Long Pissing Poems
Long Pissing Poems. Below are the most popular long Pissing by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Pissing poems by poem length and keyword.
Those fools atop the hill are at it again.
Pissing away the money that we never really had.
Another trillion or two in debt.
To fund my neighbor's welfare checks and Cadillac.
Another frivolous war fought by the poor...for rich men.
Another tax yoke upon my blue-collar neck.
Those inside trader-jesters atop the hill.
Lack any respect for America and her people.
To them, we're just an impish afterthought.
An overtaxed and underrepresented peasant.
Those fools atop the hill
(whom some vote for over and over again);
Have stopped working for us.
Coddler of criminals while raping the good citizens.
They only look after themselves.
Building their wicked nests from our callouses and blood
From our fathomless "In God we trust".
i remember
first when i sat
i saw blue turn to
red but instead thought
this is where
the get has got
so i as a bird needn't
pee a pissing trail to tell
hey this is
me simply sitting
on a branch thinking
this or that but can't seem
to see yet
suddenly i find
i've found a place
a waste of nesting space
she knew she
had a space to give
for me to begat where
it was always at so i sat
and hemmed and
hawed and in her
afro saw a place to
place my nesting space
she willingly
gave to my give
and i went and did
what did and less then
suddenly
loving eggs
turned to chirps
what it was worth
someday
they needed
to fly away and
find what kind of world
would be
waiting for to
see bringing love
upon her and her hair
Form:
Dam you bastards with water; I think you all are coots
While I watch the weather everyday and plead for rain filled fronts
I’m not some greedy bastard, which wants to grow more grass
I need my stock to have a drink, and save their thirsty ****
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not some greenie, with an axe to grind
In many areas our futures, are unbelievably intertwined
But for god sake, sit back and think, just how lucky that you are
Because all that water that you waste, well some comes from my jar.
I can’t but help, smile a wry grin, when the irrigation stops
As the whinging starts, about the loss in cash, as profit production drops
Your stock still have water, to pour straight down their throats
Water troughs filled to the brim, not erectile dysfunction floats
I see your places from the hill, circles of dark green crops and grass
Metal robots, pissing water, creatures born of greed; I have to sigh alas
There’s more to farming than factory farms and copious quantities of water
Deciding on paper, which animals must go, on the truck to slaughter.
So please forgive me when I wish on you, pestilence and misery
May your cereals wilt, stock get the shits, and your profits become history
I’m not some greedy bastard, of extra dry matter I have no need
If my stock just had clean water to drink, from my anxiety I’d be freed
My Tribute To: A Loser
Cometh hither and drink my sour grapes
for it was you that spoiled the taste with haste
You took your sweet wine from vagrant apes
who can't tell cheap from good oh what a waste
Each night you went to the bar and got drunk
spend every dollar we had on cheap wine
You came home smelling like a pissing skunk
down in the cellar you went there you pined
I took my case and ran away from home
to my mother who loved me from the start
I left you penniless, drunk, and alone
and I did this because you ripped my art...
Cometh hither and drink your cheep red wine
thanks to you, I lost a fardel of time.
August 27, 2018
An unmarked auction house in the cellar
Fat cat millionaires outbid one another
A quiet pissing contest
To be the lowest of low-lifes.
A living corpse up for gropes...I mean grabs.
She’s a virgin, for now.
Chocolate curls over a red silk chemise
Cerulean eyes, swollen.
Fifteen years old with her head in the clouds,
Drug-induced of course.
She wasn’t willing.
The closing bell won’t change that.
What do we suppose the winning bid will be?
A suburban mother sobs and curses god
from a twin-sized bed
drowning in red silk sheets and tears
under a boy-band poster.
Another runaway, the Sherriff had shrugged.
Third one this week.
He was in a hurry.
Working two jobs so he could retire.
I work at an auction, said he.
But no one was listening.
The Senator shared a knowing wink
Jingling coins in his red silk pocket.
I'll start the bidding.
4/7/15
I don’t believe there is such a thing as a mirror,
Because this so called reflection is not really me.
I think he is a stranger that moved into my house,
For the man that I see is somewhat, ugly.
I think he built this life size window
To spy on everything that I do
And I can tell you he is beginning pissing me off
I can feel my anger’s starting to brew
Once I moved to the side of the window
And he disappeared out of sight
What I could see a part of his room
Gave me an terrible fright
The bugger’s been to the same shop
And bought the same things I have
The bed, cupboards and lamp shades
And on the table he even has the same Sat. Nav.
