Long Unchaste Poems
Long Unchaste Poems. Below are the most popular long Unchaste by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Unchaste poems by poem length and keyword.
Black swan effect, crisis precipitates
Leaving the faint of heart, totally wrecked
Save brave hearts, who in stillness meditate
Our fall into the abyss, goes unchecked
All that matters now, is we stand erect
Boldly facing, whatever be our fate
Theory of randomness, not perfect
Black swan effect, crisis precipitates
Knowing time and tide, for no man does wait
Through adversity we gain self-respect
Prayer steeling resolve, till storm abates
Leaving the faint of heart, totally wrecked
Upon earth, as both subject and object
Most succumb to desires; ego borne bait
We are not mind body; fact who’d suspect
Save brave hearts, who in stillness meditate
Deep dark fear, our confidence decimates
Self-imposed delusion, our soul infects
Dwelling in self-pity and thoughts unchaste
Our fall into the abyss, goes unchecked
Oh hermit, ceasing grasping, now connect
To the pulse of love, joyfully gyrate
Let this world of transience have no affect
With fortitude and patience, just out-wait
Black swan effect
18-March-2021
What use are words to me, they cannot trace
The tender touch of fingers on my face
They cannot kiss my lips, they cannot feel
The passion in my heart that’s oh so real
What use are words to me, I need to taste
The rush of flavors of a love unchaste
And lips that linger here and suckle there
The hands that grip my mane of raven hair
What use are words to me, my body aches
For tender love that every border breaks
Or passion’s rush in wanton frenzied need
The intercourse of fantasies now freed
What use are words to me, they can’t caress
My body they can’t touch, nor dreams undress
Eileen Manassian
People sometimes get so caught up in the world of words...they forget what is real.
I plunged my soul in purgatory’s fire
To cleanse my mind of my unchaste desire
Sin set aflame in burning flares of heat
From being damned, the evil one to cheat
As hungry flames lapped at my weakened form
I lay prostrate in unabated storm
Sweet images of you flashed through my mind
The blazing tongues these images did find
Excruciating pain the fires brought
Betrayed by you, this pain did seem as naught
Infernal hands touched where your lips had kissed
With vengeance to pursue…the flames just hissed
The inner sanctum where with me you’d merged
Strong wrathful hands of heat each trace now purged
My lips which had your body tasted sweet
A flare of retribution did them greet
Within an inch of life, tormented sore
Unable to endure a minute more
Of fiery furnace, I was then set free
Was nearly blind, and yet your face I see
The mem’ries deluge now in cooling stream
Revived, you are, in every kiss and dream
Your image was not seared away from mind
A lustful craving heat in me you’ll find
The cleansing that I sought was not be
You live and breathe inside the heart of me
And paradise awaits me in your kiss
Consume with passion now, take me to bliss
Eileen Manassian Ghali
Just a disclaimer here....I DO NOT believe in purgatory, nor in an everlasting hell. This is just poetic license....Purgatory is supposed to be a place where you are purified of sin on your way to heaven. Unfortunately, being purged from thoughts of desire for her loved one did not work in this case.
*(A lyric on the sweet seductions of a lovely, vampish nymph and man-eater named Lolita.).
With a body so fine and rare
like a lover who comes afresh
with a glow that's both sleek and fair;
and lovely in her fine, smooth flesh;
she sways me so with not a care
as we slowly combine and mesh.
With expert skill that's hard to find
and deft and not so innocent
(and with her hands and unchaste mind),
she unzips my rising discontent.
She pleasures me: I nigh go blind
(as her deftness makes me potent).
With focus and seductive powers
she peers into my fettered soul
and frees me from my iron trousers
which crush my sex and spirit whole.
And in minutes, not even hours,
I'm under her swift, sweet control!
Tiptoe the finest, fine twine, needle-eyed thread
and a glitzy sequined clasp, tiny
tweezer-tie it finger-tip fast with a nuanced knot -
my, my, the pedantic perfection of the master jeweller.
I have the servile subtlety of thick thumbs,
all clumbsy carpals, my fudging finesse
better suited to a beanie'd stevedore, loud lugging
heavy-haired harbour rope to ship-secure
a brutish lump in the line.
Tongue tied up, spun on my own silver yarn
like a crystal jeweller, giddy with champagne giggles,
dizzy on a spinning chandelier high strung from the pressed ceiling.
Oh non, pas moi! Mine is more an oiled elegance,
heavy handed, ham-fisted like a scabby wharf rat,
chased and unchaste.
Dextrous in the strangest ways -
gutsy and glamourous,
ours is a nuanced life of grunting grime
with the briefest flashes of bedazzled dance.
Fathers, Day 2003
"Boundaries"
Written: By Tom Wright
6/16/03
For the elixir of the vine,
Dad could scarcely refrain.
Now just thoughts of his labor,
Like green persimmons, remain.
Twas like some withered old flower,
That doggedly clung to its stem.
Fleecing each morning sun, until at last,
His petals blanched and eye's grew dim.
How oft have I wondered?
As this flower's memory I retrieve.
