Long Tickles Poems
Long Tickles Poems. Below are the most popular long Tickles by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Tickles poems by poem length and keyword.
Flowing tears..
Dampen one's spirit..
Alone with an empty void..
Saddened with lonliness..
Somber moments ..
Residue of tears become an ocean of despair..
Awaiting to fill an empty void..
You are..
Never alone..
When you feel a warm inviting breeze..
Tickles your senses..
You are..
Never alone..
Swept away with the splendor of nature..
Charmed by the exquisite beauty..
You are..
Never alone..
With every breath you take..
You are..
Never alone..
As you are loved unconditionally..
Blinded by love..
with a hollow heart..
Embrace the love..
With an open heart..
As divinity is eternally always with you..
Do not despair..
You are never alone..
I LOVE YOU Today, though Your so far ; so far away
My hands Caress You ; as one would the petal of a rose
Gently I wipe away the morning dew drop ; in reality a tear
I touch You with my smile : my beard tickles Your cheek
My Heart beats to the music of LOVE, pounding to a crescendo :
My baritone voice , enticed by the pounding Heart, sings I Love You
My eyes see YOU everywhere, the soft clouds, the cool shade of an Oak
In the sea, rushing to the beach : but mostly in my mind where beauty grows
The doors are opened : yet You stay , that I may LOVE YOU TODAY
“ N-- O-- W”
Inspired By Barbara Gorelick’s POEM -- “NOW”
Dedicated to Barbara Jean with Today’s LOVE -- Everlasting
As most days go this seems pretty good
Doesn't take much to affect my mood
Just a simple greeting like “Have a good day”
As I show up at the office in the nude
The reaction of coworkers sure tickles my fancy
With my dangly bits dancing around
They try not to stare but it's kind of impossible
As my studly maleness astounds
When I settle down on my black leather chair
I let out a childlike whimper
My super warm flesh on the this super cold leather
Makes me scream out the name of my vicar
The ladies gather round never ever having seen
An eighty year old dangly his bits
I start twisting and turning like a beautiful ballerina
Slapping a giddy-up on my hips
Well as it goes today's not necessarily the best
Got rid of some of my inhibitions
Till the security dudes burst into the office
Felt like the Spanish Inquisition
Time and again finances stretched
to breaking point
crackle, pop, and snap
'curse Alfred E. Neuman
smiles at yours truly
(this luckless papa)
with with his toothy gap
haint even Abel nor Cain,
nor I pull myself up
courtesy frayed bootstrap
dirt poor penniless deathtrap
compliments countless many
mashup mechanical mishap
no need to repeat, nor recap,
the litany against
fickle finger of fate
driving me into almshouse
more loathsome versus caught
amidst tsunami size whitecap,
where quick demise accompanied
by deafening air splitting thunderclap,
whereby bolt of blinding lightning
cleaves heavenly vault and
(Friday January 3rd, 2020)
instantaneously immense
mick canonical jagged dagger
blithely grasped courtesy
Usain St Leo Bolt
(yes Olympic runner -
fastest man on Earth
nonchalantly thwarts bajillion volt
tickles hands of said marathoner
analogous to wiretap
blessedly before brilliant
atmospheric electrical discharge
fizzled in feebly limp attempt
to extinguish "fake" charade,
facade, and mockup i.e.
mine burned out life
of Riley (really) ernest
and frank failed to zap
(think) mortally - merely
surface epidermis braised flesh,
synonymous burned out,
bedraggled banged up
resembling an old
and/or rickety vehicle,
none other than our trusty heap
Uriah (hit) to guess
aforementioned oft money pit
accursed said automobile.
