Long Pouty Poems
Long Pouty Poems. Below are the most popular long Pouty by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Pouty poems by poem length and keyword.
Angelic facial features with huge sparkling eyes
A perfect youthful dewy complexion
Very long silky looking thick hair
Red pouty lips moist with bright cherry gloss
Long red nails with big sparkling rings
A 22-inch waist, with perfect measurements
Legs that go on and on, forever, with
Perfect feet and toes in spiked heels
A very busty hour glass figure....
This air brushed enhanced fantasy woman can be found in most fashion magazines.
5/18/19
This was poem is written to bring attention to teenagers and the perfect body images they are trying to compete with. This has caused self-esteem issues and eating disorders as well as depression and suicidal thoughts. It would be so nice if our society depicted normal healthy realistic women in fashion magazines!
He wore a cloth white shirt accompanied
by a leather vest
with brown, baggy trousers full of dirt
tucked into rugged boots for best fit.
Deep, brown eyes and delectable pouty lips,
hidden under new morning scruff,
brush the surface of the mug he sips.
It did not hinder that he was handsome enough
to have the single women flirtatiously give him
what he wanted
with lips the color of rose and in boustiers they flaunted.
His cup-hilted rapier was secured tightly at his hip
as the seagulls squawed and the children stared
at the incoming ship.
The sun was setting along the horizon
casting a pink and yellow mist
silhouetting the wind and sails as they kissed.
The euphoria of the scene was so serene
in the sound of breaking water,
placid and pleasant on the dock he leaned
like animal about to slaughter.
He eyed the ship and was taken aback
as the captain then emerged.
There was no beauty she did not lack
for it was beyond any words.
Alluring eyes, strawberry lips, and ivory face
only accentuated her elegance and deadly grace.
A billowy blouse massaged her body, while
a sash at the waist pronounced femininity.
Supple boots adorned her thighs
as a fine diamond upon a finger.
Her sensual smell would leave you hypnotized
and her presence would forever linger.
The lady pirate and her crew needed a place to stay.
He gave her a word of warning and until the break of day.
He needed no more trouble for his already tired mind.
He would no hesitate to kill, for he did not like their kind.
He sat against the wall of a tavern,
the cold stones marking his skin,
as the thoughts of her began to burn
from every part within.
The aroma of fresh pies filled the air
strewn across a never ending table.
The atmosphere was that of a fair
enticing the least of the hungry and able.
He saw a shadow from around the wall
and gripped his sword in a haze
She stood solid and fearless as he began to crawl
and looked up to meet her gaze.
To be continued....
Smirk pouty shyne-joyfully
Like an Ancient and Childlike EmeraudeTear.
Curtsy the World clumsily but gracefully
your face draws it nearer.
As are Children, kindred and kin inVestige, Envisage, Heritage of
the Seer.
Drawn to you, magnetically tracing your image,
mirror mirror.
Like a Mark on the Firmament
A Rune of Tapature
You hold your heel on my head
Branding me Evermore,
A fauning stooge caught looking,
RaptureStruckofThe LivingUnDead
As the Wind slaps your Mouth with your hair
Cause of Unspeakable verse-Unsaid
Teases your hair to be equal to
as the Golden Rays did.
Your eyes burn turn to me like a Furnace
That will Urn me a stint in Eternities Fire
of Corrections and unspeakable sentences.
You as my jailor, me as your inmate insuffered to your consequence.
I savor sunshine - its voracious heat
as I drizzle sweet lemonade
on my dehydrated tongue.
I dip my toes into the fondant
of lemon afternoon. You’ll find me
wading in the aquamarine swoon.
My coral-colored swimsuit, one piece
tease of a midsummer’s sea;
saltine-salvation with a tangerine squeeze.
Chartreuse eyes, like a key lime pie,
Ray-Ban protected ~ *
dessert winks at her sublime prize.
Quite crimson, I become, forgetting
to reapply sunscreen, with a rub-a-dub-dub,**
as I sunbathe near my ocean tub.
Clueless after hours on the beach,
my love dives into his watermelon treat,
a breach of spousal ethics to my cause.
With a pouty lip and grifting-tears, I con
his palm to soak me down with aloe vera,
and grant me two-fisted cocktail sips.