I peeped into this window
With the hope to catch him off guard
But there he was looking at me
Staring just as hard
I stood in front of the loser and cussed the most colourful words
The monkey aped every action even the moving of his lips
Then it dawned on me that he wore the same clothes
In the same pose with his hands on his hips
So infuriated, I punched the window
And ended his years of peeping tom jeer
However, the bugger is now haunting me
In every glass I happen to peer
Standing in a garden on the edge of a ridge
Pissing out of the wine of the night
The sea below looks to be grumbling
But the party is still louder than that
The Heavens above may be burning
Yet she's back there holding my hat
If she saw me here in my manhood
There would be two dances more to be had
But she's too busy with a mild maiden
Judging my shadow, my words, and this song
I wish I had a memory to cling onto
Instead of my wit which is decidedly gone
There's a roundabout of gentlemen wild
Drinking all in sight that's left to be sunk
My lady stands glimmering below light-bulbs
Strung lower than my standards tonight
Though luck has made me a winner
Tonight I can't bare to get into this fight
It would be me, myself and an umpire
Judging my swings against my blows
Now I'd usually have myself done for
But her skin has arrested my fists
And opened they hold out my heaviness
Like schoolboys caught, or tramps to the blind
I could shoot myself here by the bandstand
And sit dying in a pool of my piss and blood
I ain't ready for love and its yelling
Its burning sensations and welcoming arms
No give me a chance at the brutal
Give me another go at the dolls
Don't hold out this angel and torture
Don't make me a martyr tonight
My reputable repertoire of near misses
Is staked though the fix in the game
She dealt me a night of clean aces
But I've been fishing and soon lose it all
She eyes me like land from open sea
But this old crow want to nest and forget
My black feathers they aught to be stretching
Flying east to dawn with a dove
That I could steal from her beak some olives
And make a crown of peace to depart
My last drink I drink has me spilling
All my needs the length of a woman
Let this fool be wrapped in her wiles
My glass shatters to diamonds and shards
Best cut your feet in this garden of Eden
And step hard to forget her somehow
Three faceless Misses
amble amidst vagarious March rains
under parasols / veiled in the anonymity of death/burial
Three / shifting between tangible lives
breathless bellies barely acclimated to first-life
Brown girls who were shadows before second death
Voiceless / ambassadors of disordered paradigms moved
past dangerous minds weaponizing skin/genitals/unlikeness
criminalizing the Creator who made all things well
Unnoticed whispers/ persistently noiseless as in their lifetime
holding umbrellas humbly against the falling judgments
of the colour-blinded masses - Why rains of sticks/stones/saliva
nooses to delete tar bodies
Yet hapless muses stumbled onto canvas
into dance/parlance
where they will become unabandoned
Savage Chronos buries memories in forgetting / turning them disremembered erased
Still / Three impossible princesses forge through moss
gray haze / dark puddles
swallowing uneasily their backbreaking grief over race relations
Daily / silently pissing peppers / hoisting parapluies
raiment raking wet roads
so saturated hems won't slap ankles
Three from carnal cages flew
haunting effigies rambling
seeking their paradise visions
Above Earth’s murky ways / umbrellas rise as masted ships
sailing the slender triumvirate to Elsewhere's ardent sun
cyan skies / immaculate time
when fretful flesh is shed / purified souls will travel in light
Three ancestral sisters became memory/myth/justice
bursting through Chronos’ forgetful fog
Lifeless / yet enduring / Three whispers:
“Justice will rain where it had condemned
the God of Creation is vengeful / He alone who’d seen us in a sightless world
humanity’s cheap lenses / unprofitable paradigms beg amends.”
Written By: D. Collins 3/7/25
For the non-believers he’s now here in the flesh.
Seriously masquerading as a U.S. President.
Civil destruction is what gives him a rise.
With a “Hail Hitler” minion standing by his side.
Everything he touches creates chaos and death.
Earning the title as society’s number one menace..
The Eve of Destruction is the time in which we live.
And the Reigning Reaper ain’t bringing nothing positive.
Dressed in all black and swinging a sickle.
Chopping off the livelihoods of decent people.
Drama and turmoil are his prize-winning traits.
So, how could that somehow make America great?
The Reaper's certainly in a hurry to start World War 3.
Picking an unwinnable fight by messing with the Chinese.
Pissing on our friends and snuggling up to foes.
In the end we will see how well that goes.
So, you wish to continue your pissing contest with me.
Very well, send more foul comments my way. Please feel free.
You're only exposing to all your dirty laundry,
revealing as well your obvious insecurity.
You know in your heart that you wish you were me,
but more to the point, you wish you were WITH me.
You're a miserable woman living a miserable life.
Are you married? If so, who did you pay to take you as a wife?
Are you a widow? If so, you probably drove your poor husband into an early grave
due largely because of the way you behave.
Are you a child who hasn't yet fully matured?
Well then grow up, or the rest of your life will be miserable for sure.
I love you Sylvia, you're great inspiration for me
and you never fail to leave me laughing hysterically.
If only you could stop living your life so maliciously,
you may wake up one day and discover that you're truly happy,
until then, continue living your life so miserably,
but please also continue to send your foul comments to me.
I'll never block you. That would be self defeating for me,
because you are so much more entertaining than anything I've seen on TV.
I enjoy a good pissing contest but it's so obvious to me
that you're an amatuer. Give it up. You'll never beat me.
Dedicated to
One Sad Miserable Fool.
...and the war did continue
between me and Sylvia, aka MS Drew.
To MS Drew
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