Long Puckering Poems
Long Puckering Poems. Below are the most popular long Puckering by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Puckering poems by poem length and keyword.
The Gray
As I sat on a park bench on what appeared to be an ordinary day,
All of a sudden comes a change of winds and along comes the Gray.
As I sat alone in that dark deepening haze;
It felt cold, gloomy as if sealed in a granite wall maze.
The fog was so thick and dim it hung frozen in the air
There’s not a beam of light shining through; this Gray will not tare.
The wind whips up its pace into a devouring breeze that consumes me,
It's then I realize I am stuck in a Hell that's become reality.
As time slithers by, I hear a voice call out from the murky haze
“It’s my hands that strip the light from your brightest days.”
“Who’s there?” I cry, “Show yourself there’s no need to hide.”
“Foolish boy I’m what’s stored away in your empty heart ...
I am what makes you whole when you’re torn apart.
So don’t be afraid, for I will no longer hide
I’ll soon become your nothing inside.”
A silhouette of a female figure draws near,
I feel a foreboding of terror and tremble with fear.
A pale white face breaks through the haze of Gray
Her clouded eyes beam a message “With me you’ll stay”
“Who are you!” I demand. “What do you want from me?”
She drifts in closer hands extended, eyes beaming with intensity.
In that instant I become hypnotized by her eyes
My mind goes numb and body is paralyzed.
“Don’t be scared; this won’t hurt one bit.
It's a gift from me to you; life isn’t permanent.”
She leans in to my face, puckering her rigor mortis lips
When her cold skin touches mine my soul rests at her finger tips.
With her mouth over mine, she blows cold breathe into my empty lungs,
The air inflates my soul making it feel like it weighs tons.
Once she inhales, the weight lifts the pressure off my chest,
With my soul in her hands it feels like a soft caressed.
“I’ll be your warmth in the eternal blizzard of the grave,
Relax your worried heart; there is no way in Hell you’ll be saved.”
Sitting alone on that park bench I knew without her having to say,
That my soul would remain with hers bound forever together in the Gray.
Sitting in the bright morning skies,
the clouds white and glorious
and she right by my side.
O I hold her dear, soft hand
and she turns her lovely face
in my direction
and my heart melts into an iron pot
made for the evening passionate love
and I kiss her upon those pink lips
that bring such wonders to my
imagination that turns into reality
with a lean forward and the puckering of lips!
Love such a wonderful thing,
a single kiss that fuses two strangers together
and two hearts, which soon become one!
How love is such an adventure,
how love brightens ones' days in their darkest hours.
As we sit, watching the sun rise,
and sun set we venture out into the wilds of stormy realities
and I am not afraid of death;
for I am holding her dear, soft hand.
Her smile brightens such beauty in my soul
and makes a blind man see,
and a cripple walk,
and stops an ocean from destroying a fishing village
and keeps the demons at bay
and watch the spirit walk amaying;
such beauty,
O she brings to me.
Loving her,
with a single kiss,
a single, warm embrace
a rose for each day of the week I am with her,
a jewel for each month I am with her,
and a single innocent and pure child
for every year I am with her.
As I hold gently her dear, soft hand
I am not afraid of the dark secrets that lurk around dark corners
of crowded and bustling evening walkways,
and I hold her close to me,
(I hold her close to my heart)
and I smile,
for happiness is such a beautiful gift
and simple, yet glorious gift wrapped in gold wrapping paper
and tied with a crimson bow
put under the Christmas tree of my own heart
kept for safe keeping there,
and I retire to my bed of roses with her,
gently holding her dear, soft hand!
and we sleep together, like that
and we dream of what is to come in the near, blessed future
of our love together.
Wearing the pearl necklace and that golden bracelet
of such beauty that takes her smile and takes it sky high
to a different place, unlike this one.
We such two lovers in, sharing love,
and I holding her dear, soft hand forever and ever.
Liken rejection to the most revolting vile taste known to man.
Remember back to childhood, your very least favorite dish,
Recall how anticipation of this food caused a queasy stomach,
You would have given anything to avoid the dreaded enemy.
Forced at long last to face the table you’d gather up courage,
Employed crafty strategies such as hiding morsels in a napkin,
Faking a sudden illness, or pocketing vulgar hand fulls unseen.
Finally coerced to swallow mouth full after sickening mouth full,
Quickly trying not to throw up hoping to endure your punishment.
So easy and obvious it is to draw a comparison now as an adult,
Always frantically running terrified from all forms of rejection,
Choosing denial or simply turning off your emotional taste buds.
Everyone must weather this horrid gut-wrenching gull occasionally.
Curiosity presses me to ask what awful flavor is rebuff for you?
Is it unbelievably sour like drinking fresh squeezed lemon juice,
Puckering your mouth, twisting up your face, causing watery eyes?
Maybe it’s unreasonably sweet bringing on instant dizzying nausea.
