Long Slurped Poems
Long Slurped Poems. Below are the most popular long Slurped by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Slurped poems by poem length and keyword.
It started when I saw you
Those seductive eyes
Those luscious lips
That pretty little smile...
Those tasty looking hips...
I wanted to kiss you,
I wanted to taste you...
I wanted your body on top of mine...
I couldn't resist you...
The way you talk...
The sexy way you walk...
Every time you look at me,
We would talk and we'd laugh,
I'd blush one second...
Bite my lip the next...
I'm sorry Ma'am...
It must be sex on my mind.
So I decided to take a ride
I drove for miles and miles
Just to get to her...
The house was a deep blue...
But the inside was a dark red.
I was trembling but she was wet...
Soft, sweet and wet...
Laying across the bed,
I slowly began to spread her legs,
She let out a gasp...
The moment I placed my tongue inside...
I went up and down,
And all around, in circles.
Her moan was music to me...
She gripped my head and pushed...
Pushed my face in deeper and deeper...
I loved the addictive taste...
She came all over my face...
And I happily slurped each drop.
But i wasn't done...
I bent her over and did the same...
No shame...
No shame in my sex game.
She's moaning and screaming
And it's all music to my ears...
Definitely sex on my mind...
She sat on top
And began to ride...
Too bad i couldn't hide...
These soaked bedsheets...
Time passed and she kisses me
Endlessly...
Ooooooh, the thoughts of her...
The sight of her...
So seductive...
So juicy and wet...
I reach my climax...
And on her chest,
I spelled her name....
I spelled mine....
She smiles at me and then she said...
Sex was on your mind.
We are to remind you of your
Singleness.
It is full advisory or just to let you
Know you are single.
The chocaletes nice!
That damn duck was the best!
The sides were fabulous!
Two servings of dessert!
Wine is fine, and almost Devine!
But if you think this changes
Our status, then you crazy!
You are still single with me
Looking to another!
Finger snap to mean conclusion.
Tell your friends, some of them
Want some of this too!
We can still be friends, I like
The romantic stuff, but you are
SINGLE. I was gonna wait til you
Founded someone, and egg ya'll
On to marriage, yeah the gifts is
Mine, talk that stuff if you wanna
But more would and will keep these'uh
Hips ah grinding!
Why y'all wanna have ah goodtime
when all I gotta do is say no and spoil
It for ya! No class scumbottom guys
Buy the best gifts!
And the only reason I said anything is
Cause you told me not to eat my chicken
with a fork. I slurped the soup too!
The mean old housecat has bulgy eyes
when she looks at us in our fish bowl
Oh, how much we've come to despise
that big mouth of hers, the black hole
Poised to pounce with sharpened claws
She's taking jabs with hatred brimming
that ugly feline beast with drooling jaws
for us little fishes, innocently swimming
Our little bowl is cosy, room for only two
bad kitty on the outside, always looking in
If her paw ever grabs us, what are we to do
we’d be much safer in a smelly sardine tin!
If she ever catches us, we’ve got big troubles
perhaps in her dreams she sees us as fat trout
In fear we produced a stream of gassy bubbles
If only our owner would give bad kitty a clout!
All the chaos made us soil ourselves with poop
so we let that mean old cat feast on a tasty treat
When her nasty tongue slurped intestinal goop
the beast screeched in horror! Revenge is sweet!
Our owner came home and cleaned out the bowl
Soon we returned to our safe sweet smelling home
Kitty got banned but can see us through the keyhole
Now we don’t suffer from irritable bowl syndrome!
the dogs were happy
did not have to dig deep
in bomb craters and
makeshift graves
they licked at pulverized bones
and liquefied brains
slurped up the proceeds of war
and roamed the street
sluggish and flatulent
saliva dribbled as well
from the industrial military complex
fused joy with sore fingers
from counting the money
Dmitri wondered
what had become of his folks
and where the flowers had gone
before he pegged his rag doll
to a skull bone that floated
in a sewer of lost hope
his young soul was confused
with reality and fake news
and yet his scarred mind
was never far from revenge
as he waded through carnage and destruction
he found remains of his pet
and smeared a bloody reminder
on his feverish forehead
picked up a land mine
and bode farewell to one of his arms
because the weapon exploded
never one to cease with belligerent ease
In the realm of self-interest, a curious soul,
Could not adhere stamps, sans wit owning a role.
His tongue, like a rover in arid terrain,
Lingered on whimsy, a scoffing refrain.
Precision eluded, in blindfolded dance,
Tongue franking an effort, missing each chance.
The stamp, a library of lore unbespoke,
His tongue still meandered, lost in each stroke.
Like giraffes when they strain ~ reaching treetops,
His sealing endeavor was a clumsy hopscotch.
The stamp lay there mocking, a coaxed witticism,
Tongue still missed the mark, a terrible tourism!
Metaphors clung, but not on the letter,
A longing unfilled, his tongue never got wetter.
