Long Undresses Poems
Long Undresses Poems. Below are the most popular long Undresses by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Undresses poems by poem length and keyword.
The moments we share are a gift,
uniquely qualified.
A magnetic shift, of consciousness,
of honed homing sense equalized.
Through the protective layers it
sifts, like the hungry for a meal.
Moments weigh us in the balance
like a scale,
scaling what can be, and becoming fare.
Selling us there the fabrics
and colors possibilty wants to wear.
Window-shopping with depth charge,
buying as the damages can afford,
to live large.
Aloneness is shared and blotted out
in mosaic chemical.
Effervescent instant instance of oracle.
Willful in the persistence of time-
skillfully forged sign by sign.
A mystery of union encompasses
small in its spaces, compasses with string,
attachment, attaching all in its placement.
In heart chambers of containment.
For a moment is really not a moment,
it is continuum of continuity.
There is magic in relation to experience
and its mystery.
A convergence of paths intertwine,
encompasses our way back machine,
back to the place we
were conceived of the Divine.
A moment is an immortal stare.
A segway to Eternity, raw, rare.
The building block of here.
The moment you are there.
As faith faithfully undresses,
dresses doubts wound.
Vulnerability-confesses,
caresses- open, bare naked truth.
A moment.
Bares a question to mark,
what is the meaning-"to share" to spark.
It peels away the distance between us,
lightning from the dark.
The invisible doors of the soultiverse,
and its keeps and its moors.
They lead hand in hand to a place
more and more.
Love answers stark in a moment
and with no quarter taken.
In chemical equasion,
it is the answer, never to be forgotten by
the spirit professing the formula
for a tear.
Of joy ever partaken.
You stalk me through the flashing haze,
your shutter catching all my ways;
I pose like I'm not keeping score,
but crave the click, then beg for more.
You linger where the shadows bend,
my secret rival, closest friend;
your lens undresses every truth,
I glow for you, eternal youth.
You chase me down the midnight street,
I slow my stride so we might meet;
your breath behind me, warm and near,
a whispered fame I long to hear.
We orbit in a fevered spin,
you want my world, I want your grin;
obsession twines us, tight and bright,
two silhouettes in borrowed light.
So take your shot, my favorite view.
I shine because you're watching too.
Social media became the judge that poisoned physiognomy
Social media now has its own psychology
There is no more genuine face to face interactions, because lust floods biology
The face has been erased for the pixels of sexology
A drowning economy because we rather support only fans than find ways to support the bureaucracy
No wonder we are seeing the death of neuropsychology
Roles so reversed we have lost the genealogy
When she looks in the mirror she sees Daddy's eyes, and Momma's smile but the world undresses her facial personality
Curving conversation selfishly only seeking the artistic curves of her body
When he stares at the broken glass, he sees Momma's strength and Daddy's courage but the world sculpts his body into the pleasure of a transactional protection, oh the dichotomy
When the world saw a face, it used to reveal the honest truth
Lord knows you could smell a lie under the bags of weary eyes
Lips used to serve kindness now you need a social media degree to get by lip service and scams
We no longer see face to face, so word of mouth has turned into opinions over facts like everyone is playing telephone
I hear you through the keyboard, but your WPM aren't fast enough to hold real weight
So, I'll just wait until you can say it face to face
p.s. you used to see a heart when you looked at the face...
Slowly they undresses each other
In the confines of their own space
Naked to their flesh
They stand face to face
Slowly their hands grace
Two bodies in desire of they
Adults, two so in love
In sensuous intended play
Slowly they touch and kiss
As their wants absorbs their thoughts
Sheepskin rug they lie on
The roaring fire, their shadows caught
Slowly their hunger increases
As they caress each other so
Soon to join as one
Passions of two in flow
Slowly in motion and writhe
The seeing of waves in slow motion
Explosive of internal carnal
Like the crashing of the ocean
Slowly the roaring fire bows
Their shadows collapse from the walls
Spooned in heavenly lay
The pleasure of two en-thralls
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/love.php
"Ark"
books have eyes here
they sense things
through the turning of leaves
strange chapters
they listen to small sounds
loud lives lived quietly
they are grounded cells
measured by rings
in untouchable ancient territories
somewhere else,
Amazonia
sheds tears
she cries
for her children,
and herself, to be saved
the violator
rapes her body
he beats her until she is dry
he doesn’t hear her
he takes and takes, from her,
what he thinks, is his
her pain, his pleasure
he undresses her
the way he likes
her children
he mutilates
and discards
the bounty, his treasure
the air to breathe, sullied,
becomes much thinner
when the soul collectors came
they only saved
the purest energy
the books have eyes here
they watch, they listen
they see things unseen
through other dimensions
measureless to man
they record his story
eventually, the ancient ones ascend,
with mother Gaia, her daughter Amazonia,
and all creatures, their children
through strange waves
they take new leaves
freedom to breathe
they are the higher vibrations
rapturously transported
to the better worlds
the story recorded
in each book with eyes,
chapters from all the leaves
stripped bare,
remain with the violators
who now stand discarded
unwanted,
left behind in despair
crying their tears
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
“Ocelot”/Emancipator
https://youtu.be/Yn_g40iRi90
"The trees will tell their secrets to those that tune in.”
