Long Pervert Poems
Long Pervert Poems. Below are the most popular long Pervert by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Pervert poems by poem length and keyword.
I think i love him
She uttered the words down the phone to me
Every particle in the world crumbled before my eyes
My chest felt like the world was stood upon it
Hope closed its eyes
I was lost in that moment of sheer pain
and the only person who could ease my pain had caused it
The life i had was over and death was my closest friend
I always said i would die for you
But never realised id rather be dead than without you
The fault hopelessly looking for the blame
Stretching for a medicine to pervert its cause
But as usual never up to the task
Losing my last love and living with the pain
of a soul without solace.
Meditation Guru Me...
Spiritual tranquility (uber visionary)
welcoming yuletide zen,
sans relinquishing down
lyft ting thoughts
to state of minimal
mental activity, when
after some
few minutes elapse,
there imperceptibly arises ten
den sea for light
transcendent state
to materialize quite
by easing away
from deliberate concentration
coaxing insight, and detaching
thoughts to any plight
ordinarily feasting on consciousness,
and rendering me into
an anticipatory anxious
state outright
clutched by imagined fears
analogous to hearing,
and seeing monsters
(albeit 10,000 maniacs)
during the night,
which lumbering beasts
conjured with very
little (if any) might,
but imps of the pervert
(figure of speech)
scatter like cockroaches
upon dawn's early light
leaving me noggin
scrambled from vivid dreams
afflicting this good knight
wracking mine toes
to head approximately
seventy inches in height
which latitudinal measurement
of this man
doth displease,
cuz imagining myself
bigger methinks defending
myself from bullies,
would hove been ease
zee to manage,
yet in reality,
this lix lifelong man
remembers as a boy,
how he did freeze
even during heat of summer,
and at that time
no Ask Jeeves
existed, thus scared
and lonely yours
truly accumulated
daily inter leaves
of poker red hot anger,
and rage against the machine,
viz human unkind,
thus these latter days
crowded with dis please
zing pained memories,
that doth seize
this reclusive *****sapien,
whereat in mine hovel
nobody can tease
me, only during slumber
nasty, brutish and short
Hobbesian ghosts
disrupt my zzz's.
~The Fallen Star~
(Free Verse)
I can't still believe that millions have fallen and fall for all those lies,
Yes, I am very aware that Satan's ways and bag of tricks, are too many, just to count
He's the greatest liar and traitor that ever has lived and sin has produced
Once, he'd it all but for greed and pride he betrayed his own Creator God
Satan never stops deceiving us all, I can tell you that
He's always on the move, roaming around the whole earth,
Seeking new souls to pervert and steer them stray and send away
Forever and ever from the Glorious Kingdom of God and its Creator
He accuse us all in front of God and sneers at us laughing when we sin
Satan is the great deceiver, hate us all and we should always send him away
When he tempted us he just knows how to push our buttons in the right way
This angel of perdition gives us the world but in the end we may lose our very souls
Satan's ways are just too much to pay for, what's the use of having it all here, if we lose our precious soul and eternity
In God's glorious kingdom that's Heaven, for you see, Satan the great deceiver of all, already knows that God has won!
Dorian Petersen Potter
aka ladydp2000
copyright@2006
February.07.2015
~Important note from the author~
For more information you can always read these passages in the Holy Scriptures: (Satan fall from Heaven) Isaih 14:12-15 ~ (Satan the accuser) Job 1:12 ~ (Satan the tempter) 1 Thessalonians 3:5 ~ (Satan's destiny)Romans 16:20 ~
A euphemism! I? That I do decry!
Why the very word does imply
That I would ignore, omit, pervert…
If only to prevent some hurt.
Well, let me speak out forthright:
Search thoroughly my ways as I might
I truly must express some doubt
That a that is what I am about.
The purveyors of confusion
Suffer from a big delusion:
‘Lest anyone think I am unfair
I will look into it, that I swear.
Of all the words that I may rend
Lest some of you misapprehend:
It is quite uncouth, and not so grand
To replace the truth with something bland.
I am no cosmetic, that I vow.
I simply put a smoother finish
Upon the face of things, somehow
To enhance, but not diminish.
When things are not so peachy keen
My words can keep things bright and clean.
I ply those gears which do not quite mesh
With unguent words that do refresh.
One charge which will not bear any fruit
Is that I do circumlocute.
My words such a charge does refute:
I tell it straight sans substitute.
For those who think I do mislead
‘Tis clear my words they do misread.
When what I say is scarce obscure
Why is their translation so impure?
Some suggest, my words to defeat
Are oft effete and incomplete.
Should I really have contrition
For occasional omission?
I think I will withhold comment.
Controversy I will not foment!
Believe me, I will not attempt
To discuss things beneath contempt.
JOURNAL OF THE DEPRESSED *****
CHAPTER 1 (I'll be over you)
How it really feels to be me.
On bad days which seem like everyday,
The blue pen slips between my fingers,
rattles on the floor, off to bed I am, no linger.
breeding emotions that feast on my mind,
one hate Leech, two love bugs
and three years alone, but no longer.
as I lay on my bed and run through the games
played by steroid hearts in chiseled packs,
I lay on my side and never look back
or regret my past,
though bitter and iced
with every thing not nice,
I choose to remain the same
tears roll from my eyes and
I drown in their lies
of a stretched blue sky with
a castle on pink clouds,
rainbow arcing a roof, touching our hearts.
baby, he'd say, just us two, but look out!,
there's a fiery dragon of
"you are not good enough"
I can't save you, so I'll wander off
wit the us I got you,
I'll take it
along with your dreams
of me and you.
There he went,
to be another's prince on my white horse,
shameless!, the heavens spit on you,
with meteors and unreturned loves.
Black snow rain on you!
