Long Odor Poems
Long Odor Poems. Below are the most popular long Odor by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Odor poems by poem length and keyword.
The day was still, windless
A presence surrounded me
Though my eyes seemed empty
I could see it standing, waiting, silent.
Not threatening, just waiting among the rocks
As I stumbled towards it.
After the fall I thought I had lost it,
the power of blind vision.
How wrong I was I still had it
The gift of seeing,knowing,hearing what others could not.
I sensed its fear as I drew near
Fear of a stronger power than his.
Treading silently, stealthily between rocks and
thorns I marched forward, my companions stunned
by my determination to seek that cloying entity.
The closer I drew the more powerful the sensation
Its throbbing life meshed with mine, its fear a powerful odor.
Then I came upon it ,undaunted by its threatening stance
With one slash of my hand it disintegrated
That poison, that being, that force of evil
That shrinks one’s mind, one’s power to do good.
Dispersed into thin air it shrieked and hissed
Against the wind, disappearing over the hills and into the dust
From whence it came.
I felt only relief but knew that in time it will rise again
Perhaps in a different place, a different time, in a different form
To tempt and lead astray, weaklings.
Its evil intent is to destroy, oppose God’s way
Drag us down into depths unknown
Stand strong, stand firm, stand on the WORD.
MEMORY OF NOTHING
Listen:
Drag branches comeback
Across the forest floor:
Knowledge of the rough¡
At water’s edge
I gather some things up:
“Happy Ending Story”.
We’ve the time to give the Babel Tower
A close reading.
Awful good, Tú
As Roy A. Rappaport’s
Ritual... as Communication and as State.
Our preferences might be
Toward more emphasis
On species places:
Smooth textures of dead wood
Knowledge of our hands on arms
The body-art of ********
Drinking cocoa
And tend to the faith
With a Vampire’s short stick
That smells of infinite urine
As Madonna.
History reveals itself to us
In this way:
Poetry, Tales, Essays are pamphlets
Of impossible interest
Multiplying voices-human, voices-animal
Voices-plant
Voice-life of Earth
As Dan O’Neill’s
Holiday for Cynics.
Look, little one
Courtney Love
We live this close to disaster
There is no turning back
From the tops of the trees
Which are so dense
Almost no sky is visible
Only the odor dilates the nostril
And quickens the heart
On a marijuana tortilla.
The buddhists have been tellig us
That the Self (Ego)
As we conceive of it
Is an illusion.
A good tip
Thinking about Gurney Norman’s
Jack and His Ego.
Is it?
It is that we are of a Time-Sexual
Wherein all species has been joined
To the Wo/Man
Of *****Sapiens
And Life is a single exercise of Cannibals
In constantly elevating towers
Of Bureaucracy.
Nothing in Somethingg
Something in our Nothingness.
Our mayor was attacked out of town as he went for a peaceful little stroll.
There was an odor that wouldn’t go away, it was left by a pesty little troll.
Bullies come in all shapes and sizes, both male and female alike.
Here they are no longer tolerated, we will just stick your head on a pike.
I went for a short little stroll to check the perimeter outside of our town.
It appears that an old bitter troll left some puddles that are smelly and brown.
Maybe it was a drink with her father that gave her that extra little pep.
Those puddles could cause an infection, so watch each foot where you step.
Our mayor gave a call to old Wilbur, he’s a farmer who can shovel and dig.
He is pretty good at cleaning up messes, back at home he lives with a pig.
On the farm is a sign making spider, once famous but is now known as Jeb.
A few of you just might remember, he once starred in the famous Charlotte’s web.
Together they helped make a sign and then hung it by the Troll’s little shack.
It’s a reminder for this foul little creature, just be careful of who you attack.
Peace is once again restored in Soup Creek, that wretched smell is gone from our air.
Don’t mess with our good mayor Tom, he has friends who love him and care.
Miles and miles of open country pass as the train moves.
A sudden thrust, jolt then nothing. The earth stands still.
Wind circulates pushing branches, leaves dance with the melody..
We sit..
Or movement halted by a slow moving freight,
we do an unheard of twenty five miles per hour.
I need a shower, shave, clean clothes.
A bathroom stench overwhelmingly horrific,
waste scented essence in the air,
mixed with the body odor of many
who share.
On the toilet seat,
look,
a pubic hair..
Finally, we slowly begin to move.
A conductor walks past checking destinations screaming:
"Next stop Chicago."
Passengers gather their belongings furious for the twelve hour delay.
Glossy eyes, scowls, a common look amongst the strangers.
Again, the train stops, deep breaths and a few colorful phrases
spout from a dozen or so.
A group of five sit and curse the situation,
hoping for a new permutation.
Hunger, fatigue, and back spasms corrupt my mood.
I am in need of food.
Sleep is not something that my body has seen.
The ride so far not peaceful, nor serene.
The delay has caused my lay-over to cease
causing me to jump trains hungry.
Where the meals range between $8.50-$15.00 a piece.
As I run to my next long acting bedroom on rails,
I smell food in the distance, hamburgers, fries, and chicken.
Oh, how this experience has sickened me.
........:JP)
Our Holy Purple Honeymoon
Deadicated verse to Paris-Maree Boreham an answer to her Poem Purple Honeymoon
Soul gathering two entwined blessedness;
Purple colors subdue our mind gates-visions;
Unwrapping each other’s confessions;
Embarking, caressing, and laboring in a kiss;
To now wed souls contemplating, joining together;
Demonstrating each other’s wedding bliss
-- This night and after forever;
Tangent flowing floral flowers essence smells of her personal odor
Sensual, special, aurora his body he showed her---
Daunting poetic verses she reads my thoughts on paper
And yet so she smiles she grabs my hand for certain
Love ever after she so inclined so in favor lie in botanical garden
With me this our first purple Holy-Honeymoon consummate our love
To breathe in the essence of you darling be use all over from one unto
Where purple unfurls in your goldilocks curls let loose the doves
11/15/22
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr.©2022
Sex 101
by Michael R. Burch
That day the late spring heat
steamed through the windows of a Crayola-yellow schoolbus
crawling its way up the backwards slopes
of Nowheresville, North Carolina...
