Long Steamy Poems
Long Steamy Poems. Below are the most popular long Steamy by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Steamy poems by poem length and keyword.
Oiled and bronzed
In cupped pose
Her wetted hair
The want in me grows
Silhouetted
Against the moonlight
Beside the blue lagoon
Her curves of delight
She turns her head
As she looks into my eyes
Sultry and steamy
On the cooling sands we lie
Tethered together
By capturing arms
Under the light of the moon
We share our charms
In sync we caress
With the sounds of the waves
Our tongues fencing
As our lips crave
Two become one
On this moonlit night
The love of two
In wonderful delight
We arise from the sands
Beside the blue lagoon
Walking home hand in hand
Our hearts in loving bloom
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/love-8.php
There I was, a lonely soul, lollin' on a Bermuda beach soakin' up the sun,
Where the sand is pink and the rum swizzles will never be outdone!
Where college goils from New Joisey and New Yawk flock to each Easter,
To frolic on the beaches, find romance and display their comely keister!
From across the way I espied this beauty strollin' along the shore.
I mused, "Is this the steamy summer love that I've been pinin' for?"
The statuesque bikini-clad doll came towards me with a cat-like stride.
I could hardly quell the romantic notions that were wellin' up inside!
I leapt to my feet, pullin' in my gut and puffin' out my puny chest!
(After all! To impress this stunner wouldn't you want to look your best!)
"Hi-ya, big fella", she purred, "I've come to Bermuda for a little fun,
And my ten-day holiday in this lovely paradise has just begun!"
Well, what's a feller to do - I invited her for a Manhattan at the local pub.
Afterwards, we sipped champagne and played toesies in a heated tub!
Later, strollin' the beach, we noted that old man winkin' at us from the moon.
This was enhanced by romantic music serenadin' us from across the lagoon!
Things were goin' so well that I just could not believe my good luck.
Suddenly, it all ended as if I'd been dinged in the head with a hockey puck!
Alas, I had been dreamin' this romantic interlude that was far from borin',
When my spouse poked me sayin', "Wake up and stop that infernal snorin'!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Placed No. 1 in Sweetheart Of Poetry Soup's "Steamy Summer Love" Contest - Jul 2010
A garden of beauty, your faces show,
your beauty among the hay scarecrow.
All the flowers smell so fruity,
Your faces show, a garden of beauty.
The summer is hot and steamy,
these colorful flowers are so dreamy.
Each flower has its own personal color,
worth much more than a dollar.
I love to walk this path,
I can watch the birds take a bath.
Birds singing sweetly,
now I know why I must come weekly.
Flower faces of blue,
I think I will pick you.
So many beautiful colors,
a garden place for many summers.
Date Written:7/8/2020 Swap Quatrain Poetry Contest Sponsored by: Emile Pinet
Checked https://www.rhymezone.com/
Memory Poem In Apartment A - 1971
a brace of wine glasses standing tall on a kitchen table
greasy frying pan luxuriating immodestly in the kitchen sink
two forks and two knives bathing naked in the steamy water
vinyl black record spinning clockwise under a cool ceiling fan
music by beethoven caressing the hour with perfume sounds
clock on the television console ticking with slicker love-bites
purple pleated pillow breathing excitedly on a big green sofa
portraits of curious dead people peeping through glass frames
bowl of red fruit sitting ripe and ready on an oak dining table
wide open window allowing a red sunset through shy curtains
bathroom faucet in pink bathroom dripping rivulets of sweat
silent resplendent wall mirror staring with secret fascinations
a brace of wine glasses standing tall on a kitchen table
Looking back helplessly
at every foible like Epimetheus.
Born like a weed in the steamy morning,
I was an aimless, crude creature spinning
flamboyant cobwebs like a confident fool.
I slathered prismatic patterns, grinning like a jester.
Then, civilization impounded the measures of my dreams.
I became an embarrassed, lying chowderhead, concealing
my crayons.
I lacked language, locution, or parlance.
I sat absent, a prisoner in rote computation.
My night dreams merged with day-dreams.
My solo island became a continent.
I tried phoning out with phony phonetic fumbles
but everyone could see.
So, I slipped away, deserting, fleeing,
riding the rails in boxcars.
My passage through nocturnal town and village
untraceable, uncertain, preoccupied with the pigments
of my polyscope.
Later, I reappeared, reconsidered, and revised,
replicating the decorations of acuity, imitating
profundity like P. T. Barnum.
My spectacle drew crowds until I was discovered.
My retreat and retraction now heavy with
fatigue, I know not the lens of my psyche.
In sobriety, I recall all my splinters and ruptures.
But my rearranged reissues of adornments
will persist until I am expelled.
Published: The Opiate Journal, July 2020
From where he sits presently, he is convinced that the choices he made, the paths he took, and the roads not taken were far and away, being guided by supernatural hands. That over a 50 year period his ship would dock so serenely, was highly unpredictable.
