Orgies Poems | Examples

Judgement's High Way

Judgement’s High Way

My smug satisfaction drives in narrow lanes
Deep with pitfalls of intentional ignorance
“Righteous” reads my personal license plate
Sentenced to loud lane-splitting intolerance.

My bias trips on truth at tangled crossroads,
Blinded to orgies in my house of thin glass,
Cuts off compassion, in condescending tongues,
Detours grace to side roads, a one-way bypass.

But, grace stills my hands, determined to throw stones,
Though exiled, still speeding in judgement’s fast lane,
Mercy reaches down with the gentlest touch
Removes my darkened shades – glasses with pride stained.

Charity speeds down my highways, unrestricted,
My new eyes cleared from judgements I inflicted.

For the Story

Like a dog digging bone, I hunt stories
Write orgies from words known
With syntax like old men's drone
And metaphors overblown

Jesuitta

Jesusita 

God only had a daughter, 
Jesuitta, whom he gave to teach us love. 
She was a good little girl with blond, curly hair, and often helped her mother 
with the washing up and other household chores. 
As she grew up and became a shapely young woman, 
she coveted by men, who could not grasp  her preaching 
of unconditional love was not about sex;
They began talking behind her back. 
Rumors had it she had twelve lovers
there was talk of orgies with wine, fried fish, and fresh bread.
She went to the church, demanded to be heard, and asked why there were no women priests and why they let sleazy merchants sell overpriced artifacts. 
The clerics, who had had enough of this noisy woman, told Pilatus to do something.
He first raped her and, to his shock, realized that Jesuitta was a virgin; 
This knowledge haunted him for the rest of his life. 
Nevertheless, he threw her to his Roman Legionnaires as a usual tart. And the men taunted her: 
“Is this what you meant by calling love absolute, 
they bawled. 
Their women said nothing. 
They put her on the cross as the semen of a thousand soldiers 
ran down her legs, she died with forgiveness in her heart.

Speed Gutter Bunny

Sexuality marooned jellybean pilfered spigot refugees vomit hazelnut in some static plain cloud cupboard.
A stifled hexed harvest, suffer the stagnant taffy contraception,
Oxidized gut-string lyre feeble mast crippled rod.
Shall you be parallel on the naked stem on the shrunken pagan altar?
Penguin whale jackal follicle carriage orgies
I have the cavernous trunk of thirst,
Permanently altered, famines, droughts.
Loosen your sticky grasp upon an evening so slutty bean Venus squaw chubby stone figurines 
languid horny speed gutter bunnies.
let down cord straps drop fiddles kneel whip cable ties.
Snickering geriatric hags cupcake outskirts of one
Platypus settlement

- Hair On The Chest -

                                       the Vallhall journey
                              drunken orgies - fight and death
                                  mead - milked from a goat

the rotting of socialism

The rotting of a socialist

I knew of a young man, a rebel who wanted
his country to adopt the Scandinavian model of socialism.
He was elected to great acclaim by the people,
he wanted taxes to rise, especially among
the wealthy and upper middle classes, they rebelled
by slurring him in the newspapers, lurid tales about sex orgies
and a luxury living, people turned against him
  not re-elected
After some years’ people found he was not 
a bad egg
and he was elected as president again.
Now he was a changed man, didn`t care less about the Left
or the right, he just wanted to be president in his self-belief
gave tax relief to the rich, prices went up, and people
protested they wanted him to go.
He refuses to do so many people are killed
 he doesn`t care
turned from a good man into a bloody dictator
who will keep his power at whatever cost and has to
be removed by whatever means.
Viva Nicaragua.

The Night Is Dark and Full of Terror

In the depths of the night, when all is still and bare,
When the wind howls harshly and the trees begin to scare,
It is then that the creatures of the night arise,
Unleashing their powers in a world beyond the skies.

Shadows dance in the moonlight, ghosts whisper from the trees,
The night is pregnant with magic, with secrets and mysteries.
And as the stars twinkle above, the creatures convene,
In a feast of the supernatural, dark and unforeseen.

The air is thick with arcane rituals and spells,
As the witches concoct their brews in their smoky hells.
Werewolves howl to the moon, vampires quaff their wine,
And demons laugh and prance, in orgies so divine.

But beware, my friend, for nothing is as it seems,
As the supernatural surges, and the veil between worlds gleams.
For when the morning light slices through the night,
The creatures will disappear, vanishing from your sight.

So, lock your doors and windows, and pray until the dawn,
For when the supernatural comes, it never lasts for long.
And as the world returns to normal, and all seems well and right,
Remember, my friend, that you were part of the otherworldly sight.

Reverse Midas Touch

Some called him Bacchus, some Dionysus:
god of the grape-harvest, winemaking, fruit.
Giver of joy, dispenser of sorrow,
famous for orgies, bacchantes recruits…

Enter King Midas, ruler of Phrygia
encountered a peasant, drunk on much wine.
Fed, entertained him, showed much hospitality;
Bacchus’ old mentor, returned in due time.

Bacchus, in gratitude, granted a wish;
everything Midas touched turned into gold.
Overjoyed, set about transforming all he saw;
gift became curse with his food hard and cold.

Some say the king went back to Dionysus,
pleaded the effects of the spell be reversed.
Others say Midas succumbed to insanity,
wasting away as his hunger grew worse.

