Long Bain Poems
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I rise from the bed, make coffee,
drink the obligatory first cup, sending
me racing to the "salle de bain" to begin
a day of eliminating the negative,
accentuating the positive, as Bing Crosby
instructed in our youthful days.
I select from a stack of magazines,
one, waiting to be opened, read about
the history of chess and young grandmasters,
considering that at 80, grandmistress
of nothing, I should teach myself chess,
swim good enough to compete, sky dive
into the air over my island beneath a sexy
instructor, coupling with the clouds.
Instead I cut out paper dolls:
a poem by Donald Hall, hoping it will
teach me improved line breaks. His,
are impeccable. Who is this guy and why
do I love him? Then on the credits page,
"Former poet laureate". No wonder,
I say, no freaking wonder!
I once asked my workshop director
from a former life in Atlanta, "Just how
important are line breaks?" HUGE,
he replies. "Rats." I say, "never be a poet."
Still, I want to be a scary, frightening
poet like Robinson Jeffers. I go
where the pain is, try couplets, take out
all adjectives, see what's left, watch
participles; turn, counter-turn,
and stand.
The word at the end of any line is most
important. Break on nouns, verbs,
and the words that describe them:
"When the blackberries hang / swollen
in the woods," (Mary Oliver) Timing,
as in most things, is everything, and I
have just broken all the rules
Introspection
suspends in dark blue amnion
as rainwater blooms a reflection pool
an oasis of energy for contemplative embryo;
in stillness I grow.. my pulse a flowing stream of raindrops
my body the rhythm maker
my mind the artiste
in a cocoon a rhythmic womb —
a primal nest gestates my om
b r e a t h i n g i n
b r e a t h i n g o u t
saturation of breath
soaks and stretches my cortex canvas;
within the indigo sphere
I paint a mural
upon my sacred temple walls
a self-portrait
with a benevolent brush dipped in starlight –
I surrender staying and portraying within the lines
uncaged colors roam
beyond my human extremities and Earth’s edge
a gouache-plash of teal and fuchsia
fraternize with fibers of flesh and marrow
conceiving abstracts as airy as sparrow dreams
as I - a mindful explorer flies an inner cosmos
beyond the confines of the canvas white
outside the frames of physicality and reality
to throw open window panes to the unlimited
to banish pains of the limited — free
my meditative spirit making art with the universe
Susan Ashley
September 7, 2022
~ Fifth Place ~
Premiere Contest: 2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 18
Sponsor: Mark Toney
~ First Place ~
Premiere Contest: Brian Strand Premiere Choice
Sponsor: Brian Strand
Photo: The Seer; Laurie Bain Hamilton - owner of primalpainter
"Write your dreams," Carolyn Kizer told us
in a long-ago poetry workshop in Paris. I would
like to, Yes, follow that instruction, but on wee-
hour trips (no pun intended), to the 'salle de bain'
I describe as 'the patter of little feet,' I sit dazed,
drowned in the rip tide of the sandman. Swim
sideways, it is said, and do not panic.
My betta, Beau, (for beautiful) in his glass bowl
has no such problem. He dozes on an artificial leaf
fastened by suction cup at the edge of the water
where he hangs, calm and motionless. I'm
pulled from my dream where I am the hostess
in a strange house, pouring champagne
into crystal flutes. Among the guests,
several lovers from the past, accompanied
by their current amours. Only one
embraced me with the old sexual longing,
(but didn't leave his telephone number).
In the dream I walked to the back of the house
into a spacious yard which became the ocean,
waves breaking at the brink of an open door.
"If this were MY dream," said Terri, our leader in
a dreamwork class, "I would... " maybe, say,
that the ordinary can bespeak peril?
I press my hands against my eyes to shut
out the light, and then I rise, reluctantly,
from roaming the corridors of night to go feed
the fish who bolts from sleep, swims to me
when I press my face against his bowl,
and say, Good Morning, Gorgeous. You,
of the dreams of open streams--
the dream that spins fins.
OH NO! I’m late for school
I’m in trouble now.
I’ve broken the rules.
I sit in my class try to stay awake.
Eyes are heavy, I begin to flake.
The new girl in class she’s staring at me.
I look back at her my heart my heart skips a beat.
I feel the blood drain from my face.
It’s starting to flow to another place.
Mother of god! It’s happening again.
Control of my body i can’t maintain.
I can’t stand up i cannot move.
The pressure is mounting, please make it drop.
Think of foot ball or snooker it just needs to stop.
I hate my teenage life, being a teenage boy.
Everything is just designed to annoy.
The adults that moan are the Bain of my life.
“If you don’t change you won’t find a wife”.
I want my freedom I want to drink, I want to smoke.
Just chill out with my mates be a regular bloke.
Xbox, Sony or Nintendo Wii.
They’re what I want, they’ll do for me.
I want the pictures.
I want to watch tv.
My Parents embarrass,
They think I’m their slave
But just peace on my own
That’s what I crave.
I lay in my bed I dream of the girl
A hypnotic effect she makes my head whirl
I think I love her, but that is my secret
I can’t tell a soul, this does remain sacred.
I think of her, and I go all aquiver
I go weak at the knees and I start to shiver.
I’ll ask her tomorrow I’ll make the leap
But for now I’ve had a hard day.