The saffron sun dips on the zephyr’d beach.
A welcoming arm rounds my shoulders ~
lavender and lilac speech of twilight.
4/9/2021
Contest: Changing Colors
Sponsor: Emile Pinet
Required words are highlighted in bold letters
Internal/End Rhymes
24 lines
Ray-Ban — brand of sunglasses
Rub-a-dub-dub — nursery rhyme
There is a thin line between the laugh and the cry.
The laugh is often perfected by one who has silenced her crying.
The laugh is sometimes a ruse, a ready weapon to camouflage pain.
When the laugh is hearty, loud, disturbing even, it can be masking a horror.
Do not be fooled by the laughing; these people are often hurting more than any of the others.
Get to know them. Ask “how are you really feeling?”
Do not be surprised if they laugh, pooh-poohing you.
If you persist they may tell you that they do not have any emotions.
Many children raised in the “olden days” were never allowed to have them.
Feelings were shut off in childhood, by parents who could only accept the laughing.
Sometimes the best clowns, the ones who keep us in constant stitches
Are doing so, to keep themselves from throwing a rope over a rafter.
Sometimes they break down, finally, and jump out the eighteen floor window.
Do not be fooled by the laughing.
It can be even more disturbing
Than a perpetual pouty face,
Or an angry arm-crossed bully-ish attitude.
Be aware of the laughing.
It is often a mask to cover the worst pain.
Robin Williams and John Belushi knew this.
Okay! Okay, just gimme a minute, or maybe even two.
It's just like you to pull up a chair just so I can sit next to you.
But I know you well enough not to fuss about anything at all.
Or
You will holler and hoot and act like a pouty faced doll.
Googling slime lids! Not salads once again; no not today!
Every food day is full of special green covered goon hay:(
You must feel really smart, eating fancy food that tastes like grass picked right off of the plains.
And the dreadfully endless tongue twisting, chew spitting and trying to pronounce all the intellectualized names.
You're evermore unflattering food names make everything I say, sound so rude; who!
But seriously though dude, it's not like I am obligated to eat with you; few!
But all of that sounds so bland, like organic sugar free maple syrup covered in fresh beach gathered sand.
So I promise I'll be a good little guest and wash my sweet syrup beach blonde maple colored hands.
If I wasn't being spoiled rotten or being tortured by nice,
You may have noticed our WAITER just drop off some cranberry ice.
You didn't know about juice flavored ice from Dwin?
I thought everyone knew about my fidgeting twin, named Lynn from the fruit flavored Iceland of Dwin.
I mean common, she's out of town, why else would I have this extra chair to sit in?
I brought cash so just forget about your half of the tip, I couldn't help myself indeed; as I ate all of your Doll-Yapper seeds.
They too are native to Dwin and beat the greens off your funky salad twin and beans.
Honestly though, I only sat down here for some strange on the clock fun.
And aside from being Debra Downer, (my real name), I Got paid to pull up a chair to relax and sit on my buns!
END
May 18, 2017
Delilah is a temptress with the magic of allure,
but special potions or devices aren’t required by her.
Women notice (enviously) her flawless skin so fair
and the unusual style of her lustrous long sleek hair.
She walks into a restaurant, a club, or any place. . . .
Silence falls as everybody’s gaze rests on her face.
The eyes of men are quickly drawn to a rosebud mouth
before they ever let their lustful eyes start traveling south.
That perfect mouth is painted pink. She lays one fingertip
seductively upon her pouty luscious bottom lip.
She wears a look “come hither” with the freshness of a girl,
and violets adorn her silky chestnut locks that swirl.
But merely entering the room is all she needs to do
for everyone to notice her most beautiful tattoo.
A rosy blossom at her eye the people see begin
to bloom out toward her cheekbone, and then narrow toward her chin.
A mark of beauty like no other they have ever seen:
this flowery tattoo must be the symbol of a queen!
Delilah only looks upon a man; his heart will burn,
and then he will do anything, this woman’s love to earn.
But the poor unfortunate with whom Delilah leaves
will taste forbidden fruit, and afterwards, he grieves.
That’s because Delilah cannot be with just one man.
This was the condition of another’s vengeful plan.
