Long Stimulants Poems
Long Stimulants Poems. Below are the most popular long Stimulants by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Stimulants poems by poem length and keyword.
You once asked me to describe how much I love you;
to truly understand the worth of my response,
you must appreciate an aphrodisiac,
an ambrosia-like creation, known as chocolate...
Significantly, it's exquisitely sweet.
It melts in your mouth, warm as passionate touches.
Tasting chocolate is like exchanging soft kisses,
exciting my taste buds as my mouth savors yours...
As your lover and a lover of chocolate,
I find both to be potent stimulants of love.
Chocolate rubbed on as edible body lotion
is a sign of erotic, sexual imagination...
sending many sensations that ripple through me.
Chocolate, combined with your imaginative thoughts,
brings forth an orchestra of the world’s finest musicians,
created from heightened, romantic blossoms...
Some chocolates taste bittersweet, a fitting word
for both poets of love and purveyors of sweets.
It can be a symbol of wickedness and guilt,
when consuming chocolate decadences and sins...
Chocolate has a distinct personality,
with many traits and foibles which allow choices.
One only has to fantasize and chocolate
turns fantasy into luscious reality...
...you only have to indulge yourself with sweet love!!
The chiro gave the manipulation as usual,
guaranteed to solve all ills for a day;
we drove thro' rainbows like Pilgrim's Progress,
what should have been more was definitely less.
These magic cures and stimulants like viagra,
were pathetic, naive, just didn't last mister,
I was glad that I could rise above such trivia,
unfortunately, it wasn't the case for Olivia,
God must have had a macabre sense f humour,
because being straightforward was just a rumour,
when he invented women as a strange friend,
it turned out to be a nightmare with no end.
Much as we love them for holding our 'dick,'
their mindset won't be solved by having a 'click.'
I
How Plato once wished to ban all poets
Who seem to ‘sketch skeletons of the real’,
Whose ‘pen a beguiling tongue loosely lets’,
And yet ‘somnolent truths fail to reveal’.
If medieval men of merits did feel
That giving ‘wild wings to mind is evil’,
‘Poetry vineyard be of the devil’,
As senses stimulants be of what’s ill.
That, mankind must shun, if it be ideal,
Sensual world be poet’s snare that beguiles,
Who, better be exiled to far off isles,
If to purge them appears nigh unreal.
Whereas in truth poets are in a quest
Of truth hidden in a fiction-filled chest!
II
In quest of truth hid in fiction-filled chest—
Truth, as is love, an obscure entity,
Which, in vain most pens search in poetry—
A task so vague is bound to fail in haste.
Yet, as each poem’s quite unlike many,
Every story as leaves lasting footprints,
As underlying truth’s nigh like any,
Most of it does get conveyed if as hints.
Each reader receiving the reality
In own unique way—be it West or East,
He relates to the truth of poetry—
Veiled fantasy and a fictional beast.
So rankled, ghost of Plato in grave frets—
Wise soul who once wished to ban all poets.
______________________________________
Crown of sonnets |21.08.2023| truth, fantasy
I need friend
To spend these empty days of mine
Where I talk to myself
And try to make myself happy
To have a coffee
To drink a little bit
To take a walk
To give a hug
The universe wants me cold
As I live this solitary life.
You have a friend really many – We all need/want them
I/We want to fill your days with joy and understanding
And sing in harmony
So we both/all feel so fine
We have our favorite stimulants
And our calming fluids
Stretch our legs and arms
Getting ready to hug each other
The universe is a ing dope
Please hold on ~ to me
Collaboration Amethyste & Jim Musics
Roasted my back hanging over eaves on a scalding rooftop.
Painted, drove, had sex.
Slowly replaced my blood with a hitest mixture
Of caffeine and ephedrine.
Painted, drove, daydreamed about sex.
Watched the sun burn up the grass from bluedust skies.
Painted, drove, bought girlie mags & read about sex.
Missed the kids, yet was often vexed by their demands when home.
Painted, drove, sucked beers in the dead of night
By the wordprocessor - & wrote about sex.
Learned how to watch girls from the rearview mirrors.
Painted, drove, had friends over & talked about sex.
Bought a house, indentured myself to the year 2020.
Painted, drove, had some more sex.
Lesson One: The path to success is long and thorny.
Lesson Two: Stress and stimulants make me horny.
