Long Pout Poems
Long Pout Poems. Below are the most popular long Pout by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Pout poems by poem length and keyword.
Frazzled more than dazzled by her new employer, Mrs. Fries.
This weird job she had taken was worse than her last four tries.
She could not believe they were progressively rude and unkind.
The plausibility of this possibility had never entered her mind.
The boss, an arrogant man, with a concrete crocodile smile.
Would have been surprised to know she had his number already.
His charming manner he could easily increase up and down by dial.
Name of Frederick Pomp Peaburger Junior; we called him Freddy.
He dialed up the dial, and pretended to be suave, debonair and quick.
In actuality, this moron was a Mama’s Boy, arrogant, irritating and slick.
Fries figured this pouting banana out before lunch that very first day.
He was okay seconds until his mouth and his mind got in his own way.
So, Mrs. Fries was on to another job hunt, I think this was seventy-two.
The company fill apart, because Daddy died, and junior was no glue.
The Mama’s boy’s pout got bigger and longer every single solitary day.
Mrs. Fries did not have to see it, for she was squirrelled safely away.
Ah, luminous white she blooms a deceptive ghost
lover of dark arts ripe in charisma and night
moon seducer logic diffuser defense reducer
user of dreams abuser of romance
tempter-serpent twines and vines
a tendril's slither …shh noiseless
vanilla viper— she’s a fever teaser
damn well make you a heartbreak believer
celestial and terrestrial she’s a territorial force
spider-vein-lightning crackles across neuronal nebulae
behind your glister eyes firework-fantasies flicker
desire— a brush fire— engulfs your cerebral star fields
razing you to burn red marrow to ash...
oh you long— you long to be the phoenix on her pyre
writhing to rise again and again
you yearn to pluck her play her possess her
place her in a solitary bud vase
share your lust of ardor with hungry admiration
resist the thirst of your hands to touch
resist the airy lariat of her buttercream-spice
resist the thirst of your taste buds to baste in her taste
as honey-whines drip from her summer-wine lips
poised in parted pout to poison you
physical and ethereal she wears an imperial crown
she steals your stars and flaunts them in her eyes
dare her when she unfurls— a swan against black satin
she’ll wrestle your heart from your chest
burst it with pin-prick-pupils of scorn
save it in her cat’s paw purse for her verse—
before she mousetraps your bleats and mercy pleas
within the mantrap of her parasol pleats
leaving you alone to skin your soul
and mend the hole where your old self ends
while your new self melts into moans you now own
Who tends a vase
while flowers wilt and rot within?
Who turns to polish glass or pot
when contents should remove to bin?
When stench ascends,
and nostrils turn aside and clench
because of staining sin,
it tarnishes the gold within
meant only for His glory.
Why obsess this cracked and fragile pot,
the look, the pout, the in the out.
Why preen the outer fashion seen
and not the inner beauty
of a spirit washed and clean.
The beauty of the body,
made to display the soul,
becomes an idol temple
when treated with this goal.
To worship God's creation
mistakes creation's role.
This body goes from dust to dust
and without it we will stand
to give our final soul's account
without its helping hand.
Pierre Maruse lived in a house that wasn't like any other.
One window down lived the queen and her crown,
Right next to her world-famous brother.
Oh, brother of mine, I'd give you a dime!
For Booette's kisses to you.
Please don't pout or flout about,
I could not afford all the love I see,
So, give her a kiss for me!
On the third floor down was a clutch of clowns.
The three elves: Wish, Promise, and Hold.
Their faces were square,
And they were always fair.
They would smile rather than scold.
The fourth floor down was below the ground,
And somewhat damp and cold.
There lived a slew of grumps.
In window one, Bad Breath, king of the evil smell would appear.
Window two had China Doll,
Whose eyes were squinched enough for two.
Window three was the home of Min Chee,
Of the pointy beard and rumpled nose.
