Long Protrusions Poems
Long Protrusions Poems. Below are the most popular long Protrusions by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Protrusions poems by poem length and keyword.
An essence heard a heartfelt plea
meek, unconfident, not familiar
"Should I bother anymore? Please guide me."
His words hardly mist....
a response slices the scene
with the speed of a guillotine.
skittering over the asymmetrical
similarities of a snowy expanse
a messenger appears
cracks of icy dunes
produce precarious pawfalls
plaguing the vixen.
venturing further precisely
she plods over precipices
of ragged protrusions
desperate to achieve the comfort
of a smooth surface.
"Where you go is perilous!
I worry for your safety!
It can't be done, you won't survive!"
...cried the timid.
Her movement stops on cue
slowly facing the pupil
she teaches in silent syllables
floating on unknown frequencies.
" DAMN YOU NAYSAYER!
I have no time for the likes of you.
Say I won't survive? Come out alive?
I've fought through worse pain
finding sustenance to gain
morsels leaving one inspired
not feeling as if they're mired.
Search within your pores
find where you have hidden yours."
Dumbfounded - the novice stirs restlessly
"Perplexed, I see, you are mon cherie.
Hear what you seek before I flee.
When life's coldness surrounding you
leaves you writhingly wretched
don't feel so desolate and utterly dejected.
Deep inside lies the truth
albeit quite protected.
Bugger those scorning your worth
their eyes glisten shades green.
Stagnantly feeding ego's girth
pompous words - own to preen.
YOU are the Alpha here Jack
there is no need to whine
Condemn the disapproving pack
let your own light shine
Too much weight put into their drivel
making your inner child snivel
Buck up, put them in their place
other's ire force them to chase.
This be your nefarious impasse
faux approval merely to fit in
Always people of that class
saying anything to win
Lastly,
though I've said enough....
It's as you learned when a tyke
those times you fell off your bike
quit being a ruse
get back to your muse
keep working at what you like!"
Sunset facing her gaze
signals the quest resumed
Her protege audibly sobs
a simple seven syllable soliloquy stating:
"Thank you
I love and miss you!"
with a whispered (mom)
Tender tendrils of whispy wind
touch a cheek with a kiss
and a lasting voiceless return.....
"Forever, son"
Time disorder is common in a concert meant for those who rush
one organized by adrenaline and moderated by passion
a boomerang transaction, where the receiver and giver are the same
in a speedy interplay, faster than lightening and confusing to the clock,
a deal where the expense is simply the profit.
Her effect in this cold feels like warm hell in cracked ice
proving that sexuality is the best chef, which leaves her expertly baked
for this burning tease to dispossess the rain of its rainbow.
It’s time to do nature’s homework with an instinctive craft
where lust is king and fantasy, on a red bikini.
This enticing invitation with a humid feel can’t be given a missed call
I deserve the death sentence if I let go of this appealing grip.
Sliding through her flat front with a distracted composure
sinking into her back door protrusions with that sense of entitlement
feeling those submissive rib bones like the keys of an organ
all in one body capable of unfreezing the ice of antartica.
Lips melting into mine like a burning candle wax
two mountains with tips, the only gateway to the pink skies
in need of my suck, they stand round, firm and below her rubber shoulders.
She gladly wears my impatience like a fitted leather belt
complimenting it with accelerating moves in dire need of a stabilizer
folding into each other as we dance the ‘lock and key’
then every cardinal point is met by our sliding, rolling bodies
and greeted with the appetizing sounds of our clapping torsos.
Feasting in the accommodation of her wrapped gorgeous limbs
oblivious in pleasure’s park from the blanket of her flesh
erotic hospitality not in history books, served by the sheets of her skin
I’m wild, lost in reality, faded in sanity as both bodies prey on each other
displaying a vigil of powerful affection void of the pause button
for the sun to delay its rise as it hopes for a continuous replay.
She slipped into the single’s club,
where an assortment
of horny guys and lonely hearts had assembled.
Some were there hoping to find that "special" someone
and some had come to chase away the blues,
tinkling ice in cocktail glasses soon to be refilled.
Others, who might be labeled commitment phobic,
had simply come to case the place for an easy lay.
Swinging svelte, mini-skirted hips lasciviously,
she strutted over to the counter
on legs that looked their longest and most shapely
from being hoisted on high red heels.
Every pair of eyes was trained on her.
Some in the club gawked
with eyes that hid beneath mascara-painted lashes, flitting envy.
Others leered with pupils dilating lust
from ogling the two soft protrusions in her tight white turtleneck.
Then with pink champagne in hand,
the goddess turned and surveyed her audience,
most of whom by now had looked away.
One remained, mesmerized, with eyes riveted on her.
