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.
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.
Silver and glitz,
Satin and gold,
Place oozes with joy,
A pearl-laden crowd.
Four men standing.
Grinning like half-eaten moon pies
One holy man, somber and straight.
A fancy woman walks in escorted by her son.
Three chorus girls make their descent, in matching dresses.
A little pink-laden girl with fancy petticoats prances past,
Dragging an uneager pouty boy along.
The crowd murmurs, softly.
The long anticipated song begins.
Everyone stands.
Turns.
Hoping to have a glimpse of the veil-clad princess
Who is hanging on to the suit of her father.
Not me.
I always turn and look at the groom.
That’s the real show.
Are his cheeks alcoholic red?
Does he look like he’s ready to hurl?
Or is he bright-eyed, and bushy-tailed?
Does pride ooze from his eyes as he watches his bride?
This tells me so much about what kind of
Life she will have after the
Big day.
Tiny dancer
In the palm of my hand
I watch you all night long
Wind you up
Gracefully you dance away
Falling for you-
asleep to your beauty
Tiny dancer
Years of smiles, flirtatious taunts
Let’s put some kindling around our spark
Let’s see where it’ll lead
Tiny dancer
Your pale skin
Your glance, your smiles back at me
Catches my eyes-
My mind, my heart
Your eyes lure my soul inside
Opening the doors peering inside, cautiously
Painfully remember what’s at stake
Tiny dancer
Graces my eyes in front of me
Gracefully dancing towards me
Sensually brushing up against me
Sliding her hands up against my chest
With her pouty lips, softly placed on mine
Takes my hands and slides them around her
Tiny dancer
Tiny dancer
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
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.
Her's is a wonderfully framed oval face
with startling attributes such as pouty mouth similar to Angelina Jolie...how pretty...
and eyebrows golden brownish snaking around to
make the windows of the soul all that more remarkable
with the golden tones hued with bluish tint-
cheekbones strong and prominent
articulate the facial structure so that the face
is a wonder to behold and this is the face
with all it's components
that could melt a thousand hearts.
The face of today has changed so
evolved over a thousand millenium
from a most prominent brow
to a softer
more refined structure-
herein lies the beauty of the ages
the ever evolving lips, cheekbones, and caressable
ears...
burned into memory
for all time.
To love is to burn with passion, like flames of a fire.
~ by poet
On canvas, her loveliness was yet a vague concept
A beginning sketch in shades of charcoal grays
by the hand of one who knew her in greater detail...
the gleam in her eyes; curve of her lips when she smiles
Her pleading expression bemoaned when her lips parted
The artist's masculine hand trembled as he painted her
Tormented with need, she looked at him while in a pose
His eyes replied, "Not yet. I need to paint you in this light."
With brush, he quickly began filling his palette with colors...
peach blush for her cheeks, soft rose to tint her pouty lips
She opened her eyes to reveal irises dancing in hues of blue
He'd captured her beauty's nuance with the eyes of a lover
Pouty lips crave your passionate kisses
Why must you torture me, by holding back
Give into your heart's desire and feel bliss
It will be our love song , a sweet soundtrack
This melodious tune will play all night
You and you alone can put out this fire
You're the pilot, take me on a good flight
I'm the passenger please take me higher
I don't mind turbulence, just go steady
The altitude is just right, I can't wait
It will be a nice trip, I am so ready
My love this is such a heavenly state
Baby I hear birds singing, we must land
It's fine my love because it was quite grand
11-22-16
Alexis Y.
The beauty of passion
In a poisonous fashion
Attention feels rationed
It’s a fatal attraction
Ravenous biting
A scandalous whisper
Addicted to fighting
With Lady Love’s sister
A burning temptation
An aching sensation
You lose all orientation
When she’s on rotation
She makes you melt
Can’t take the heat
Best lips you’ve felt
They taste so sweet
Perception is cloudy
Her lips turn pouty
Her touch is inviting
She keeps things exciting
She sneaks up from behind
Takes control of your mind
She’ll rob your heart blind
And keep you confined
She’s the primal urge
The desire to merge
To be skin to skin
It’s the sweetest sin
She’s love without trust
Pure chaos that’s unjust
Push her away if you must
Or keep dancing with Lady Lust
Poetry is moody, she can be pouty and sad.
She can be vibrant, dancing the chicken dance.
I allow her freedom to be herself.
It does me no good to feel I am the boss.
Poetry is a chameleon. He is flexible.
He wakes me up in the night with an end rhyme.
What the heck!
Poetry is a teaser.
Poetry is not just a he or a she.
They is also a we, an us, a them, collaborating.
Going off in directions I could not outguess.
Doing what I never knew they could do.
Poetry slides onto a page with loops and whorls.
Laughing at my consternation.
Taking me totally unserious.
Poetry does not listen.
Sometimes I have this weird feeling I am in charge.
Poetry laughs
Pokes fun at me
Smacks me upside the head
Flies out the window with a hamster on her back.
Reminding me who is in charge.