Long Paramour Poems
Long Paramour Poems. Below are the most popular long Paramour by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Paramour poems by poem length and keyword.
i’ve been out of love more than in
suppressing desires deep within
trying to keep my convictions alive
but when someone gets close me
i move away so they won’t see
my proximity to the Mendoza Line
i’ve known heartbreaks who had no fear
but didn’t know when the coast was clear
and blindly tripped over moments in time
when minutes turned into hours then days
and raging lust was just a phase
i considered jumping the Mendoza line
i want someone who’s been through the wars
and see me as her paramour
to show me if love is truly blind
a lover who’s got nothing to gain
when my shaking starts all over again
and hold me above the Mendoza Line
i may have sealed my fate
buried underneath the weight
of a diversion that’s become my shrine
but for those of us who average 2 of 10
know that its just a matter of when
we fall below the Mendoza Line
Black castle fallen from foul flames,
A king kneels beneath the Green Moon.
A single tear stains his vacant eye,
“It is finished” he whispered.
Clouded visions of the magnificent Queen echo in his mind,
Maroon colored lips embedded in memories,
A passionate voice that no longer breathes.
“I claim these lives in your name, paramour.”
No glory or honor gained from hollow victory.
Vengeance has consumed a powerful soul,
What was taken cannot be given back.
The king's heart, burdened and heavy with despair,
Empty halls embrace a bloody throne,
There is no value in a broken sword.
As the vibrant jade color bleeds across the sky,
The king gazes into the night sky one last time,
Embracing a cold hug from rigid steel.
The Green Moon weeps with fading light,
Covered by stormy clouds, masking her grief
Her light is consumed by endless night.
The Reaper's cloak, a velvet night,
Embroidered with stars that never ignite.
He walks with a woman, pale and serene,
Her laughter a whisper, a wind unseen.
She is Death's paramour, his constant bride,
A shadow that walks by his chilling side.
Her touch is a frost, her kiss a cold sigh,
A promise of slumber, a lullaby.
He offers her roses, the petals all black,
A bouquet of sorrow, a lover's attack.
She takes them with grace, a smile on her lips,
The taste of oblivion, his cryptic gifts.
They dance in the graveyard, a waltz of despair,
Where tombstones stand silent, and whispers fill air.
He holds her close, a bone-chilling embrace,
A love that consumes, with a haunting grace.
For Death's paramour craves the final embrace,
A lover's surrender, a time and a place.
To join him in darkness, a journey untold,
Where souls find their peace, in the cold, silent fold.
So fear not the Reaper, nor his lover so fair,
For their embrace is a promise, a love beyond care.
A passage to stillness, a slumber profound,
Death's paramour awaits, on hallowed ground.
Memory tends to glorify a place. Growing up in West Texas, one of my favorite memories is going out with some of my friends to the "sandhills" just outside of our little town and camping out on a Friday or Saturday night.
We sit
Beneath a desert sky
And watch the aisles of stars
Leading away to infinity
As our breaths catch
And our hearts palpitate
In helpless wonder
We listen
As a desert breeze
Whispers the enduring story
Of the boundless and eternal love
Of the passionate paramour sky
For the coy and maidenly horizon
And how their mystic
Ardor for each other
Is quenched and satisfied
Twice each day
In the rapturous beauty
Of dawn and twilight
We sleep
Beneath a desert moon
Peacefully in the aqueous shadows
Of starlight
Lullabied by the ancient duet
Of the welcoming naked earth
And the caressing desert breeze
Virginia is a bread-and-butter woman.
She reckons by the Farmers’ Almanac.
She welcomes you with southern inhibitions,
Then gossips to her friends behind your back.
Virginia goes to church each Sunday morning,
And sings about the gospel’s golden light.
Her business with the pastor needs no mention,
Except that she’s the minister’s delight.
Virginia’s is a complicated history.
Her family tree has dark and tangled roots.
Her forebears helped defend the Old Dominion
From Yankees and discrimination suits.
Virginia has prescriptions for her symptoms.
The treatment is expensive to maintain.
Her daddy owns a pharmacy in Leesburg,
So Ginny has no reason to complain.
Virginia never had a favorite lover.
She handled every paramour the same.
She’d coyly tease their egos’ false assumptions,
And trample on their feelings like a dame.
Sic semper tyrannis.
one need not be cosmopolitan nor urbane
but like me just a common and simple fellow
whom this bumpkin t'would never be called vain
doing his level best to ride the gravy train
voicing sentiments in league like an ordinary swain
recounting how those forebears occupied a royal reign
composing this, that or the other anonymous quatrain
perhaps even adorning an irish pen name like o'shane
just one humble poet whose verse one might call plain
reaching to win the heart of this paramour in the main
taking an idyllic stroll along lover's lane
taking in silent subtle musings like some citizen kane
this common joe holding hands with his ordinary jane.