He quivered when she caught his gaze
and strolled over to where he sat.
As she approached, he marveled at her face -
the chiseled cheekbones strong and high,
the dark eyes, luminescent and immense,
and curiously, an upturned nose so delicate
it seemed almost too perfect,
like one acquired from a sculptor’s hands.
He gulped when she asked him for a dance,
and as he asked this intriguing lady’s name,
he wondered at the timbre of her voice,
so provocative and low as she tossed dark brown locks
and said seductively,
“My name is Lola. L-O-L-A , Lola.”
Inspired by an old song from the 70's and
used now for Skat's the Premiere Contest number 10 Poetry Contest
Convoluted Reflections of Possibility
Artistotle reflecting on the nature of man
Convoluted reflections of possibility that can
Manifest into existence at the clapping of a hand
And contest the resistance of what it means to take a stand
For what you believe in because it’s worth more than words
As the form that reprieve brings can assume the absurd
As the worn out grieving cries out to be heard
The storm that sees things forms a lesson to be learned
Execution of task based focus for productivity
Revolution for the last placed locusts of ingenuity
Elocution of the past raced moments of equanimity
A solution for problems faced by components of volatility
A considered position on all the formalities
While omitted precision consumes the tonalities
And committed decisions presume the congeniality
As embittered revisions exhume the commonality
Respected renditions of insight that provide profound conclusions
Rejected derisions of dark light that contrive around confusion
Inspected omissions of stark fright that arrive at sharp protrusions
Reflected precisions of delight that that strive to negate the art of delusions
The might of one man propelled by absolute conviction
The sight of a hand compelled in resolute distinction
The bright command environmentally repelled into a mass extinction
The light reprimand contemporarily expelled by a mute political collision
The lines of regret upon a forlorn face crying
The times we forget to warn the race that is lying
The crimes beget of the forms of grace that are akin to testifying
The sublime correct the norms in their place while the innocent are dying
Even in expensive suit
a monster cannot be glamorous.
A young lady full of life and purpose
is blind to the script she had never read.
She's charmed by his scent, sense of adventure and boldness
but to fall victim of her bright colours, turning dirty.
Her age and experience both in incubation
and from the producing heat, she gradually gets burnt,
as time gets drowned
and life becomes a gentle toddler full of beards.
The only evidence of his humanity
is his unbelievable appetite
which hits fire alarm to greedily sniff all her condensed flavours.
His whip is stained with her DNA,
from the moment he owns the buttons of her attention,
his paralyzed heart with sharp protrusions
makes every embrace in need of an urgent X-ray.
The walls scream each time they hold hands
and Angels change to black robes whenever they kiss.
She's contented with partial satisfaction
as her head lay on his foamless bed.
She awaits the rain with hope on the cloudless sky,
not seeing how his pleasures come with side effects
shown by her smile-shy face which declares happiness a contraband.
A dress with a hundred stitches can no longer fit
but she holds the needle in continuous labour
to please one who scares the layers of his own skin.
Love frowns at this terrible being
who makes water boil at sub-zero temperatures.
Love shrinks at the confused one
who pokes the eye of the serpent in misjudged loyalty.
The world shakes its head in pity of her
for her eyes open, but very slowly to the filth of her foolishness,
as her young and beautiful legs
get stuck in the mud of his ruthlessness.
Love is blind but the lover shouldn't be.
Then I saw heaven opened, and behold, a white horse! The One riding on it is called Faithful and True, and He judges and makes war in righteousness. His eyes are like flames of fire, and many royal crowns are on His head. He has a name written that no one knows except Himself. Revelation 19:11-12
Seriously America
S e r i o u s l y A m e r i c a,
soothing l a - l a ‘s rage
as I r e f l e c t in the mirror;
feet on ten and two,
though now we are s c o u n d r e l s
u n l e s s we steer at nine and three.
The sun’s on top of the sea.
Drenched land holds me up.
I grab the ragged b a c k b o n e
of the H O M E I L O V E.
My b e a t of days in the heat,
waiting for protrusions, to escape.
Kodachrome of freewheeling albums
that caught daydreams in recollection.
A new name, the Lord knows.
I’ve forgotten who I was, who I’ll be.
America’s carried around the bend.
The Lord drops off those who pull the cord.
A few stay on for the wild ride.
I’m wild like a barebacked horse
and F R E E, my certificate said so,
but I let the r e i g n of God
hold my attention, place my feet
on a high rock.
America is my homeland,
but Christ is my Home,
therefore my trust is in Him
whose rainbow halo crowns
above this blue planet.
One day I will break free
and fall into the arms of the One,
with so many names, we know,
except the one he keeps to Himself.
He knows my name, and will give me
a new name befitting my time on earth.
