Bring us some Rum
Otherwise you may stop and go
WRITTEN BY PASHANG SALEHI
btw... What would the Pontiff say?
Would there be hell to pay?
Or would the Pope
just drop the soap
and hope he'd be invited to play
WRITTEN BY LIM'RIK FLATS
When suddenly a knock at the door
they decided they'd rather ignore
in walked the pope,
joined in the group grope
next day they were all saddle sore
WRITTEN BY DANIEL TURNER
The pope thought it not at all freakly
when asking the other men meekly
that if they were game
and would do the same
they could set up appointments weekly
WRITTEN BY DALE GREGORY COZART
Jude's assets developed so well
As the bishop could obviously tell
But you might be surprised
How it grew to that size
Well, he used it to ring the church bell
WRITTEN BY RAY GRIDLEY
07-06-17
I thought poetry is
-name of Mesopotamia which was the first civilization to emerge in human history
-ancient cave peoples surviving life struggle
I thought poetry is
-an immortal love story of Yousuf- Zulekha, Shirin-Farhad, Laila-Majnu or Romeo-Juliet
-a telephonic or open love conversation of smiling postmodern girls
-drying wet colorful clothes of beloved in the courtyard of the house
-haring of beloved with tuberose garland before a mirror
I thought poetry is
-lizards chirping from the deserted house; cockroach flying
-quarrelsome cats in the black dark or barking dogs
-the struggle of mosquito for human blood
-traveling of the arrogant indecent animals all over the night
I thought poetry is
-thrilling venturous ghostly stories of J. K. Rowling
-self-expression of known-unknown writers
-unspoken tale of a war-wounded soldier
-the regret of the thousands of dead soldiers
-the unwritten fantasy of an isolated poet
-the lonely guitar or ektara of dead singers
I thought poetry is
-without reel tie an independent flying of a kite in the sky
-in the blue sky sovereign flapping of birds
-movement of invisible winds everywhere
-hearing story of fairytale crossing of green forest
I thought poetry is
-handmade airing of newly married girl to a new groom in lunch time
-dyed hands of nubile girls by mehndi,
-captivating sounds of jingling anklet and kamarband of dancing damsels
I thought poetry is
-classic music of Pandit Ravi Shankar
-immortal tune of Ustad Bismillah Khan's shehnai
-compilation of humanitarian lyrics of the legend Bob Marley
-heart touching reciting of the Holy Quran of Qari Abdul Basit
I thought poetry is
-unforgettable philosophical discussion of Socrates with his disciples
-the philosophic lineage of learning such as Socrates-Plato-Aristotle
-immortal scientific creations of Newton, Galileo, Einstein, Nikola Tesla, Hawking
I thought poetry is
-unremitting prayer or worship of any prevailed religion devotee to get heaven
-inhuman history of bombing on the Hiroshima and Nagasaki or brutality of 1st or 2nd World War
These all are just my thinking,
my thinking is free
on my path
but poetry is poetry,
more than any thinking, many more;
on its path
Poetry is independent fully
-June 27, 2019 Chattogram
Never Too Late To Say "I Love You" Until...
