Long Baffle Poems
Long Baffle Poems. Below are the most popular long Baffle by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Baffle poems by poem length and keyword.
Visions of you
I see a knight in armour – one of King Arthur’s – ready to do battle
at the drop of a word – for Queen, country, god and ego.
I see Babe Ruth, knocking balls out of the game,
in order to be the winning team – for god country and soul.
I see Amelia Earhart, taking on the air, the skies, the world
– for ego, spirit, soul, heart and the abused child / woman in her.
I see Muhammad Ali, putting on the gloves in order to knock out
all wood be challengers to her position, control, power, rightness.
I see a chess pro, taking out the pawns, the knights, the bishops,
rooks, the queen – check mating the king – putting him in his place,
- under her thumb, under her queen - winning the game.
I see a friend chocking up in the crunch – makes the wrong choices –
ends up missing, sinking the eight ball that she is now behind.
Never winning the game she so desperately wants to play well.
I see a friend who needs so much more than she is,
who needs so much more than she ever gets,
who needs to be a lover and loved,
who needs to be loved as a lover.
B. J. “A” 2
July 29th, 2003
Visions of you
Part Two
De ja vu - I see a sergeant, major, barking out orders, to all,
as if this world were her own private army.
I see a little Hitler, – mustache and all – trying to rule
her tiny, little universe – make it fit her ideal dream.
I see a Johnnie Cochran, and his dream team ( your demons ),
O J Simpson, the defendant, convincing herself and the world
she is truth, she is right, she is might, and as Jonnie Cochran,
the lawyer, the mouth piece shooting down - all reason, all logic,
all attempts – by denying, by lying, by deception, by trying
to baffle brains with bull ****, by throwing every irrelevant
- verbal diarrhoeaed – thought and word into the fray,
in order to distract, avoid the issues, the truths, to be right.
I see a Jim Jones, a Joseph Smith, preaching her gospel,
a gospel according to her - designed to have the sheep,
the blind, the week, the lost souls of this planet
to follow her path without question, and in the end,
sacrifice “ ALL ” for the sake of her fragile soul,
her floundering, lost spirit, her ill ego.
I see a friend, with a heart of gold, if truth be told.
More of a friend to those who have done her wrong.
then to those who truly care, about her welfare.
B. J. “A ” 2
July 29th, 2003
Awol on the aeorta,
I've built a wall around my heart,
Trying to suppress that which is grieving,
But it's still ripping me apart,
The night falls, elevating whispers,
From the silent gasps and muffled breaths,
Of a young lady in her twenties,
Crying alone and quite depressed, (left in distress)
I recognize her, I recognize this,
A mirrored scene like deja vu,
A woman weaping for a fallen soldier,
Only this time, I am you,
Those last moments start flickering,
Upon the gloomy, dark display,
Of closed lids, soggy eye-lids,
Projecting everything on replay,
My hands grasping the sheets,
My mind on forward and rewind,
As if on cue, I hear you too,
Amongst my stifled cries
My conscience replaying the voice,
Hunting me now is the sound,
Of those uttered words, that still disturb,
You sounding so sure, it's resound
"Call me, I'll be here", I hear you tell me,
Though your presence now lost,
A call too late, maybe on the wrong date
My sanity (it) shall cost,
"Call me, I'll be here", again it echoes.
Best said, forgiveness I now seek
My heart racing, my memory chasing,
Every essence of you makes me weap,
I still remember you crying in Daddy's ears,
Moments before he passed me the phone,
Yet when we spoke you changed your tone,
For me you wanted to be strong,
How alarming it was to hear you cry,
Like a leap year, (it was) a rare occaission
You stood tall and with pride, taking fear for a ride,
Standing at a whopping 5'11,
But it seems one day on Friday the 13th,
While you were stationed on the army base,
A gun was triggered, by the love of your life,
Which continues to baffle me to this day,
It was he, who you cried for when speaking to father,
A lost soldier conquering demons of the mind,
A mental affliction called PTSD
Deteriorated his spirit over time,
He was a soldier in pain, with PTSD,
Even more a father, a spouse, in distraught,
His sweet baby, The heart of his world,
Now the source of his paranoid thought,
Persistent accusations of cheating,
And all the places his mind did go,
The struggle he bore to fight those demons,
Now just part of the media’s show.
I try to find a level of understanding
But this battle I fight on my own,
As guilt consumes me, recurrent thought
Why hadn't I dialed your phone...
In time
Yes, there were certain
majesties, which
in all regards are
to be expected.
For upon the engagements
of husband and wife,
Prince and Princess,
to marry, there is
an exaltation, thought
the King guilefully.
