Long Spooning Poems
Long Spooning Poems. Below are the most popular long Spooning by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Spooning poems by poem length and keyword.
The day you passed
Empty is my heart, full is my mind: filled with what ifs the Shoulda Woulda could have been. Cold nights now, no longer enthralled by your raw essence saltiness after shave and metal. Just thinking of it sends Shivers up my spine, and drives me mental.
The shenanigans twinkling in your eye, the shape of your lip as it traces on my thigh the touch of your hand caressing my shape and back up again.
Sensing your breath upon my neck, callused but soft are your hands, as a mere whimper escapes my mouth.
Now all I see is your death and not your member or our sex.
Your pecs Where it connects to your chest the place I would lay my head and rest there’ your gunshot wound.
In that spot as I lay listening to the pounding feeling you throbbing harder.
Now thoughts of unpleasant thoughts, atrium cardias to rigamortis spooning on me in our bed.
Nighta full of Terror and torture I'm now a mourners with PTSD and anxiety disorder.
Hey, diddle, diddle, the cat and the fiddle,
The cow jumped over the moon--had no fiddle,
The little dog laughed, got smashed as a Poodle,
the cow laughed a little, and found the fiddle,
The cat played to Nero, a pal and hero,
yet smelled things burning while playing the fiddle,
The cat Roam'ed about, thought it was the griddle,
though the cow saw Nero play fire--did fiddle,
Caught in a piddle, while cat Roam'ed a riddle,
dish sought by a poodle, as cow plays fiddle,
the taste of kumquat, the dish adds a riddle,
as things come short, the cat loses the fiddle,
ponders a poodle, a true diddle, diddle,
noise sought--found, twiddle, a dish and a fiddle,
To see such sport--the poodle in the middle,
the dish ran away while spooning the fiddle.
Trauma has wrapped me in its slimy tentacles
Tightening, till my depression becomes clinical
Man with yellow pad listens obligingly
Then into my happy place he is guiding me
I imagine my beautiful tropical island home
All is serene and I am finally alone
Turquoise waters pet the shores sand
Oh so ready to rest from life in this land
With long hypnotic strokes, newness is washed away
Carried into the Icy depths of ancient days
I sit, contented for once, on the hot white grains
Coconut in hand yet taste of... oatmeal remains
I cannot tell the time, nor anything truly measure
In my island retreat, alone, I will stay forever.
*the nurse continues spooning oatmeal into the patients open maw
Wiping his chin after each bite and closing his jaws.
We have our routine to perfection
Our way of saying I love you and
Wouldn’t want to live without you
We’re a strong solid team you and I
We are going to make it through this
Home is when I’m with you
The incessant flow of aches and pains
All those appointments and treatments
We don’t blow things out of proportion
Or make a fuss about how things used to be
We’ve moved on taking it one day at a time
Home is when I’m with you
Now when my arms wrap around you
Softly resting your head on the pillow
We simultaneously raise your legs
Gentle as a ballet that’s well rehearsed
Swiveling you comfortably in bed to rest
Home is when I’m with you
I bundle you in warm cozy blankets
Cuddle up with whispers well into the night
Pressed one against the other
Caressing the nook of your neck
Spooning you till one of us falls asleep
Home is when I’m with you
Published in my 24-page photo/anthology ~CAN'T IMAGINE~ 2020
AP: 3rd place 2025
Submitted on April 18, 2019 for contest VERSES OF METAPHORS 3 sponsored by LU LOO - RANKED 1ST
SPOONING WITH PARCHED PALMS
a banquet of butterflies flutter ~
by her seaswept hair so bonnie. ~
sunshine and freckles fly free from the sky, ~
illuminating blue eyes, ~
dotting her suntanned skin. ~
a sailboat serenely knocks against the chiseled shore. ~
tartan cloth passionately charmed with cheese and wine. ~
pink blushing beach, a twinkle in his smile wants more. ~
his teeth bright as teeming waves of love’s moon shine. ~
picnic at full thrust ~
naked footprints rake through sand ~
soft music spellbound ~
chantilly lips on blitzed neck ~
seaside spooning with parched palms ~
4/4/2018
It’s All About Four/Sponsor: Broken Wings
Crystalline, Kimo, Quatrain, Tanka forms
I began playing this game with myself
So at any moment you are holding something
How would you kill an intruder
I mean some of them are obvious
Throw the tea then use the cups like enamel
knuckle dusters
Deodorant like a spray
Handy flame thrower if you have a lighter in your hand
Toothpaste takes some thought but if you can squeeze it onto your hands and go for the eyes
Hairdryer and plug
Like a pair of Noon
Chucking blades as I charge towards them
Sometimes good to share
Pen would get the wickedness treatment
Spooning eyes out on stalks
Balloons depends on what they are filled with
Tell them
I will
Not one psychopath in here
There is definitely more than
Took me eons to work out
Mainly tricks in may
A brill
I ant ain’t an auntie
Started working on scenarios on stairs in water
Has anyone ever been xylophoned to death
Exquisite are the nights
this shadow walks to lean,
transcending did excite
feeling feeding in it teams,
ravished senses blushing
ached blessings torqued ignite
drawn enfolds in lusting
Water,Fire,Wind … Earth brightened
A rasp of gentle breath
tasting silk dripped nights,
falling sighs in little deaths
sensuous knowing sighted
No reason in the flowing
of interlocking vows,
ecstasy trapped the banging
drowned out screams of now
trickled kisses sprinkled
wicked rallied into fumes,
heating bellowed winds
spell thrown around the room
Unfurled in slowing motion
a flower in the bloom
Sweet the gentle floats
a feather in the wind
languorous is the wanting
being ravished in this sin
throwing off restraint
bedazzled witches bound
beauty in the spooning
can always be profound
Breathing in blasphemed
gloried velvet charms
glowing in the eddy’s
I am sated and disarmed
With none in my infant's mouth, I was born
Even though a big silver spoon I craved
Of an affluence, I was left quite forlorn
Hence, contentment without the spoon I craved
For myself, a black wooden spoon I made
Spooning my mouth with every contentment
Said I then to my heart: 'good it's self-made'
Oh! I love the darkness, my excitement
In my tea cup, there was a stubborn storm
To break my spoon it gladly desired
With a strong resistance and great reform
Courageously said my spoon: 'you're fired'
The stubborn storm it calmed, where art the loon?
