Long Porcelain Poems
Long Porcelain Poems. Below are the most popular long Porcelain by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Porcelain poems by poem length and keyword.
Below The Surface
Drowning in self doubt
Edge of darkness
I’m out of breath
Submerged and drenched
I’ve lost my way
My purpose is fading
Porcelain translucent
Find me in the dark
I’m fragile as a feather
I just wanted a second chance
Did I say something wrong?
I’m anchored to the bottom
With unfiltered thoughts
My heart is hollow
Reach out for me
I’m just trying to say I’m sorry
It’s cold and alone in complete isolation
All wait for you down here
Forgive me from all the pain I caused
There's only one way and that is up
Forgiveness can go along way
Like two souls flying freely
Probably not my first battleground with this nasty bug
Still haven't tested positive after many attempts
But I know I have it now
False negatives or perhaps it's just my luck
I'm still kicking my way thru it, and I trust that none of you
Want to take this cross from me
But feel free
Grandma's got it too, that's my mom
Always taking care of us all no matter what the cost
Bless her soul
Hope all those vain vaccinations were worth it
So far so good . . . still here in the hood
No 911 calls yet but she says keep it on hold
This aint no ordinary cold
It reaches deep down and taints the soul
I feel for all the dead before me
Now is my chance to dance with this devil
Giving me night sweats and a backwards fever
I feel soooo cold like I could die
Really makes me feel that mortal mold
With an electric cord protruding from the back of my skull
Don't unplug me yet
I still have some more poems to write
Is tonight the night
I aint afraid
Jesus has my back
My faith is intact
He says Our Father forgives me when it's not
So, I say a few Our Fathers and struggle through some Hail Marys
(It's been a while since I've said those. Threw out my Rosary years ago)
I've walked thru so many Church doors that you'd think me a swinger
But I'm a deadringer for what is real
Ringing the dinner bell Ding Ding Ding Ding Dong!
What's wrong with me Lord, why'd you make me this way?
Extra toes and thumbs, kinda seems dumb
I think I would have been better off with an extra brain
Perhaps then I'da been a bit more sane
Less of a pain
More like everyone else like anyone else would care
I dare to overthrow tyranny and jerks
With a glare of my obvious godlike good looks.
I must get that from you, my Lord
Thanks for being there for me thru all these years
Putting up with all my failures and doubts and bad poetry
And to anyone else reading this malarky
Thanks for sharing!
I think I'm going to go now
And visit the porcelain thrown
For a while.
I wrote this, because of an incident that happened to me yesterday. I went into a men's room at a store. The design was deceiving, a hand sink was place between the partitions in line with the urinals, I confess, I didn't wash my hands
The Perils Of Porcelain by JT Curtis Feb 17 2015
McGee had a few to many
And stood up to go to the loo
As Finn chugged his drink
Then said "Yes, I tink
dat I gonna 'ave to go too"
Now, McGee looked a bit unsteady
Finn said "Kin you walk on your own"
"Finn, It may take a while
To get down the isle
Bot, I've been doing it
for YEARS on me own"
Well they entered the gents together
And each of them chose their own stall
But after a while McGee with a smile
Said "I tink dis urinal's a bit tall"
So Finn glanced around the partition
And gave McGee a quick wink
"I know you have done dis forever
but I hope it's not been in dat sink"
i haven't forgotten
the sultriness of your lips
the infamous toss of my hips
the quiet haste the unfullfilled taste
that calm way the sun beamed
that warm way the breeze blew
softly over our bronzed form
connected two souls
creating another one
woven silver threads clinging
to my fountains lure raising tides
the bayou's dance over france
we both wore london fogs
dripping wetness of hidden
tangible desire's beckoning
spirit's beyond the bottoms hush
soft cheeks bare a pink blush
jasper gazed beneath teal stones
broken bread crumbs scrumptious skoans
the best part devouring a satisfying tart
a splash encounter red wines fine art
given birth to this tiny needy soul
on top of white linen
bathe in a porcelain bowl
~
“Neath blushing heavens up above, within the solitude of love”
As evening captures your eyes
in moon shadow driftings
when stars blush
and heavens find their
dreams fulfilled
I taste your midnight lips
neath a slumbering elm
between falling leaves
and comet tail whispers
wafting silently
Pearl buttons part
slowly exposing porcelain skin
gentle hands caress sultry shimmers
illumined by desire,
painted impassioned hues
Twin cerulean auroras
gaze down midst golden strands,
tickling wispy giggles,
moistened petals pierced,
warmth engulfs the embrace
And as our fingers intertwine
before a bashful horizon
my heart quivers
at the beauty enchanting
this November eve
Where forever promises linger
in breathless sighs
below a universe smiling
while we are alone
within the solitude of love
~
In a city of fog and summerless light,
London hums softly, but nothing feels right.
Years have withered, your name still flows
Mithila, a whisper the morning wind knows.
We never danced in moonlit embrace,
Nor traced our fingers across time or space.
But the dots were sent… three soft ellipses…
Spoke louder than touches or lover’s kisses.
I heard you, without words, without sound,
Waves of canal cry where our hearts drowned.
You were my poem, unwritten but known,
My dream-shaped silence, my marrow, my bone.
