Long Perspired Poems
Long Perspired Poems. Below are the most popular long Perspired by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Perspired poems by poem length and keyword.
He was 6 foot 3.
I was 5 foot 5.
My only thoughts at that moment were staying alive..
Caught in the tenacles of his grip, helpless as I witnessed
my top rip..
My bra lifted up as mammoth paws perspired, my
round breasts exposed, he paused and admired..
"You are beautiful" he said and then forcibly
he pushed down my head..
My face now buried in a groin, male parts exposed.
I caved to his needs with hopes he would go..
One predator preying on a weaker sex.
I was grateful that he hadn't broken my neck..
One vulnerable woman who managed to survive,
in a country where sexual assaults happen to one out of five..
Why does stepping into another's well-told story
fade away my own?
Until I glance away from screen
or page
or exterior speaking voice?
What if my unmediated life,
unwritten and unplayed
with untold anonymity,
were the entirety of my actual spiritual journey?
While all I have read
and watched on screen
of others' creation and destruction stories
are sacred scripture,
divinely inspired
as humanely perspired,
alternative paths and ways
of speaking to and for my own shared resonant voices,
light and more darkly fearsome.
What if biography
were ecological history
of natural,
yet also spiritual,
sacred development?
Written scripturally small,
speaking in still small eisegetical voices
of inspired natural resonance,
fire with water,
ExegetingEarth with revolving,
absorbing,
creolizing enlightenment.
Why does stepping into another species' creation and destruction story
fade away our sacred ownership?
Take it to heart when someone says,
" Hard work is honest living! "
My ma used to say it in a convincing voice,
when we gathered around the table
for many delicious meals;
and we couldn't start eating
before saying, " Grace "...
" My children, God gave this to us,
and must be always thankful
that He provides for us! "
" Hard work is honest living ",
I won't forget this proverb so rooted in truth...
as I go through life with each blessing;
if we forget to thank God, all our days,
we deliberately ignore the wonderful gift
given to us through His kindness!
Lift up your praying eyes, and see what's worth;
simply make that commitment!
And remember that everything we have received so far,
was the persistent prayers of a firm believer like ma!
Very few people believe in these words,
" Hard work is honest living! "
They like getting paid for something,
which was done by somebody
who had a different set of beliefs,
and that credit they didn't deserve,
because not even an ounce of sweat perspired
from their cool skin by not using their hands!
Be glad to perform your job with full honesty;
every dollar you'll earn, will make you proud!
Unfold your banner, you fearless laborer;
there's no shame in doing odd jobs:
your head must be held high and your righteous heart
must rejoice before God for your integrity!
Your children will pick up your yoke and carry on
that tradition, so that no farmer and carpenter would feel inferior;
and where would their food come from?
And how their house would be built without the strength of the builder?
Think quickly: laziness makes the idle mind depend on someone else;
look around yourself, which one prospers: the lazy one or the hard-working one?
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
Winter's Perfect Heat
“Snowflakes gather in crystalline drfitings”
Lifting your hair, kissing the nape of your neck
Warm flesh waits on tippy toe desires
Lips brush skin, lower beyond silver chain clasp
Sighs slip past moon shadow echoes
“Frost bitten warnings fuel whistling winds”
Candlelight flickers in illumined frenzy
Strong hands caress velvet curves, moving
Satin petals excite at the touch, firming
Mouths meet across milky shoulders
“Chilly coatings mingle, drafty windows squeal”
Reaching behind delicate fingers guide, slowly
Passion emanates from quivered partings
Honey drippings moisten, sticky, sweet
Whispered moans tantalize, moments ignite
“Wind chimes sing frantically behind icicle curtains”
Down pillow yearnings, grasped, held
Eyes look back, smiles meet motions
Held closer, breathless exhales on dreams exposed
Deeper finds the pristine moment
“Algid gusts wail through frigid echoed alleyways”
Names loudly called, enchanted nirvana
Faster still, bodies in charged friction
Two become one, senses explode, flooding oasis
Eruptions quake bodies in perspired heap
“Arctic blast pierces sweltering pleasures”
Ecstasy sings in midnight harmonies
Melodic as the polar pulsations beyond
Numbed in devotion’s destinations
Wondrous snowy white blankets chill the world
“As our love provides winter’s perfect heat”
Good night Soupers
Winter’s Passion’d Heat
“Snowflakes gather in crystalline drfitings”
Lifting your hair, kissing the nape of your neck
Warm flesh waits on tippy toe desires
Lips brush skin, lower beyond silver chain clasp
Sighs slip past moon shadow echoes
“Frost bitten warnings fuel whistling winds”
Candlelight flickers in illumined frenzy
Strong hands caress velvet curves, moving
Satin skin excites at the touch, shivering
Mouths meet across milky shoulders
“Frost coatings mingle, drafty windows squeal”
Reaching delicate fingers, soothing touches
Passion emanates from quivered partings
Honey drippings moisten, sweet syrup yearnings
Whispered moans tantalize, moments ignite
“Wind chimes sing frantically behind icicle curtains”
Down pillow yearnings, grasped, held
Eyes look back, smiles meet motions
Held closer, breathless exhales on dreams exposed
Deeper finds the pristine moment
“Algid gusts wail through frigid echoed alleyways”
My name, loudly sung, enchanted nirvana
Faster still, bodies in charged friction
Two become one, senses explode, flooding oasis
Eruptions quake bodies in perspired heap
“Arctic blast pierces sweltering pleasures”
Ecstasy sings in midnight harmonies
Melodic as the polar pulsations beyond
Numbed in devotion’s destinations
Wondrous snowy white blankets chill the world
“As our love provides winter’s passione’d heat”
Good night soupers.