Because she spurned a powerful ancient god above,
he ruled that she would come to earth to never taste true love.
To keep her beauty, she must feel a mortal man’s desire,
but having one man more than once extinguishes the fire.
Should she stay with just one man, the tattoo near her eye
will fade away and like that flower, withering, she’ll die.
So the temptress - never staying in one place - moves on.
A night of passion, then her victim wakes to find her gone.
Having spent one night with her, his joy stays in the past,
and she, that lovely goddess, is denied a love that lasts.
Written by Andrea Dietrich
Inspired by the contest: "Tell Her Story"
Sponsored by ~ Constance La France ~ A Rambling Poet ~
Ancient God extended his hand
towards this beauty,
pulling her close unto
him, moulding her
voluminous figure with
ample bosom into
his embrace
As his hands tried to
memorize every inch
of her small waist,
to reluctantly travel upward
to touch her flawless face
He brushed aside a long
dark wavy auburn lock
that lit up beneath the
sun's hot rays
Her eyes, amazed him at
the multitude of colored
flakes that danced in
them so bright
Fire burned deep within
them showing she had fight
Yes Aphrodite would be
envious of this beautiful
breathtaking sight
For where doeth this
vision hail from
Pure perfection t'was
what she was
A soft sigh escaped her
pouty full lips tinted a
deep red rose
She had a small upturned
nose and cheeks set high,
soft but fierce tilted
upward chin
T'was her God-like beauty
that had drawn him in
Her accent perplexed him
as her sultry seductive
voice said
"Alas I am but modern woman...
our words don't even mix!"
He leaned forward taking in
her very scent to whisper
in her ear....
"T'would be an easy fix..!"
Ah to explore her curvaceous
beauty he would most
assuredly spend days
Adonis then whispered
"Fair Lady, pray tell, what is
thy name...?" With just one
word t'ween parted full lips
"Helen....." t'was what came
When a Man Loves a Woman
He awoke, unaware of what ailed him,
lay blissfully stupid upon the bed.
They had exchanged numbers. “Perhaps?” “We’ll see?”
yet now, by trailing scent of her, he's led.
“Twas but the fleeting brush of flaxen hair
filaments of gold this spidery maze
soft pouty kiss left hanging on the air
stunned prey held motionless ‘mid moonlit gaze.
Yet deep within the urge to run, to flee
deny the heated blood within his veins
escape the tentacles of what might be
while on the wind the rapture slowly wanes.
And yet he'll search each night those depthless eyes
arrayed within the nuance of disguise.
12/15/2016
When a Woman Loves a Man
She awakens cognizant of love’s start
rolls lazily on pillowed fantasy
longing to hear the thunder of their hearts
walking the silent rim of ecstasy.
All else is but a dreamy Princess theme
cold rain become the dripping tears of joy
cavorting in the mist of passion’s scheme
short dalliance with longing’s clever ploy.
Retreat, defend the castle, lest it fall
become but subjugate to passion’s King
live in the shadow of love’s passing thrall
wander in search of windblown scented spring.
Yet does the fervor of her heart conceive
a love no doubtful passion can unweave.
12/16/2016
I married him not to change him, but because I loved him
Never dreaming he was marrying me for another reason
I wants to mold me into another person, a sixties housewife
I did not marry a house; I married him. I kick and scream.
He is shocked at my refusal to not be me.
I run down the streets screaming my truth, hoping to escape.
Wishing for approval, not notoriety, but at least acceptance.
It is not to be. He has been here first, and he is persuasive.
A Gemini, charming, a wolf in sheep’s clothing who has gained trust.
He has me, I am his captive, but I go into it shrieking!
He has chosen my clothes, and lays out my day – in order.
He is totally not the man I thought I was getting; I am shocked.
I begin to shut down, maybe because I have already been isolated.
It is the first thing an abuser does. They isolate you through intimidation.
I do not like to see his pouty face or raised hand. I go into this whimpering.
I used to have a successful business, a computer, a cell phone.
I have none of these things now – just petticoats and aprons, lacy lingerie.
He is training me to be the woman he wanted, not woman I thought he loved.
I am shrieking and screaming and wailing and keening but silently.
Because I am terrified of the monster I have married.