Long Private parts Poems
Long Private parts Poems. Below are the most popular long Private parts by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Private parts poems by poem length and keyword.
Family Betrayal
(Familial Subterfuge)
Please wait until I’m dead before you take my head
My bed is stripped of sheets and blankets
Feathers missing from my pillows
Bartered for some drugs and cigarettes
These “emergencies” arising frequently
Chicanery is part of human nature
Family is familiar with my property and me
Please say a prayer before you bury me in debt
Empty my accounts when I am dead
Leave me a few crumbs to nibble on for now
A cold corner of the floor to mourn
And some rags to hide my private parts
They are not for sale
Thank you family for everything you've given me
Familial subterfuge catastrophes
Are yours
Please sweep my ashes out the door
To a better world
I GET ALL FERSCHEMMELED
Y'all think I'm this handsome young devil
Got news for y'all haven't been on the level
Got quite a large tummy
Mother dresses me funny
When girls touch my parts I get all ferschmmeled
SKETCHING FAMOUS PEOPLE
Think I'll get back to sketching famous people
When they autographed my drawings it was a real big deal
My success rate's way up there
Much more than my share
Twelve hundred last count that was totally surreal
THE PRUDE
There once was an old dude quite a prude
Never drank never smoked up never crude
Till one fine day
A girlie did play
With his private parts, changed the old dude's mood
"Hello" opposite sex.
Nice to meet.
Please join me
on my summer seat.
Not too close!
A foot apart.
Second date.
Yes we may kiss.
No tongue please.
I'm a proper Miss.
Reach for my bra?
Don't you dare!
I always thought
that you were square.
A month in.
We're going steady.
That does not mean
That I am ready,
for you to touch
my private parts.
That would be
not so smart.
Sex is such
a dirty thing.
If you want it
I want a ring.
Mum and Dad
will be pleased,
to hear you got
down on one knee.
'Neath the Xmas tree.
We all know
Irish men...
How they drink.
Then marching home.
How they stink!
Demanding their
conjugal right.
Us poor women
get a fright,
to behold that
gruesome member.
Baby was born
in September.
Fat or skinny
Short or long
There is no way to go wrong
When their put inside your buns
It becomes a lot of fun
They can squirt stuff from inside
They are moist and sometimes dry
Plumping up when they get hot
They are loved a very lot
You will find women and men
With these in their mouths and then
They will swallow every bit
Of this treats deliciousness
This meaty and tasty treat
Measured in inches and feet
Is enjoyed by one and all
Some are big and others small
This treat that I am speaking of
Is the world famous hot dog
Shame on all your dirty minds
Thinking all my written lines
Were about mens private parts
Laughing I fooled lots and lots
So my friend said his sister was saying her vows
In a low key church ceremony three weeks from now
No parties, no showers, no flowers, no muss
But I thought to myself she deserved a small fuss!
So I planned a surprise that would redden her face
A Bachelorette Party so hot and debase
She would never forget for the rest of her days
That wee bit of naughty before strict married ways.
I invited her over to casually dine
And not knowing her friends, I invited all mine.
I decorated the place with men's private parts
And hired a stripper from "Bachelor of Darts."
She arrived right on time, a quarter past seven
And I found my friend's sis was a slice out of heaven
And that description is not the slightest bit shabby
As his "sister" was a nun from the neighborhood abbey!
I welcomed her whilst I was gesturing frantically
For my friends to hide all that would shame me gigantically
And to their credit they did, even cancelled the stripper
And we dined and chatted til I was feeling quite chipper
We finished the meal, and I went to the loo
When suddenly a scream went up from my crew
I ran to see sister slumped, white as a ghost
And a room full of people hysterical almost
There in front of the nun sat the special dessert
I had ordered before meeting the sweet Sister Gert
It was fully erect, took a long time to make
And for the first time I found myself regretting cake!!!