As his snickered brow
advanced the courtyard's
jester, feelings of such
gay undertakings flickered.
Prince Alarumdives, pray
due, rose to the
occasion, for the unseen
essence of Typhon
present, the crowd
gathered in celebration.
The announcement of
marriage and its unition
of peasant maiden to royalty,
the ferocious feast
of joy. Geinere
so happily embraced
her handsome prince,
the happiness of occasion
now unhoused. Wine
and spirits for many,
the festive event ushered
well far into the
late eve.
As the night matured
the King blew pompous,
his dirty torch,
a request desired
upon the scattering
leets, close dilations,
wary now, for there
were humors of
closed quarters.
Ill thoughts befell
the King, for maiden,
selfish desires,
crusadoes.
"Dear Geinere, a
moment. . . jealousy!"
The king spoke.
"Yes, sire pardon?"
"Firstly, most dear,
your love for our
Prince, be it subtle,
erasing the inscriptions
of royalty, not taken."
"My love so true, for our
beloved Gods one in
communion, here or
hence. Pray due
your acceptance,
for not, pride your
welfare, which I
grossly offer it."
"Behold!
Though a gracious
ward, admiration I
do embrace, for you
a gift of repentance,
may the spirits of
this eve, bate me,
as I am dishonest."
"Nicely, my merry
King, I am better
pleased now this
new fashion."
"Very well, Geinere,
to my quarters,
parry this precious
gift of offering."
"My lord, I am
indebted happily."
"Follow my deliberation."
- - - -
The King's Quarters
- - - -
Upon entrance, the
chambers of the loyal
King, made dusty, the
air murky, cold with
evil and its hushing
silences. The royalty
ushered a bickering
lear upholding its
mighty charter.
"A baffle, rising Queen,
for cozening upon the
vizards of this unlawful
masquerade. For our
differences made certain
upon this eve,
I will find your
worthiness to become heir,
faulted," the King rang
out like the blazening
fires of the Seraphic
order.
‘‘ ...GO TO THE ANTS AND BE WISE.’’
Man's world,his words,man's Imagination:
Man's braggdocio is laughable,
He proclaims himself the wisest
But when we look at him,his ego;
We conclude: self praise is crap .
What is news to man
That has not aged with us?
What is his astonishing wonder
That is not a native of our colony?
Does it not baffle him,
Where we find water to erect our temple?
If only he knew the number of chambers beneath
Then he would realise his pride burgs
Are nothing but mere immitations.
The industrial revolution he prides
Tell me, how old is it with him ?
Behold , from the dawn of time
We feed this colony with bread
Baked from the ageless industry
‘‘Anted’’ by our able work force.
How often he cries of idle hands !
How many of them are not empty stomachs?
We only look at them and laugh;
Though in hundreds of thousand we live,
Every hand here is happily engaged.
When Smith taught him division of labour
Did he claim to be our teacher also ?
Yet from the time immemorial
Ours is established division of labour :
The queen , the soldiers , the workers.
His vessels at sea ; and so ?
When we choose to migrate
On top of seas we sail afloat
Defy gravity , defy tempest.
What is man’s jet that man is proud of it ?
Does he not see our wingers in the air daily ?
We do not crash like captain Tom and Jerry,
The first class graduates from his aeronutical institute.
Some of them brag of their arsenal ;
We have this information for them :
Snails , snakes and rodents
Whose generals once brought war to our nest
No sooner they came than they enriched our sausage.
But when men carry arms against men
And bomb one another at will
In our feeling we petition :
Where is love among Adams ?
Under our one roof thousands live
No gun shot, no bomb blast ;
No protectionism , no sectionalism;
No white , no black;
No race , no tribe , no ethnicity;
No any chicanery that characterises
Man’s daily life.
Man's world, his words; his Imagination?
For how long will he debate with God?
He insists : I am the wisest;
God insists : ‘‘... go to ants and be we wise.’’
Do You Want To Know the Future?
“ 4 The third angel poured out his bowl on the rivers and springs of water, and they became blood. 5 Then I heard the angel in charge of the waters say: “You are just in these judgments, O Holy One, you who are and who were; 6 for they have shed the blood of your holy people and your prophets, and you have given them blood to drink as they deserve.” 7 And I heard the altar respond: “Yes, Lord God Almighty, true and just are your judgments.” Rev 16:4-7 NIV
Do you want to know the future?
It will follow the history of the past.
History does repeat itself
And this adage continues to last.
The future for some will be difficult
And for others their ‘fait accompli’.
It will depend upon your alliance
And whether with God’s truth you agree.
The world won’t last forever,
And Christ will come in the clouds
To give the faithful minority immortality;
His loyal subjects to enshroud.