Where we sat exhausted
from the day’s skulldrudgery
and the unexpected waves of muggy,
summer-like humidity...
Giggly first graders sat two abreast
behind senior high students
sprouting their first sparse beards,
their implausible bosoms, their stranger affections...
The most unlikely coupling—
Lambert, 18, the only college prospect
on the varsity basketball team,
the proverbial talldarkhandsome
swashbuckling cocksman, grinning...
Beside him, Wanda, 13,
bespectacled, in her primproper attire
and pigtails, staring up at him,
fawneyed, disbelieving...
And as the bus filled with the improbable musk of her,
as she twitched impaled on his finger
like a dead frog jarred to life by electrodes,
I knew...
that love is a forlorn enterprise,
that I would never understand it.
Keywords/Tags: first love, sex, sexy, lust, passion, desire, school, student, teen, teenage, learning, bus, foreplay, fingering, odor, musk, romance, romantic, humiliation
I can still feel the weight of the heat colliding with my face as I first stepped off the plane,
And how beads of sweat would tickle my neck the same as when it rained,
How the harsh odor of the atmosphere would nauseate my nose,
And the courage of a people despite our impose,
I hear the splashing of the Tigris as I kneel to rinse my hands,
And how it felt to think that nothing’s promised, even on promised lands,
From wailing sirens and the buzz of the Phalanx at night,
To the popping of shots and the whooshing of helos in flight,
From the honking of horns and roads without lanes,
To swishing through traffic and the jingling of chains,
I hear the whispers of prayer being broadcast through the air,
And the murmurs of locals and their unwelcomed stares,
To the thuds of percussions from bombs in my chest,
Detonated afar but still rattled my vest,
But of all that I remember, I’m fully aware,
That I've left a piece of me there.
sometimes I wish to cut myself open
just to see what is hidden inside
how lucky I am
even Jack the Ripper would bypass me
that's how lucky I am
but I wish to see
what am I made of
what's so heavy inside
that keeps my head just above the water
enough not to drown
sufficient to maintain disabled
when I open my cavities
and arrange my intestines
all over that metal table
when those heavy gasses deflate
I might be finally liberated
unless it is my soul
a heavy 21 gram that reflects odor
no wonder lungs collapsed
maintaining my vocal cords agglutinated
(haven't let out a voice in a long time)
and my neural synapses dried
I'm fuc*ing dried out
there's nothing left inside
only a velums from organic structures
I'm like a pile of used plastic bags
maybe that's the reason I feel nothing
(plastic is a flinty bit*h)
I'm overpolluted
garbage built impediments
(nothing can circulate)
and I have chest pain
as my feelings are strong-willingly and forcefully
ramming at that tortured core membrane
(still didn't cry)
You died on me
I can still feel you
haven't shed a tear
but I can feel you
shadows
walking behind me
yours is the laudest
War should be no more - I hope everyone could be together in unity &
accord & sing in a chorus of pure, dazzling bliss! I smell the odor of remorse and
hatred in the atmosphere...leaving me with scraps of terrifying fears & reducing
me to tears...stains of scarlet regret and pride is smeared on the swords of murderers - and they blame it on their frustration, pain and determination...competition is encouraged on these killing grounds and a peaceful frame of mind was never built here.
Aim towards the bull's eye - concentrate with your might...we're gonna get
through this plight whether we like it or not...do productive things to deal with
our anger and angst - reap what you sow and face your fates like a man...be
strong, be brave and be prepared to face your fears tonight! HUMBLE YOURSELVES and MOVE ON...move forward and dream of brighter days...the smoked-up, ebony and vermilion skies will fade away sooner than you think . . . confrontation embraces you all...but keep your head above the surface
Rage is thrown back and forth like a hot potato - who wins? Who has gone
missing? N-no one knows on the mysterious battle grounds or fields of endless
revenge..it smells of death and determination all in one...fight the fantastic fight
with triumphant victory close at hand! Here's some grand land that serves as our
resting spots - be peace-makers; be not back-biters, discord-makers or commotion-
brewers, sowing discord from head to toe! Graze in your own mazes of graceful grasslands of plenty and you'll be found in peace, instead of lost in chaos
I raised my deep voice like the maddest villain,
to make you aware of every wrong decision
leading you down a wretched path...
offering not more than heart-break!
I couldn't wait until mistakes made you bitter and sad,
and with no regret to feel, and no valued self-esteem:
you would have grown into a selfish and truant brat;
should I apologize, and offer remorse for my mischief?
The obedient child doesn't need constant reminders,
no temptations and pressures can make him or her ever disobey,
see how many mistreat their parents and are unwillingly put away?
Only discipline and respect can keep them at home and share their joy!
Out-there in dark and filthy alleys, they smoke pot and crack;
and the unpleasant odor turns into a stench that stays their clothes and breath!
They consume alcohol and ridicule the behavior of their folks with their cruel jokes;
if they led a clean life, their parents wouldn't mourn them in morbid morgues!
And jail is their next destination, for those not yet rummaged by death,
there they will have ample time to reflect on their angry and unforgivable words
shouted without pity, without regard...to hurt and shamelessly demoralize;
and their isolation may change them and make them desire what they can't get back!
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci