Long Smut Poems
Long Smut Poems. Below are the most popular long Smut by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Smut poems by poem length and keyword.
where are your eyes in the 11th hour?
do they roam to and fro, roaring
with insipid power, baiting the hook,
fishing for retractable men?
where is your nose in the 11th hour?
is it sniffing out a cesspool of plots,
hanging with odious men by the fire,
drawing in men with deceptive smoke signals?
where is your mouth in the 11th hour?
are you rambling out rhetoric, grandiloquent smut,
smirking, curling your lip, your serpentine tongue
slithering and snapping up every adamic crumb?
where are your ears in the 11th hour?
are they trembling with vibrations of horror,
jingling change from restless legs, harkening to
every pandering pain - every wicked wile?
where is your touch in the 11th hour?
are you reddening faces, tenderizing
every black and blue artery and vein,
darkening the skin of Eve like a cancerous cloud?
~ ~ ~
in the 11th hour, her kind eyes shower,
with rainbow tears, leaping upwards,
bowed in reverent fear, insightful and wise,
vigilant and circumspect.
in the 11th hour, her nose drawn to scents,
yes of honeysuckle and baby powder
but also the downpour of the poor and sick,
attentive to the stench.
in the 11th hour, her mouth soothes
with compassion, just and good,
sensitive to worn out souls, smiling
tenderly, speaking at chosen times.
in the 11th hour, her ears ever alert,
pierced by the outcry of Eve’s children,
drawn to lilting laughs, lullabies and psalms,
anywhere a helping plea sounds.
in the 11th hour, her touch gentle and soft,
changing diapers, dusting off tears, foraging food
for her family and the lonely, handing out hugs,
midnight feet tucking in the sheets.
~ ~ ~
Indeed, the 11th hour is here,
a time where good is called bad
and bad pronounced good.
In the overcast skies,
the spread of candlelight
like stars, so mercifully bright.
As midnight strikes,
each star is gathered like wheat,
the sun and the moon fall asleep.
4/2/2019
Foreplay starts hours before the bedroom.
Leaving a note on your car while you’re working,
As flowers are delivered in bloom.
Later, rubbing your feet to ease the hurting.
Over dinner, listening to your day.
Engaging every detail as your best friend.
Like when we first met, still the same today.
One of the secrets, don’t let the courting end.
Drawing a bath with popping bubbles.
Oils and a couple from the ice cube tray.
Solace for a night from life’s troubles,
Starting down through pleasure’s parfait.
My right hand sliding from your face,
Over the ear to your hair it grasps.
Our lips flowing together in a slow pace,
As my left hand massages your ass with tight clasps.
Laying you down under the light of the moon,
Candle’s flickers dance among our needs.
A cuddle making a fork from a spoon.
Hot wax drips the body’s tense pleads.
My tongue traces each of your curves.
To make them all mine this night.
Each part given what it deserves.
Knowing where and when to bite.
With the right pressure on every button,
Finding and keeping the perfect rhythms.
Loving you French, Greek, and Russian.
In and out of all the positions.
Two finger tricks in love and smut.
Just two inches in, then up.
Making a pea become a walnut.
While your hands hold your legs like stirrups.
Opening that box of our toys.
Black leather with whips and chains.
Clothes lines and collars employs
Us playing Asphyxia’s dangerous games.
From each encounter, perfecting my skill set,
And if your heart ever turns to another,
Your mind and body to never forget,
When once and still I be, your greatest lover.
------------------------------------------------------------
Contest: Hotsy Totsy
Sponsor: Rachel Firmin
Written: 02.14.15
*Forever grateful to Dr. Ernst Gräfenberg (1881-1957) and every woman I’ve ever known*
Miss Muffet sat upon a velvet stool
I know 'twas a tuffet; learned that in school
But Muffy was the tart
Who broke the spider's heart
I'm telling the story, so shut up, fool!
Humpty Dumpty had no wisdom at all
That stupid raw egg sat upon a wall
Tempting luck, he gambled
Kerplunk...he got scrambled
Oh what dire fate for an egg to befall
Robbie Rabbit had a fly on his head
It flitted to his tongue where it fell dead
Robbie's halitosis
Was a bad neurosis
He was banished before allowed to spread
The scoop on gardener, Mary Mary
Is she liked to sip Bristol creme sherry
Her tummy was growing
Pregnancy was showing
The dad? Tom, Dick, Harry; maybe Jerry
Jill followed Jack up that hill on a whim
She thought he was cheating on her with Kim
The buxom preacher's daughter
Jill was jailed for slaughter
She beat both of them with Jack's bloody limb
Such a bad little boy was Jack Horner
Spent many hours in the time out corner
Jack was dumber than dumb
Ate plum pie with his thumb
Wagged his purple tongue at each laughing scorner
There was a speedy racer, called the hare
He was so fast, thought he'd have time to spare
The tortoise whooped his butt
The hare shouted some smut
I won't repeat it. No way I'm going there!
I read the tale about Cinderella
Who went to a ball to snag a fella
Bippity boppity boo
She ran off and lost a shoe
And stepped in some sticky mozzarella
Hey, where are ya going, Baa Baa, black sheep
Leaving your meadow, Master, you're a creep
You sheared off my wool
Tired of your bull
I'm joining the herd of Little Bo Peep
Three oinkers built houses with diverse ideas
Straw and sticks? Those guys drank too many beers
The bad wolf huffed and puffed
Piggy three had him handcuffed
The bricker was much shrewder than his peers
Where tides once gossiped for many an hour
about what lovers share; like grapes gone sour,
the strong opinions o’ friends will minds devour.
A reputation guarded against smut
and smiles that’s ever radiant abut
the cultivated, fertile soil and glut.
A gentle breeze that ruffles the recall
of memories that bleed freely, then stall
at the precipice of confession – they fall.
Now fervour spent and mutinous thoughts gel
in favour of peace; not a too hard sell
before the final call by clamorous bell.
As welcome waves engulf the thoughts and sweep
recall away, nostalgia recedes to weep.
Now fly,
show off gossamer wings;
Blessed with hunger am I,
brave with weatherproof strings;
I aim for a bullseye;
Now write,
letters are alchemy;
Each reader can take flight,
learn you intimately;
My set glitches delight;
Ink flows
from deep inside the gut;
Inhibition will close;
Setting free classy smut,
I mix in clean cut prose;
Words scream;
Cognizant of my soul
they hijack a daydream;
With pen, paint, or charcoal
take it to the extreme;
Lines dance,
walls crumble to freestyle
celebrating a stance;
My stanzas run a mile,
I always take a chance;
You soar
so high when you give in;
I’ve crashed and hit the floor
and stood up forgiven;
I’ll write forevermore.
It's been quite a while
Since writing a poem
An hour has passed quickly
Must challenge my dome
Come up with a verse
To tickle your fancy
Wherever that is
Perhaps in your panties
Now that's pretty crude
An excuse for humour
Please do forgive me
Should've caught it sooner
Not up with the latest
Off colour stuff
It sure ain't my style
Enough is enough
There's no longer themes
That are now off limits
I long for old stand-up
Not much smut in it
Use cute little words though
Like pee and poop
Innocent wee words
Add laughs and a whoop
My reason for donning
The cap that I wear
I wear it quite proudly
It's a symbol I share
With all you good people
Bringing joy to my life
It's the least I can do
Sure hope it'll suffice
D'ya notice how handsome
This dude is today
Bet you're speechless
And totally amazed
Can't imagine the difficulty
You haven't a clue
To wake up, such a specimen
While maintaing my cool
Now you may think my beano
Is too big for my britches
But it comes with the accolades
So I scratch where it itches
Us guys are real fortunate
So what can I say
It's a cross we must bear
That we live with each day
Sure gets annoying
Those pretty young fillies
Constantly hounding me
To show them my willy
Now a little bit of smut
Has crept into my verse
Please forgive me P-Soupers
It could be a lot worse
D'ya notice how handsome
This dude is today
Betcha you're speechless
And totally amazed!