8/7/2016
For contest "Regretting Cake"
Finalized 8/14/2016
Now for "Take the Dagger from my heart, Please"
I've constructed a picket fence around me to keep jackanapes out
Through pickets they can see me, but I never allow them to touch
private parts of me I keep concealed, and don't talk about so much
I keep whitewashing my fence, cleansing it from things left in doubt
When my boards become exposed to prying eyes that shouldn't see
I open another bucket of watered-down paint and reach for a brush
to cover the flaws, my faults within, and I am always in such a rush
to whiten and brighten the facade out front. The veneer veiling me.
There is a gate with well-worn hinges, but usually it's kept locked
to prevent invaders who would dare trespass on my every thought
Those who'd despoil my fence with graffiti and rip my boards apart
Hence, one reason why I keep a supply of whitewash well-stocked
I am the prismed reflection of my surroundings, including my fence
where no webs shall arachnids weave within my weathered boards.
I will apply a coat of whitewash to my palisade as the need affords
It is a beachhead between me and crawlers; my penury of defense
Twining around my picketed railings, grows a vine of climbing roses
The virtuous blooms are never cut to prolong each inculpable stem
They shroud malevolent fingers pointed at me that would condemn
I shrive every foible and failing that my whitewashed fence encloses
May 28, 2023
W T F Poetry Contest
Sponsor: John Lawless
I came from a land of redneck drinkers, who mounted deer heads on walls without sheetrock. It was a simpler time. You shot or hooked what you ate. A wood stove heated the whole house. It ran on bottled propane when wood was scarce. I can still smell the blackening butter and hear the purple-red deer meat sizzling in Gram’s cast-iron fry pan on that day. I can see the knife gash in the imprint of flowers on the homemade butter. Its beauty marred to lather the pan as mine had been. Each day since then, as I knelt on the chair staring past the potted violets toward the house next door, I'd shiver.
whispers
breach the bedroom walls:
chain-locked door
I came from a land where, through a picture perfect window, a little girl could see rows of candy-colored gladiola’s growing beside the home of the neighbor boys. The boys whose Father liked to flash his private parts to little girls. No, this was not the end of the yellow brick road, but the land of bullies, beer, and ******** pedophiles, far from picture perfect.
She looks through the lens,
a Baltimore Oriole
had just flared into orange sherbet,
but now there was her wide-eyed grin
filling every space left over.
Once as a young man, I dated
a sweet girl.
I called her my ‘yellow ducky’
but even her comical loveliness
had only filled my arms and private parts,
but my head remained stuffed full
of a teenage kapok.
Watching golden eagles,
my long lens growing heavy
as I scan the sky for the false gold
in their plumage.
We used to call females ‘chic’s.’
As a kid, I had to wear
huge, round, corrective glasses
I was known as ‘owl’ boy.
The Baltimore Oriel is back,
it alights on a branch just above you,
blooming again in a frizzle of colors;
you are unaware and keep smiling
into the camera.
My head is a fizz of euphoria.
I bless Baltimore, for being
that golden city in the clouds
that I always thought it was.
Do we really want to talk about such things,
well, here it comes, in a slightly veiled form,
let's say on a professional basis, a medical oasis,
somebody has to do it - I'm glad it's not me.
It all started with private parts and finished,
let's say that all the enthusiasm had not diminished;
I was unfolded and folded back like someone
was making a sandwich - didn't matter, brown or white.
There's an option - easy one, fine and the other?
Well now, one can be transfixed, fleeting moment;
did it happen, yes - part of our system, you know,
there are limits - it's about as far as you can go.
Perhaps I should have considered medical harassment,
but the poor chap wouldn't like the embarassment.
Floral aspects of my life blooming in front of me
like wallpaper memories of my pink room
The smell of loose leaf hugging a red leather binder
flourishes underneath the sunlit words
of my young maiden's hand;
Looping letters that show the romantic side of me
small caricature vowels and nouns
that reveal the private parts that are never seen
Blushing mornings that drench the violets
in that little garden where father kept his vines
Quiet evenings spent in my room
talking to a Statue, "reflection of a Mystic soul"
I was so many girls back then, but today I am only one
A seasoned writer with who lives and strives
despite the world's demise.
Dec 15, 2021