Long Seduced Poems
Long Seduced Poems. Below are the most popular long Seduced by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Seduced poems by poem length and keyword.
Humans not meant to dwell in caves
Drowned out,
No inherited inhabitants
Mother black bear's in rage
suckling on the land of mass construction
Dry and toxic is it's tit
Oh no more!
No natural function
Seduced seducing men mock
Abyssal in spirit!
Is this the choice of your decision?
Idly dragging you down
Can you hear it?
Tick tock!
To you, I give this vision
Stanza 2
Humans not meant to dwell in caves
Drowned out,
No inherited inhabitants
Mother black bear's in rage
While dancing with the devil
Did he place your feet upon the truth?
Did he tell you..
'Dance!' 'advance!'
To this evolution, my envious booth!
Hanging on the doors , the walls, no sanity to crave
Cleaned out,
beheaded!
Mother black bear died in vain
Stanza 3
Humans not meant to dwell in caves
Drowned out,
No inherited inhabitants
Mother black bear's spirit of rage!
They claim we came from monkeys
Starting of dwelling in caves!
Satan twisted the truth
But it seems you'll die this way!
Humans not meant to dwell in caves
I'll burn you out!
Inherit the Inheritance of truth
The mother black bear of flames!
As a Native American symbol, the bear is as free in spirit as the great wind; and grander than its mass. To match that magnitude is the quality of unpredictability in the bear. A massive animal who forages seemingly peacefully in the woods on berries and bush. when provoked in certain ways, the First Peoples witnessed a ferocity expressed from the bear that (understandably) could elicited terror.
Because of this potentially furious storm brewing just under the surface of bears spirit, our native forebears were extremely cautious and respectful of this animal. Even tribes inclined to peace honored the spirit of a warrior, and witnessing the bear seemed to embody that kind of blind, powerful surge of courage and strength that every warrior is want to tap into.
Bear meanings were enhanced by observations made tribal sages. These vital tribal figures were inclined to pensive and deeper understanding of how nature communicated intent in all her forms. These sages found connections between human and beast and from these associations would interpret profound meanings that propelled the community into direction, action, and wisdom.
The England I knew
When I came to England in the seventies, I settled
in a dreadful town called Elsmere Port
the saving grace, it had a library and was near Chester
and Liverpool.
My education was a woeful lacking substance I took
classes in counselling, philosophy, literature and of all
thing acting, an art that always has fascinated me.
The chasm between workers and bosses was not deep
even the Tory party had a human face
Then came the catastrophe, in the form of a female
called Margarete Thatcher.
Greed is right; there is no society, and workers were
encouraged to buy their council homes and social
housing virtually stopped.
Factories closed “get on your bike” was the mantra
England stopped being a pleasant place to live.
It got worse; BREXIT came and tore Britain apart
people had been seduced to think it was patriotic
to vote for Brexit. (To take the country back)
The decline is for all to see, foodbanks and poverty
among riches, and it was with sorrow I saw the once
fine nation falls into cynicism. and the murder
of NHS, a pearl in a tattered crown
I'm tired,
and I need to get some sleep.
But I'll spend most of my night,
in a self-imposed fight.
Trying hard not to write
about how I, right now,
must write.
I'm caught in a bloodless battle
where no one gets killed.
But in this altercation
only ink will be spilled.
No chaos or carnage,
or even subterfuge.
I’m just facing a reality
knowing I'll always lose.
I'm a victim of inspiration
a slave to my passion,
and seduced by an epiphany.
I have no choice
but to pull out my pen,
and lord help me,
let the writing begin.
You see I feel a desperate urge,
a great need to write!
And I, like a junkie looking
for a two-day fix.
Must write and right now!
Each word pounding on the paper
like an intervention.
I need more of the soothing sensation
of a pen in my hand.
Because writing this piece,
was never my plan.
Oh God help me,
I'm a Poet.
I SEE A BROKEN MIRROR AS A FRAGMENTATION OF MYSELF.
MY SHATTERED REFLECTION IMMULATES INNER TURMOIL, TRAUMA, PAIN, AND VULNERABILITY
IT'S HARD TO RECOGNIZE MYSELF AS I LOOK DIRECTLY INTO THE WINDOWS OF MY SOUL.
YOU WOULD THINK THAT AT 46, I WOULD KNOW WHO I AM, BUT FROM WHAT I CAN PIECE TOGETHER, I AM A KID WITH ABANDONMENT ISSUES STILL WAITING FOR MY FATHER TO SHOW UP.
I WAS SEDUCED BY A LIFESTYLE OF DRUGS AND CRIMINALS, AND NEFARIOUS BEHAVIOR.
INTUITION AND STREET SMART ARE THE ONLY TWO THINGS OTHER THAN MY GOD THAT HAVE HELPED ME SURVIVE THIS LONG BECAUSE EVEN IN MY DARKEST CAVE AND MY ISOLATION, GOD WAS THE ONLY ONE WHO WAS WITH ME IN THE GUTTERS AND THE STREETS.
I STRUGGLE TO PUT ALL THE BROKEN PIECES TOGETHER LIKE A PUZZLE, BUT NO MATTER HOW HARD I TRY, I CAN NEVER GET SOME PIECES TO FIT IN THE RIGHT PLACES. I GUESS I NEVER WILL..........
The charming Lady Adler Irene;
Was strangely nowhere to be seen;
As revealed by this clear blanked out scene;
Where those who knew her said she'd been,
Where oft she did appear.
That splendid genius Sherlock Holmes;
For whom no mystery stayed unsolved;
Took up the case within a beat;
As it transpired this curious feat,
Involved his very own sweet dear.
