Long Piercings Poems
Long Piercings Poems. Below are the most popular long Piercings by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Piercings poems by poem length and keyword.
Terza Rima Sonnet
aba, bcb, cdc, ded, ee
So much alike though we are twelve years apart
Different father same mother, we are twins
Rebellious, beautiful with a selfless heart
The age nineteen her adulthood now begins
Piercings, ear gauges, tattoos makes a statement
Life so far, inking the story on her skin
A trip to Europe, a week she could have spent
Instead, chose to come visit me for that week
We had a blast together, she seemed content
She is young and I am nearly an antique
I am at the age where I must guide along
From my own experience I can critique
Before her visit we had gone way to long
She plans to move here, this is where she belongs.
Jared Pickett
4/6/2012
PINCH ME
Pinch me if I grow numb of love,
Wake me les we die,
Shake me if I go adrifting,
Ears dull of your faintest cry.
True passions seek love in early morn,
Open kisses or in secret places.
Their yearning never ceases to be,
Never retiring the marital embraces.
Prick me with a rose’s thorn,
Never leave me longing for love.
Woo me forever with words endearing,
Like coos luring a forlorn dove.
Take me with you on your journeys long,
Don’t leave me festering behind.
In the piercings of longings only you can fulfill,
No other love in heart or mind.
Pinch me, bring me, back to myself,
Resuscitate the reality,
Greater is our world behind closed doors,
Our God orchestrated symphony
At times He shouts to clear his throat, AHEM!
We are the phlegm.
Puffs of dandelion dust,
ignoring life, allowing hearts to rust.
Each day we rush upon ourselves,
shelving more decisions,
piercings and incisions,
in the side of eyelids, nose, and tongue.
unknowing victims, of
what we know not from.
beaming like returning martyrs,
blown to Kingdom Come.
matter splattered, gut ache or remorse;
no age is better for it; no age worse.
it’s what we choose to look at now;
it is our Holy Cow.
maybe sin is in the looking,
maybe in the not,
eyes averted;
disaster flirted with,
Mr./ Mrs. Smith,
composite couple;
doubling our efforts
to keep up, win the cup;
get the bowl;
satisfy a never-filling hole.
Our procedure is to marry;
double-feature of our troubled futures;
sutures for the wounds inflicted
in a psyche so conflicted;
we sit for hours and hours
hours and hours, paying folks
to analyze the guiltiness of flowers.
We simply grow, didn’t you know;
afraid of what we have created.
Frankensteins,
so overrated, - tall,
but not so unrelated after all.
Bushels of apples are in tubs and bins all over the place
A variety of kinds, yellows, reds, none a disgrace
We cut out the bad spots and turn them into pie
Fresh applesauce smells make the harvest men sigh
Let’s make some cobbler says Gran as she rolls out the dough
She sprinkles it with sugar and love, making it just so.
I ask if I can fork the top and she says “I cannot see why not”.
But after a few piercings she yells out “now, stop!”
Apple cider is made along with apple butter for Gramps.
He brings home some farm workers, some of them look like tramps.
They use polite words and say “thank you” again and again.
Some leave with an extra piece of pie, wearing a great big grin.
Ultimately, only my sister can decide whether to let them know or they should be let known that she’s in a deep hole mentally trying to do her dissertation proposal. We are strongly advising she does something to help herself. Course leaders can only empathise if they know what's going on for students.
I’ve been giving silly solutions to her struggles – stopping for the day and giving our parents piercings, stopping for a day and emailing Mrs Coventry inviting her to Binley Mega Chippy in Coventry. The spring rolls there truly are MEGA.
Lucky me is just looking forward to getting my chicken on a bike tattoo with my self-drawn sweet, the only assignments I’ve got being ones I give myself. My current assignment is chilling waiting for my Jasmine Rice to cook as I write this, a katsu curry and carrot cupcakes already made.
When she’s working and studying and working, my sister often doesn’t have the chance to eat. She’s just got her laptop – hopefully she’s going to send that email. That email will be the only thing she needs for them to grant her a break from going down.
~
Winter breathes in sepia tones along a lonely two lane street
divided amongst the sweeping frozen dunes
now forced into shouldered amnesty
Street lights shiver in snowcapped bonnets
while sidewalks sleep ‘neath blankets of flittering flakes
The air, frigidly crisp…moves of tiny chiffon sparkles dancing
Rooftops, plump and soft, show off their frosted padding
as evergreens find alabaster fingers tickling their branches
in chilled teasings and frozen dustings
Footprints, once there are gone, covered and recovered again
all evidence of life is erased beneath pearl clouded skies
and faint outlines of distant thoughts
White on black stripes drape in glacial wanderings
spanning the slush of asphalt weavings
in straight line piercings across the wintry landscape
January reigns brutal, subzero ponderings swirl
from high above the icebox wasteland, once brimming with color
now opaque in its arctic seasoned disguise…
~
Written from memory…no winter here. : )
Ever watch the man pull into wheelchair parking,
get out of his car and walk into a store.
