Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
"caringly" poems
I've had many wishes in life. They said they were to much to ask for. So these are just simply some simple ones.                                        The feel of your luscious lips softly hugging mine.         Our hearts completely in sync but still racing to see who can beat faster.     A frozen tongue from over flowing nervousness.                               And your soft fingers caringly curved between mine, creating a perfect pattern.                           Is that too much to ask for?
0
Oct 1, 2015
Oct 1, 2015 at 3:04 AM UTC
Simply simple
How shocked was I when my mistress, Filthy Fiona, Told me one summer's day she had one up the spout; After all, the silly ***** was on the pill (and in any case Half the time my seed had gone up the lesser used route). But, accidents will happen when you least expect them: Maybe her recent attack of diarrheoa had upset the apple cart. O, how relieved was I when she told me she had booked herself in To the Marylebone Abortion Clinic for a good old pump-out session; And, even better (much better), I wasn't expected to foot the bill As her private health insurance would cover it nicely, Thank you very much indeed, God bless you, my darlin'; The excessive premiums were clearly a fine investment. Like the gent I am, I offered to drive her there in my pink Porsche 911, But she insisted I need only pick her up after the remedial session As she had made other travel arrangements to get there; and One cannot argue with a dame under such trying circumstances. How I would have relished the amusement of those who saw the **** Arrive in one bloke's car, deposited caringly with a consoling hug, And collected by a different chappie, with a kiss on her plump cheek. But, after all, 'twas only fair I found out later (with a gay grin) When she told me she really had no idea who the father was Although her two selected chauffeurs were the best two bets. How I laud the foresight of the percipient abortion law reformers: Our sad world has more than enough unwanted ******** as it is.
0
Jun 1, 2015
Jun 1, 2015 at 7:24 AM UTC
Memories of the Marylebone Road Abortion Clinic
How shocked was I when my mistress, Filthy Fiona, Told me one summer's day she had one up the spout; After all, the silly ***** was on the pill (and in any case Half the time my seed had gone up the lesser used route). But, accidents will happen when you least expect them: Maybe her recent attack of diarrheoa had upset the apple cart. O, how relieved was I when she told me she had booked herself in To the Marylebone Abortion Clinic for a good old pump-out session; And, even better (much better), I wasn't expected to foot the bill As her private health insurance would cover it nicely, Thank you very much indeed, God bless you, my darlin'; The excessive premiums were clearly a fine investment. Like the gent I am, I offered to drive her there in my pink Porsche 911, But she insisted I need only pick her up after the remedial session As she had made other travel arrangements to get there; and One cannot argue with a dame under such trying circumstances. How I would have relished the amusement of those who saw the **** Arrive in one bloke's car, deposited caringly with a consoling hug, And collected by a different chappie, with a kiss on her plump cheek. But, after all, 'twas only fair I found out later (with a gay grin) When she told me she really had no idea who the father was Although her two selected chauffeurs were the best two bets. How I laud the foresight of the percipient abortion law reformers: Our sad world has more than enough unwanted ******** as it is.
Continue reading...
24
i opened your file and what i saw was diferent than what i expected; i saw that you were sad, pained, angry, confused; i turned the page. you were suffering, afraid, and alone; i looked at your photo, it was diferent than the you i knew, you looked terified and sad; i printed a new sheet of paper. it said that i would be your friend. that i would be your friend no matter what; i fastened the new page in the folder cautiosly, caringly, with a paperclip.
0
Feb 24, 2021
Feb 24, 2021 at 11:18 AM UTC
Paperclip
The child welcomed the first May rain So openly tender, so caringly free, So full of wonder, with untainted glee. Oh what a joyful celebration! In her simple, little mind It’s the kind of adoration I want to feel for one more time.
0
Jul 25, 2021
Jul 25, 2021 at 12:35 PM UTC
First May Rain
Three years have passed since we first met. Three years have passed, and I can't forget what it is to love someone as passionately as I love you. Thousands of miles stand in our way. Thousands of miles, and I can't forget what it is to love someone as caringly as I love you. Different times throughout the day. Different times, and I can't forget what it is to love someone as deeply as I love you. Three years have passed since we've been away. Three years have passed, and I can't forget what it is to love someone as madly as I love you. My heart has been yours since the day we met. My heart has been yours, so I can't forget what it is to love someone as infinitely as I love you.