You left as sudden as autumn leaves fall,
No reason, no echo, no curtain call.
And still I sit at this quiet Departure café,
Sipping my coffee as the ghosts replay.
Each afternoon, each cup, each silent stir
A ritual mourning the loss of her.
The seat across me is empty, yet warm,
Filled with a memory that breaks the norm.
We had no nights of candlelit rain,
No shared breath under windowpane.
But you were the soul of all I believed,
A love not touched, but deeply grieved.
Years don’t erase, they only delay,
The longing I carry, day by day.
I wait in the steam of my porcelain cup,
Still hoping one day you might look up.
So I wave my feelings into the air,
Like a flag for a ship no longer there.
Departure lingers where your shadow lay…
And I, still waiting, still love you today.
Lemon tinted phase
gilded skyline blown
by ethereal fused mist
eager bard imbued
opal dream flotilla
beyond tarnish while
flash point chariots
of gleam-well canvass
astir or astern perforce
taunt a hued vase
porcelain image fest
for stoic earthbound
soul’s cry parched
stoic migrant famish
sapphire plume ray
bounty veridical
pink chalk sketch
granule blush pots
pearl beam spur
to jumpy pilgrim
white elephant garb
drifter’s lull prone
metre of skewed
and barren glib
dull tossed aside
rambles and brambles
from cerebral quartz
grey quirky quill
nose twitch petrichor
glacé smelt rain
lava veined fillip
fervent fetal floe
ignited indigo inkling
as noonday nuanced
glance en dash
away from orange
peel cloud skies
toward spring rush
urban junction fare
as founding cue
for zeitgeist driven
western world eden
With her tiny tummy rumbling, she stood quaking in the wood that surrounded her dear father's dairy farm. The white, porcelain bowl and the silver spoon lay on the ground, along with her scrumptious cottage cheese. So hungry was she, and that black, furry arachnid was still giggling, dangling above her tufted chair. She felt a tantrum coming on. She was so mad with hunger. Little Molly stamped her feet and stormed back to her cushioned seat, and ate that mean, old tarantula up!
Little Miss Muffet
Sat on a tuffet,
Eating her curds and whey;
There came a big spider,
Who sat down beside her
And frightened Miss Muffet away.
Shucking Evil In Favor Of Good...
(courtesy of tasseled colonel corny maise aye aire)
Challenge more difficult than threading
camel thru eye of needle, hence catchy title
scotched, and I aim to endeavor and steer
away from task surpassing
defying gravity clear,
nonetheless (sorry), I still hotly air
glomming pablum attesting ill
success while sitting
in this wooden hard backed chair
oft times a means to leap bajillion
miles, cuz yours truly doth despair
one composite primate being forged care
fully vis a vis from carbon based life
je ne sais quoi essence Earthenware
composed, whether flora or fauna,
one species, sans latter, whose fanfare
of self importance don, trumpet
white out blinding search lights glare
ring essentially making grist for mockery,
parody travesty, etc shady spectacle
buzzfeeding nothing of pinterest to hear
blabbering blaring blather most teeny
tiny in utero homunculus hazardous heir
to the porcelain throne
faulty genes impair
ability to reign reduced
to basket of deplorable
what, particularly as
one benighted longhair
pencil necked geek refused treatment,
(cuz preexisting condition) by medicare
not covered, thus accursed
imp of the pervert
resigned to toss in hat
unsuspecting nightmare,
and run for political office
touting offering nuclear
weapon to every man,
woman and child
additionally larding couture
to design outerwear
housing protective
missile deflecting capacity,
which article designed by
Penn students, yes a bit
elaborate what with
doodads, thingymajigs,
and whatchamacallits
they (especially Eden)
did amazingly overengineer,
but, what the hey, now
the prophesied armageddon
answered courtesy
oven entrepreneurial pair
two peas in a pod, which
success stories ain't *****,
where Ivy League University
flush with funds to bolster
any promising idea, yea
even full body pod suited rainwear.
Wrought iron gates and tombstones made of slab, a path that is winding between final resting places and an unending feeling of sad
So many beautiful depictions of who they used to be, is written on these granite stones for all that wanders here to see
Except there is one that doesn’t lie here among the deceased, she chooses to reside in this place where she believes her soul is at peace
She thrives off the sadness, the pain of all the tears that have been shed, and she feels that she isn’t alone here, she feels whole instead
Maybe it’s the darkness, maybe it’s the whispering of the wind in the night, no one knows why she abandoned the living and chose this desolate life
She wears all black and a veil over her beautiful, porcelain face, her dress is tight fitting to her form and not a hair is out of place
She doesn’t speak, she only wanders past, delicately touching the tombstones with her fingertips as though she is remembering a love that didn’t last
Envisioning that one of these graves holds the heart that was torn from her chest so long ago, and she is reaching out to feel the heartbeat that only she could know
She gathers up the decayed flowers left abandoned on these graves, and she holds them to her chest as though somehow, they can be saved
Or maybe she just holds them close recalling a bittersweet memory, of a time that she was given something that was alive back when her heart could beat
But just like those residing on these grounds, the flowers are of no use to her there is no happiness to be found
So, she takes a whiff of them hoping maybe some of their scent has survived, but when she crumbles them in her hand, she knows just like the love she once had they too have died.