BE MERRY
be merry, not blue.
blow your nose, no boo hoos,
dot your eyes.
i’ve provided an embroidered,
lacy handkerchief —
the old-fashioned kind,
that pulls up your bootstraps,
tickles your fancy,
almost too pretty, kind,
leaves no red streaks
creates smiles, not weak
and the square is perfumed
with a childhood scent
that twinkles your eyes.
gregarious giggles
cause your shoulders to shake,
put a kick in your step
as you decorate and bake.
the sweet little cloth
wipes the surliest frowns,
stirs up
cordial sentiments —
hug from mom, pat from dad
a round-robin of Winter friends,
a cup of hot cocoa,
the thrill of a visit
from reindeer and St. Nick.
be merry and bright
through the darkest of nights
be the candle that shines
in the window. its fog
fizzles into a magic act,
replaced by a happy gait.
be merry, wear a cherry
on top of your head, be
not faint —
have the gumption
to lead the sugar foray.
keep your square
and encourage
each cheek
of its kissable quality
its unshakable victory —
a marvelous merry awaits!
12/14/2020
This morning, like any other
in this town, sun never fully rises.
Clouds spread out in the sky unevenly
like butter on untoasted bread.
In haze, town wakes up slowly,
rub its eyes, then blink hard three times
—in its irises light sporadic lights.
A sign of life, fresh day—
for its tiny people, at least.
Town has no use for tomorrow.
Even awake it’s quiet, the wind
carries hushed whispers around.
Would you like some milk with that?
Not for secrecy.
Town has no use for secrecy,
but silence keeps the town balanced.
On every red roof there’s a
red chimney, but no smoke
—gray offends blue as sorrow offends love.
No cars—people walk earthen roads
to other people, slow.
Town has no use for efficiency.
They stroll through carpets of primroses,
tall grass tickles their calves.
They lie down, and between greens
you can barely see, their bare skin.
No beauty is pursued here.
Town has no use for beauty.
Gently, the night visits again,
and people crawl into warm dreams
—a world beyond theirs, maybe.
Lights off in the town’s eyes
for the night, but no one minds.
Mists sneak through windows in disguise,
reach into minds through breaths.
Inhale, erase.
Exhale, reset.
The sun never fully sets, or rises—
Town has no use for tomorrow,
hence in town, it never will be tomorrow.
Ah King Kane.. you’ve done it again
Heavenly humility hums on a simply higher plane..
Angelic ability strums..curious necks studious crane
Classical charms forever waver but won’t wistfully wane
Professorial textbook tutorials..clever rhapsodies of restrain
Classy but never brassy..balletic lullabies of lyrical refrain
Dizzying dedication..insane..education.. epiphanies explain how to train
Eureka seeker...aurora explorer..yielded iconic pedagogic logic..
Willow wielded wonders sprinkled with sparkle…
Heroic champagne campaign shielded possible debacle..
Kane stoic no pretence…venerates poetic defence…purringly prophetic
Guiles..wiles.. bewitch…bamboozling composure..silky smooth aesthetic
Was it just a jest…Smithy did suggest …Kane’s last ever test
No more communions…timber timbre tickles..more highlights than Bucks Fizz reunions
Elan fans wish…our Lord of the Rings on the pitch across the ditch.. baggy green disdain
Stratospheric.. slayed & flayed by a Sorcerer’s blade
Precision magician…traditional technician
Mesmeric mercurial master…history made
The last post gong sounds like a love song
Ah Captain Kane you’ve only gone and done it again
In my eighteenth season, strangers used brotherhood as
decorative ribbons to gift me a feel and a truth that have stayed
my life long. At a nature adorned ranch flowed a celebratory
wedding reception upon soft green field carpets so lush that they matched the gentle generosity of my host's acceptance. I was a welcomed wanderer, a presence made to feel I belonged and was
valued. Old, wizen oak and willow trees provided a poetic, scenic
border for the velvet ground and shaded the serene river on the
other side of their mighty and graceful tree limbs. It was Fall, of
course it was Fall, the season of lusciousness and breezes that
render promising tickles upon titillated flesh. As music flowed,
love in sincere smiles became hand-to-hand holding, loose swaying
arms, and uninhibited kicks from dancing legs all moving carefree
bodies in a spontaneous, jubilant circle of dance. In a flash-know,
I felt harmonious sensations empower all to unite in the spiritual perfection from which we had come and would, in time, return as brothers and sisters gone home.
sun rays pulse pleasure
when perfect harmony sounds ~
leggy spirits kick
Vibrating elations brightened the sun’s own light and
dissolved all human egos’ need-feel to be acknowledged as right.