0
Oct 10, 2014
Oct 10, 2014 at 5:06 PM UTC
...As I Love You
A free portrait! Imagine that, At no charge this troglodyte Decided that I deserved a rendition in pulsing crimson, me! He effortlessly sliced the curve of my face, And then holding true to brute form, Let his fists do the rest of the painting. In a breath’s thought I fought the idea That this strong browed man was a fan of Yves klein, but then he caringly guided my sight Floor-bound and I noticed that he was a Monochromatic ******* Now, I wasn’t expecting Monet, But in truth the elegance of the lazy red river Careening down my cheek and neck got my hopes up. And then further was impressed by his liberalness With bottomless black crimson Where he’d only previously flirt with young pinot noir As he took a break to wash and massage his stained hands I clutched at the hope that perhaps he was done with the Onslaught with such blunt tools, As such methods could ruin the whole piece Unfortunately, he returned And his care for each swipe was becoming more More impassioned, but less precise, I asked if he perhaps needed a second break? Perhaps I could assist him, I wanted to give it a try myself, but my hands were Tied. In vain, I tried to tell him that, Perhaps, His bearish skills and appearance, Would be better suited to a life of leather, whips, and Oedipus Complexes, But his response was, Cutting. You should never laugh at an artist Especially the bad ones Because then their work some how finds a way to get worse I asked if he’d learned how to work from his father, And whether his father had worked him in any Other Manner, and that’s when I became dizzy I think. Apparently struck a nerve.
0
Feb 5, 2018
Feb 5, 2018 at 7:20 PM UTC
Untitled
A free portrait! Imagine that, At no charge this troglodyte Decided that I deserved a rendition in pulsing crimson, me! He effortlessly sliced the curve of my face, And then holding true to brute form, Let his fists do the rest of the painting. In a breath’s thought I fought the idea That this strong browed man was a fan of Yves klein, but then he caringly guided my sight Floor-bound and I noticed that he was a Monochromatic ******* Now, I wasn’t expecting Monet, But in truth the elegance of the lazy red river Careening down my cheek and neck got my hopes up. And then further was impressed by his liberalness With bottomless black crimson Where he’d only previously flirt with young pinot noir As he took a break to wash and massage his stained hands I clutched at the hope that perhaps he was done with the Onslaught with such blunt tools, As such methods could ruin the whole piece Unfortunately, he returned And his care for each swipe was becoming more More impassioned, but less precise, I asked if he perhaps needed a second break? Perhaps I could assist him, I wanted to give it a try myself, but my hands were Tied. In vain, I tried to tell him that, Perhaps, His bearish skills and appearance, Would be better suited to a life of leather, whips, and Oedipus Complexes, But his response was, Cutting. You should never laugh at an artist Especially the bad ones Because then their work some how finds a way to get worse I asked if he’d learned how to work from his father, And whether his father had worked him in any Other Manner, and that’s when I became dizzy I think. Apparently struck a nerve.
Continue reading...
44
Oh my baby come to me, Your daddy will raise you, Efficiently & very caringly. Baby, I will never let you feel alone, Absinthe of your mum won't touch you, Brazenness of hers will be steered clear, You will mature into a human with heart. I will stay by your side till I die. Living with you will be my reward, On this life it will be a blessing, Versatile will be your daddy, Even mum I will be for you. You will grow up a human of principles, On Judgement Day, you will go to heavens, Under this sky you will be cared for by Angels.
0
May 18, 2017
May 18, 2017 at 1:27 AM UTC
Come To Me
Cooling tides Air that envelops every last patron in a breathless stagnation A banquet hall falling beyond the ends of the earth Below all existence and still here unfounded, surrounded by void Snow falls slowly around the great hall Spirits of old and young alike alight into the room Every inch melded admits a dark, endless night Crawling down pillars, molten metals and fires Still race in place like the glow from a hearth Around a table laden, the hall great only mentioned in fables Awaits the souls tortured and downtrodden Years of abuse flying by but As the clock strikes two we can see the sky's above Just outside wrought iron windows, snow starts to build Stone rough and hewn from mountains perverse enough To harbor the worlds worst, unforgivable Caringly lit only for the night It all springs to life Softly enveloping From somewhere the notes, hopelessly golden Begin to play From corners of recessed and disfigured servants All alleviated if only for the day Palpable with every resource loosened Hope is something we still cannot afford Despite our differing degrees of punishment We have resigned to unwind the centuries Golden The night is long, the table that decorates This gilded hall, walls arching overhead Is never left empty, every moment is filled with a subtle Empathy, check the time The seconds are passing, all the more quickly I see the devil, pacing the halls Lost among his own thoughts He sees me and recognizes We're both in the same place Alone but not forgotten On this holy night And I've found out It always ends, and every year Comes and goes
0
Oct 24, 2017
Oct 24, 2017 at 6:38 AM UTC
Christmas in Hell
Cooling tides Air that envelops every last patron in a breathless stagnation A banquet hall falling beyond the ends of the earth Below all existence and still here unfounded, surrounded by void Snow falls slowly around the great hall Spirits of old and young alike alight into the room Every inch melded admits a dark, endless night Crawling down pillars, molten metals and fires Still race in place like the glow from a hearth Around a table laden, the hall great only mentioned in fables Awaits the souls tortured and downtrodden Years of abuse flying by but As the clock strikes two we can see the sky's above Just outside wrought iron windows, snow starts to build Stone rough and hewn from mountains perverse enough To harbor the worlds worst, unforgivable Caringly lit only for the night It all springs to life Softly enveloping From somewhere the notes, hopelessly golden Begin to play From corners of recessed and disfigured servants All alleviated if only for the day Palpable with every resource loosened Hope is something we still cannot afford Despite our differing degrees of punishment We have resigned to unwind the centuries Golden The night is long, the table that decorates This gilded hall, walls arching overhead Is never left empty, every moment is filled with a subtle Empathy, check the time The seconds are passing, all the more quickly I see the devil, pacing the halls Lost among his own thoughts He sees me and recognizes We're both in the same place Alone but not forgotten On this holy night And I've found out It always ends, and every year Comes and goes
Continue reading...