So adorable! My black wooden spoon
N.B: I have used 'my black wooden spoon' as a metaphor for contentment.
Stanza 1 expresses my wish to be born with a silver spoon in my mouth (I.e to be born rich)
Stanza 2 expresses my self-discipline, diligence and contentment since I wasn't born rich.
Stanza 3 expresses that there are trying times difficult to deal with.
Stanza 4 expresses how contentment calms covetousness especially if one is a loon.
This is a short piece for Breast Cancer Awareness Month. I lost a close friend very talented, very young to breast cancer. I also lost my cousin recently to the same disease. I hate that ugly "C" word. I just wrote this story to highlight the relationship North American men have with women's breasts. I hope it is taken in the spirit that it is written.
I don't have to try not to look at a woman's cleavage,
I love looking into their eyes.
I love listening to them talk.
I enjoy listening to a woman's point of view.
It enlightens me.
It gives me views of the world that I would otherwise miss.
I appreciate their nurturing nature.
I like how soft they feel.
Hold a woman's hand?
That is sure to send shivers up my spine.
Lock lips?
If that is not what heaven feels like
send me else I'll take my chances there.
There is nothing like that first kiss.
I can walk all day with her as if it were a minute in time.
I float on air.
I am a romantic.
I adore women.
I love the way they walk
the way they smell.
Hugging or spooning it's all good.
The opposite sex is very special.
It is time we listened more and appreciated more.
Women can lead us to the proverbial
Promised Land.
No!
I'm kidding.
I like staring at their ****.
16~10~2014
A body abandoned
needs to mourns its last breath in death
a heart cast aside
still aches to meet its last beat
and a free spirit yearns for a winged monarch moment
to fly in the spirit of freedom…
opportunity
flares a tongue
snaky and bittersweet.. a flicker
grows flames that twist passion’s kiss with kismet
a chance
to escape on a breath of air
an exhalation;
warm incense offered to vesper -
the wish of a scent to slip through the keyhole
above the hiss of heat
and gasps of air
rushing combustion to a roar
airy mystics spoke in the eerie smoke
w h i s p e r s
urge the purge of perishable pain
unclasping lonely-linger’s grasping fingers
soft-spun knit and purl unravels
as vintage yarn twined with sun and rain unties -
aging rays fail to stave Winter’s grays
and the ethereal thread of an earthly creation
releases its tendril
from the spinning wheel’s weave of circular seasons
from seed to harvest and warmth to chill
vestiges of sisterly hands cup a ceded sigh
chrysalis celebrates destined to re-emerge a butterfly
terminal tremble of a twilight trill is hushed
vulnerability swaddled
cradled by clouds of silver and gold
a mortal’s surrender consummates upon the pyre -
cinders cleansed of tears and cries and vices
but never the dreamy intrinsic colors
of the opal’s unfurling blaze
she ascends
a flash of embers relieved of ash
taking fire to the skies with a tigress torch igniting
molten pools spooning the spine of the western shadow
heralding an awakened afterglow to the afterlife -
lamplight gilds mare’s tails hooking heavens
pathways adrift from the burning thurible
of a trinity on the cusp of rebirth...
incense rises upon a heated atmosphere
riding the riddle of the four winds
beyond realms of soil and salt - reason and logic
yonder the profound truth of the-not-humanly-known
seeing past reflections within mere margins of a mind’s mirror
accepting the enlightening throb of the enigmatic pulse of creation
becoming one with the ultimate mystery
the wish of a scent to slip through the keyhole
fulfilled with exchange of gifts -
the offering of her sunset shroud
for the white mantle of sunrise