Long Pulled Poems
Long Pulled Poems. Below are the most popular long Pulled by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Pulled poems by poem length and keyword.
She had fallen into the neon region of her soul again
It was going to be one of those ….
She looked around at the corals and the yellows
Greeting her in a happy way
And yet she understood that this could easily
Turn into a nightmare again
She had been led into the bowels of a great dream before
That had turned evil
She listened for her guides, to see if they had advice.
There was nothing
Such is the world of the dream.
You enter having no idea what to expect.
At least she had a choice about the way she entered
Skipping and singing or as if pulled by a chain of reluctance
She chose the latter
There was a child who ran wild
Who was born into fragments broken pieces styled
Locks without rocks book without fiction
Played cops robbers toys pulled with friction
He liked mud pies bean pies rock spot and trial sized chocolate bits with thick Caramel sooth sailing mixed
He liked climbing hills with Bill Bad cowboy and all his donkeys
Talk trash with no cash climb trees with monkeys
Play imaginary Dallas state star gazed would sunk see
Drowning toys tied with strings go home you monkey
The rock slide he rides Rushed hours to the thigh while mother called Tommy boy Back in the house as the sun went down
His clothes were literally drowned
Playtime debris chocolate on his knee
Every toy imaginary could be
Put up for another time eat carrots to tell time
Water was calling to wash off residue
Sheets set to a dial tone that told Tommy not to move
Deep sleep it would be end travels do sing
But covers pulled back and sang Tommy to sleep
I am a rag doll
Pliable, and gullible.
I believe you
So tell me your truth and your lies.
I will not discriminate
Move me into places you want me to go.
I am flexible, and there will be no argument
I will listen to your tales, and believe wholeheartedly.
There will be no laughter.
I will attempt a smile.
It may not happen
You see someone else broke me.
They pulled off a leg,
and they punctured my eyes.
I cannot see now, but I can feel.
I will lie with you quietly,
and if you could but
rub my back
I would believe
you loved me
and that
would
be
enough
Written July 16, 2019 Contest: Move Me Sponsor: Richard Lamoureux
A few days past, at a stop sign
Eager to hit the road,
Waiting at the back of the line
And obligated to return by nine.
To my hypocrisy, this is an ode.
See, I hope for a world of giving
Where needs are always met
Where sins can find forgiving
And all are peacefully living
Though I’ve done something I regret.
For, as I pulled up to the street
I was approached by another,
Who wore no shoes upon his feet
I thought a thought of pure conceit,
How could I call you, brother?
He raised a soiled hand to wave
His weary eyes found mine
If I’d had cash I might’ve gave
But sit and talk, I wouldn’t brave.
Certainly, he’d be fine.
See, I hope for a world of giving
Where needs are always met
Where sins can find forgiving
And all are peacefully living
So how did I forget?
I hit the gas and sped away
And watched in the rear-view
Why I did it, I can’t convey
And in the mirror he faded away
A scene I’ll ever rue.
If anything within my mind
His form is amplified
Hauntingly, the thing I find,
within guilt’s prison, now confined
I nurse remorse unsatisfied.
See, I hope for a world of giving
Where needs are always met
Where sins can find forgiving
And all are peacefully living
So why did I forget?
Why did I forget?
4/20/15
If I had a gun I would have already pulled the trigger
No silencer because I've been silent my whole life
I wish suicide was as easy as a snap or whistling because I'm too sad to live
My mask has a smile
You start out pretending, then you get good at acting
So, it becomes hard to distinguish your happiness and bad thoughts
Soon you start to imagine how happy you would be if you didn't wake up in the morning
This is not happily ever after, it's the tragedy
People used to tell me I wasn't black enough
Well, what if I cover my skin in ink
I bet when I walk by you think
Twice
Trying to fight this vice
Is like starring into the sun at times
And sometimes life is too hard to think of a rhyme
At times I get distracted but I'm learning to stay in my lane
Learning how to drive down the highway of success and positivity
Visualizing myself in my dream car
Speeding
Hands gripping
Then I realize I need to slow down before I crash into depression
I almost gave up in order to learn to help myself
Because even when I had the answers, I would still close my eyes and lock my mind
Afraid to be vulnerable
My mind likes to play games but I'm not one who likes to roll the dice
p.s. switch lanes but never the destination...
Kim (one of my BFF) brightened with inspiration, “Oooo! Send him a sexy pic!”
“I’m NOT going to sext a guy out of the BLUE,” I grumbled, indignantly.
Kim turned to her phone, “No, No, of COURSE not.” She said as she texted.
“Come on” she said, as she pulled me off my chair and out the door. We raced over, on foot, to my friend Bili’s house (two houses away). We entered without knocking (as usual) and ran upstairs.
Bili lay on her stomach on her unmade bed, fiddling with her phone, ankles up and crossed but she twisted up to attention when we came in.
“What should we do first?” She said, as if there were a million things to do.
They set upon me and had my regular clothes off in a heartbeat. Like all makeovers, this had a prelapsarian purity - the ritual stripping down to blankness before rebuilding.
They quickly went through about half of Bili’s closet - selecting just the right combination of trashy and classy clothes designed to seduce.
They finally settled on a black slip under an ivory peignoir, stockings with garters and black strappy heels.