I knew none of the faces, yet I knew them all, just as they knew me because a mutual dance feel took us all inside core truth; all were
one in the same from the same one of perfect love. Such knowing
elated my dance with soul-intoxication. The air continued piping in
rock’s most poignant lyrics sung by genuine, emotive voices that
grabbed us all while drums beat as one with our hearts until our
pulses ignited, and guitars glided on soared, radiating nirvana highs through our inside-otherness. These sensations all led me to know
what I still know, dancing that unexpected afternoon was more
important in establishing my life’s philosophical purpose than many
of the priorities I had been taught were paramount to living a
successful life.
songs swirl inner depths
lifting souls in all who dance ~
nirvana buzzes
The Cabin
There is a cabin
That sits on the shore
Of an emerald lake,
Alive, with sun and swallows
Birds hum along with the children at play
Knee deep in warm water and soft sand
Catching lightning bugs at night
This sacred cabin is never dark
Because the moon reflects across the lake
And laughter lights up the night
In the morning the sky is the brightest blue
The trees cast laughing shadows
That tickles children’s feet.
A dragonfly floats lazily by
And the deer bound through the grass
All is peace by this cabin on the lake
And everything is alive.
There is a cabin
That sits on the shore
Of a black lake
The sun hides from view
And all is quiet and still
The water threatens to spill over the banks,
But has no one to drown.
The night is filled with an erie silent blackness
The children never play,
For there are no lightning bugs left to catch
Or children to catch them
In the morning, the sun threatens not to rise
Against the ashen sky
The only life is the steady whine of the cicada
And the deer avoid the decaying cabin at all costs
Something is very wrong here.
What has happened to this cabin on the lake
That was once so alive?
As it turns out, the most dangerous thing
Is the living
Toward Material Trappings
Gold and silver upholds
true value capitalist money tree
Thrown down upon gaunt
lit alter of Midas,
treasured as current sea
Countless denominations
cashiered legal tender to grant
Rich Midas, who straddles
diamond compound,
billed as sacred Kant
Tickles with dollar signs
motley foolish crue scrambling
towards drawbridge gate
Pedestrians malingering
hungry thirst
for wealth of nations to satiate
Inexorable appetite
for wanton money to amass
Fuels reverence
all that glitters even brass
Whence madding crowd
behaviour cruel and crass
Deplorable if perceived
from one-way looking glass
Fool hardiness to revere
what beast called money,
lucre, and green back
Can buy - sweeping across
World Wide Web
scarring globe on fast track
Toward accumulating
high excess lavish life harried style
parade with pomp
and swiftly tailored circumstances while
Ninety nine percent
of less wealthy live hand to mouth
Envying those billeted
behind sealed mansions
east, west, north and south
Except this dollar less chap,
who could not give a rat’s tush
For ka-ching melodic sound
twenty four seven that does swoosh
In burlap sack clothes
and bank accounts preferring
to slog and push
Along boulevard of broken dreams
that resembles nothing but mush
Yet preference prevails
foregoing attachment
to government sanctioned loot
Freeing mind and body trying
to cherish voluntary simplicity,
which does suit
This quest for knowledge seeking writer,
who disparages
tooting his own horn
Nor imposing personal philosophy
that gives reason exuberantly to exhale
Versus vacuity and purposelessness
sans, blind faith toward Holy Grail
Goading most people to persevere
for millions of bucks over hill and dale
Despite owning next to nothing,
yet detaching psychological
bond that doth choke
Ability to experience unfettered psyche
likened to oxen iron bound yoke!