Long Bailey Poems
Long Bailey Poems. Below are the most popular long Bailey by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bailey poems by poem length and keyword.
She makes the green come back to earth,
So flowers dare to rise and stay;
In quiet rooms she tends the hurt
And turns long winter into May.
Her patients help her learn to grow,
As roots reach down where shadows lie;
The moon at night, the stars that glow
Keep watch with her tireless eyes.
Rivers and streams, the bluest seas,
Move with a calm she seems to know,
And in her voice there is an ease
Like wind that lets the heart unclose.
And I, with trembling, open hands,
Receive the light she brings to me;
I stand more whole than once I stand—
I am grateful for what you’ve done for me
Gertrude Bangle
1895-1914
By name I was called Trudy.
When living.
Dear friends of the living,
Do you know Whittier town
Is a very haunted town?
Do you know my ghost still walks
Still silently steps by you?
Oblivious you?
Here in the stalking shade of the myrtles?
Here in the dark shadows of the walnuts?
I still seek the solace from a seeping sadness.
Still seek the light of truth
The air of freedom
In a dark smothering hole
Here in Mt. Olive Cemetery.
Come my friends, come to me now.
Come inside this old resting ground
This long deceased land of a thousand yawning holes
And find my wandering ghost.
You will find me lurking by the Bailey and the Baird graves
Here in the dark belly of death and life eternal.
Here in the stalking shade of the myrtles.
Good, bad or otherwise it is so interesting when we discover one of our ancesters is famous.
'Daredevils over Niagara' was written to showcase people who have attempted to dominate the Canadian Horseshoe Falls. While reading this book I came across one name that stood out. Though not so long ago, a mere 70 years in fact, one of these daredevils was found to be my relative. The book has both written and photo information that echos so many of the adventures over the brink. Both men and women attempted to outwit the roaring turbulance of this great falls. Surprisingly it was a woman by the name of Annie Edison Taylor in 1901 who apparently started this craziness that went on occassionally till 2003. Annie was one of the lucky who survived the thunderous drop over the falls. A total of forteen have made thier attempts with 5 dying or seriously disabled.
One of these people was none other than my distant cousin "Red Hill Jr."
In the summer of 51' he ventured out on the waters in a contraption made of inner tubes. He was hurled over the mighty falls to his death. He perished August 15 at the age of 35.
George Bailey, though not from the movies but rather a local author from Niagara Falls, has written several book on and about the Falls. A few include
Daredevils over Niagara, The Magic of Niagara, and Niagara Facts, Figures and the Famous. Working for the Niagara Parks Commission as Duty Manager gave him opportunity to actually be present when Trotter, one of the barral daredevils was helped out of his vessel. George has also accompanied the likes of Marilyn Monroe, Christopher Reeves, Princess Diana and her boys William and Harry while they were in Niagara. A photo he had taken of the boys and thier mom grace his livingroom. George also mentored me. He helped me to have the confidence to approach people to do interviews with. He showed me what it takes to write articles and guided me so I was able to have two articles in print and be paid for them. He gave me these books so I would alway remember what he taught me. Sadly he is ill now and can't do the things he did but he will always be a very special person in my life and he will never be forgotten by me or I doubt by anyone who has met him.
I'm not gonna feel bad any more
I'll never have to see you again
I'm not gonna feel sad any more
I'll never have to see you again
Should we accidentally
Meet some time
Don't act like you
Are a friend of mine
The last time I saw you
You had lost all hope
You were on Sixth Street
Hooking for a bag of dope
I won’t try to escape this time
I'll keep a rock steady gaze
My eyes will be trained on you
Until that Corsica disappears in the haze
I'll drop you on the Toll Road
I won’t even raise my hand
Eighteen Wheelers will go rumbling by
You are so dumb I know you won’t understand
I'm not gonna feel bad any more
I'll never have to see you again
I'm not gonna feel sad any more
Because I'll never have to see you again
I let you destroy the love in my heart
You are only attracted to men who are trash
I hope my memory of you will fade
And I hope that Corsica doesn't crash
I did not want to be wrecked and maimed
I did not want to hear you cry
I don't want to keep suffering
I just don't want to see you, all right
Oh Oh, Oh Oh
I'm not gonna feel bad any more
I'll never have to see you again
I'm not gonna feel sad any more
Because I'll never have to see you again
I let you destroy the love in my heart
You are only attracted to men who are trash (who were trash)
I hope my memory of you will fade
And I hope that Corsica doesn't crash
I did not want to be wrecked and maimed
I did not want to hear you cry
I don't want to keep suffering
I just don't want to see you, all right
I wonder how the luster of evening,
could hush despair amidst its glow, but,
its touch upon this skin escapes me
as the light reflects a child's face, gone:
Through nightfall's sail, eyes weep in private
while the rain flows intermittently,
it spills...like dying stars along the roadside
until this body is drenched in cold yearning.
Within gloss of dew, cotton candy days are recalled
enshrining laughter on Barnum Bailey fairs-
then, jelly-smudges circle her girlish mouth,
a wiggle on a red bike's new handle zigzagging away
where flavors of revelry linger, still...still.
And now, dusk creates another empty place
inside more holes in a pinpoint of ebon clouds,
that I am left alone
without a voice... choked by reality's pinch
when early dawn trickles in beats---
and singing myself to slumber
no one hears a Rockabye's wail, except...