Before this marvelous final event
There will be a time of trouble.
Many Christians murdered as heretics
And false worship minds to baffle.
There’ll be a one world religion
Not the purpose of church and state.
Something the Founding Fathers
Sailed from Europe to abate.
Folk will either choose allegiance
Or stand for truth and with God alone.
This one world religion,
Will place Lucifer on its throne.
Worship has always been the issue;
It began in heaven's war above.
When Satan and one third of the angels
Were driven from God’s throne and His love.
Satan still desires to be worshiped
And will do so through this power.
Should you choose this congregation
Life will be a mixture of sweet and bitter.
Yes, you’ll be able to trade
But you’ll have sold your soul.
For you’ll have no freedom of worship
And your conscience under men’s control.
Do you really want to know the future?
God’s justice will be finally crowned
By the seven last plagues of Revelation
For those this religion has cunningly earthbound.
Copyright © 2012 Maureen LeFanue
www.maureenlefanue.com
Inspired by the book entitled, “Windswept House” by Malachi Martin & Revelation 16
whosoever finds themselves muttering
the process of their very own struggle “to be”
left in the woods for dogs,
face down in a gutter like poe &
drowning in one’s own vomit---
though
untainted by the neon strategies of western “democracies,”
such individuals
may in fact interpret this place
differently
to only one of us (one & each, each & one)
an apparent explanation is impossible---
still, the notion of explanation
gets thrown by the wayside,
it’s too hard for the average bear
to convey without props &
to explain is to take part in the explanation
(one cannot separate)
&
the innate false manner of the explanation
is like that of heisenberg’s
whereupon the stirring of the soup with the finger
taints the soup as a whole.
with only one cook in the kitchen
coming up with attempts to
describe the process of cooking
can be a great task which inevitably will end up as
nothing special &
eyes blur with tears of frustration at the inability to
communicate successfully.
how vulgar animals that call themselves humans
take it to the next level, deciding just who are the
wretches, witches,
princes & princesses,
in a world of wolves who feast on
integrity
&
honesty,
might baffle the fleeting onlooker,
but to the studied eye,
history thus far
shows that if there can be found a way to silence you
you will be silenced, with
the biggest lies you ever did see while you were alive
fast replacing your screaming truths &
history shows that if you can’t be silenced, then
you will be put to death,
with the physical bodies of those you despised the most
when you were still breathing,
roaming the countryside to breed staggering amounts
so that your very memory will be extinguished,
gone,
like no one ever uttered your name.
the pattern is escapable &
the pattern lies here---
something needed to be told by one
will be snuffed out by the sick sneer of the
fat & greedy
whole,
it lives for the time when
one less contrary voice is heard---
SO
NEVER
STOP
YELLING.
Written: September 2nd, 2023
______________________________________________________________
In the depths of one's mind, foes reside.
Within oneself—a war cannot be denied.
Refers to individuals—their internal strife,
Struggles and spurs that shape their life.
In the realm of views and desires so deep,
Fear and doubt bestir—akin to demon creep.
Inner blows waged in the darkest nights.
People tilt with doubts—their inner fights.
Self-fuss, the first foe fated and faced,
Wariness whispers, leaving hearts displaced.
People may be snared by doubts so real,
But in besting them—true strength they reveal.
Inner demons lurk, negative impulses arise,
Anger, jealousy, and addiction—their disguise
Moral dilemma salient constant scrutiny of will,
Still, culling what's right or what's usable, still.
Emotional turmoil, a storm within the soul,
Grief, guilt, and gloom are taking their toll.
Complex emotions that can't be ignored,
A salient casus belli that we can't afford.
Dealing with this zeal is a joust to be fought.
But it's in facing the slam—that swell is sought.
Solitary sabotage that is self-saboteur.
Bewitching in behaviors that baffle our allure.
Success and well-being, they strain to impede,
But by owning the patterns, we can succeed.
The battle within, a constant struggle each day,
Enduring our inner demons, we find our way.
Through the depths of our minds, we forgo,
Facing gloom and letting pure selves show
In this inner enmity, we find sheer strength,
Conquering our fears, extant to any length.
No matter the challenges we may face,
We have the power to rout and embrace.
So let us defy our inner rogues with might.
And loom victorious, shining with core light.
So let us face our fear, doubt, and desire.
And ignite the fire inward that will never tire.
In the abyss of our souls, we hold the scope.
To rise beyond moils and let bloom hope.
While I thought you slept, I broke into your mansion to rob you.
I should have been shot on scene as a trespasser
With only the stain of my blood left to be scrubbed away,
But you fed me, clothed me, and gave great gifts to release me from need.
In the act, you caught me defiling your bride.