Kim twisted my hair up into a loose “Gibson Girl.”
“Hold still,” Bili said, as she grasped my chin and expertly blended red, gold and black glittery eyeshadows followed by lip liner and gloss. “This is just a quickie job,” she reminded me.
I stared at this strange version of myself in the vanity.
Kim frowned and looking around, she spread a pink scarf over the desk light to give the room a rosy glow. They went into studio mode - posing me in various ways from coquettish to bored lounging - suggesting expressions and taking endless pictures with my phone.
Finally, they were satisfied and handed me my phone.
“Shall we go through them?” Bili asked
“Naah,” I said, “I’ll go through ‘em and pick one - or two.”
Later, at home, I looked through them - I looked SO different - and I had to admit - sexy even. But was that ME? I cringed, what if my mom saw these trashy, Kardashian-like photos somewhere?
I never sent them. I thought I’d have to explain it to my girls.
“HA!” They laughed, “We KNEW you’d never use ‘em” Bili said, as Kim shook her head “Nope.”
“It was fun though!” We all agreed.
.
.
.
NOTE: This is a pre-pandemic story from August 2019. I was 15 - the idea wasn’t to seduce this guy, it was to get his interest so he would ask me out . =]
For Contest, 'What I Love-What I Hate' Sponsored by Tom Wood
Every Tree in the Park
I love to stare through leaf-shade under wide trees,
Under confetti-scraps of green-gold sunshine
Scattered by a breathing invisible breeze:
Each planted parasol a unique design.
I love seed-codes, sudden sprouts, giants’ ages;
Bud-burst, summer stretch, autumn, winter stages.
When bowed in purple storms, when wild branches thrash,
Lightning strikes, cracks. Trees, still magnificent - crash!
Mozzies Buzzing
I hate can’t-be-seen sneaky mozzies that whine.
Sniffing for carbon dioxide, these teasers
Ignore other people and focus on mine.
Why are all others not such mozzie-pleasers?
I snatch vacant air, slap and smack my own face,
Flick the light, but of the slim insect - no trace.
Could I suffocate hiding under this sheet?
I pulled it too high - now they’re biting my feet!
In waiting we shall perish.
As we are dazzled but embarrassed.
There is no shortage of eternity.
All that is left is the company-
Of all these other people with bulging hearts.
But even those that are in this institution can be pulled apart.
We all wait to be taken to the back room to be mangled.
I lie in bed, for any movement will make me tangled.
All I can do is cry in ignorance.
For those who I fear are being stricken for taking a stance.
There are these uncaring people holding vigil.
Over me and all these other individuals.
I am left with nothing but the implication.
That my family is fading like my shallow exhalations.
An angel proacting as a contradiction to Spawn,
Hatches plans to murder the Spawn and bring in a new dawn;
The hatred turned into a romance, ironically,
Killed, many a hellspawn, so very sardonically...!
Did Angela able to know her earthly existence?
How she was born from five mortal souls molded assistance?
Was she not designed by the immaculate light of God?
Was she, by any illegitimate powers, got awed...?
God-particle created Angela, mixed with five souls,
Her visions and connections with them kept alive her goals;
Warned by her mentor, Katherine, she stood optimistic,
Divinity, with the angels, made her master mystic...!
Hunting hellspawn, murdering maddening spirits, she flew,
Like a valiant vulture, in strength and youthfulness, she grew;
Assuming her goal is hunting spawns, resuscitated,
Enters Elysium, losing geometrics fated...!
Hunts a Sandalphon Dragon; gets surrounded and arrested,
Turns rules and laws and states and situations; gets rested;
Confronts Argus, a spide-virus that feed of souls and blood,
Gets pulled tentatively toward the Earth, thus, gets a thud...!
Tackles Celestine; gets knocked out; to hell with all she goes,
To close or hose or froze, she so well, eternally knows;
These truly, indeed, make Angela special of special,
Do you know, yet, Angela has never been a devil...???
17 April 2023
Spawn Characters Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Robert James Liguori
Dedicated to My Timothy Lee
I love you and it has been said, 'love is blind.'
My beautimous man is my favorite visual treat.
Times staring at him are times I often repeat.
His blond tendrils hang down, outside his do-rag,
and are curls my fingers just have to twirl and grab.
Fierce, piercing blue eyes allow his gaze to melt me,
happens all the time and never do I ever mind.
The rich pay surgeons for cheekbones my man has.
My knuckles sometimes trace each bones span.
He has such a good-looking nose, not big or small,
it’s a nose I frequently kiss on my tip toes.
Perfect lips motivate my own to seek his kiss.
They aren't thick or thin, but ideal sized bliss.
I’m mesmerized by his labor rustled arm muscles
that grow a need for my cheeks to muscle nuzzle.
My beautimous man said my vision needs to be checked
because no features of his do my eyes accurately detect.
He said his curls do hang down, but no hair is on his crown.
He took me to a mirror to see lines under his eyes clearer,
said his cheekbones are no longer sensual but skeletal,
his nose now nostril hair grows and rudely hair shows,
plus, his muscles have aged and are now sad sag designed.
I asked what word bits would he now hurl about his lips -
he pulled me close and said, ‘only kisses are on my lip script.’