Long Vent Poems
Long Vent Poems. Below are the most popular long Vent by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Vent poems by poem length and keyword.
Once placenta and fetal membranes
(unnecessary as wing ding)
discharged out uterus
after birth of offspring,
and thar weren't no more
major contractions in the offing
ma mommy lovingly did cling
to her bundle of joy and bring
maternal breast I ravenously
did suckle fortunately toothless
against her tender bosom trickling
(if mammary serves me correctly)
I presently recall no iota of inkling
what events transpired, nope
no recollection about me circumcising.
Moost likely I felt Jew bull lent
glad yours truly chose decent
mother and father, which opinion
subjected to radical change,
when as grown adult child
living nonsocial under
their roof forced to hire agent
provocateur to practice sparring,
when standoff event on horizon,
which eventually begat ultimatums
their red hot poker rage spent
belittling, cursing, damning...
quiet as Unitarian Church mouse content
internalizing later smoldering
anger I needed to vent
in retrospect diminutive little boy
tied to mama's apron strings
afflicted with mental
health issues inherent
of course hindsight gleaned
social, psychological, neurological...
healthy development got rent
asunder partly explaining
why I became indigent.
around were they planned to build a new city they
designed a perfect place to fool novice people and to
enlighten the brokenhearted. One designer said when
people look to man to create he should speak of inspiring
people to believe in the trueness' of resolve. they wished
to build a hollow mountain that inside woul house industry
and people. The mountains surface would have holes
to catch water and store it and filter and recycle it and send
it to underground pipes(aquifers) and manmade welling systems.
before the first homes are built we want to create this mountain.
Steam engines inside will vent into a sub area and the steam will
be condensated and the water gathered. water storage. 57,000
units will liter the areas around the mountain a train will
travel in a circle with stos in four stations. A beautiful place to
be and visit. Smaller hill like structures will be inplace to be
housing for livestock. the vents will catch the odors
and store them as fuel. a system will be designed so that
cleaning the area will be only an assignment instead of a task.
artifcal trees will be used to create electricity. Trees which barks
and limbs which will be solar mirrors and pours that are equipped
with filters to catch water from rains and snows. Water that are sent
to underground storage tanks.
A wee little biscuit softly implored
a gruff, hard-hearted and tuberous yam,
"oh, why, my dear friend, must you be so hard?"
and the yam replied, "I am what I am!"
"In my kitchen, I will not have this chat",
I said, as, into the oven they went.
"Now I'm soft", said yam, an hour after that.
"But I'm hard", I heard from the oven vent,
"...if, my dear yam, I might beg your pardon,
while this heat made you warm up and get soft,
I had to wait, and burned up to harden",
said the biscuit as the black smoke did waft.
Poem idea? Don't make my mistake,
or you will burn your house down while you bake.
.....Sylvia aka Stephanie
or whatever her Poetry Soup new ID may be.
If you happen to give this a read
Sylvia aka Stephanie
or whatever your new Poetry Soup new ID may be?
Give this a try. Would you do this for me please?
Try focusing on the form of SLAM in poetry.
It may help not only you but others as well, seriously.
I truly do believe that you can benefit from this greatly therapeutically.
It could help you come to terms with your obvious unresolved hostility.
You could provide so many with so much Slamming entertainment also obviously
and I'm sure that my new "arch nemesis" The Poet Destroyer would also agree,
it's a great way to vent your hostility.
"(Ya see that Poet Destroyer? I'm already giving you some much needed free publicity.
From this friggin moment on, You Friggin Owe Me!)"
So would you at least give this a try my dear sweet Sylvia aka Stephanie?
Please do this for me, seriously.
I really want to help you Sylvia aka Stephanie
or whatever your current poetry soup new ID may be.
The bottom line is that you too deserve to be happy
and I'm willing to help you, if you'll only let me.
tacto significativo---french verse
toucher significatif
Ah! un tel sens
toucher significatif
comme la pluie au printemps plongeant sur mon corps
comme le vent frais souffle me touche la peau se lève se sent comme la chair de poule
Ah! une telle touche
quelle ruée
toucher significatif
Le soleil va briller après la pluie
La guérison vient après les douleurs
Ici, je me sens comme si quelque chose
Il t'a mordu à l'oreille
Il est si peu clair, si peu clair que votre corps tremble tremblements dans la peur
Ah! juste, juste un...
Significatif, une telle
Une touche significative
Les poils à l'intérieur de vos oreilles reçoivent les chuchotements
une douce voix douce et je le reçois
Je peux le sentir, je le sens
Oui, je vais t'aimer
Liken la pluie tombe
Aussi comme le vent souffle
Tous les environs vous touchent
Une telle vue érotique impressionnante
Aimez cela et vous tous tellement
tacto significativo
Ah! such a meaningful
;Meaning touch
Ah! such a meaningful
meaningful touch
like the rain in springtime dipping on my body
as the cool wind blows touches me skin rises feels like goose-bumps
Ah! such a touch
what a rush
meaningful touch
The sun is gonna shine after the rain
The healing comes after the pains
Here I feel as though something
Has bitten you on your ear
It's so unclear, so unclear your body quakes embers in fear
Ah! just, just a...