42
don't be afraid     to bleed brains on paper     to plead pains unwavered string sounds slowly string sounds quickly do so daringly rhyme no caringly     do not balk upon the blind eyed judge judging unwonted     spray inky gouts dare defy doubt
0
Jul 31, 2016
Jul 31, 2016 at 9:10 PM UTC
Just trying things
The Broken Angel of Slow *** Flight and Her Impossible Audience The broken angel of slow *** flight Walked up to the store with rock and roll in her heels In front of drunk men She belted out a few lines of a seventies classic Her singing wild and ***** as her body A crazy street person they would say As she caringly petted the store owner’s dog Looks of mild contempt were her thanks And yet her love flowed Some foreign heart untouched by ordinary ignorance She stayed awhile and tried to make friends Mostly ignored, except for the occasional glance one has towards a circus show Performing and yet not performing She lifted up her shirt for some reason to reveal her stomach She had the free sexuality of a playful stripper And then she spun out again in another direction After awhile she left With a genuine smile for everybody The reason for her visit was unclear But she was tagged a *** And there was some relief that she was gone How can a person’s apparent vocation cloud the stars they explode for you? A slow firework blew by the store and is seen like the dirt under our shoes Whereas we wear our boredom like a crown And hold others to the same so-called normal criteria We call her a *** But envy the rebel ruby of her freedom © Matthew Goff
0
May 11, 2017
May 11, 2017 at 11:28 AM UTC
The Broken Angel of Slow *** Flight...
Your Irish white skin I hold so tightly above a powdered sand background. Pools of salted rock and starfish we admire with lushness. Only the crashing of the waves to keep us company with your windswept fringe I stroke so caringly. If I could die right now it would be perfectly completing.
0
Sep 1, 2017
Sep 1, 2017 at 6:41 AM UTC
Swansea
If there's anything that you should know Is that I never really wanted to go I would have used myself whole To help you, that's the goal Then there would be nothing left of me So, I had to leave you see There just wasn't enough for you I ran out and didn't know what to do To come up with more pieces I made deals with Demons like car leases To full fill your needs Responding caringly to every plead The cost was my happiness That made me a mess I never got a chance to be alone Away from you or my phone I buried every anger and every sadness Which lead to my madness You never paid no mind to me I can do this can't you see! I was left in the dust You were steel and I was just the rust You only know what what I spoke Or that too I make a joke You never asked about my heart So that's why I left, because I fell apart.
0
Oct 17, 2017
Oct 17, 2017 at 10:12 PM UTC
Rubble
Tree have fallen all around me but they don't make a sound silhouettes of sadness lying All around There's no mirror in the bathroom so I can't see my face just a lonely image trapped inside this place Where did my life where did I go so wrong did the devil made me do it or was I acting all alone Years of laughter Echo loudly in my mind still searching for happiness I can't seem to find Can I tell you a secret, no because if I do it will no longer be one But if all my wrongs were stones I could build a castle In my mind my thoughts continue to wrestle with yesterday's dreams in today's reality of what I have become a lost soul afraid of living or life My body is possessed by demons who are caringly caressing a condemned spirit I look at the world with blurred vision only seeing distorted images of life that's so misunderstood. Brian K. Benton
0
Sep 15, 2016
Sep 15, 2016 at 11:09 PM UTC
The Prison in my mind
The broken angel of slow *** flight Walked up to the store with rock and roll in her heels In front of drunk men She belted out a few lines of a seventies classic Her singing wild and ***** as her body A crazy street person they would say As she caringly petted the store owner’s dog Looks of mild contempt were her thanks And yet her love flowed Some foreign heart untouched by ordinary ignorance She stayed awhile and tried to make friends Mostly ignored, except for the occasional glance one has towards a circus show Performing and yet not performing She lifted up her shirt for some reason to reveal her stomach She had the free sexuality of a playful stripper And then she spun out again in another direction After awhile she left With a genuine smile for everybody The reason for her visit was unclear But she was tagged a *** And there was some relief that she was gone How can a person’s apparent vocation cloud the stars they explode for you? A slow firework blew by the store and is seen like the dirt under our shoes Whereas we wear our boredom like a crown And hold others to the same so-called normal criteria We call her a *** But envy the rebel ruby of her freedom © Matthew Goff
0
Oct 11, 2017
Oct 11, 2017 at 10:20 AM UTC
The Broken Angel of Slow *** Flight and Her Impossible Audience