The envelope sighed, craved wit's lifting brew,
Yet his tongue frolicked, having wandered no clue.
He licked and he slurped, as though miming delight,
A grand postal crime, a federal plight!
Metaphors piled up, unsent missives distressed,
His sense of himself was a bewildering behest.
In the spirit of levity, a story confided,
A stamp unadhered, a metaphor provided.
When engaging with mail, overcome by caprice of,
Just leave the attempt and go buy self-adhesive.
Summer in the Seychelles and the weather’s scorching hot
Sid saw Santa sailing, in the harbour on a yacht
Although he wasn’t wearing clothes that Santa Claus should wear
Sid knew him by his bushy beard and flowing snow-white hair
He knew him by his glowing cheeks and by his bright red nose
He knew him by the way he wore some tinsel on his toes
Young Sidney pondered hard and long and wondered what to do
Perhaps he’d go and volunteer to be part of his crew
But seeing Santa sitting on the poop deck on his own
Sid made it his decision that he’d leave the man alone
Slowly sipping soda Sidney slurped his ice cold drink
When Santa turned to Sidney and he gave the boy a wink
Then all at once the boat rose up, and to the sky it reared
A thunderous roar a puff of smoke and Santa disappeared
The quick fix had worked so
She slipped the needle away,
Her little liquid friend that helped
Through each long working day.
A toot of the horn told her
He’s out there with her lift
For her to work the punters
From the pub leaving shift.
Only a whore they said
When the body was found,
A battered shop mannequin
Lying on waste ground.
With their numbers cut the
Police couldn’t do much more
And, as the papers had said,
She was only a whore.
Somebody said there
Was a child somewhere
Quietly and efficiently
Taken into care.
Three girls at the funeral
Hardly a significant memoriam
Then she was ushered off
To the local crematorium.
A cup of tea in a cafe
In memory of a working mate
Quickly slurped down as
The afternoon was getting late,
The girls went back to work:
With their habits to feed
Any fear they may have felt
Overcome by addiction’s need.
Not high class call girls
With upper class clientele
Just a poor exploited women
With only one thing to sell.
So, Austerity still rules,
Unfair decisions are made,
And poor women are still driven
To the rough end of the trade.
One time a stickleback
Asked a tadpole what’s the craic
He replied there’s nothin’ doing
It’s just the water I was viewing
So he slurped a glass of gin
And let the stickleback begin
To swim upside down in loops
Until his eyes began to droop
I’m becoming very dizzy
Feels like the Mississippi
The stickleback then stopped
The tadpole’s eyes had nearly popped
The stickleback said sorry
Do you like calamari?
The tadpole then replied
When I’m swimming with the tide
I find it can be chewy
It turns my tail real gooey
The stickleback said no way
It makes a rather nice buffet
They then said their goodbyes
And the stickleback advised
Calamari you shouldn’t swallow
Or trouble it will follow
Good luck and take it handy
Said the tadpole sipping brandy
The stickleback swam off
To have some beer and stroganoff
He was big, rough, burly, with tattoos everywhere you could see.
Up both arms, down his neck; a big boy, weighted two thirty-three.
I tried not to notice him, for I am afraid of bikers this size.
When he came to the bar, I actually began to rise.
Don’t let me scare you off, he said. And he gave me a wink.
This reassured me a little, I am sure my face was kind of pink.
I decided to stay a bit. He and the bartender exchanged a grrrr.
They were not happy with each other, and I thought a fight might occur.
He’s not that tough, the biker said, pointing to the guy behind the bar.
If you want. I can whoop his ass, and throw him pretty far.
No thank you, I said, trying to down my beer. It had cost me seven.
I wanted to get out of there before someone got shot to heaven.
Bartender was glaring at the big guy now. I envisioned my life gone.
I slurped up my beverage and headed out the door and way beyond.
Hey miss! Someone yelled behind me. I then began to run and duck.
“I have your purse!” the big guy yelled. I was horrified now, I suck!
Big yellow cat lying across a Harley stretched out, gave me a yawn.
The big guy handed my purse, and then the bike he soon jumped on.
That’s my big brother the bartender told me, a few weeks later.
He likes to wrestle with me in the bar. We call him Kitty Gator.
Thus, do I write of simpler things
Of missing buttons, knotted strings
Of mystery when the doorbell rings
For I have seen the snowman fail
To answer long forgotten mail
Crazed pumpkin faces slowly scowl
As quickly fades the midnight howl
I write of fingers new to mittens
The tempting lure of purring kittens
Of threadbare shirts and tattered jeans
Of baby steps, of living’s themes
For soup is better when it’s slurped
And babies happier when burped
I write of ripples, not of waves
Of what one gives, not what one saves
I seed the edges of the soul
For loneliness makes no one whole
And dare not peek over my shoulder
For I am aging not growing older
John G. Lawless
©7/28/2026