Meaningful, such a
Meaningful touch
toucher significatif
Meaning touch
1/21/19
written by James Edward Lee Sr.2019©
In his time of deepest gloom
Job wished he’d gone from womb to tomb.
Please let me die was his lament
when in pain, he started to vent.
Oh, how I wish that I could die
In agony, poor Job did cry.
Our lives, bordered by birth and death
with troubles filled, till final breath.
Whether three score, or four they be,
the time assigned to me and thee,
they’re so much like a tale that’s told
We’re scarcely born ere we are old.
The dash between the womb and tomb
is like flowers in blushing bloom.
In the morning and through the day,
what wondrous beauty they display.
Then, as the sun sets in the sky,
they wilt and fade, and then they die.
Teach us, O Lord, to count our days,
and to please you in all our ways.
May our lives, like the sun, bless,
those we encounter in the press,
and may our days, all pleasing be,
as fragrant offerings to Thee.
Charcoal art with phoenix ash sculpt with medusa eyes
My art runs kicking
My art beats alive
Pluck loose quills up out my heart and engraft my skin with metaphors,
Mold my debris upon cemented floors,
Into living imagery, vividly un-simmered! Un-timidly bewildering things livid, you got to live it,
It is art entranced in dis-seamed meaning -no strands
Like unstrung puppets klopse marched or zulu danced -no hands
God singing through the Sistine chapel ceiling
Art is alive I heard art weeping on walls -Mona Lisa cries
You see you may have tried,
but you can never kill art, Art never dies
for art takes the dab on the jaw and is immortalized
Hung merrily smiles swinging on nooses like Tarzan on great vines
un-buried alive
excavated, repeated and perpetually illustrated from your basement to the frames and the walls of exhibition stages ink off the pen on the pages to the corners of a pavement that were once vacant and inescapable escape vent for things felt unseen and ignored from heartbreak to beauty and awe
Art kicks out the coffin door and kisses you on the forehead
throwing dirt and roses at your face
sheds a tear recites creeds & eulogies for ceremonies then shape shifts and trades place
for art will never be dead
Art defies both time and space
And
you don't know art
Art is not a concept
Art is not a chord a text a sketch or a complex
You will find "art" within the composition of a heart literally figuratively grammatically reality
you may try to see art
truth is you have to be art
you just have to be true
art is when you are free to express being the real you
art is alive
art
art is a life
A time to work
A time to play
A time to leave
A time to stay
A time to vent
A time to chill
A time for routine
A time for a thrill
A time to be messy
A time to be neat
A time to be short
A time to be sweet
A time for this ~ A time for that
A time for prose
A time for rhythm
A time for rhyme
A time to attack
A time to lie low
A time to move fast
A time to go slow
A time to frown
A time to grin
A time to lose
A time to win
A time for drink
A time for food
A time to begin
A time to conclude
A time for this ~ A time for that
A time for prose
A time for rhythm
A time for rhyme
I will turn back the pages of my life,
to my days of coloring with crayons bright;
when they were flat I sharpened them with a knife,
I had all the shades from big dip ruby to white.
I loved all the purples, mauve and pink,
when they would shrink- into a box they went;
and mom would in time melt them down in a wink,
we soon found out it was important to vent.
New crayons and sometimes candles we made,
that was our way of recycling in my day;
the bright colors in my memory will never fade,
but as I grew up with crayons I could not stay.
Oh, Caribbean green, and wild blue yonder,
cranberry crush, mellow yellow and cherry red;
into a new bedazzled world I did wander,
for me all those crayons were now totally dead.
At the library we recycled the used ones,
there was a box at school to put the markers in;
we would save them up until we had tons,
then with a new bin we would begin.
____________________________________
September 17, 2018
Poetry/Rhyme/Bedazzled Memories
Copyright Protected, ID 18-1062-089-01
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Early morning she stormed my bed chamber
Like a needy stranger.
She opened the door of her mouth
And let out a strong request,
‘’melody, be my remedy’’.
My loins leap, if I failed to succumb,
She’ll slump, for she is my honey comb.
The sunshine of her eyes appealed to
Me like the forbidden inviting apples of Eden.
Two steps forward, and buttocks backward,
She chest out, exposing her kinky breast.
Beckoning for me to come and lodge,
To stay and remain in the warm ocean
Of her treasury embrace.
To water her dehydrated love.
In the meanwhile, erotic feelings
Escalated on my captured mind.
Gingerly, taking her tiny waist,
Subtly down to the fresh fleshy mountain
Behind her lower back.
She called out sweetly and quietly,
‘’melody, be my remedy’’
I couldn’t resist but to free her chains
With my valiant and veinous hammer,
To take her out of her romantic prison.
No wonder, she calls me her intimate lawyer,
Sometimes, her sexual warder,
I am not your sexual jailer,
I only choose to be your remedy maker,
Whenever you’re in an emotional danger.
I am the melody maker,
Readily stand by to strum your
Succulent guitar,
To make your voice vent out and quiver
With joy like a river.
Blessing our matrimony with much
More army.
Sunset, and we got finished with our
Sweet blissful naked dance steps,
Then she gazed at me and kissed
Me with bottomless feelings and
Said to me,
‘’Melody, be my remedy, always.’’
Onyilo Charlesmelody.
(Lightning Ink)