Wish not for changes to your circumstances;
perilous dangers await, unforeseen.
Your best intentions end up being flushed;
that’s what the Reverse Midas Touch truly means.

----------

for the This or That, Vol 15  Poetry Contest
sponsored by Edward Ibeh
written on 1/14/23

Judgement's Way

Judgement’s Way

Smug satisfaction drives a narrow way
With pitfalls of intentional ignorance
Righteous the personal license plate
Sentenced to perfection’s map intolerance

Judgement trips over truth at overgrown crossroads
Blinded to orgies in its house of thin glass
Cuts off compassion in condescending tongues
Detours grace to side roads on this one way morass

But grace stills hands determined to throw stones
Though exiled, from judgement refrains
Reaches down with mercy’s gentle touch
Takes off darkened shades of pride’s glasses stained.

True clarity speeds on boulevards unrestricted
Judgmental wears same robes as the convicted.	

4-29-21
Contest: Judge Not Lest You Be Judged
Sponsor: John Lawless

In a Day of the Life of a Bard Is Much Ado About Nothing

By morn, and under cerulean skies,
     he rises from sheets and soft pillows of down;
and gives praise; for the Lord is just and wise,
     and great to behold by this earth all round.
By noon, he sets about his songs and rhymes,
     labors whose creation gives him pleasure,
and purpose, for an infinite lifetimes;
     pressed down, piled, and parceled with good measure.
Then, by eve, lest beastly Insomnia
     comes, he now and anon derives his rest
from the night's orgies with the Muses: a
     reward that none may oppose, or protest.
A bard chaste for all time, and hence unloved,
finds love with the muses: for they're beloved.

Night Stalker

He enters a home, while they sleep tonight 
Staking out rooms, not touching the lights 
The scent of essence, heightens attraction
His insatiable instinct, demands satisfaction 

Safely in bed, firearm tucked between pillows
Undeterred, He senses a breath as it billows
Wait distraction, another choice has arisen 
Spoilt rotten tonight, on his insidious mission 

Sweeter attraction, something else is in bed
Perspiration of fornication, on a lovers head
Cannot control incredible urge, now he strikes
Into bare flesh, sinking a proboscis like knife 

That’s it yes, over and over, keeps stabbing 
Finally a blood vessel pulses, calms attacking 
Oh the bliss, that’s found in orgies of gore,
Just then a slap, damn mosquito’s no more. 

Podium placing promise(6) Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand 11/01/2021
16 lines

We'Re All Scum

Weathered hearts take the plummit for different reasons
Behaving freely like the chaotic parasites we were always meant to show how to live life a bit more f*cked up in the fast lane
Cruising around the metropolitan at an all time low
Putrid exhaust fumes gather in thick clouds of dense smog around highly trafficked areas
You take joy in the little things like,
Bumper to bumper commerce for the rest of your uncomfortable life
Rush hour's usual three and a half
Road rage fanatics cursing in tongues and spitting on the inside of their own windsheilds
And, others just honking their own horns because they want in on the action, too
Reminds me of orgies and no one wanting to do it with you so beat off in the corner lonely and probably whining
Humanity is pathetic

- the Air, Smell and Blessing -

It's about taking one day at a time
Feel the air, summertime or wintertime

Righteousness and heavenly glory
not in humiliation, shame or orgies

Cruises to the Caribbean are not my choice
in harmony with nature all will rejoice

For a believer, there is nothing that disturbs
God's word is true because the promises keep their word

Lovely sanctuary with sweeping sea views
a wonderful delight and beautiful blues

Human thoughts and words about spiritual wandering
Let's encourage each other, the time has come for pondering






20/08/2020
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved


Sanctuary Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Silent One
3rd place in the contest

Facing the Book

Look but don't see! a new World is being made
its fabric is interwoven with a strength of inconsistency
It teaches in pre-schools that
Run from 9 am until 6 with
The children of other lost children who are
Called parents. 'Parents’. It’s a useful
Word!! in this useless world.
That has re-modelled and fetes the
Carnal old realities of blood
Lusting empires of Olympian
Depths.! Trans-ported to Roman orgies to be impressed upon its young captives as their elders run the gamut of ‘endless hours in a
A bean counters paradise.'
Dealing with the cobbled together mantra of consumer ideologies as false idols strut across energy
Wasting screens there are wars, wars on waste wars on want, on pollution, on many many things. These are the
Rumours! also there are real wars
There are earthquakes famines but the end is not yet! viruses in the computers
A virus on the flesh, upon the
Men, who have become lovers of themselves.

©Joe Maverick 31-3-2020

Soul Sounding Music

Lazily, disdaining up above the sky to pursue
As the setting of the sun is to indolent to hold
Such a tournament is lengthened and embedded in gold
While the sun passively darkens for a night barbecue

I sit beneath a silvery moon hearing barking hounds
for some men have orgies near the Genious of the South
with blood-shot eyes and sweet sugar caned-lips and scented mouths
such surprising sounds while making folk songs like soulful sounds.

Their music vibrates above pine trees made up like guitars
Strumming, picking and singing songs of endearments in vain
many are now caroling a vesber up to the stars.

Mighty singers, I hear resinous in your throaty of songs
they are heard so sacredly like a whisper within the pines
were they given to virgin lips and cornfield concubines
To hear dreams of Christ till I meet dusty cane-lipped bongs.

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