Ever watch an obese woman eating at a buffet
and you think there is just no excuse,
Ever see a teenager with piercings standing in a store,
you quickly move to another aisle.
Ever stand in line for a cashier and tap your feet
while the elderly woman counts out her change.
Ever look at the woman wearing a hijab
and think she is different and cannot be trusted.
Ever want to sit down on the bus
but some young whipper-snapper does not give up their seat.
Ever consider that you may be prejudice
and need to carefully examine why you feel that way.
Consider this;
The man in wheelchair parking has heart disease
and cannot walk long distances without developing angina.
The obese woman gained weight when she developed arthritis
and is no longer able to work-out as she had when she was well.
The teenager is kind and thoughtful and was about to ask you
if you need help in reaching an item on the shelf,
The elderly woman worked hard all her life and is just trying to make
the cashier’s life easier by giving her the exact change.
The woman wearing the hijab is a kind and caring person
who is about to become your physician,
The young whipper-snapper on the bus has just been diagnosed
with cancer and is too weak to stand for the ride,
Ever think that you are making judgement
without knowledge or the full facts.
No more prejudice,
Ever.
Written September 9, 2012
For Debbie Guzzi’s contest
“Stand”
She was the type who dressed only in darks,
a ‘non-conformist’ teen who bathed in snark,
in black lipstick her smile did hide,
row of piercings ran above her eyes.
Her family came in October to my inn,
a bed-and-breakfast in a Victorian,
early fall I made it over into
a classic Gothic house, for a scare of two.
It was a lot of fun, so said our guests,
the town said my Haunted House was the best,
but as the goth walked in, looked from her phone,
she rolled her eyes hard and let out a groan.
She went to my mummy, Ammon-Hotap,
said,”How much toilet paper went into that?”
Seeing my Dracula, she laughed and proclaimed:
“He’s been done to death, so tired and tame.”
My bell-hop dressed himself as Wolf-man,
with the family’s baggage, he gave a hand,
she went up to him as he was working,
said,”Dude, for your sake, the big box is hiring.”
I bit back a strong urge to choke the runt,
or call her a bad name that rhymed with ‘bunt,’
so I faked a smile, went to help too,
said,”Right this way folks, I’ll show you your rooms.”
After I had the parents settled in,
I asked the goth girl,”Do you need anything?”
She gave me a look, said,”Before you go,
I need the WiFi password, for my phone.”
I shrugged and said,”We won’t have internet.”
And she let out a shriek that awoke the dead!
Never before had I heard such a scream,
it was probably heard by half the county.
All the ghosts and goblins did not do the trick,
but you take the gadgets, it gets scary quick.
I guess next year I’ll have to change the display,
to reflect what terrifies the kids these days.
His chapstick soft lips
Distracted me
From the perverse taste
Of stale cigarettes
He inhaled
Between every other word
But it didn’t
Make my sagacious heart
Uneasy
He was winsome
With that throaty laugh
After years of smoke clouds leaving his body
He even had
All the prominent tattoos and piercings
To make me question my self worth
Like if I was pretty enough in person
If my curves were perfect
And if not
Would my intelligence
Make up for
Those missing check marks?
Instead
I was sinking in my chair
At dinner
Endlessly circling
My glass
With my straw
While he had
the best conversation
With himself
About why his car
Is scarred
With multiple bullet holes
All the
Faces he left dripping in blood
Resulting in handcuffs
The way he can’t function
If his head
Was not filled with dope
I could feel the sadness
Drag its nails
Across my eyes
Leaving
A scar
Of realization
That I would never
Be able to share
The joy of my writing with you
Or the band
That inspired me to write
In the first place
What about how
You would never ask
How I’ve come to see love
Yet how ironic
you wanted to take me to play pool
After dinner
Because love
Has always
Left me behind the eight ball
And your presence
Your undesirable disheveled
Absent minded presence
Left me
In a tight corner
With no way out each game
Not in a heart racing from the thrill
Cheeks are flushed
Kind of way
A stare
In the mirror once I’m home
In incredulity one
Because I used to forfeit
The best parts of me
To men like you
Shawn was a sensitive boy; whose feelings were on the edge.
He tried to hide them under a harsh exterior.
Under tattoos and piercings.
Those of us who knew him saw his softness.
It was impossible to not see his sweetness.
He was teased and bullied by some at school.
He did not speak of it, wanting to keep his parents safe from it.
Not wanting them to feel badly.
This is the kind of boy he was.
Selfless and giving.
The art teacher was his worst critic.
He poked fun of his work and put it down.
Horrifying the rest of the class.
Shawn could never do anything right in art class.
And cartooning was his favorite thing to do, so he did it at home.
In the privacy of his own home
Where he took too many pills
And went to sleep
Escaping his insensitive idiotic art teacher
Who was the worst bully of all.