Bacchanalia Poems | Examples


List of Member Poems

Premium Member Jukebox Jive

A swift half of cider in the Bodega bar
sadly none of us could afford a car.
Dropping a shilling in  the snug juke box
Haley and Elvis,then so unorthodox

Trad jazz with Donegan,Bilk or Collier 
no ballroom bacchanalia
Skip,hip-hop style jive 
50's music had come alive

Premium Member Saturday Night 50's Style

Tea with Gran,her muffins supreme,
Bath and change and hair brylcreamed.
into town to the pub in the square, 
our gang always met there.
Checking the football scores 
in the Oxford 'green un'.

Trad jazz with Donegan,Bilk or Collier 
or maybe the ballroom bacchanalia.
Skip,hip-hop or jive or more sedately 
to the Friday Five.

A swift half of cider in the Bodega bar
sadlynone of us could afford a car.
Dropping a shilling in  the snug juke 
box,Haley and Elvis,then unorthodox.
Bought tickets for the coming live shows,
Cochrane,Cliff and Shadows.

Later, at the dance the last waltz about 
to begin,if you were fancied ,it 
showed in her coy grin.

Requesting a date took a little courage,
so glad my choice that day,led 
to marriage.
Copyright © Brian Strand | Year Posted 2007

Riches

Riches

Once when the river ran slow sunlight, makes stones look like gold,
I threw into the stream a silver engagement ring, among the gold
it looked trite like a poor cousin wearing leftover clothes. 
I saw her kiss another man at a restaurant I could not afford to take her,
my misery was total and my disgrace deep.
How deluded I had been, she proffered gold to my silver.
I looked at my ring in the water it looked like a sliver of leftover moonlight
after the ancient gods, bacchanalia.
Forever I will not speak of this to her, a young man`s romantic heart.
The river is now a road, and the romance is dust on a pond,
 but in the evening glow you can, among the gravel, see a silvery shine 
and my heart is glad.


Premium Member Crazy Man Crazy

hair brylcreamed.
   into town 
       to the pub in the square, 
our gang always met there

trad jazz with Donegan,
                        Bilk or Collier 
or maybe the ballroom for
bacchanalia

skip,hip-hop or jive
 or more sedately 
to the Friday Five.

a swift half of cider
         in the Bodega bar
sadly none of us then
       could afford a car.
dropping a shilling 
         .. in  the snug juke box
     Haley and Elvis,then
so unorthodox.

Riches

Riches

Once, in the shallow river where sunlight makes the stone look
like gold nuggets, I threw into its water an engagement ring,
made of silver. I had paid plenty for it on my low earnings,
but compared with the river`s gold it was junk.
Saw her kiss a man in a café where I could not afford to take her,
my misery was total my disgrace deep, how could I be so 
deluded to think she would take my silver to his gold.
I threw mine into the river; amidst shiny stones, my ring looked trite
as a sliver of moonlight after ancient God`s bacchanalia.
And forever I will be silent, not speak to her about this: a young man`s 
the heart is impossible romantic.
The river is now an asphalted road, deep down the precious stones and my silver engagement ring.

Of Earth and Sky

OF EARTH AND SKY

Let my ashes skyward fly
Across milky clouds ephemeral
Always knowing here my heart lies.
Under willow and bough of oak
Cast in eternal slumber
But only for the physical cloak.

Shout no painful words afar,
Send chords of bacchanalia
To the lyrical stars.
Let peace be the cry
For the song I sing is
Of the Earth and Sky.

I desire not a single breath
In tears or mourn be spent.
For as in Dylan’s death
No dominion shall be found.
Instead let jeweled words
On my behalf crowned.

Words that unfold the universe,
A living sentient organism,
My life but a single chorus.
I relish no delight to die
But will you sing for me
A song of Earth and Sky.

The great bard may have Halley
But I have the Perseids..
Burning candles under the dome,
Birthday wishes, skipping stones.
Beg, don’t sing me sadly,
Just sing in joyful tones.


Spring Bacchanalia

Spring's alluring flowers with succulent juices rill
Perfumed dander from scented strands doth spill
Sweet aroma into the parched atmosphere to distill
Twirling Daisies, Buttercups the fawning meadows frill
Swiveling Dandelions in field's pleated fabric congeal
Caressing Violets 'neath the woody ridges kneel
Fondling Honeysuckles cloak fencerows in dale and hill

Baited bees insatiably the sugary orifices drill
A virile syrup from savory serum to mill
Vintage, solar-fired incense; with wanderlust carefree 
minds fill
Olfactory ducts incite, turning the hormonal wheel
Vernal Lover's the intoxicating fumes freely swill
Aphrodisiac tonic to harden each paramour's quill
Fragrant pheromones stimulating maidens' mating zeal

Pleasure Dome

The change is slowly coming
like murder in the back alley.
It won't be neat or sweet, but
messy, and the moon will reflect in the cardinal pools.
The hand of a stranger wrenching the deepest secrets
from any subdural cavity, flinging the remnants about.
Akin to a drunken neurosurgeon who has a penchant
for psychotic episodes.
The effluvium of dormant limbic activity
reaches the nostrils by way of a ghost's lingering, indecipherable 
love melody.
A soulless beggar or a stray dog on my porch 
gives reinforcement to the crumbling foundation
that rests before the golden cross.
Cherubs need more grease for the gears that 
the bedraggled nobleman has primed for the faustian machine.
Shall the slaughterhouses reopen?
Maybe the banquet should be served on the convex table 
complete with
sandwiches made of dust and weeds.
The change brings dirt devils and the clanging
of wind chimes that belt out Beethoven's 9th
with all the glory of any bacchanalia
ever dreamed up by the whims 
of peripheral thoughts.

Premium Member Saturday Night -Nineteen-Fifties Style

Tea with Gran,her muffins supreme,
Bath and change and hair brylcreamed.
into town to the pub in the square, 
our gang always met there.
Checking the football scores 
in the Oxford 'green un'.

Trad jazz with Donegan,Bilk or Collier 
or maybe the ballroom bacchanalia.
Skip,hip-hop or jive or more sedately 
to the Friday Five.

A swift half of cider in the Bodega bar
sadlynone of us could afford a car.
Dropping a shilling in  the snug juke 
box,Haley and Elvis,then unorthodox.
Bought tickets for the coming live shows,
Cochrane,Cliff and Shadows.

Later, at the dance the last waltz about 
to begin,if you were fancied ,it 
showed in her coy grin.

Requesting a date took a little courage,
so glad my choice that day,led 
to marriage.

Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.

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