“Known as His,” will be good enough,
for I don’t need any accolades - that crown
of feats will be tossed at His worthy feet.
There is such a chill.
I’d make use of my flesh
as a heart warmer if only
it hadn’t withered to naught.
Bone protrusions meddle with
the rags of skin that remain
to drape about them.
I feel shame board off
the windows peering into
my mind.
What does one do with their rejected help?
Where does one go to hide from the
monsters of hopelessness?
Care tries to focus beyond the boards
into the depths of my answerless pupils.
I hear pain meagerly challenge the
question deep within my heart, gingerly
prodding at the loose cloth that remains
of my physique.
When did arrogance overpower the
affect of compassion?
Tears collect around my eclipsed eyes,
drowning out faith, drowning out liberty.
My eyelashes swing profusely at the pools
of sadness, but needles of ignorance
sew them to my brow with threads of pessimism.
I try to watch through the sorrow.
How can such barbaric norms exist amongst
one’s mind?
Slander poisons the air my lungs rely on,
dirtying the words that exit my mouth.
I feel my throat close.
Slander is poisoning my air.
My throat is tight.
Slander.
Tight.
As my eyelids become heavy I have but
one thing left, the fold of serenity in my brain.
Poisoning slander.
Throat closed.
Serenity.
I feel the air carving prejudices into my voice box.
I restrict.
Choke.
Restrict.
Choke.
The only segregation I allow is between my mind and the slander.
The choking is done.
I am done.
Serenity prevails and
I am done.
I am done, but serenity prevails.
Form:
Every journey worth its salt has rocky places
Bank to bank filled with frothing white water,
The economics of avoidance, steering a lean course,
Avoiding higher peaks that thrill - vouchsafed to others.
Rest days taken during times of lower water
Even portaging some sections altogether,
Below one dam a three mile jumble of boulders.
Only one stretch really caught us napping.
Truth be told it really had me worried,
But knowing that we were riding higher water
I steered as best I could between foaming protrusions
That prudence whispered likely hid a rock.
Just once, as I recall, we grounded on gravel bar,
But I pushed us off before current turned us broadside. (10)
Minnesota's rollicking Mississippi is a charmer,
And many State Campgrounds court her boundaries,
Some even have hot water showers and manicured sites,
But a pall of mosquitoes infests more timbered parks
That no wind short of a tornado has the power to disperse,
We ate our evening meals under beekeeper's hats and nets,
It is funny when mosquitoes dive bomb cooling plates of food.
Poet's Notes:
(10) This is a real danger for a canoe in a rapid. A canoe that turns broadside to the rushing water can be rapidly filled with water and swamped.
“Four dollars a shot,”
marched from the bartender’s mouth -
each syllable carried the clanks
of Herbie’s Rhodes – jutting like
glacier crags in swells of desert-base.
They carried the smoke curling like
a silver chain draped around a neck,
and the bulges of slurred blurbs.
The words seeped from the regular collection of
the blood-sweet odor of smoke –
not the bartender.
I understood the bar, but I didn’t know what he meant.
The four dollars rustled out of my wallet
and crinkled on the table like
brittle leaves popping back into form.
The sap-colored whiskey
plunked on the bar,
and hummed a sharp
alcoholic song.
Masked, the bartender noticed
an obtuse heap of slurs that
rumpled his skin into a smile.
His shoulders flipped,
and he was swept into
the patterned shrub of sensation.
He was now an indeterminable piece in a clouded order.
I swilled the amber,
and stumbled through links of smoke
until I spilled out
into the violent protrusions of the quiet evening –
like sails glaring on a sun-crushed sea.
I still can’t figure out what that four dollars was worth,
or what the bartender said to me.
A light wind gently rocks our sailboat as
breezes begin to pick up on the sun drenched dock.
Cable wires rap and tap upon the mast as
daylight filters thinly through the clouds.
Egrets begin to peck around the gangway
foraging for scraps from bugs or grubs.
Great blue heron busily prepares her nest
high upon the eucalyptus tree.
I sit and daydream on the harbor deck
just enjoying the sea breeze, sights and sounds.
Kelp beds sway rhythmically with the currents
lapping the rocks at low tide, while
massive flocks of birds perch purposefully
near a lonely lighthouse high on the jetty.
Open seas spread toward the horizon where
pelicans busily dive bomb for fish.
Quarry rocks surrounding the harbor create
rocky protrusions, allowing ground squirrels to
spy sailors earnestly jibing on ocean water
tacking swiftly through the northwest winds.
Under the pylons and gangways
various starfish and mussels cling
with schools of fish swimming in tandem.
Xylophone sounds drift with music from a
Yacht club hosting a spring concert.
Zeal for the beauty of harbor life moves me.
Written on 2/11/2015