I looked around my little cubicle
Used up days months years
Those files lying stacked up
Decades piled up to reach the dream
And here I am about to retire
Most of my life, till then perspired!
The game the goal that made me wait
I watch the setting sun that holds my fate
And like those colours in a twilight sky
I take anew each day each date and try
Moments to savour, cherish, create!
In the storm of life this is the calm
The waters seem still a soothing balm
Time for reflection time to be filled
The solution elusive the outcome unknown
A new chapter to life, who can condone!
12.8.22
There aren’t too many jobs that kids can do
when they are in their pre-teen years, but we
knew of a place to work where berries grew.
To pick them was a job of misery.
In June, my siblings and I went each day;
into a field with hats and pails we’d go!
On hands and knees, through dirt we’d crawl our way
while picking berries up and down each row.
I still recall the rock ‘n roll we played -
our only pleasure as we all perspired
in Iowa’s damp heat, away from shade.
When we were through at last, we felt so tired.
No smaller pay have I since ever got.
But how I loved the treats that money bought!
Georgie
His was a pudgy boyish countenance,
With rounded river eyes and an Alfalfa smile.
He wheezed like a sick tern with repeated asthma attacks,
Playing hard at the various outdoor games and chases,
Of our fleeting childhood years in the inhaling sun.
He perspired profusely in 1964 as he sat with beads of sweat which
Gathered like a water pox above his lips, all in a wheezing row.
Bespectacled Georgie was the curlicued, black-haired boy
who lived two houses up from ours; the one with the green hedge.
He wore converse sneakers, a white tee and blue denim, with
Thick black-framed glasses astride his chubby white face.
His was a temper not sought by anyone, including Elsie his mother.
Georgie was her little boy, but when angered, baseball bats went flying.
Curse words were screamed loudly with one’s birth name questioned intensely.
Stones and large rocks were heaved at innocent windows and nearby statuary.
Baseballs were hurled at the heads of other little boys, with misses near and far.
Toy darts were skipped across baking sidewalks to the bare feet of his playmates,
Producing more loud voices shrieking in pain when the darts impaled their feet.
Oranges and lemons were rabidly picked for the purpose of pummeling one’s nose;
But gentle mother Elsie loved her little Georgie, and his little blue inhaler.
Years and decades sailed by like lost boats in a starless harbor.
Little Georgie grew into a pudgy man with nothing changed except, the drugs.
Marijuana odors hovered like invisible swarms of masticating locusts,
Lurking above the silent brick houses of our street, with old Georgie lighting up.
With a pipe and a baggie in his pocket, my old friend gave up on his life.
He decided not to work, but to take aimless walks down deserted avenues;
Day after empty day he took his drifting strolls into a personal oblivion.
We subsequently lost contact in the ensuing decades, and I forgot about him.
Until recently… I found out…
Georgie’s funeral took place 25 years ago at Rose Hills Cemetery.
Rest in piece old friend, old tormentor, with your little blue inhaler.
With joy and jubilation today,
The strong batter smiled and perspired
As he ran the bases, so greatly admired.
A lesson, though, for poets all.
Just write, must each poem be in a contest?
Much each poem be a blatant conquest?
Is there no pure joy in what we do?
I think there is, through and through.
Personally, I find no joy in being better than you.
It’s a grand gift to show a bit of humility.
Not, “ I am so much better than thee!”
“Being the Star on the Poetry Tree.”
Write to embrace another soul!
Poets, hear me, whether young or perchance, old.
You are loved as is, you see, we need not be sold.
Poetry is not a major league sport.
It moves the soul and touches sparkling hearts.
Far, far too many, forget it really is an art.
6-26-2022
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