Long Undulations Poems
Long Undulations Poems. Below are the most popular long Undulations by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Undulations poems by poem length and keyword.
Fair-minded whale playground, compass dismisses
Ceylon sapphire zero horizon echo orchestral chamber
Forge rolling bow voyages of uncharted distance
Cut water instant recovery, oily onyx giants' undulations
Gleefully refuse gravity's hard ground insistence
Halloween door creak elaborate speak, torso of paisley
Gyrations ridicule keel knife edge flow resistance
Harried sails flap before collapse with human impatience
Dugongs admonish monolithic ships gritty missions
Adventure crave creatures flank vessels for playful races
Delight in the chase, never capture small victims
Allure fluid, serene serenades resonate clarinet cadence
October 31st
Poems about Poets V
Edna St. Vincent Millay Has Her Way with a Vassar Professor
by Michael R. Burch
After a night of hard drinking and spreading her legs,
Millay hits the dorm, where the Vassar don begs:
“Please act more chastely, more discretely, more seemly!”
(His name, let’s assume, was, er ... Percival Queemly.)
“Expel me! Expel me!”—She flashes her eyes.
“Oh! Please! No! I couldn’t! That wouldn’t be wise,
for a great banished Shelley would tarnish my name ...
Eek! My game will be lame if I can’t milque your fame!”
“Continue to live here—carouse as you please!”
the beleaguered don sighs as he sags to his knees.
Millay grinds her crotch half an inch from his nose:
“I can live in your hellhole, strange man, I suppose ...
but the price is your firstborn, whom I’ll sacrifice to Moloch.”
(Which explains what became of pale Percy’s son, Enoch.)
Downdraft
by Michael R. Burch
for Dylan Thomas
We feel rather than understand what he meant
as he reveals a shattered firmament
which before him never existed.
Here, there are no images gnarled and twisted
out of too many words,
but only flocks of white birds
wheeling and flying.
Here, as Time spins, reeling and dying,
the voice of a last gull
or perhaps some spirit no longer whole,
echoes its lonely madrigal
and we feel its strange pull
on the astonished soul.
O My Prodigal!
The vents of the sky, ripped asunder,
echo this wild, primal thunder—
now dying into undulations of vanishing wings . . .
and this voice which in haggard bleak rapture still somehow downward sings.
Why the Kid Gloves Came Off
by Michael R. Burch
for Lemuel Ibbotson
It's hard to be a man of taste
in such a waste:
hence the lambaste.
Keywords/Tags: poet, poets, poetry, poems, write, writing, muse, Edna St. Vincent Millay, Dylan Thomas, drink, drinking
Undulations beginning no sense of any ending
Power indescribable surrounds and courses in
My veins, distinct involved conversations take
Place in my mind; I hear the reasoning and details
Of others lives; unknown minds memories intermesh
I saw a man I had known, not well but regurlarly..He had
Left worship for a while, he and his brothers were into
Boxing for years before he accepted Christ, so i was
Looking through the rear wimdow of a van in a dream
I just was suddenly;
There' I saw he was asleep? his arms by his side the
Outside of his hands were deep burgundy fingertips
Up to wrists like he had
Been punching a boxing bag, thats what I told myself
I said John can you hear me? Wow his eyes opened
He had not done anything like dreaded at first sight
I said how are you? He said I have fallen and I can't
Get up, physically can you pray? As I srarted to pray
I awoke soon after.'
When I ran into his brother at church I mentioned it
And that I was praying for him to get back to church
Out loud I thought on his burgundy coloured hands
I asked his brother what he thought, he said look thats
Not important now, he looked flustered he said keep
Praying he comes back.' A year later I met another brother
In the Lord I only mentioned Jhon by name and he told
Me, its a shame he had been taking from the offering
My mind went back to those red hands.'
On a grassy bank beside a trickling stream
I view her ebony locks of which I've dreamed
Naked she is bathing in translucent crystal clear
As I long for her shapes to shadow me near
This short distance between us in natures surround
For soon we will be in clinch on her sacred ground
Whilst all around there are sounds of wildlife lush
It leaves you in marvel as it quietens to a hush
I turn my head in this most dreamy of place
As I capture her beauty that nature has graced
The cooling waters from the pure running stream
Cascades down her body this fluid supreme
Her ebony locks down her body caress
Naked to bare we have no need to undress
On a blanket of tartan we kneel down as I dry
My love, my lady as we look into our eyes
Shaped undulations awaken thoughts in my mind
As I lightly touch my dreams start to unwind
Our adventurous hands now in wandering roam
Amidst the greens and colours in this harvest home
Beneath the blue, two torsos in mix
Feelings of desire have us joined in transfix
Pleasurable movements like soft rolling waves
Cresting in the breeze as we internally crave
Our love heightens in joyous serenade
By the stream beside the meadow, our love displayed
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/love-13.php
Early morning delivers birdsong joys,
as the darkness is swept away by God.
Undulations for my ears, sonorous
and dear, over and over - I ponder
small bodies with feathers, noteworthy songs.
Why does their cadence console us each day
as the sunrise breaks forth with cheeriness?
How awfully sad that the night dwellers sleep!
They douse their ears with flammable liquid.
I weep for soused sufferers who miss out!
I spied the church steeple, with a “caw, caw.”
I bet those crows are there each day to greet
those seeking the inner doors of its peace.
Who notices but I, the poetess?
Who cares at all if crows speak well of us?