Your boiling anger should have overwhelmed and terrified me.
Strong hands of a passionate husband should have clenched around my neck.
Instead of strangling me, you embraced me as if I were your closest friend.
Why was I spared from the cross that I deserve?
Even now I feel the gaps in my hands where the nails were not.
Why do you sustain when you should decrease and destroy?
Each breath was stolen from the lungs of your son.
Why is forgiveness your desire, and not the exacting of revenge?
The gavel is in your hand and the charges against me are read.
Why, even more, am I the blessed traitor who was given clemency?
My actions deserve death, yet you pour treasure in my lap.
This seems overly ridiculous to all of my dull senses.
I'm confused by the stark contrast of my new fate.
Baffle me daily so that daily I beg for your guidance.
My intelligence is insufficient as eyes are to emit light.
Remind me constantly of the buffoon that I was
So I might be first to cry for mercy for others like me
Remind me consistently of how you relieved my immense debt
So my dread fear for the lives of my new friends might vanish
If I insolently stand against you in anything your will seeks
Maintain your compassion toward me and direct me back to your side
If I habitually abandon my post due to my sheer neglect
Find me again and discipline me in your swift grace
I am a low and foolish individual who mourns over my isolation.
You celebrate with your community of faithful followers.
Include me once more in the joys of your resounding favor,
And often prompt me to speak of you, who thwarted my plans.
Blasphemy
The caustic tongues of the evangelists,
Across all creeds and faiths,
Seem as brittle as an old bone.
For they promise heaven and they spew forth threats of hell
While neglecting the words of that man who walked in Galilee
'let him who is without sin, cast the first stone'
the caustic tongues of the evangelists...
across all religions
new-age and the ones of old
baffle me even as I hear
a single simplistic sermon
for they really do, view us all
as blind imbeciles
scurrying around like faithless vermin
the caustic tongues of the evangelists...
wag on and dazzle us with visions of an eternal paradise
while here and now
their hypocrisy festers
within their earnest
well-meaning eyes...
'...dil mein hai khwaaish-e-hoor-o-jannat
aur zaahir mein shauk-e-ibaadat
bas hamen sheikh-ji aap jaise
allah-waalon se allah bachaaye...'
'...in your heart you desire the maidens of heaven
yet in the now you practice the rituals of piety
o' sheikh, may allah protect me
from the people of allah like yourself...'
is my tongue as caustic as the tongues I write about?
if so, then glad am I
for they shouldn't be the only ones
who preach and rant and continually shout
from their pulpits ever so high in the sky
from their hubris of comfort in possessing the 'truth'
from their 'knowing' that heaven or hell
awaits both the strong as well as the meek
while oblivious to the reeking foul smell
that encourages prejudice and hate
and visions not of peace
but of endless chants and prayers
which they, in their opium haze
rattle on and on
as they never seem to cease to speak
and though I’m sure that all this bile that I have spewed
will threaten
hurt
and offend
friend and
unfriend and
acquaintance alike
but...
take pity on me instead
for it'll surely be I
who'll burn eternally
impaled by a benevolent god
on a slightly warmer than normal day in hell
on a crude wooden spike.
Form:
He told me without so much as a flutter of the eye that he was on the river by all accounts alone.Picking and eating the dew berries growing along the fence row that bordered the woods.Eating to satisfaction he meandered down
towards the river .He was a boy of ten farting around on the sand bars ,looking to see what the river had washed up.As he walked to the edge feeling secure as he had been here ,done this, numerous times the sand without so much as a hoarse whisper of warning gave way.
His swimming skills basic at best he thrashed
In the water for what seemed like three eternities
realizing he was making no headway to the safety of terra firma.The next moment a large hand roughly grabbed him by the arm hauling him ashore.
Looking into the eyes of this old man ,a
man in his seventies he felt a feeling of familiarity."Get on home",the only words the old man gruffly
spoke.Taking a sip of his coffee he leveled his
gaze across the table to my waiting eyes."I see that
Old man each morning when I shave", he quietly said."I travelled back in time to haul me out of that river."
I didn't know what to say.So I said nothing. We sat finishing our coffee talking about how
The cardinals were playing and other ordinary
things.
I think about that conversation often.The way he
told it to me with no effort to sell me anything.It was almost as if he was pondering aloud as he no
doubt had silently from the first glimpse ,the first notion that old man in the mirror looked oddly
familiar.Strikingly so.
There is so much we cannot comprehend.So many
aspects of this space time continuum we call life
that baffle the greatest minds.Time.Space.Physics.
We are just children playing universe.
The bible says if we live to eternity we would just
be touching the fringes of His ways.Makes me want to be there.Makes me want to see more.