Does it catch in your throat like a partially chewed bite of meat,
Choking, gagging, suffocating causing discomfort and panic?
For some it might even be a spicy hot flaming irrupting volcano,
Burning all the way down, then smoldering painfully for days.
Could it be like eating salt turning your mouth into a desert,
Cracked lips a parched tongue desperately crave cold water?
Others find it as cooked okra unpleasant slimy and fowl,
Oozy squishy slippery goo repulsive difficult to swallow.
With some foods it’s the texture or an unappealing smell,
Still more have memories attached very painful to tell.
It is human nature to avoid foods we don’t care for,
As with rejection which most people strongly abhor.
He waits, patient he is, as she brings his daily medicine.
Always in white, from head to toe, she is his angel
His time here, bound, limited, is not his choice,
But the random selection of enemy artillery.
While he was at the front, he had known what to expect
Here, he is very surprised by what has hit him
Love slapped him in the face, unexpectedly
Leaving him defenseless against her.
Each time she comes, he smiles, hoping to stir her feelings
Yet, she passes, like a dove, knowing the presence
But continuing on her daily routine, chores,
Unknowing of watchful eyes and heart.
His time for leaving this hospital quickly approaches.
Each and every minute is torment of denied love.
He must confess his feelings and intentions
Risking the friendship and bond, they share.
Stunned at first, she admits to her feelings of love, too.
He can’t believe his ears, her voice is now music.
He takes her by the waist and pulls her to him
Lips puckering for the first time, shared.
They both feel the electricity, the undeniable, inevitable truth.
He tells her of plans to marry and the home in the states
And she breaks down, crying uncontrollably.
This is not what she expected, but is willing.
He went off to the states with dreams, discharged honorably.
He holds on to her until the day of her arrival, to be his.
Moments away are torturous to his heart and mind,
Leaving him with plans to make, for her arrival.
It is morning. Train pulls in at 10:45 am in New York’s Penn Station.
He waits with flowers and a smile that could start an automobile.
Descending the stairs now, he sees her, she sees him.
They run, embrace, kiss and plan tomorrow.
by Michaelw1two
Such is this thought, of all things thus bought,
material things, emotional needs, self-respect;
humanity today is wrought, from birth
until nature, accident, or incident;
sets your soul free from your peonage,
your prison, your ragged lifetime begot;
by this illusion that you are free…
humanity’s imagination, gleaned
from ideals on scripted pages,
begs from this universe an answer;
to the how and why of such deception,
and rejection, and inflection,
that minimizes the quality and worth of each being;
sequesters each special seed,
diminishes every opportunity given,
to each and every one of US sent
into this liars den of touts and thieves;
through ideals and thoughts,
to this blithe reality tossed,
that dreams indeed are nothing else
than a cherry less butt…
that nasty bugger picked and flicked,
into the face of the weakest one at school;
such fools believe, ideals behoove all of US,
onto the highest and most lofty deeds;
reality perceived is myth now lived,
for its braggarts, and beggars,
and hind end lickers,
that for a price precede to succeed,
causing honesty and truth to bleed;
red to black, upon the flesh
of the innocent and the weak,
and how these paid touts so smile,
at the chaos they willingly wreak;
all for a bit of valueless paper…
there then is reality flexed,
the pungent stool plopped into
these touts pursed and puckering lips;
gobbled greedily each drop pled bit,
as their Dominis takes his daily ****.!
Michael Darrell WalkerJohn
Gallimaufry of linkedin words appeal,
(particularly spoken by renown orator)
'cept when unnamed poetaster afflicted
with chatterbox syndrome,
nonetheless deliberate effected
muzzle restraint imposed
suppressing groundswell analogous
to swollen dam bursting at seams
tongue kickstarts controlled regulator
tripping baffling babbling brook,
sans (cheesy) mouth trap
conscious effort required
maintaining exhausting mental vigilance
attention oriented toward "active listening"
chiming into conversation
when casually addressed
quasi Uber tracking,
sustaining, rendering...
pondering dialogue deliberating,
mustering, aiming, firing...
apropos response adhering
to utmost strictures de rigor,
versus loosing (in the sky)
scattershot poppycock
offbase blatherskite, asper
topic under discussion
synchronicity satisfies peculiar
personal logical paradigm,
despite senseless compulsive predilection
condemning premature ejaculation
plus crosstalk as penultimate transgression
pertaining to papa blurting
asynchronous interjection
consigning tight lipped penance
penile solitude condoned
should predicated persistent plague
prevail attributing penuriousness
lame excuse pardoning yours truly
remote possibility, threatening
spurious spontaneous splendiferous
albeit ill timed unspeakable retort
with hot sealing wax - most wicked
verbal utterance arrogantly
perforating, piercing, protruding,
puckering... two lips
escaping out mouth
more rapid than witnessing
the quick brown fox
jumps over the lazy dog.
