Long Squirts Poems
Long Squirts Poems. Below are the most popular long Squirts by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Squirts poems by poem length and keyword.
Scented Leaves
Flowery fragrance sorts divisive airflow and cooperates amidst plethoric aubergines that bathe breathlessly, brushing raised exemplars of strewn unfurled chartreuse fronds, lain in the wake of humble pattered feet enthralled in its tangy betrothed crisp path,
Ingratiating themselves against engaging tickles of countless laddered leaves being crushed, bursting citrus piquant squirts that flavors a blessed orangey tawny forest of verdurous lime greens and lemony leaflets of carpeted existence essences,
Autumn gifts a luminous prism of extraordinary combinations touching rainbow eyes to favor, and unimaginable pleasure of incalculable noses to savor, as per crowning Heaven, immerse its creation re sun-drenched over-shades lathered in a pool of multiple redolences.
2019 November 12
*1st Place*
SCENTED LEAVES
~~Kim Rodrigues
The woods burn dark with heat.
The tree's have broad tops
That are sharp and winged.
As if they were named Ariel.
Green moss drips yellow water
Drop by drop.
Inside out their curved beards.
Old and new are entwined, together
Apart, as if green, each bush is.
Water yellow,
Flows from her, thick with fish.
Tadpoles and frogs,
Stuck in the necks of the storks.
Snakes large and larger still,
Where any could see, no one does
Or nothing of this is spoken of,
Because.
Smooth and round the swamp in length
Is.
Feeling the squirts, fifteen or twenty,
pulsating each time, flowing from
Away into the dark yellow swamp water.
Roots twist into the thick, callused,
Bruised flesh.
Mirrored in the warm, humid air.
Shaped as if an hourglass,
Caught in between, the middle.
Going in and out,
Are the long dark salamanders.
And then comes sleep.
night market! a juggle of flavors
succulent and citrusy with
pears pumpkins peaches inflamed
and clothed in sweetened rinds like
watercolors of tangerine and mauve...
stems dipped in waters of tender sun
flesh touching flesh,
nectar glazing bronze on squirts turned into nectar,
into savory brine... then to wiggle
upon a harvest filling
quilted baskets sucked and chewed: beaded
globules, bulbs rippling in own honeyed pools,
tangy fruitage which bears the ripest of ovules
lacing the tongue ambrosial. tangy...
and ladies like rush home with flushed romance
in their heads
with piles of delicacies bending swirling
on their ample chests
to taste the liquid radiant syrup
of eve's craving for a night lovers' feast.
For Debbie Guzzi's Just A Little Bit Of Sugar
2/22/2017
Squirts of pure wool are soaring above,
I wallow in the stand of a Neolithic sky,
Actively growing while being inventive,
As a kaleidoscope, mind and body sway.
A striving act is akin to reviewing a theory,
A wish that is an abstract burden of making,
I feel lifted as it drifts toward me gently,
Usher me to land if I quite am reverting.
A wish is just the onset, the first domino,
Ponder or crave, then heave your space,
Stars that twinkle always flicker modulo,
And every plea I convey is given a place.
Those goals lead to two distinct tracks,
Ways of rest are shrewd, fixing then fealty,
When I rally into the azure, I ignite sparks,
What will my wish be? A flying start for me
My intention might be for a world treaty,
What if hunger did not exist in real life?
What toward kids who never die hungry?
What if all plagues abort without strife?
Or that hate crimes would simply fall?
Conflicts and lives lost would subside,
One star sparkle stronger at nightfall,
Its silver hue gleams the dull sky wide.
A well, a vague wish, or a ripped toy?
Sunk ship? An ideal at our disposal?
Mystery? Renewal? A dupe decoy?
Holy jar? A hope? The nip of an apple?
The candle wish was agreed eternally,
Aside from one, may all wishes come true,
Thus, you will have plenty to aim skilfully,
Fine fortune is a result of effort subdue.
2nd Place Contest Winner
Written: May 30, 2022
If only my wish would come true Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Anoucheka Gangabissoon
Loneliness is killing me silently
Thy memoire are shagging me so intense
I am unable to sleep peacefully
Thou..revisiting me is a suspense
Parceling feelings in the communion
Glancing upon waves of lustful romance
Awaiting world,force couples re-union
Betwixt inappropriate circumstance
Caressing his face in photo album
Again and again true love vail for him
Awe-struck entangled nerves fail to fathom
Doused frantic emotions stare at the glim
Hither and thither swirls my moaning brain
Squirts out extreme vigour of thine in drain
7-6-2020
~DEEPA~
Note:Written for Summer's Heat Sonnet poetry Contest
Sponsored by John Hamilton
It isn’t weak when it pleasures me
It’s more profound in informing details in leaks it only seeks sensual desire
The way it’s too tight it swipes me right off my feet just to flee off the forbidden valley
It cheers in complexion disguising in corals
Its distinctive insights foresees the flexible feeling to enter
To bind right with the lips just to taste the power of being dominated
If I would scream it would enjoy my acknowledgment
In further it would go straight up to start over again
This time my eyes would be folded in mystery
My hands would be handcuffed
The room shall be ball the most auspicious fulfilment of different desirable tools to commit submissive Act
Purified…The chosen ones only to transmit such Dominant Act
The chemistry it plays the actual passion of being submissive.
The taste of being strangled grasping for air till the feeling of dizziness contagiously takes its effect then being let go right after a full squeeze of the under area
A punishment of a spank while bend over without a cause
A trap for both of my legs just to be powerless while I’m being violated slowly
Each stroke contains a high pitch of moans
Until the water fall squirts leaving an unbearable vibration of sensation
Deep bass breaths blue soothing strong
Play me like Picasso piano all night long
Nibbles at my ear are a peach love song
So dear my heart cheers stringing me along
My knees melt like Swiss cheese
You fill all my gold holes
Fuchsia feelings like destiny
Embraces my heart jumpstart my soul
I am a sandy song
Which you determine kinetic key
Like guitar play teal thong
Make a romantic red melody
Let’s break burgundy rules
Play them like a bugle
Use pink passion as a tool
Use tongue to draw pink doodle
When the fat lady sings
You know that she felt sun
Never mind about denim dreams
She squirts sonnets just for fun
The invitation lands, a creased and coffee-stained
rectangle of possibility.
*Sure, why not?* you murmur, and the door swings in
on unoiled hinges, a sound like a swallowed scream.
Inside, the air tastes of rust and forgotten punchlines.
The walls are papered with yellowing headlines:
*LOCAL MAN FINDS HAPPINESS, MISPLACES KEYS*
*WOMAN WELL-KNOWN FOR SMILE DROWNS IN TEACUP*
*PROPHET LAUGHS SO HARD AT OWN JOKE, HE VANISHES.*
You came for poetry, for the blade’s clean edge.
But here, the blade is a prop.
A rubber knife in a magician's trick,
that, when plunged into the chest of a memory,
squirts a crimson flower into your face.
The audience of shadows howls.
You try to craft a verse from the absurd:
the keys you found, but not the door they fit,
the profound truth you whispered to a stranger,
who replied, *"That's what she said,"*
the god you prayed to who sent a meme back,
a laughing emoji crying tears of joy.
The grin isn't on a face. It’s in the cut.
It’s the fine, red line that appears on your finger
as you reach for the rose in the magician's trick,
the one that bleeds to a rhythm, a clumsy iambic pentameter.
You realize the blood is just ink.
And the pain is just the prick of a punchline.
You came to write. To make the darkness sing.
But the darkness is already here, in the empty chair,
telling a shaggy dog story about a star that burned out,
a story so long and pointless, the punchline is the silence
when it finally ends, a silence so deep
you hear the echo of your own *sure, why not*
still bouncing off the walls.
So you sit. You listen.
And in the hollow, ha-ha of the void,
you find the only poem you were ever meant to write:
a list of things you've lost,
written on a napkin,
with a pen that doesn't work.
An Aussie Bush Pee
Now! Have you ever tried to have a pee?
while squatting down and hiding in the bush.
But first, must pull your jeans and undies down
while all the time you’re showing off your toosh.
You grab your jeans and undies in one hand
to keep them out the way before you go.
While balanced in a squat your legs apart
you think you’re ready to then let it flow.
But! as it starts you then begin to squirt
it everywhere except upon the ground.
And then you realize you cannot stop
pee on your legs, your jeans, and all around.
You try to hold it back while you then change
position of your squat will be the plan.
You curse and swear, but then it squirts again
it’s time like this you wish you were a man.
Undo their zip and let it all hang out
before they start just hold it in their hand.
And then direct the flow just where they want
‘Cause they can take a pee while they still stand.
But no! For me I have to try and squat
on wobbly legs while trying not to fall.
Then as I go, I know I’ll wet my pants,
but how to stop it I have bugger all.
So! Next time when I am out in the bush
and need to pee; I’ll strip off all my clothes.
I’ll stand up straight, pretend I am a man
And maybe only pee upon my toes.
But wait! I have now found the perfect seat
that I can use when I need a bush pee.
No longer need to squat and squirt it out
I’ll take my new ‘bush dunny seat’ with me.
Christine ©
Here I sit, on an examination table
bored, swinging my feet to and fro
waiting for a doctor who will be able
to diagnose the reason why I feel low
I study the body posters while I wait
in my unfashionable blue paper gown
I must remember to sit up straight
to keep my tushie from being found
Another hour goes by, maybe more
I'm sure I got forty winks in a nap
I can hear him now, outside my door
clicking his tongue then 'rap, rap, rap.'
A cheesy smile then he reads my chart
I could tell him what he needs to know
and doctors are supposed to be so smart
Well, he should have been here long ago.
He shakes my hand then off to the sink
where he washes with ten squirts of soap.
"You think I'm contagious?" I ask with a blink.
"Don't know," he says. "Maybe there's hope."
He inquires, "Now, what seems to be wrong?"
I ramble symptoms; there are many to convey
while squirming from the pinch of my thong.
Shouldn't doctors be old, at least turning gray?
"Lie back," he mumbles, "and I'll check you out.
Blood pressure's high. You have a fever, too."
Into his stethoscope I was tempted to shout
but he hands me a cup and I'm off to the loo.
I clean off the seat from someone's neglect
sit quite impatiently, and desperately I try
to get enough of a specimen for him to inspect
while maneuvering the cup beneath my thigh.
Back to the room and the nurse peeks in.
A frown on her face makes me start to worry.
She seeths the words, "Where have you been?"
"My pee cup runneth over," was my true story.
Dr. OneSoYoung returns and takes a chair.
Eyes of blue, handsome face, but I digress
while I'm sitting here with my bottom bare
Wondering if my thoughts, I should confess.
"Get dressed," he orders, with a look of dread.
Must be bad news, I tremble, cold with a chill
thinking that by tomorrow I surely will be dead.
"You just have a bad cold and here is your bill."
I spent all morning thinking I was near death
and his diagnosis claims that all I have is a cold.
I peeled off my wrap and said in hissing breath
"Your bedside manner sucks, if truth be told!"
To the pharmacy, I strode with a disgruntled look.
I have to pay a fortune for prescribed medication.
Druggist or physician, which is the biggest crook?
Now I suffer from the malady of acute indignation!