© Jack Ellison 2013
A vindictive old crone called Skyla
Her comments could not be more vile’a
She will give folk such flack
Stabbing them in the back
Well 'madam' I don’t like your style’a*
If you cannot say anything nice
I’ll offer a snippet of advice
Please keep your big mouth shut
Stop your cruel words and smut
Because soup’s not a fool’s paradise!
* a little poetic licence with end rhyme
Fictional name but sadly over the last few weeks I’ve seen some really vindictive comments made by both male and female poets ... there really is NO need for it .
6/5/19
He did it, no qualms or faintest moralistic trait
He knew the vulnerability, went ahead
To reap the benefits from someone’s plight
Like a scuppered beast in flight
Wearing a private smirk of victory
To walk away and cast his smut
Upon the shoulders of some other
Like a vulture with rich pickings
Feeding on its fated carcass
He walked away with fake innocence
Carrying an air of falsehood
Into a world that owes him
A fine lad, he’s got a job
And got in line with the rest of his kind
To smugly gloat and brag and flaunt
Those ill gotten gains
His pealing mirth to celebrate
And taunts about the hag
The lad can do that, the lad
Half gone, his generosity knows no bounds
With new found wealth
And fabrications to the law
The lad can do that, the bad
He has his innocence all wrapped up
To give and cloud the truth
He will insist, he knows his place
His adorning shell of protection
Swathed in obstinacy, to make him win
He can do that, the lad’s got it all
To sway this and to say that
He can return and adjourn
And court with the masters
To state his piece
He will return to do it again
Let's ponder last time Rego the ego was over yonder in the Iberico peninsula ..our hero was fonder of the wonder of Ronda but now does wander through the beauty & fruity booty that cutie Oporto does bestow… (in house joke...there is no radio embargo for this rhyming cargo so back to you in the studio)
Can't recall if we ever talked at all about how we virtually stalked Porto
A viral spiral as we did dream and scheme of moving there for a mo
Then balked too late deranged climate all changed mate too scorchio
Burned by the rage on the centre stage of a teenage tyro turned pyro
But what do you know ho ho ho…it's the Rego Ego in Oporto show
Jammy mutt strut out of any rut from Redditch hut far & away you yo yo
Smut of getting half cut a holiday foray glut such a sl*t.. a true pro or ho
But tut tut apropos bitter blow new shi**er low an at home sitter can't go
My career did park it… left the market now sign on for giro with my biro
Crow finances a foe.. so woe of ambassadors not in a row you flying solo
We should be tourers toe to toe explorers like Marco Polo with me in tow
As long as about assado not Fardo rather hear a song from Nelly Furtado
Naughtiness not haughtiness to and fro cheeky ebb & flow of going gung ho
Know your next photo will bring the frustration of a great crustacean crescendo
Gasping at the rasping sheen of a lean barbecued sardine no echo of Pinocchio
Ah grasping a calamari safari love the art deco but you can shove the prosecco
No braggadocio clasping fino or nerdy vinho verde or scarlet harlot starlet tinto
Hard for Euro aficionado as you scoff avocado & lardo tartlet from the mercado
Hope foody bingo is bravissimo dope & bellissimo though know is wrong lingo
So hey ho or nonny no bonny Rego in Porto is brassier than Portugeezer Luis Figo
Bigger teaser & pleaser classier than gusto & bravado of another dynamo Eusebio
Drinking sinking fort-ified wine quaff port like it's a sport holding court on the Douro
Envy piqued oh Rego never a fuddy duddy ruddy cheeked plucky bloody lucky so & so