I yell from across the room
as the sound of banged door lull me to sleep.
then I dream of you,
how badly I wanted every moment back,
replayed as drama, with you and I as leads,
riding on horses' backs,
but they despised me,
shook their behinds across my mind,
and wandered off, like they never teased me.
made me look like a moment pervert.
but I will wake,
shake till my head becomes straight,
I'll wash my face,
till those clouds fade away,
I will remember you
and I'll learn to forget too,
it's easy to say,
but much more rewarding to do.
Babe! I'll be over you.
Can I kiss a Catholic
or a Muslim or a Jew,
A Buddhist or an Atheist,
a Sikh or a Hindu?
Can I share their faith with them
and not condemn my soul,
To eternal persecution
in the Devil’s deepest hole?
Can I offer love to those
who are not always straight.
Who’s love is shared with their own sex
or either kind of mate?
If so, am I a pervert
who can’t pass through heaven’s gate,
is it true that love can lead to hell
as surely as can hate?
Can I really lead a life
rejecting all I find
that meet the inner feelings
that have formed within my mind?
Is it true that I’ve no right to choose
the things I want to do,
but just accept I must conform
to things that can’t be true?
If this is so, I’ll tell you,
then this life is really hell,
the Devil’s won already
we are bound within his spell.
But I’m sure that God Almighty
is around for All Mankind,
whatever path we follow
or whatever love we find.
Ivor G Davies
Emotional love is a beautiful thing;
Intellectual love I simply adore;
But please don’t make me feel like a pervert
Because sometimes, physically I want you more.
I do love the person you are,
And I love the traits that you display;
But I also lust for the package you’re in
And your tantalizing sexual way.
Sometimes I watch you in wonderment,
Awed by your beauty within;
But sometimes I get so excited
By the beauty that’s wrapped in your skin.
I want to be a man who is moved
By more than what my instincts trust
But I must admit that I am also thankful
That you inflame my animal lust.
So please don’t get too offended
If every once in a while
I can’t restrain my physical self
And approach you with sexual guile.
long, but a fast read!
“Grandma, please take us to the fair,”
in unison, the grandkids pled.
The boy was 10; the girl, just 4.
“OKAY! Let’s hit the road,” I said.
The nearest open parking space
was many yards shy of the gate.
We walked, engulfed in summer heat.
They didn’t care. They couldn’t wait!
Then suddenly Alisha squealed,
“Look, Grandma, Billy! Did you see
the clown with funny-looking eyes?
He was behind those big tall trees!”
“I didn’t, Honey,” I replied,
and Billy said, “She’s got a wild
imagination. I did too
when I was just a little CHILD!”
I bought their armbands at the booth.
I sipped my Coke and watched them ride.
We blended with the jostling crowd,
with grandkids close, one on each side.
I held her hand, but she wrenched free.
(She always does!) I called her name.
Then—there she stood, not scared at all.
She said, “Grandma—the clown, he came—”
“He came from WHERE?” I told myself
there was no reason to be scared!
“Behind that hotdog stand. He said
he had some candy. Look! He shared.”
I tossed the candy in the trash.
With eager eyes, I searched the crowd.
I questioned others, “Have you seen
a clown?”—my voice a bit too loud.
One man said, “At the rodeo
I saw two clowns—one, dressed in red;
the other, purple. Both were short.”
(Should I feel better?) "Thanks,” I said.
Alisha shook her head. “The clown
with ME was TALL, and he wore blue.”
Her brother rolled his eyes. “OKAY!
C’mon. I’ll win a bear for you.”
As I stood near the kids and watched
my hero grandson win a bear,
I froze in terror when I saw
someone had gapped Alisha’s hair!
“It’s getting late. Let’s go,” I said.
The pervert with the “souvenir”
would never touch this child again--
so young she hasn’t learned to fear!
I told the people at the gate
about the “clown.” One drawled, “I see.
Well—thanks.” He yawned and kept his seat.
Another win for apathy!
February 26, 2019, entered in Julia Ward's At a Fair Contest
sick of writing with poetic structure exposing no ones who stand posing their perfection and sick of handing out attention to those whom attention heads in the opposite direction, attacking introverts who pervert the course of knowledge with freshly polished forests energised by subconscious convictions of my victory they squash solid in denial which forms a viciously vile subtly stealth style of fibs and negativity masked by self promoting shows wanting all the best for me as they inevitably up level me only out to better me needing this tactic as they'll never be, I don't have such jealousy, bitter friends become enemies who forever endeavour to spread whatever they care to dare to swear is mine and their reality a structure tale that says I fail and need help as a casualty, all my life I failed to see it, my character caused them unease, my endowment needs devouring they hate it overpowering, all 5 foot whilst I stand at 6, as I was wanted they threw fits, hardly noticed and feeling hopeless whilst doors would open and I would progress, lending my hand to help others focus as ex-friends relished joking grotesque, enjoying every moment they feel best, a vultures scavenge is his challenge, the only time his skill's apparent, kick 'em when they're falling down to get above and stay no doubt, and they can keep the simple people who believe their words and see me evil after all it's what they seek for, I don't judge myself how I'm judged by people, a need they need I have no need for,
The lip of childhood was bloodied.
When the CSX ran over my puppy.
For years I fired rocks at the metal devil.
Trains were supposed to be a boy's second-best friend.
Not a killer of soft things that wag their tails.
Lick your face when you come in from hell.
Sweet things that never have an off mood.
Or care that you're a slow learner.
Tossed to the backwaters of grade school.
Childhood was cut in half by CSX railroad.
Why couldn't the train have swerved and struck
that pervert 5th grade teacher instead.
Then again, trains don't swerve or lick your face.
They just plow straight into the pillow of childhood.
Then blast the devil's conch in manic celebration.