In slow dance touch amidst vanilla scents
Below her white attire we desire to vent
Naked are we birthday-suit bare
Her tanned undulations lures me to there
Dancing like swans on the lake of true love
Gliding across marble just thee and thy dove
Our bath we view across petals of rose
Whilst the man in me excitingly grows
Slowly we undress against a backdrop of flame
Our shadows now naked displaying shapely frames
Pert now firm two bodies lie awake
Tongues now fencing desiring passions intake
Spooned we are bathing her porcelain skin
Sighs as we touch soon to be within
Pillar of I being stroked like a cat
She rises gently on my thighs she's now sat
Her wetted external caught in the candle light
Shapes of she pert in joyous delight
Fingers caressing pink, moistened to sweet
As she turn her head our lusting lips meet
Hungry mouths taste, moans, groans resonate
Echoed voices in join, bodies vibrate
Nails grip skin engraving as they scribe
Woman and man as we internally collide
Movements of delight reach eruption flow
Bulging lips hug as we steadily grow
Imminent joys as we control our pace
Internally we erupt in our lovingly grace
Reached we implode amidst bubbles of lust
Orgasmic feelings released from our thrust
We exit our bathe drying each other in caress
On our bed we lie naked and blessed
Apocalypse Beans
Sometimes it seems
your chest is about to cave in.
You try to catch a breath but
your heart flutters like a dry leaf;
Just more suburban undulations;
Dressed down for a slow blues song.
Apocalypse Beans sizzle on the fire.
Life has such trying interludes,
when it seems you can’t go further.
You are so tired and scared,
you can hardly urinate at dawn.
Your mind begins to see
air movies of the dead ascending;
Crawling out of cracked tombs
dressed sedately for the soirée.
A million funerals go by with
skeleton girls sucking on pixy stix.
Madness angels in garters pass over
sleeping streets searching for blood trees.
Stallion-dressed men-dogs chase down
old octogenarians for bones and wisdom teeth.
Fear worms from hell come slinking,
Oozing out of a million eye sockets,
Sucking blood and brains sifting
through transparent wires attached
to rubber-hosed machines in musty rooms.
A million funerals moan inside the old graveyard
adjacent the First Methodist confines.
Gum-chewing embalmers gather
to sing a torch song to the driveling and the dying.
Sometimes it seems
I can hear the female choirs singing,
their high-pitched Latin refrains again.
They stand erect in the choir loft fingering missals.
The young girls up there,
wear choir togs and slithering plaid beanies.
They read the notes and eye the glowing boys below.
Jesus and the stained glass ghosts look up from earth.
Apocalypse Beans sizzle on the fire.
Their cackle reamed with burning forget-me-nots.
Psychologically speaking, women are snakes and men are mice,
In the ancient theater of the world, where masks fall and rise in dance,
She, the slithery queen of untold stories, an endless paradox,
With a glance that untethers ships from their moors, in a sea without driftwood, without sails.
Beneath the suave murmur of her hypnotic violin, almost inaudible amongst the buzz of the scene,
Masterfully crafted undulations, through a curtain of deep, unfathomable mysteries,
Alluring in her eternal enticement, with whispers spreading divine inner deceptions,
Threaded along the fine string of the night, playing on the sensitive chord of a forever starving heart.
He, prey to an instinct too often defeated by endless scrutiny,
The mouse, a twitching silhouette amongst shadows, a knight of frailty,
Carving a path through crevices of reality, in search of his shooting star of cheese,
Towards which he sails, enchanted by the siren's song, on an ocean of uncertainties.
They are the timekeepers of our destinies, ticking away in contradictory symphonies,
Each with their solitude, each with their threads of fate and dreaming,
Setting the trap and becoming our own prey, in a game of divinity,
From ages to ages, one lending the other venom and antidote in the same cup.
Until the stars shall wipe away from the sky, and the Moon shall mute with fear,
The duel continues, between the secret magic and the unexpected murmur,
She, breathing her spells of love into night garments sewn with silver,
He, finding his way through the crevices of the day, with hopes like a spider's thread clinging.
And yet, is not love the greatest enigma in this strange tableau?
The woman-snake and the man-mouse, opposites and yet complements,
Catching in-flight the reversal of roles, where the snake is the one who forgives and the mouse protects,
In the jungle of emotion, where instinct becomes the guide and the fearful conquer, merely with the power of the heart to love.
Regardless of the scene, I, determined to stand tall
Wavering, bending slightly on breaths of breeze
Allowing pertness to show flaunting to thrall
My stem of strength tipped enlightening please
Petals prom in blood red, they peak to bloom
My curves of delight like silken sheets, splayed
Undulations tremble as they beautifully plume
Such an attraction so joyous in hungered display
Let my scents lure, tickle those nature tongues
Taste my nectar becoming entranced by I
For every dawn allures my stem to sprung
In stance I'm proud as wanting eyes espy
I, the garden jewel, the prime delicate Rose
Swelling whenever I'm warmed, boy see me grow
.
The beautiful Red Rose - meaning Passion & Love.
in the way that your lips shimmer and your eyes flash simile-smiles making many reflections
with the irregular undulations rhythm'ng off your tongue,
with words flying out lyrically, kissing everyone
we are touched and easily forgotten in this age of impermanent ink,
with our ears perched high on a mystery, we're overlooked
for speaking in clouds expectant of thunder,
for rustling leaves in a tree,
for threadbare jeans flaking mud from long walks by the river,
for taking solace in the Sea
among writers we are the infirm, the mad heretics of desire,
ridiculed for whiskers and soft-eyes,
for bumping into enjambments, fish-like
and working out destiny by changing it,
moving it, Moon like...
we are the occasional ones,
risking decay and our sanity
for these holy short comings
and goings,
rather than face the impossibility of facts
or that self-righteous blind-eye of economics ...
there is mercy in this daring,
there is an art to this astonishing,
beyond these reasons which trap us,
beyond our need to pay the rent,
while the world conspires to ignore us,
we swell