Futile lamentations reverberate along
corridors of times long gone, this papa
tearfully apologetic revisiting his base,
fitfully lachrymose torturing unrelenting
voluminous wrongs against thee dearest
precious daughter aware poetic/ prosaic
ministrations cannot substitute bonafide
nor ameliorate cumulative forsaken joys
requisite to bolster compromised delicate
innocence exhibited upon begetting deux
darling (wool worth more than fine spun
gold) healthily nurturing priceless progeny
two quickly grown to young womanhood
priceless offspring, whose treasured quasi
nubile kindled joie de vivre far surpassed
petrified plaguing yours truly (particularly
during pre/ post pubescent phase), outlook
grim to take life by the horns, nee apathetic
pestiferous psychological, frankly zapped
wracked, plagued aversion to live steering
any natural borne autonomy, (within meek
minecrafted muffled mortgaged self) bereft
existence, (albeit manifesting during latter
sainted days of boyhood), a death grip vis a
vis anorexia nervosa (robbing, stunting, and
halting critical puberty) against attaining my
maximum potential, nee then and every sub
seek went till present day truncating, stifling
raining aftermath of torturous, noxious, jinxed
insufferably hellacious, (hence reiteration to
cease livingsocial, rather antisocial) under_
scored, ordained, narrated by whirled series
of unfortunate events, (without courtesy of
Lemony Snicket), which passivity degraded,
exacerbated, fouled... gradual punctuation to
adulthood overridden when me as man-child
never tested survival, but found this scrivener
beating hasty retreat defeated by emotional
illness demarcating the Waterloo which I
fitfully fought when mandatory ultimatums,
measures, dictates...forced eviction within
cocooned hideaway (such as bedroom at 324
Level Road), which parallel repeated when
decamped at 1148 Greentree Lane, the latter
poisoned your welfare, with dire declaration
of toxic dependence (Zison's harshness) fed
deprivation, and desperation, while ye bore
brunt of emotional, financial, mental...fallout
indelibly etched within impressionable
Tabula Rasa, now the anguished suffering
ye unfairly experienced.
AU REVOIR!
They write in the language of perfume
flowery powdered words all layered
colours rising and lowering
in different light spectrums
as if the reader could discern
without wisened translator
their seductive dimensions
conveyed within
their small larger other worlds
notes upon notes, heady notes,
their subtle infractions
like music tinkling through
the brain bleeds, poets
and their otherworldly refrains,
naphthalene aired for old time’s sake
shaken out like clean crisp white sheets
billowing in the translucent lingerie breeze,
bedrocks shaken
the little flocks
small black murders flying
provocatively erratic stirred up
off the cobalt page
into an evocative
higher wider
elusive space
taken shockingly aback
where the heady blast
of Spirit of Hartshorn
shakes buried lover’s awake
to walk barefoot and naked
blindly in love
touching each other
through the long wet days
sugar-coated addictions
tall poppies crimson pimpernels
wading nubile through blades
of silver moon grass
licking their ankles and heels
raising their prim outskirts,
forbidden territories
within the rising mist,
the ever present,
like a breeze,
kisses their ripe
cherry orchards
unending hunger
satiated, all is manna
as they meander
through daze of
dusky dawn valleys
those garden of eden thighs,
the transparent,
slithering like hands
caressing treasure trunks
ivy leaves for plucking
further up above
the high waists
to touch what
wastes away, unheard,
what beats there,
where the crown sits
like some holy being
under its ribbed cage
red ripe like a seeded apple,
that place, just there, beating
singing some kind of hymn,
like a regulated anthem,
they're way up into their feels
like some devilish chase
like heaven's come
calling them away
They write in the language of perfume
flowery powdered words all layered
colours rising and lowering
in different light spectrums
as if the reader could discern
without wisened translator
their seductive dimensions
some things are better
left unsaid
like this Magdalene,
K.I.S.S.
Candide Diderot. ‘24
O! Frankenstein you were lost for a century
Nobody could tell wherever you have been,
But you are here now, a stranger to paradise,
Loneliness has become your friend
Your other name is Friday,
You have no soul, you love Cinderella;
Come, let us stroll to the earth my brother,
Should almighty look you twice
And discover, your heart is a transmitter
And cord of wire lurking inside the belly,
Have managed to peep out around your neck axle;
Come let us go,
I will make you the President of the world
Rule over every nation, every creed and tongue,
Entreat me, I will teach you all the puerile tricks
Tall wisdom and nubile swagger,
Of a new nuance of language.
I no go, I no go!
That globe I no go! I stay, I stay!
Famished out earth is full of fallacies
Terribly diabolical, cheerful envy,
And attractive jealousy like magnet
Infectious back biting, murderous barking
And tearing likes the hounds of hell,
Virus wickedness, witch hunting like wizard of oz
Feverish wagons of greediness uncountable;
I no go! I no go! I stay I no go!
