Long Sluts Poems
Long Sluts Poems. Below are the most popular long Sluts by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Sluts poems by poem length and keyword.
Febrile Fog obfuscates palimpsest varnished promises..
Naysayers hoodwinked... deluded players peeling layers..denuded..
Deafening din of our chagrin...
Espoused by rabbles roused by mandarins’ sins..
Tarnished...pampered pilferers pickpocketing public purses...
Deploring the warring cacophony of citizens curses..
Ignoring the boring nagging nadir of nurses...
Corporate castles built without stilts on hourglass sands..
Placards versus lanyards..
Culprits preach parsimony from privileged pulpits..
Civic critics.. protests...pyrrhric..?
No tut tuts..relax…gluts of tax cuts for property sluts..
Licentious larcenists..lust for boom then bust..
Lavishly lacing our lives with lies..
Yet the more we holler...hanker..
Murky truths get darker...muckier.. starker..danker..
Avaricious arsonists torching our cries of why...
Leave us lolloping in a regret & forget.. leaking latrine...
Reeking of what could & should have been..
THEY CAST NET
IN THE WATERS
THE FISHES WERE
NETTED AND
WAITED HARVEST
THERE NETS WERE
TORN AND DRIED UP
AND THE FISH THEY
CAUGHT FELL BACK
INTO THE SEA
THEY CURSED THE CREW
AND FOUND FAULT IN MANY
THEY TURNED THEIR SHIP
BACK TOWARD THE SHORE
THEY SPOKE OF THE
MEN'S WIVES AS HARLOTS
SLUTS AND WHORES
THEY TOLD THEM TO TAKE
THEIR THINGS
AND LEFT THESE MEN
ON THE SHORE
WE WAITED THERE FOR FOUR DAYS, UNTIL THESE SEADOGS CAME BACK TO FETCH US ! "I WHIPPED THE ASS OF THE CAPTAIN, AND HIS SECOND MATE, WANTED TO KISS ME !"
MEANIOUIS THE mERCHANT
THE FISHING SHIP USS MISSION
I wrote a few beautiful poems for the happy birds,
For the women that I love, for the embroidered skirts,
For the smile of the flowers, for the sensuous shirts,
For the autumn leaves, for the angels with the highest standards,
For the hot panties, for the Pillsbury butts,
For the innocent centerfolds, for the virgin sluts,
For the kinky hair, for the blonde pony tails,
For the lonely star models, for the fashioned nails,
For the sweet pinky tongues, for the brunette bows,
For the see-through thongs, and for the summer rainbows.
I wrote for the battered single mothers,
For the women in love, for the sad swingers,
For the newlyweds, for the passionate couple,
And for the loners who got beat by the corporal.
But I'm still not a Poet; I am simply a desperate lover,
Who likes to tell it like it is. I like to display my mirror,
And open my heart to the world, so everyone can see their soul.
I am a dreamer, a realist, and an optimist that nobody can control.
For the women that I've loved, I thank you for the sweet memories;
For the hot panties, I am not blind; I thank you for the cheese;
For the sweet pinky tongues, I am not drunk; I thank you for the honey;
The summer rainbows brought me hope, peace, diversity and honesty.
Hebert Logerie Wednesday, October 22, 2014
Murder of the innocent.............
One door opens, another door shuts,
Drugs, knives, coppers, over dressed sluts.
Colours worn, weapons in hand,
Children dying in a blood tainted land.
No more hatred, no weapons to yield,
No more coffins in a mud sodden field.
Hatred now gone, no more youngsters to die,
No need for anger at the places they lie.
When the door opens, the door opens wide,
No more denying, no places to hide.
No time for distance, no walking away,
No children dying, no murders today.........
In memory of the victims of the British culture of knife crime.
The Man On The Street
The streets are crowded
People walk by not seeing the man standing there
He is not old enough to be put in a home
He is not poor enough to beg for spare change
He is just a person who people do not see
They do not know that he has saved their lives
They cannot know that in his few years he has lived more than they ever will
He watches them as they pass him by
He sees the sluts and the addicts
He watches as they argue and fall in love
He watches the adulterers walk by trapped in their erotic passion
He watches as the thief counts his stolen coins
He sees those in pain from the choices they have made
He watches the innocent and the guilty
Those who hurt and those who have been hurt
He cries a single tear for them
He watches as a child plays at his feet
He looks as the child looks into his eyes and smiles
And in that child’s eyes he sees hope
And he knows that his death meant something
It is sad that the others cannot see him
So they may find his hope
Nickels or pennies, dollars or pounds,
Feed those machines, can you hear your heart pound?
Spinning and winning drawing you in,
Feeding a frenzy before you begin.
One dollar here, a few hundred pounds
Soon you are dragged in, about to go down.
It’s an addiction feeding those sluts,
no use complaining or spilling your guts.
It's exhilarating hearing the sound, of yet one more silly bonus round.
Yet still, we sit on that comfy chair, often we utter an earnest silent prayer.
God does not listen to those wishing prayers for a game to land often and pay us again.
Spinning we do each and every day, no matter the promise
We can’t stay away.
The reels are illusions, to make us forget, it is our hard earned money we sit here and bet.
We are all losers, sitting on chairs, feeding a frenzy, a re-trigger to get
What is it really, why do we bet?
A bonus round comes, excited we sit, to collect a few pennies after hundreds were spent
Slots are ruthless a sure way to lose, some are addicted, to heroin and booze.
Off to the tables for a bit of fun, that is like holding a loaded gun,
Spin the roulette, and hope for your number,
See your bank balance soon go under.
Go to Black Jack think to count,
they are not stupid, they have covered the shoe,
No chance of winning whatever you do.
But it does not matter we say to ourselves… when in denial you cannot quit, you often hear people begging for a few quid.
I like to gamble, really I do, control is not easy when an addiction is true.
Do not let gambling take over your life, you may end up losing yourself and your wife.
It is not funny, nor is it unreal, that powerful addiction we have for the reel.
Some weekends I lose thousands a night, that does not scare me nor give me a fright. That is the addict's plight.
Juice had a call that carried to the outer limits of the next galaxy.
We all thought he was a tad bit touched in his pure ecstasy.
I think he seems more orange today, said a feline on the block.
Look at his muscles said another, his boots I’d like to knock.
You hussies are whorish I thought, feeling I was better than them.
The next thing I knew they were clashing down an old Tom named Jim.
Two of the wildest felines in New York, they have had dozens of litters.
Not a bit discriminating, they are an embarrassment to cat critters.
Juice was throwing his call out there, with insane bits of might.
I knew he was calling the mothership. I saw her antennas bright.
Get me off of this planet he told the beam that came down from the sky.
At this moment, he became a pretty damned desirable guy.
I preened and I primped, and I sashayed up to that alley in a bit.
He had stopped sing wailing, but he did not see me one whit.
The aliens had brought him something ten times better than cat nip.
I lingered for days. The smell sent me on a fantastic psychedelic trip.
What is wrong with those two? Juice asked, indicating the sluts.
I was honest and mean, throwing out words in disapproving struts.
We became close friends that day. High as kite, Juice and happy me.
The next time he made the alien cry, I was next to him singing off key.