Steven Magee
"They claim this mother of ours, the Earth,
for their own use, and fence their neighbors
away from her, and deface her
with their buildings and their refuse."
Sitting Bull
"We have enslaved
the rest of the animal creation,
and have treated our distant cousins
in fur and feathers so badly
that beyond doubt,
if they were able to formulate a religion,
they would depict the Devil in human form."
William Inge
One on Person, One in Mind
who is that lone donkey on a sunset boulevard
for she walks with her head between her legs
kicking up dust and is such a blowhard
is that her panhandling pity to fill her dregs
from morning to night she undresses in plight
exposing her laundry on that clothes line of shame
for all to see her braying ways is such a sight
as she spins the cycle of pity in finding blame
there's pegs loose and contortion in her clouds
a storm brewing of sadness on her unhappy face
yet she scanters along in life buried in shrouds
of a sadness filled with pain, and no loving embrace
You know ... ill well this donkey off on a horizon
It's me, a tempest awake in my mind and rising
connie pachecho
1/03/18
F eeling enraptured, Autumn dances in the wind, then undresses.
A s bright robes fall to the ground, her passion paints the twilight skies.
L ike a nymph, she beckons, tossing her fiery auburn tresses.
L ongingly she sighs - September’s bliss lingering in her eyes.
I ndian summer days come; then they go.
N ights though chill, embrace her in indigo.
L ater, in November, her sweetness wanes.
O ctober cannot stay forever loving her.
V acantly she gazes through freezing rains.
E ndearments whispered - cease - when Fall loses ardor.
By evenings turning light
I have entered myth and legend.
Dusk never lies
it only undresses one fantasy
to reveal another.
It is good to sip
a glass of ruby wine
as a blushing sun descends
into another invisible sea.
I imagine the creatures
that swim there,
many have human faces
and the soft brown eyes
of a faithful dog.
Lovers and those
that have not been loved enough
take upon themselves
the shapes of the cosmos.
Starlit, they swim or fly away
to return in the morning light
as my brother and sister.
Some friends are lost,
but only until that dawn
when we are all found again.
The sun is dipping
into a tangerine and sherbet Atlantis.
White horses are turning to dappled dolphins.
An old guys watery eyes watch,
his lips stained red
with an everyday poetry.
I think I'm happy...
Introvert at heart I was exhausted but enjoying myself like a good day at the gym
I had been participating in some verbal jogging when the jargon interrupted the depth of my thoughts
I wanted to go deeper, but the question brought me back to the surface
You know, that over used, over played, over copied, get out of jail free question
So, how did you feel?
A mental sigh fogs my mind, as I wait for the dust to settle, I try to paint what can't be replicated in any art
My response a cliche of my own just to joust back
In case we're keeping score
I'm deadly competitive to a fault, laughing to myself touché
Oh, my reply, I almost forgot
The cliche runs from my mouth: the words to describe it are lost but if found it would be something like watching the American Day Dream on the big screen except you're the main character
When your mood matches the brightness within the sunrise of your eyes and you’re by no means even a little bit of an early bird
You hear the sound of vinyl recorded melodies on repeat as you brush your teeth
The dust slowly undresses as I then get dressed
Looking for the perfect outfit is comparable to searching for these words
And don't even get me started on shoes
The right pair will have everyone on their heels and can capture the eyes to the soul
That day my soul sang solo after the shower rained down cleansing compliments
Chanting for an encore
The volume of the claps is turned down
The dust has finally kissed the ground
And for the reveal my reflection sees a familiar memory
As my mouth curves like a rose into a shape it hasn't felt in awhile
I've been chasing this flowery feeling like the butterfly tasting the flight of bliss
I grab as fast as I can, gripping the steering wheel headed to the destination
Shouting I'm never letting go
As my opposite palm holds her hand
I want to stop to picture frame this memory
I have to stop and picture frame this memory
We stop at the red light, and she asks: can I borrow a forehead kiss
I respond: as long as you come back again
p.s. this is happiness, it was something like that...
She will take a bus to work,
it will trundle through her mind
an old bus, long recycled into
washing machines and utensils.
All the spare parts of her mind
ride that bus and arrive together
at an old factory gate.
She smells viscose oil and
a ghostly dereliction,
yet the armored ranks of machinery
thunder and hiss
inside a grey vault of over-printed silence.
Hands twitch in her lap,
they know where to go, remember
what to do. The machines whine and spin
as her dream body tends.
The foreman glares
through the oily interface between
his thoughts and hers.
The boss is a mustache in a suit
that undresses her greasy overalls.
Eyes nailed to her work,
she labors on.
This evening,
she reaches out for the mechanical cat,
it has batteries
for its ticking heart and voice.
Smalltalk wanders around her room
as she listens to her elderly brain
opening long boxed-up days.
Strands of memory
struggle to delineate the sequences
between then and now.
The cat purrs on, its feline vocals
throb and sometimes rattle
like the engine
of a work-bus returning home.