Let me hibernate under the umbrella
Of the omnipotent shield dreaming dreams,
Of my blighted love by and by,
Where has she gone, Cinderella?
I looked afar off in the horizon
And beheld her like a mirage in a paradise,
Cupped right palm over the palm view transforming,
So that focus could discern, now
Striding same position in the stormy desert
In the showering sunlight,
Her figure moon-smooth as marble
Her hair flagging shamelessly in the breeze,
Her jutted hips dance to graceful steps
As she came, her robe turned to cloud
Turned into fading white goose, as she flew away,
Aloud her voice bust in mirth
Beckoning laughter teasing to quench my thirst,
O! I am man made
Forgot to put juice of crimson
To run in my vein,
To burn fire in my heart
My brain have muddle up and jumble up,
All happy wire tying it firm,
O! I murder Doctor, you do no good!
I have no appetite,
So God can have his dinner
But, I will die for her,
Because she is the dearest dream forever.
BEING HUMAN
Brave she was and searched for light in blinding darkness
Encouraged by intense desire she illuminated odds and evens
Intuitively she knew how madness was insanely normal
Not straying from the path of love and kindness empathy she
Gallivanted meandered in everlasting human passion for the truth
Humble modest and embracing she cast comfort and compassion
Unsurpassed inquisitive kindness and belonging and she ventured
Manifold on many pathways star charts pedalled mutual attraction
At many crossroads halted listened reflected glistened followed heart’s emotion
Never ending moon spoons scooping longing souls embodied Universe
Bestowed upon with gravitation sense and sensual sensation he
Entered entertained a new realm of depth enlightenment and feeling
Intertwined his wings her roots their flights of fancy grounded elevation
Nurtured natured danced nubile naked dreamscapes fantastic fantasy
Gave rise with her together to birth to freedom liberation new beginnings
He liberated consciousness from iron cages of defence rationalization
Unwound some endless loops of gloomy thoughts and doom and
Mastered majestic miracles of letting go releasing gathering complete
And unbelievably mosaic canvass stretching poetry in motion tapestry
Near fairy tale community of clarity togetherness gratitude and joy
Being lost and found in each and other in each other in enterprise
Enchantment and the aura of unexpected unchartered magnitude
Intense illuminated rainbow spectrum’s crimson violet orange indigo
New found mindful mind and minds affection intellectual pheromones
Glowed panoramic mounts and para-mounts aphrodisiac amour took shine
“Human-amour’ being two in one and one in two human humane and beautiful
Untold stories history projections narration twine of lover’s union fashioned
Multiple layers dimensions soul mates and twinned and mingled twinkling eyes
And trusted in trusted holding hands and holding him and her and them and with
No other words expressing human being’s beauty than love and love and love
04th July 2016
The front bar of the Criterion is filling up,
It’s after five and the patrons are filing in.
Placed orders echoing off the old timbers
Vying to be heard and adding to the din.
The Grand Old Lady proudly plays host
As she looks out over the muddy Fitzroy.
Thirsty travellers mingle with the regulars,
Escaping the heat with a time worn ploy.
The nubile young bar staff are soon kept busy
As the chaos of orders are shouted out.
Pots and schooners, Bundy Rum and XXXX,
Of their burning thirst there can be no doubt.
The old burnished timber balustrade
though hints at an earlier time of splendor.
An era lost in a more genteel age,
When the old lady was of years more tender.
There’s a Dining Room and spacious Saloon,
Public Bar and upstairs rooms in which to stay.
All retaining their charm of yesteryear,
You can imagine just what they would say.
They’d tell tales of the customers of old,
Of the dusty drovers long on the track.
To the bar to slake a hard earned thirst
Before again mounting up to “get on back”.
Of the bullockies breasting up to the bar
Still cursing that cranky old lead beast.
In language blue they summons the barmaid
And soon settle in for a liquid feast.
Floorboards ringing to the thud of hob nailed boots
As the thirsty stockmen venture into town.
Today their pockets are full of promise,
Tomorrow hangovers they need to drown.