From the age of 14, he was very cognisant of the direction in which he wanted to proceed. That was the initial turning point in his life when he began to focus on his future, and without a doubt, the young man's dedication was set in stone. His will and determination were strong, and a forward looking pathway began to unfold and become crystal clear.
From the frosted winter's dawn to the steamy and humid days of summer, he fought back many a tear of melancholy. At the stillness of the gloaming, a friendly rest appeared to ease the day's toil; and deep into the night, hopeful dreams of the valiant warrior prepared him for the next day's fight. The hope- starved back fields of Dixie required one to be forevermore protected with the phycological shields of steel. His was a life destined to be one of substance and purpose; not one to remain bathed in a rich pathos of poverty.
No woulda's, coulda's, and shoulda's are causing him to be upset His is a free spirit and in his sunsets, there are no regrets
08172017PSContest, Eight word Challenge-3, John Hamilton
I want this cold Winter to be over-
longing to hear all the little birds sing;
just love beautiful Spring with skies azure,
I wish to be in forests green ambling;
and dipping my toes in a stream babbling,
and picking the wild flowers unfolding.
Over the meadows wild the north winds fly-
making all the small white daisies tremble,
Summer is knocking- Spring I say goodbye;
I do enjoy hot steamy days blissful,
and bright red roses hanging so graceful;
and butterflies in my garden jungle.
All the trees lay down their emerald gowns-
there is a great whirling of gold and red,
all the Fall leaves are now crinkled browns;
migrating birds fly high with their wings spread,
and rain is falling on my garden dead;
and Winter is coming soon- that I dread.
How pretty the first filigree snowflakes,
soon, I will be making Christmas fruitcakes!
______________________
January 20, 2018
Poetry/Sonnet/Come, Come Sweet Seasons
Copyright Protected, ID 18-9850-01-01
All Rights Reserved. Written Under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest, Urban Sonnet
sponsor, Laura Loo
Second Place
In her lifetime, a cow produces
Two hundred thousand glasses of milk
Wow, she must be a total wreck
After a hundred I surely would wilt
Your average domestic cat bombs along
At about thirty-one miles an hour
Especially if that old family dog, Rover
Is attempting her hide to devour
Did you know that a young George W
Was once a cheerleader in college
I'll bet your life is now finally complete
Since learning this choice bit of knowledge
People spend over three and a half years
Whiling away their time on the can
Headstones should be shaped like toilet bowls
And also be equipped with a fan
There's a town in PA called Intercourse
I wonder what prompted the townsfolk
To call their town such a provocative name
Was it just their idea of a joke
Studies show most Australian women
Will have sex on the very first date
Booking my ticket tomorrow morning
Heard the climate there is great
The favourite place next the bedroom
Is having steamy sex in a car
I'm writing this poem from the back seat
Of my gorgeous Nissan GT-R
A thousand birdies die each year
From smashing headlong into windows
Sure not the smartest of God's little creatures
Just one step up from a minnow
Okay, just one more of these silly facts
Then I really must take my leave
You're able to lose weight just smelling bananas
Got a million more up my sleeve!
© Jack Ellison 2013
The drug of youth is on my mind
the wonder of what I may find
if I could take a magic pill
and cure this ever aging ill
A potion for more carefree days
of supervision runaways
so worry free of money trees
all planted by retirees
Elixirs for those steamy nights
when higher than untethered kites
with Karma, not a girl I know
not ready for my line to tow
The drug of youth is on my mind
but thankful still that I may find
the memories yet to be made
before the end of this parade
~ JOURNEY to the center of me!~
Yield upon this blissful moment!
In, a cutting-edge welcoming,
This minute can only maintain-
Yesterday’s journey~ Desire~
The world inside my head, can think,
Deeper than a dream;
Up till now, anticipation has hovered my present thoughts
Day becomes night,
Night becomes day,
In a cave, I call my insanity.
Hallucination, raveling inside my head,
I sit where my thoughts entwine with my elusive slumber.
Everything inside of me is lucid and lost in madness.
I perceive the proper perception;
to think is only a thought.
Today’s journey~ Sensation~
Barren thoughts never exit the aggression in my mind.
I stand among the crying thunder locked within my head.
Of sweet flower they arise and bloom, above all shores,
I embrace the beauty of my deepest emotion.
Sands of time litter within my walls!
My thoughts sit and wait!
Minimizing themselves down to a speckled dot.
They are a few, sweet and creepy,
Those grab my attention,
Tomorrow’s journey~ Pleasure~
Passion wilting upon yesterday’s memory.
Concentrating and unraveling every single knot.
And, still I go back and give that one look.
A hot steamy want, judged by my brainwaves.
Notions, follow a path and indulge with no escape.
Danger escapades into a naughty reflection, "I am my own diversion!"
My thoughts are thoughtless as they can be.
Brittle and little like you and me!
Still my journey continues to emerge with all the thoughts found in the center of me.
Everyday's journey~ Begins with………Determination……
by;pd