Now Holmes used every trick he knew;
He studied every minute clue;
Searched high and low to no avail;
There simply was no sign or trail,
To indicate what foul did play or who.
But dear Irene had not been taken;
She had in fact just been forsaken;
Her jealous Holmes would have decried;
Her talent, should she ever have tried,
To solve a case or two.
One assumed she changed her name to Ira;
Bought tickets to the Riviera;
With an Italian beau in tow;
To crack the case of how Italians row,
To show her Holmes!
But Irene's path led not to Rome;
Her beauty lost on Sherlock Holmes;
Jamaica had seduced her mind;
She lost herself in Caribbean rhyme,
A rum filled hut now home.
Travelling forlorn in the desert of an imperfect life
in the maze of your deceptive dunes I wander,
enticed, I’m seduced by your face behind the mask,
my broken heart turns into debris in your swathe.
I don’t know where I’m meant to be and to belong,
but try to find a place in the oasis of your flawed love.
I end up becoming dense dust in the cracked wasteland
and blow away to the obscurity in the desert storm.
From the tree of yearning that grew in desolation,
I’m now dislodged and meandering as a torn leaf,
rustling with the tormenting tune of melancholic music,
on its journey of despair beyond the horizon of isolation.
Under the scorching sun burning the façade of desire,
as I drift desiccated across the dunes of deprivation
with shifting sands of time designing myriad of illusion,
in the mirage flashing in your eyes I see my destruction.
______________
June 19, 2021
Contest : Writing Prompt-Flawed
Sponsor : Constance Le France
Awake, listening in the wee hours of the morning
Hosanna! The mellifluous tweets I hear, so alluring
An American Robin singing its love song with such clarity
Captivating me with a hauntingly beautiful melody
I'm entranced, in rapt attention, as I sit by the windowsill
Time is gold, glittering; almost at a standstill
Oh heaven above, prithee, I fervently beseech thee
Grant me a thousand more moments such as these
It sings of unfettered joy, and my heart starts to dance
I'm seduced; lulled into a mesmerizing trance
Oh heaven above, prithee, don't let it fly away too soon
For its cheerful song sends my spirit to the moon!
Date written and posted: 02/14/2019
An Ode to the Necessity of Seduction
She had been primping, preparing,
for these moments of beguilement.
Groomed, long before she began to
blossom, reach her time of coming out.
Always possessing the accoutrements
of beauty yet unable to truly fulfill them,
growing into the subtleties, the nuances,
of her awakening without understanding.
So it was she changed from tantalizer,
to temptress, to seductress. Drew to
her that which she desired, took what
she craved to satisfy her needs, to
further the continuation of her beauty,
to intermingle her unique scent
into the legends of seductions lore.
Drawn to her as if in trance-like dance
they came. Each seeking her approval,
her acceptance, the opening of her
ever ripening petals, her willingness
to continue her seduction.
She would, in time, reach fullness,
and succumb, willingly embracing
the gentle touch, the erotic intrusion,
the fulfillment of her season. She
would be no less beautiful only more
complete, knowing that the lovers drawn
to her iridescent center had been seduced
so that seduction’s beauty might endure.
submitted for The Heart of Seduction – poetry Contest
10/2/2014
Not an easy thing. Subjective and birth blind
Trusting all your instincts. As you read between each line
Listening carefully as you engage in light discourse
Watching every movement, as each word does deeply course
Through the icy veins of those whose choices, have proven to be selfish, lacking in remorse.
Bewitched so long ago. Breathless with each tender kiss
Seduced with every evening gown, clinging softly to jagged cliffs. Unable to resist.
Different lives unfolding as the distance between us grows
Beauty fades. Stamina wanes away from conflict and unknowns
Gazing across a table, who’s offerings are fit for all kings
Your loyal subjects bow their heads in servitude
As your guests so graciously received
Till death do us part. And so must it be
Enduring every uncomfortable moment
As time takes much pleasure, twisting each thorn thrust inside
Entanglements entertained with thoughts of grand conquest
Blindly mislead by affections you’ve carelessly caressed
Some of them dare accept invitation, only to wither while in place
Just to look upon in contention. That some feelings still remain
Till death do us part. And so it will be
When a casket is slowly lowered, and one’s soul is forever freed
Soft somnolent skies have ceased seething, for day’s nearly through,
while winds echo whispering thoughts of returning to you
and heavens throb, pulsing and bleeding in crimsons, once blue -
their passions, like flames, fill my veins as you pass into view.
The breeze holds her breath as you touch, then embrace me anew
and smouldering clouds withdraw, blushing, then paling their hue.
The twilight is painted with wandering dreams of your charms,
so close your eyes slowly and slip into sleep in my arms.
The pendulous moon appears, sweeping the fog from up high
distilling the drops into notes of a hushed lullaby,
their quavering tunes spinning tales which amaze, mystify,
while tremulous stars fling a fire that fevers the skies,
for stories they tell reflect love as revealed by your sighs -
their fury is burning, alive in the depths of your eyes.
The twilight is painted with wandering dreams of your charms,
so close your eyes slowly and slip into sleep in my arms.
The shifting shore’s moaning, seduced by tempestuous tides
which flow with the rhythm of flesh as our senses collide,
and quiet explodes as the stillness of night’s amplified.
A lingering kiss bids adieu till the morning breaks wide
when cockerels come conjuring dawn with voluptuous pride
enticing the sun into banishing night, starry-eyed.
The twilight is painted with wandering dreams of your charms,
so close your eyes slowly and slip into sleep in my arms.