Questioning extenuating circumstances,
Which I have yet to conceive;
But in all my discernment,
Lay a garden in arrant waste.
Its corners marked by boundaries,
That was unjust and unchaste.
Time has moved hands clockwise,
And those boundaries that were set.
Occasionally grieve my spirit,
O’er that shadow that remains yet.
At my dad's final passing,
I was left wrought up, but sad.
For despite perceived deficiencies,
One fact remained; he was my Dad.
I’m tired of trying to tame her
Of needing to blame her
Of trying to keep her colors
Locked within the lines
The sad confines
Of this life
She is there
Always pushing my limits
She’s there
The real woman that I am
The real me
Wild and free
Untamed
Uncontained
Unafraid
Wanting to BE…
To tempt and tease
To possess and please
A beauty flaunter
A good girl taunter
She’s there
She has the walk
She has the talk
She has the eyes to beguile
She has that wicked smile
And yet I keep her locked away
I keep her every need at bay
She’s in disguise
From prying eyes
Dormant, she lies
She cries
Misjudged and misunderstood
Ashamed of sensual womanhood
Veiled in culture's restrictive norms
She abides in her roles, the forms
Hidden away
Made to play
The domestic game
Tame
Tame
Ashamed
Of the fires within
Made to believe… it’s a S I N
To give in and to taste
T’would be unchaste…unchaste
And so passion consumes
And the whole world assumes
She’s docile and demure
But this I know for sure
She lies in wait
To satiate
Her desire
With wanton fire
She waits…
And so she lives a secret life
Her mind in turmoil and in strife
And I, and I???
I cry
I cry
Her every fantasy…deny
And I comply
To every single man made rule
And force her to be some silly fool
And I lie
I try
To forget
I’m made to fly
I wear the smile
But it’s not worthwhile
My mind unstable
For I’m not able
To set her free
To be
To be
Oh, can’t you see?
The hidden woman
Is me
Is ME!!!!
Eileen Manassian Ghali
Form:
"The Repeat of Fate"
Deep buried in a dead forest
I hadn’t heard of before,
Wycoller lies in ruins, barren
no trees nor foliage remain,
no tenant can be found,
but here I am
like a ghost glued
fast as a succubus to its walls
rain like poetry falls hard
the wind stinging the loveless hymn’s
continuous tin-hitting torrent to breathe
and it fills its chanting monkish boned gutters
with pages of leaves, rivulets cascade
burning like copper-coloured tears
like rusty blood the signature stains
down and over and through
its windows’ broken panes
pink-eyed writing stories, still life,
falling like laced crimson snowflakes
melting to sleet the messy sludge
sliding down its unchaste whitewashed sides
to be scraped away the scarlet lye
and underneath the nails that pierce
the sharp words tightly furled
like Rochester waits
torn on his wuthering
cliffs of heath;
which one am I?
which word?
which name?
the repeat of fate?
Unsaved by the Wildfell grace,
a small but loud device
runs with its unthinking heartless mouth.
On Pendle
a daughter seals her
mother’s fate;
too soon
it is opened,
the closed Malkin gate
Candide Diderot. ‘25
“Jennet Device, Daughter of Elizabeth Device, late wife of John Device, of the Forrest of Pendle aforesaid widow, confesseth and saith, that her said mother is a witch, and that this shee knoweth to be true; for, that shee had seens her spirit sundrie times come unto her said mother in her owne house, called Malking-Tower, in the likenesse of a browne dogge, which shee called Ball; and at one time amongst others, the said Ball did aske this examinates mother what she would have him to doe; and this examinates mother answered, that she would have the said Ball to helpe her to kill John Robinson of Barley, alias Swyer: by helpe of which said Ball, the said swyer was killed by witch-craft accordingly; and that this examinates mother continued a witch for these three or foure yeares last past.”
lye/lie.
Oh, how I come alive in pleasured zone
when passion sears my flesh, flays to bone
Euphoria soars then bursts in rainbowed hue
the universe is made of me and you
your fingers scorch me in their blazing flame
You set each longing free: unchaste, untame
to dominate, you tie my every dream
then give and get your pleasure in extreme
we're bonded in the essence of desire
no other thought but how to quench the fire
Surrender brings release from frenzied pace
I see the glow of love here on your face
They say that heaven waits for those who love
When I'm with you I'm taken up above
Eileen Manassian
Candle of Ishtar glints their eyes to taste
where fireplace burns hushed tones, a smoky glide
and dew anoints waxed mouths, sighs collide,
like unspoken quakes, uttered not in haste.
Lay bare night’s scent, unrelenting, unchaste
peeled garment floats on a lounge of mantle;
there, burst of seeds lodge in her ovule’s well
replayed, released, on nipples’ buds down waist.
Releasing logic, their notes pour as flame
on creamy skin, through dusk-time ever bold
and fingers crawl north to east without shame.
Lovers entwining as one in rush of heat
till tresses billow like moist sleet, to exclaim
of Ishtar’s ripe tunes; groans of moonlit suite.
~ Petrarchan Sonnet rhymed abbaabba,
followed by a 6-line ‘sestet’in cdcdcd
~Charlotte's Scorchers
11/25/2013