They don't like your music or your style
the difference between success with them
is me.
Ya'll sing, anybody can sing.
People do it everyday in every situation.
Having that great sound is what you're after
You have that with me.Gone on the
cold suface of Europa aint nothing suitible there
get what I am saying. You start
saying things in a paradox,keep on talkin
outta your headd bout thang ya'll don't know about gone do it! thinking
you got a paramour and you whine-up
in a situation.
Groove forms in rocks large stones
be igneous not ignorant! Now
And a Mi tour More-fic thang
aint no good-thang, people
makes the whole thang happen
I know people the right people, them
Dudes ya'll riffin' with aint worth a
measure of a turd.
forreal Dough is money, music money
that mesomorphic base to the greatest understanding.
We got sounds to make them beautiful voice into something
everybody wanna hear.
ya'll jivin on catogories man that aint happening
we got popular the stuff that's fancy
to most people! Pretty smart folks
do it longer, longivity is what music is all about.
Do your thang,
and then do your thang with me, get where I am saying.
"get with me!" "we gonna do it right!"
If ya'll wasn't top I wouldn't be sayin this!
staying blur aint for Gargamel.
Making gold and set goales is the start
to being successful. "Ya'l got the talent I'll
provide the oppurtunity!"
"the way to go: the thang to do!"
Have them dancing like Gypsy's to that peice, or have the bumpin the groove to that thang
"What we gone do?" We got the sound, music for days, spanning forever:
ya'll got thangs that make our sounds complete.
We gonna do this thang or what?
do the bluesy stuff
do that rock stuff
groove tunes
and R and B
we Orchestrated Grooves Ya'll we gone do our thang! Word?
I said word?
I know ya'll hear me!
It's What He said
written by;
Big Gig Grooves
New Music Media
"the money! The Money said the Clown Fool
I aint joking!"
I remember the first day well,
with your glorious bright red hair you burst into the room
like a struck match,and everyone's face lit up.
Model, comedienne, everyone's favourite Auntie, crush,
paramour in dreams, happiness in stilettos, all bundled into one
like a Swiss Army Knife.
Watching you smile was like opening a Christmas present,
and when you laughed, it fizzed and popped like party wine.
When you boarded my bus, akin to some lovesick schoolboy
I'd cross my fingers
and wish and wish that you'd sit with me,
and when you did, though I sat still, my whole insides went 'HOORAY!!'.
From Reiki healing to old Hollywood musicals,
whatever you spoke of
I was held rapt.
You could read the ingredients off the back of a tin of curry
and you would still enchant me.
I'm sure that the moment you were conceived, the Good Lord,
like a bomb disposal expert,
cut the wires marked 'sadness', and you emerged not with a cry,
but a giggle.
If you were any lovelier, you would have exploded,
and the whole town would have been covered
in a thick, gooey layer of lovely.
What a magnificent disaster that would have been.
Instead, you were taken cruelly-
Cancer isn't fussy whose friends it takes,
and on the clearest days my sunshine seems dimmer now.
Grief that soaks like cold rain only lessened by gratitude in having known you.
Just wish we'd crossed paths sooner.
Or I could live my life backwards.
Miss you x
Gaynor Wadsworth R.I.P 2017
For contest 'I wish I knew you when you were young',
sponsor Julie Leigh Rodeheaver
The spiral staircase made her high heels sing
as quickly she descended to ground floor.
She’d pulled it off! Her briefcase held the proof.
How proud of her would be her paramour!
How carefully they’d planned the pefect heist.
He’d groomed her well in all she had to do.
She’d faked credentials and gained trust in them.
Then precious relics she had access to.
From here, the City Churches pierced the mist
where they would meet. Her man made no mistakes.
She’d take a case identical from him,
return to the museum with the fakes!
While making the exchange, she nervously
had dropped the case of relics! He was there
to quickly stuff them back in their briefcase.
He closed it, and now smiling, crossed the square.
The fakes in hand, back to her job she ran,
clueless that her man she’d not see again!
June 6, 2018
for Viv Wigley's One Nine And Sixteen Upgrade Version Poetry Contest
It’s a long and arduous walk; I walked and walked
the sun followed along on top, and it’s smoldering hot,
All I wanted was the cool shady tree and a Coco-Cola.
I wished an easy life, a demure wife, a paramour
with a touch of class, some semblance of humor and finesse,
but life turned out to be harsh, wife doltish, and but a fantasy.
Ensnared, entangled—to escape life is to embrace death,
As I say, like a drowning man gasping for his last breath.
O Death, pray be kind to me and set this weary wayfarer free.
Afterlife or not, let us keep this delusion alive
let me also be entertained by the celestial nymphs
indulge myself in nectar and ambrosia, milk, honey and wine.