Written 9/14/2018
------------------
Shush, Did You Hear That:
Anthony Slausen's Contest
Some people were upset and they said it was unfair.
George Bailey killed old man Potter and he went to the electric chair.
George discovered that the eight thousand was stolen by Potter.
George became enraged and he was angry enough to slaughter.
George went to Potter's house with his gun and he shot him through the heart.
As they strapped George to the electric chair, he knew his decision wasn't smart.
George refused to have his head shaven and his hair burst into flames.
Poor George truly became a hot head and he only had himself to blame.
George became a psychopath even though he used to be nice.
He decided it was best to kill Potter and sadly, he paid the price.
Perched on figurative shoulder...
taking devil's advocate stance...,
with sharp eyed cognizance
of course Joe King abidance!
Wild eyed traitor Joe Schmoe,
albeit Democrat subjects himself to grow
wing skepticism at impeachment show
whip lashed, viz strapping jock who stow
weapons of mashed destruction
expects at least one rotten tomato,
or "mother's petrified pop slop,
electronic brickbats, et cetera
hard as(s) bupkis targeting yours truly
smack dab rendering aspiring po'
wit smashing me face
courtesy final deathblow,
while pilloried vainly
waiting for... Godot,
cuz I must say impeachment travesty
appears triumphantly trumped,
where Nancy Pelosi will eat crow
proving Hillary Clinton's catchphrase
basket of deplorables apropos
aforementioned speaker of the house
tin pot dictatorial desperado
scuttling hither and yon to and fro
oddly enough even staking out
manhunt for Wizard of Oz
enlisting (right on the Dot) doggone toto
tense seat of pants increasing
stiff competition on all faux pas,
whereby freezeframe tableaux
icy (I see) as temperatures
dip down into five below
analogous to stop motion
projector manned by bonobo
sports petsmart stuff and struts
(think shock absorbed) ditto
Ringling Bros and Barnum
& Bailey Circus, where ma's yoyo
tricks, tracks, and trumps...
three ringed circus, nonetheless
(toe) nail biting suspense
amazingly graceful slick cameo
starring emperor donning
invisible new clothes
couture well worn portfolio
prosecutorial cadres itching
to dredge schmutz (quad) drilling,
and extracting ore region null
evidence upending forefathers status quo
appearing impressive bandying
sine qua non quid pro quo bingo
emphatic pedantic Latin Oh
though above named
language dead - Anglo
Saxon heavily and
will (yum) doth barr row,
especially to appear self important
those of the Senate
does saul full bellow.
Milton Brown
1822 – 1917
I knew C. W. Harvey.
Knew him and liked him.
I lived on the first floor of his Greenleaf Hotel
By Bailey Street.
Lived and thrived on the flowered verandah.
Sipped lemonade and gummed soft bread
In the swank dining room.
Talked and listened into the long afternoons
With the fine folks from Illinois and Iowa.
Most of the time,
I rocked and thought back,
And I remembered fondly
The old times in the trackless wilderness,
Seeking a permanent woman and a permanent home.
I found both with a pair of leather boots, a spade and a torn Bible.
Ye Kings and Princes of the Earth!
And to all the rich and the powerful:
“What doth it profit a man
To gain the whole world
And lose his own soul?”
We are truly nothing.
As nothing as the still wind.
As worthless as the dirt
That presently covers my still bones.
Yes, I knew C.W. Harvey.
Knew him and liked him.
He was the richest man in town when I arrived here.
And yet,
He taught me humility and dignity.
Lessons learned with a kind word
And a daily tip of his derby hat.
And after my passing into the eternal night,
He honored me with a kind eulogy at my burial
Here in Artilissa’s flower yard.
My forever resting place
Under these countless stars!
All around, smoke ribboned from ashtrays
and mushroomed on the stained ceiling.
There, in the corner, F. Lee Bailey glared,
like a father watching his ill behaved children,
but, as children do, they ignored him.
Irving Kanarek leaned on the far end of the bar.
He was equally ignored,
as barristers sought their pecking order
in a gaggle of egos.
Over the bar a sign hung, "The Bench",
where ironically, the bartender, in jest,
would be asked to "judge" the winner of some petty spat.
Conversation was tediously interrupted as night progressed,
"Objection your honor,l he's badgering the witness"!
"Objection sustained" would ring out from behind the bar,
but amidst all the pseudo legalese, a pall hung ~
draping down the walls like smoke.
They must laugh for sanity but
the killer set free, who would kill again
became the dragon in the room
that would follow them home...
Note: F. Lee Bailey defended the Boston Strangler. OJ Simpson and others
and Irving Kanarek defended Charles Manson
“You want the moon? Just say the word, and I’ll throw a lasso around it and pull it down.”
~ the character George Bailey from It’s a Wonderful Life,
"Over the earth's eternal ages,
youths endeavor to catch the moon,
not heeding the words of sages
(it's best that they don't learn too soon) -
no one catches the wind or moon."
~ quote by the poet
Once, I promised you I would lasso the moon,
when love's pure magic could make anything true,
and easy as a smiling string-tied balloon,
but when my old heart floats and I think of you,
how we never knew 'twould be over so soon,
and after life's journey and all we've been through,
can you still remember the sweet, buoyant feel
when we were sixteen and all dreams were real?