Long Succulence Poems
Long Succulence Poems. Below are the most popular long Succulence by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Succulence poems by poem length and keyword.
When is Spring, at last, Here?
When will its gossamer grace fill the air?
When does the wind carry its jasmine perfume?
When do unassuming buds in radiance bloom?
When do ambivalent clouds cancel their tease?
When does the capricious sun harken to please?
When will its bounty of fruit surrender their succulence?
When do the bluejays and robins retire their absence-
And fill my backyard with their musical acquiescence?
When do the squirrels, bold as they may,
Start stealing seeds from the birdfeeder's display?
When does the grass grow, lush and verdant?
When are the dandelions playful and flippant?
(While I know there are those who won't take heed-
I say the sweet dandelion is NOT a weed!)
When can I fold away my sweaters
In preparation for lighter weather?
The answer - hooray! -
Is Today, Today, Today!
A young lady, Kathy by name. A young man, David by name;
Siblings, sitting across from me at the Christmas dinner table,
filled with food fit for kings and queens.
Their uncle Ed sits on the left, and to their right is their mother Susan, who sits next to her father and mother, Bill and Grace, who sit next to Grace's mother Mary, who is full of life at 95 years of age.
My wife and I are most honored to be invited to dinner where,
Except for Ed, the aforementioned ones are part of the 'same
Household'. I don't know that I have witnessed a four-generation
Household. And I am overwhelmed as I witness four beautiful generations.
Each generation from ages 18 to 95 has a history, a story, an observation,
Each of which is unique and depicts the character of that particular time.
At the beginning, Bill prayed, blessing the fellowship, food, and family.
Later on, Bill also shared a timely piece of Good News about The Lord.
In spite of wars and conflicts, viruses and diseases, atrocities, holocaust, and genocides, Mary, whom I shall remember as 'Christmas Mary', represents the 'greatest generation'. Mary, who shows no scares of pain, but an alert mind and energetic frame, was born in 1926. Mary, the mother of Jesus, surely made emotional adjustments when told there was no room for them in the inn. Amagine the trauma she must have felt when she and Joseph had to flee to Egypt to save the life of their new born. My new found friend, 'Christmas Mary', most assuredly has faced trials in her life, but has been one aglow with fulfillment, inspiration, and promise.
At the dinner table as I was sponging the atmosphere, I turned my attention to the articulate young siblings, David and Kathy. When asked their 'take' from their family experience, David speaks of 'Observation'. As a teen, he too was sponging the atmospheric fragrances of three generations. I am extremely touched by what David must be seeing through generational corridors. Feasting of the succulence from both food and family, I had been blessed.
Written,122621PSCtest. Entered 041522 Form N - Narrative Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
All around me the land suffers too much greening.
The luxuriant froths over into a feverish lush.
Birds cannot consume all the insects.
Snakes cannot eat all the birds.
The ground hogs on the swill of decay.
If this is natures wealth then a little poverty
is needed, a tax on the riotous and too abundant.
Death the reaper must rule his kingdom with more gusto,
both the prey and the predator sparring none,
the sickly succulence of overripe sap
drained and clarified by a cooler sunlight.
I was whelped in more temperate climes,
wolves died of hunger and age not heat stroke.
The rabbit burrows are oven gates
for marauding hordes and an avid pestilence.
The balance is tipped and off kilter,
The climate repaints its face more garishly
each day.
I hear the mandibles of ferocity, their
click and remorseless grind,
and there is no softness in the nibbling jaws
of those who rampage silently,
those, who strip the bloated and obese
to the dark and rancid bone.
I secretly journey now under dawn stars,
trace my way over cooling paths
before another fevered heat
force feeds the land.
JAR OF LIFE....??
Like the thighs of a fresh virgin
The softness of your lips embraced my origin
You contralto voice like the echoes of the Moon filled the room to the brim
Each thrust into your thirty-two made my heart sound gbim! Gbim!! Gbim!!!
The awesomeness of your salivary gland
Like the pool of a wet nurse baptized my origin
Blessed is the angel that carved thy cheeks
More blessed is he that carved thy firm-fleshed riped fruits
In them my soul is buried
It is the sight of them that motivates my inner man
Watching you rise like the mother of dragons
Sent a wave of pleasure down the tails of my drogon
At that point did I say to myself...
If I perish, I perish
Indeed deep within your warmness truly I perished
The welcoming and opening ceremony of your sleekness
Succulence of your inner estate
Your solemn contralto voice of many notes
All worked together for the good of my adventure
In the business of your satisfaction
I was busy making profits till I felt the last drop of my last seed
Into your JAR OF LIFE...
©ABSOL
????????
Be a "what if' being
a poet all seeing,
let your wishes
ride upon unicorns and rainbows.