They’d recall long ago warm summer nights
With the polished chandeliers shining bright.
When the silver cutlery was out on display,
And well set tables made for a grand sight.
When gentlemen and ladies on the town
Took pride in appearance to look the part.
When crinoline, whale bone, lace and shift,
Were well placed to land a gentleman’s heart.
And assignations conducted furtively
In consummation of illicit affairs.
All in the rooms overlooking the city,
at the top of those carpeted old stairs.
I’m sure that today’s equivalent games
Are still seen daily by those left in charge.
The same scenes repeated by a new crowd,
The same desires on their faces writ large.
First, I was a horse,
proud, fierce, untamed.
testing the texture of one continent,
competing with the winds and tornadoes
to achieve the ultimate granular vortex,
testing the manhood of the Cheyenne,
twisting the blistering ropes of the Sioux,
defying the white man with bared, scornful teeth
and a rusty, booming cloud of contempt,
rearing up disdainful hoofs at his challenge
of a lumbering smoking iron donkey
trapped on it's molded rails.
Then, I was a plane,
lithe, lightweight, defined.
with a body DaVinci once dreamed of
and a clear canopy
of tense eyes and sweaty, twitching fingers
on the throttle.
Soaring high over another continent,
beaten down by polished black boots.
The elegant, rich roar of Rolls Royce,
The searing steel death of Browning,
clamping together to mete out
justice and liberty,
higher and faster than any swastika propellers.
Then I was a car,
with clean lines and a pure promise,
born of optimism and innovation,
first brought forth under a steel sphere of the world.
My lean, youthful frame and bristling energy
beckoned to the untamed young,
bringing elation and
the whoops of warriors
as they pony up precious pennies
to slip easily into my low slung, leather saddle
and pick their soundtrack
and flick my fresh rubber hooves
across the next horizon.
Their nubile females in splendid mating colors
ponytails wagging their eager assent
in my ever growling breeze
as I assault their narrow strips of tar.
I have thundered through untrod dust.
I have been caught only by men like Remington.
I have sailed above exploding black skies
and landed farm boys safely to their futures.
I have raced through muggy summer nights,
blaring out my rebellion to a rock and roll beat.
I am freedom in flesh and hooves
and wings and guns
and canvas tops and pinstripes.
I am what Art should be:
I am versatile.
I speak in a thousand ways
in a thousand forms.
I please the eye and thrill the soul.
I am ..ME.
I didn’t mean to invade her privacy,
I was simply taking the trash out late that night;
I never noticed how from the back of the house
You could see right into her bedroom when she turned on the light.
The curtains were sheer and not completely closed,
Her silhouette was outlined and her flesh exposed;
I am not a peeping Tom but in my tracks I froze,
Watching her tantalizingly removing her clothes.
She stood in front of her full length mirror;
I inched a little closer to see her clearer.
It was as if she was even teasing herself,
Slowly undressing and watching her own reflection;
Her fingertips caressing the smooth exposed flesh;
Her exhibition demanded my full attention.
She is twenty-five years old and my neighbor’s daughter;
I am twice her age and a little bit more;
I know I am wrong to be standing here watching
But a more beautiful nubile I’ve never seen before.
Her clothes are now strewn on the floor by her feet,
She is totally naked and pleased by the sight;
Slowly she turns looking over her shoulder,
Making sure all of her parts are shaped just right.
God must be very angry at me,
But, God created this wondrous beauty.
She took inventory of body parts with both of her hands,
Pleasing herself with her delicate touch;
I knew that I should be turning away;
I was enjoying her exploring a bit too much.
She kissed her own reflection returned in the mirror
Then turned and walked toward the windows;
Just before pulling down the night shade
She waved to me hiding in the shadows.
Ashamed of myself and embarrassed by my actions,
I returned to my house all alone;
She knew I was watching and vexed by her beauty,
It was me she was teasing all along.
Yet it brought back memories of when I was younger
And my wife more beautiful than she;
Although I’m a widower for seven long years,
That night, again my bride was with me.