I love you better
than Cookies and Cream,
my lifelong favorite
more than seas playing footsies
with shore clams
in cuddly tropical sands
The warmth of enticing Caribbean
soothing waters
(billowy-sails...fields of overhead
stars...night's complicit fireflies
helping chart to a romantic cove
a beat-up heart seeking a paradise-like
new-start)
(a desire for tasteful, novel, cheerful effervescent
brew, a need to leave on the old dock past that settled for
impure bitters)
( navigate clear of thought defacing
apps like Facebook's and Twitter's
that falsely entice, tempt
a free-thinking, sacred spirit, to
express living solely on a mindless
uncaring device – not a true life, just a
wax slice
not abiding complete, but in fact,
manipulated into electronic defeat....)
Petals need firm attachment if to be
enticing blushing roses~ blooms for crinkly smiles,
puckering lips and playful toes-es –
Valentines of
perfumed hearts made of hand-laid,
lacy type paper, crafted by flirty eyes
in agreement with pheromone receptive
noses
A softly played harp...a bower of flowers...
Back lathering showers shared – which
requires a minimum of two daring
hearts...wantonly, lovingly paired –
Love is always trumpeted, openly, fondly, vociferously
musically declared....
My valentine has a sweet and sour citrus taste;
A lemon dewdrop puckering my purloined lips,
Stolen by yours, whose on mine, will not waste,
For though you're free from love, I am trapped in its grip.
Your dimpled smile and mahogany eyes,
Have for eight long years been my demise.
For though I've kept my eyes on the golden prize,
They've only seen in dreams a life longing for lies.
For your love is searching for another one,
Despite your tease and subtle suggestions
That you're the kind which others shun,
And why, I think, you gift to me your soul's rejection.
Which is why my valentine has a sweet and sour citrus taste,
For my valentine is actually vodka.
Forget red roses and violets blue,
I'm sick of being in love with you.
You've robbed of the freedom to be felt,
By who I feel, makes my heart melt.
Starlight, star bright, can you grant my wish tonight?
To shut the hell up everyone who thinks that valentine's day is a real holiday
And not a scam created by Hallmark to increase sales during a low-income month.
Twinkle, wrinkle on Kellyanne Conway's face,
She looks like fifteen years have been erased.
Oh, is that a fossil I see on the tv?
Oh wait, it's just Kellyanne Conway, she must be tired from having a terrible job and miserable boss.
Which is why my valentine has a sweet and sour citrus taste,
For my valentine is actually a screwdriver I am currently pouring in my face.
I remember those late late nights.
with you running in my head.
no technology, just dimmed lights.
just me and that rosary.
I heard you were in desperate times..
Made me shed a tear and cry.
You adore the puckering sour of fresh limes
My heart yearned for you; yet you couldn't hear me.
So I prayed softly at night.
holding that dear rosary.
each deca, each bead, *dribble*
Hoping, wishful thinking
Stoned faced, but cracked easily by your water.
Rain pours out from missing you
Each drop a dribble *flash* memory.
never stoping to haunt me.....
Each deca. with a wish for success.
your striving... holding on... Staying strong.
-silence-cuts deep.
I knew I had you, yet I doubt you.
Your smile is my joy. Your tears were my pain.
What will i ever do? except be
thankful we have met,
The sense of fresh cut limes set free.
The last feeling i have felt,
from you is the warm of your grace.
That would pucker my lips and
express my face.
-Ems'ilverscripts.
-Poet's note.-
Calmed by minty memories. My grandfather was a family value man, and the sweetest to my grandmother. Vintage photographs and fresh summer breeze, held tight,-slice- green shades ripples on a wooden board. dropped in clear glass, poured over ice.
Thank you taking the time in glancing in my eyes, enjoy the warmth of the next sunrise.
On mountaintop lake I swam all alone
while the afternoon sweltering sun shone
being 95 degrees out this was a treat
but little did I know who I would meet,
Floating on my back towards some reeds
I felt something tickle me on my feet
looking around I didn't see anything
the water kind of brackish but pretty clean,
Before I knew it the monster grabbed me
his amphibious head and body made me scream
looking like part man and part fish
his mouth puckering opening and closing as if to kiss,
He dragged me mercilessly several feet down
and gasping for air I feared I would drown
so with all my might I kicked him where it hurts
and while he cowered I swam away with a lurch,
Running to shore where I had my belongings
I remembered I had brought a weapon for a warning
the Gill man coming out of the water towards me
I yelled "STOP" or I'm going to zap you positively,
At first he didn't understand me or flee
and like a puppy dog he tilted his head simply
turning around frustrated he went back to the water
diving in he disappeared like a reptilian otter,
Arriving at the police station I replayed the scene
of the gill man in the lake who was the color green
the police just stared at me like I was a loon
and said "lady you must've been watching the creature
from the black lagoon!"
5-15-17