And last of all, mumbling across the hall,
Was Cross Talk the irritable.
Outside, in a crack of the stoop,
Waved the sunshine flower,
Who bloomed once, every hour!
Pierre Maruse had a very odd house.
How regretful was I
To see my dead body from the sky
How regretful indeed
Why, with utmost sorrow, did my spirit bleed
In my early thirties was I still
Life, had I lived it according to my will
Yet, so many things were there for me to do
So many things had been left unsaid
I still had not published my works
I still had so many things to write about
I still had to say sorry,
To remove from my enemy's face that pout
I still had to make the world understand me
That I was but a creature of humility
That proud I never had been, even if I had not mingled often
Even if I had always preferred to be alone
I still had to say I love you
To those who had wanted to be with me
To those who had helped in shaping me
To those, who, again, had never been able to understand me
I still had so many opportunities left
Yes, I had wanted to clear this world of its ill health
I had wanted to make my voice heard
As one with a vision, so unnerved
I still had to buy that fashionable dress
Even if it did cost more than what I did gain each month
I still had to please myself
For I did know that my life, as all the others, would last only a while
I still had to forgive
Those who did cause me to grieve
Those made of blinded arrogance
As to have caused me to choose, from them, another direction
I still had to learn
This world is so vast
That it is not easy to master it
Why, of its many secrets I had always wanted to be treated
Joyful I became though, when I saw in front me, the gates of Heaven
Thankful, for at least, while living, I never was mistaken
I did choose to believe in my faith
I did choose to bask not in that known as sin
Looking back at my lifeless body
I suddenly wished to be granted another chance
Another chance in this mundane reality
But then, the gates of Heaven did open
And I simply let myself get overwhelmed by its glory
Pray, have I always read in those books of faith
That one should never regret the mundane
For it was all false and illusory
So I walked on in this beautiful city
And forgot all about Earth
Indeed, life shall now be different
At last, Heaven was there for me to enjoy!
It was a very overwhelming day today,
Yet I learned my many lessons with a grinning frown on my face
It was as if I've been given no second chance
But, God forgives me with his marvelous mercy
The torrent of tension washed upon me
It splashes into my veins of mere insanity
I grew attached to you as I saw fit clearly
You're perfectly imperfect and you knew it sincerely
I feel like no one loves me to be frank with you
I used to adore the way you looked at me, true
Now, out of the blue, you tell me you're taken
It's as if life is too unbearable to take… I've been forsaken.. Rejected… once again…
I've paid attention to you for so long…
Regret and pain is my lullaby song…
The torrent of tension rises up in me
Today, no one will recognize this love stored up remarkably inside me wholeheartedly
It was a very overwhelming night for me
You see, yet you don't see, my long lost baby
Babecakes will no longer be your nickname
Shame embraced me - I'm the one to blame
I feel hurt…
Uninformed and forlorn for a while…
Comfort…
Fails me now like a corrupted file
We will remain friends - yeah right...
It will never be the same, fickle lover
It was just a mere infatuation alright…
My adoration was festive towards you like no other
Now, I'm bound in these chains of doubt
There's absolutely no way out, so I pout
I wish you'd understand the way I'm feeling
Thanks for our heartless actions of ghosting
Shame on you for ghosting me for a long time
I should've known you were a drug addict idiot
I've been given a second chance from God actually
Poetry is in my veins, so cut off the strife of writer's block in my mind...and this sorrow from within
Wrestling with these woeful wildfires inside
Freestyling with my loneliness and pride
I liked you or loved you as a friend,
But I don't know anymore...you tend to offend…
Ghosting me gives me every right to be ghosting you…
For a matter of fact, I already blocked your number on my phone…
Don't ever call me again
Leave me alone..please leave me alone
You're just an abominable ghoster on his own
Tantrum
Pout?
Pouted?
Pouting?
To waste life…
To press others to your will,
and shockingly, in the end,
find they find less of you
agreeable.