Don't be typically cynical, be topically hopeful,
have faith in the ridiculous
the fantastical.
Le us not wait
let us be grateful,
let us not hesitate
to stare at our navel.
If the Mindful Universe
(that ever succulence of sprit),
can make an ape think,
lift it into the poetry of creative ideas,
it can change your heart,
it can make it bloom in much higher gardens.
You are the who-man, the walking womb,
what inseminates you,
what seeds your imagination
are the wings of an everlasting,
ever increasing wonder.
Butterfly dreams will learn to soar.
Unicom's will be a poem you have yet to write.
I formed the poet to be my clay pen
To dance on the pin tip of my understanding
I delight in words
All things came into existance through my words
The planets
The stars
The moon
The sun
The universes beyond what you can see
They are tethered by my imagination
I am a God of order
I delight in repetition
My ways are perfect
What you see a chaos, fits perfectly into my plans
I occupy all the spaces
I exist within each breath
My energy flows from beginning to end and back again
I allow you to glimpse my shadow
For my full Glory would consume your human form
I am beyond your comprehension
Yet I wish you to know me
Ponder me
Come into my loving arms
My words are written on ancient scrolls
Each verse contains my essence
My invitation to a wondorous feast
Taste the succulence of my bounty
The flavours my affection
My consummate Love
Do not be concerned with the temporary
Trust in my grace
For I know all your needs
This world will one day disappear
Paradise will reside under your feet
I will be your completion
Dancing will have new meaning
Rivers will sparkle like diamonds
The skies will no longer need the sun
For I will be your light
We will walk through a new Jerusalem
Streets of gold
Buildings encrusted in precious gems
Trees will be laden with fruit
No hunger
No tears
My children will know freedom
Strength will course through veins
Angels will walk in their midsts
Age will no longer be their enemy
Death will be a forgotten memory
For I am God
My words
My poetry
They can be your reality
Make use of your free will
I am bound by my own promises
You must choose my path
Be a vessel of my Love
You my clay pen
Can flow
With golden ink
For this contest I am asked to write from the perspective of God.
It is an insurmountable task for one as limited as myself. I humbly
submit this attempt and pray that it honors my heavenly Father.
I am reposting this one after reading Miraj's excellent piece "His Way".
A good mote,
something to imagine upon
with sin in mind.
Near strangers in the same office,
clothed only by levels and walls.
From two floors up
she let her dark hair down.
Hour after hour
he running fingers through strands,
twisting ropes of sensuality.
A married mote,
a thought made flesh
that grew too large for eyes.
A bad mote,
a succubus in the den of being,
a succulence of dark desires.
Time-worn, and weary it waned,
it cooled
leaving only residuals,
flavors good and bad.
A clearer youth
un-imagined her utterly out,
deleted that mote,
gone and forgot forever,
until now.
traced the silver wing
the pointed beak
eyes that dot the skies
gold star,
flowers with beating petals
a forest feather gumption
between a parrot’s toes
gripping tight
the marriage knot
his love sought blueberries
a fight of
juicy treats, and carrots
the orange consumption of gasoline
under the bower, a fleet of butterflies
they clench beholden teeth
they break mid air and spoon goodbye
what do they seek but the succulence of heaven
in haste, a quill dipped in birdshot ink
5/29/2018
MY IRRESISTIBLE BROWN COFFEE
I will drink to your love.
Start with my brown coffee some forehead kisses
just to show you my abundance of respect
till my lips hyperbolically becomes crested on it.
I will drink to your love,
Taste the pureness from your lips
just to show my thirst for my coffee
and unify our passion for each other.
I will drink to your love.
Caress the shoulders of my cup
just to make her feel my touch
as I feel her steamy warmth.
I will drink to your love.
Grapple like waffle the two points
where sweet signals strikes sensitivity
till I become hot or warm like my coffee.
I will drink to your love.
My tongue is made to taste it's succulence,
as I ravel in the softness of your heavyweights
until our souls come in twain and simulate.
I will drink to your love.
Reach down to the paths that leads to heaven.
And when I get to that heaven beneath,
I'll drink the oceans till we both run wild.
I will drink to the love of my Brown Coffee.
Vick Manuel Poetry {VMP}
Form: Cinq Cinquain
Copyright© 3rd January, 2023.
With my succulence, I can quench your thirst
hydrating well-being midst calmness-bliss
offering nutritious benefits
toward functional zest of vibrant mirth...
Yes, enjoy my refreshing presence
midst wondrous fellowship with loved ones
along rejuvenating laughter spree
ending in prayer, thanking God*... then have slurps of me.
Philippians 4:6 Be careful for nothing; but in every thing by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known unto God.
November 4, 2025
3rd place, "PERSONALLY SPEAKING" Personification Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Nette Onclaud; judged on 11/5/2025