Resolution: Next year, in matters pertaining to screwing,
My motto will be: "Less thinking, More doing."
My limbs unlax,
stress leaking from my body and
collecting like a basin of a
candle’s freshly melted wax;
One inhale of the plastic casket,
which burns judgingly in my back pocket,
is enough to dredge up the relaxation
my dreary, dramatic life has lacked,
smacking me in my temples
with a dopamine-injected hand.
An inhale, a flurry of smoke,
smolders holes in my lungs
until it constricts and chokes
me, until its disguised benignant nature
reveals its true form;
Stimulants create my deliquesce,
allowing my brain much-needed bliss,
but in a fine, descript disclaimer
written in purposefully disappearing ink, it’s
benevolence whispers addiction.
Her hormones fled the coop on scalding tires.
Motel maids were her sisters, bars her occupation,
a place to work on the aerobics of hope.
He was a hazard in her side-view mirror,
a pileup that followed her home.
Hitched to a double-wide,
they took the long slide in a downhill race.
Both rode their desires in a raw rodeo.
He anointing her with his pity-me seed,
she dispensing self-hate in Dixie cups.
The litter of their love
was dumped on friends and cops.
A shared habit for synthetic stimulants
ensured court dates and warrants.
Naturally, they pointed fingers,
gambled on a better hand tomorrow.
Authentic feelings waned,
emotions were stored in freezer bags,
kept on ice. They were no longer nice
to each other, nor did they try,
love blinked out in dulling eyes.
They still made house together,
but the magic had left for the circus,
for months they clawed their way out
of a bad country song,
until the band broke up.
First and foremost on the agenda,
would be to locate an affordable,
casual and favorable eatery
tubby agreeable to our taste
indubitable choice without
(any formal dress code),
nor further haste.
Strait away to the great weigh
(or if vegetarian – whey)
station of delectable food
where the exquisite, expertise, and exotic
high steak king a claim on Michelin Guide,
Gayot Guide/Gault Millau, American
Automobile Association, Forbes
Travel Guide reputation good.
Testimony to legendary praise
explaining why patrons travel
for countless days
transforming him/her
into steady state,
where he/she shuffles along
in a dishabille quotidian famished daze
far and wide culinary craze
out of this world wide web, the wispy Lyft
wafts trace steamy filament up braise
our noses,
whereat heads nod affirmation i.e. ayes.
Even before making a glad entrance
(into Restaurant) complete
a host of fresh, enticing,
and delicious aromas serve as a treat.
Delicate, foreign, hefty indescribable
ole factory stimulants delight
infiltrating thru swinging kitchen doors
holding us smell bound,
though thin filaments invisibly light.
Sitting in the basement
Two friends were fairly wasted
With an idea, both of them could taste it
So they decided they would make it
They tried to pull up the internet
With a computer not even turned on yet
So they smoked another doobie and
Came up with a master plan
When the internet finally did come on
They Googled how to make an "H" bomb
They giggled like silly teenage girls
Cause the knew they'd be rulers of their world
They wish they'd studied more in school
This "H" bomb language wasn't written for simple fools
So they called up someone smart they knew
They called Bob
Well Bob was just right down the street
Always there to help a friend in need
Even came with his own bag of weed
Bob is a good friend indeed
After an hour or so they tried to explain
What they needed from good ole what's his name
But couldn't remember why it was he even came
I guess weed just made the world a safer place
Disclaimer....
I neither condone the use of stimulants
nor the making of homemade nuclear weapons.
Neck a smooth, cylindrical mold
As sheathe with fibers carefully rolled
Pale, satin sheen artfully scrolled
Grace on soft, silky strands doled
In light, silted hologram to behold
Calamus breathes through each fold
Herbal essence from tight pores cajoled
Swabbed cheeks cloud high cheek bone
Naturally brushed with light coppertone
Puffy mounds rise from savory scone
Cherry gum drops brim o'er mascarpone
Cherubic glow of a polished sandstone
Exuding savory Rose scent laced with pheromone
Nature's stimulants, a nurtured love to hone
Bosom, gilded vines on terraced grove
Sprouting cherries, fertile arrow of Jove
Dangling from chest sealing frothy trove
Coarse sifted mounds, plump kneaded loaves
Descending into a deep, musky cove
U-shaped funnel vents steaming stove
Releasing mellow aroma of a sweet clove