Surprised?
Not very nice?
True.
Would you rather I was gentler?
I could use gloves made of down,
soft feathers at the tips,
and yet still, truth is always…
prickly, spiny, full of needles,
and above all…
painful.
Carry a mirror if you need to.
When the episode occurs…
whip it out and check it out.
Ask yourself…
“Is that me?”
No.
“Is that you?”
No.
Like who’s on first, a very old joke.
Step up, and take responsibility…
for “you” and all the things,
you do to others.
To chocolate I pay my respects
Some folks say its better than sex
whether milk dark or white
Ev’ry bar I must bite
or I'll get a lack of choccy complex
I NEED chocolate it’s an unwritten rule
I'm a woman not a blithering fool
Give me a constant supply
On days that end with a Y
when choc’s smeared round my mouth it looks cool
BY JAN ALLISON
Most women love something that’s sweet
And chocolate it cannot be beat
Deny them and they’ll pout
Choc is all they think about
Many men think it's all that they'll eat.
BY DALE GREGORY COZART
She lustingly said to bring some to her room
off went my trousers in a vertical zoom
I gazed in her eyes
but to my surprise
I gave her the chocolate she gave me a broom
BY TIM SMITH
Give me the chocolate and forget the sex
But please don't send it through Fed Ex
It'll melt in the summer
And that's a real bummer
Now that's a problem to vex and perplex
BY LIN LANE
Chocolates make me feel great
I forget the part about weight
If I was a tad thinner
Would think chocolate ideal for dinner
Will settle for sex after eight
BY SEREN ROBERTS
Chocolate is all that she wishes
She loves anything that Swiss is
I brought her a box
She quick changed the locks
Guess I’ll just go sleep with the Mrs.
BY DEAN WOOD
One woman with sweet loving lips
ate nothing but dark chocolate chips.
Her husband's retort?
"To enter her port
is like docking between two battleships!"
BY LIM'RICK FLATS
My mouth went running off today, I watched her sprint through the
Yard, scaring a butterfly.
There was a bunny, who did not notice.
She summersalted six or eight times, tumbling
In an exuberant way, through some clover.
The clover did not mind, as she is light.
My eyes were the first to report.
Nose was miffed.
Holding a pout, as he thought she might have
At least mentioned it to him; he had not had an
Adventure in a long time.
Be quiet, cheek told him. We would all be dead
If mouth and you ran off; for we have to breathe
From something.
A little busy woman down the street called to report that she had
Watched mouth jumping on her trampoline; she had lost sight of her
A few seconds earlier, but thought she was headed for pond.
Pond did not have her, a relief. This was reported to me by a
Nosy neighbor who had never been involved until today.
I would have smiled, except….
Two other neighbors I had never met called to report sightings.
I would have laughed except….
My husband offered to retrieve mouth before supper, but I shook
My head ‘no’. Mouth deserved a bit of a break.
She sneaked in after midnight. I could smell she had been drinking, and
Perhaps up to other mischief. I wisely kept quiet, making eyes shut his eyes,
And shushing nose.
We all smiled a bit upon her return.
Love, Face
Coats buttoned and hats in place, but hands are still exposed
Fitting gloves on tiny fingers is a chore when they're opposed
Bribes are needed for some children to keep them standing still
Mittens prevent parents from yelling, "Come on kid. Just chill!"
Little digits wiggle because they don't want to be constrained,
so, in warm woolen mittens my child's fingers have remained.
There's need to keep them protected from cold weather's sting.
From the five-fingered prisons, I will shout, "Let freedom ring!"
I've heard the cry of those tiny voices after the inevitable pout
and then lost my patience while trying desperately to figure out,
how to get those fat sausages stuffed inside a five-fingered glove.
Then I found it so much easier to slip on mittens made with love.
January 12, 2023
Of What Use Are Gloves to Fingers That Only Understand Mittens
Sponsored by John Lawless