I’m going to sleep.
combien de temps cela prend-il pour une connexion
entre deux personnes à se gâter?
de la déshydratation de la
dépression qui a conduit l'un à cet endroit
où l'électricité d'une nouvelle personne
fait ressortir le meilleur de vous
vous envoie dans un nouveau lieu
de sucre sweet sweet,
et ensuite revenir au sel,
la dépression,
cette fois à nouveau avec une douce sensation que les
il n'ya absolument aucun sens dans ce
moment extrêmement brève
l'existence.
c'est le sucre qui adoucit tout ce
c'est le sucre qui vous fait revenir pour plus et
alors que la plupart conviennent que, après
7 mois
les choses commencent à mal tourner
(due au fait que le réel vous commence à montrer),
il semble que la connaissance de ce fait
personne ne fait rien pour arrêter leur propre vie
de se déplacer vers le marasme banales
ou la destruction complète de la
relation.
lorsque vous quittez un moment heureux
marcher dans la salle de bain
regardant dans le miroir que vous vous lavez
mains propres,
vous savez qu'ils ne sont pas vraiment propre et
que ce moment de bonheur n'est qu'un moment,
que la mort de cette connexion est imminente ---
si vous jetez l'eau jusqu'à dans votre visage
regarder de nouveau dans le miroir et
revenir à la pièce où vous
autre significatif du moment
sera de retour après avoir été fait
se laver les mains et leur visage
dans une salle de bains dans le hall.
A Penn Valley phantom appears to haunt and lurk
premises at 1148 Greentree Lane
his youngest daughter (Abby) I pledged my troth and, natch won my Zison’s
Dunkirk
ire and vindictiveness akin to rivalry of Abel versus Cain
now breeds and festers hallucinations that make me go berserk
also brings to mind myth of another named King Canute, a Great Dane
whose battle cry and hymn of the Republic made manifest with ease of dirk
visitations with ethereal sprite pushes me to madness and makes me go
insane
torture treatment mangles mental management amidst mire and murk!
The rattle of chains heard despite noiseless apparition and wraith, which curse
and bain
from dark and sinister shadows make me feel like a jerk
at such fallacious belief in preternatural imaginative creations ranked as inane
by this skeptic whose vulnerable acuteness to otherworldly visages does perk
especially during wee hours of morning when superstition runs amuck and
seems to gain
upper hand and let spiral out of rational control thought of afterlife quirk
yet confession must be made that long dead father of wife does wag finger of
disdain
and utter silent disapproval and near ruination by marrying a bum of a guy who
lacks for work!
A Penn Valley phantom appears to haunt and lurk
premises at 1148 Greentree Lane
his youngest daughter (Abby) I pledged my troth and, natch won my Zison’s
Dunkirk
ire and vindictiveness akin to rivalry of Abel versus Cain
now breeds and festers hallucinations that make me go berserk
also brings to mind myth of another named King Canute, a Great Dane
whose battle cry and hymn of the Republic made manifest with ease of dirk
visitations with ethereal sprite pushes me to madness and makes me go
insane
torture treatment mangles mental management amidst mire and murk!
The rattle of chains heard despite noiseless apparition and wraith, which curse
and bain
from dark and sinister shadows make me feel like a jerk
at such fallacious belief in preternatural imaginative creations ranked as inane
by this skeptic whose vulnerable acuteness to otherworldly visages does perk
especially during wee hours of morning when superstition runs amuck and
seems to gain
upper hand and let spiral out of rational control thought of afterlife quirk
yet confession must be made that long dead father of wife does wag finger of
disdain
and utter silent disapproval and near ruination by marrying a bum of a guy who
lacks for work!
I am the sacrificial lamb
Upon the alter of the damned
Sit and watch me bleed
Satisfy your needs
Droning your eyes
Twisted by your lies
You open up my veins
Release tormented rains
Upon earths self righteous Bain
This crimson covered innocence
Will cure the world of ignorance
You’re haunted by my desolate screams
Sheltered in your sadistic dreams
Another victim in the past
Destroyed while you laughed
Defiled and laid to waste
I want you to remember me
Choking on your cold cruelty
This last picture of me
Is what the world will see
The pleasure you took in my inhalation
Avenged in exposing your monstrosity
Then in the pits of hell
Where all you victims dwell
Trials of revenge
You cannot escape
We are here to punish you
What heaven cant hell shall do
An eye for an eye
Your penitence is due
They say were crazy
We credit you
Down on your knees
Beg us for mercy
We stifle your pleas
Laugh as you curse me
You held our souls hostage for years
Tormented by fate and dark fears
Now the tables have turned
Reap the torment you’ve earned
See your pride tattered on the floor
We’ll ruin all that you adore
Form:
The bain of authors, homophones, and this, I will add is not an ad in favour!
I have, I've walked down many an aisle on many an isle.
Drawn an arc whilst designing an ark.
I'm aurally embarrassed causing me to be orally harrassed!
My breath bated as I wait for the results of my baited trap.
I could be a bard if I wasn't barred from reciting my poems.
Based on advice by the chef of the day I know when I baste my joint it'll be okay.
Bow, beau and bow, I give up, what do I know?
What I do know is Mother Nature found Earth,
Made it her berth and gave birth to us all.
Well on homophones I've feasted, but, now I'm going to try some roast boar, and,
whilst eating I'm thinking and hoping you didn't find the first course a bore.
And not too corse else I'll really feel sore.
If you did? Don't brood as I've brewed ya a cuppa
to wash it all down! As I know y'all be asking for more.
Ah, my son is shouting, "The sun is shining please
take me out for the day"!
5/13/18
Premiere II - Open Poetry Contest sponsored by rob cormac
A moment without love
what could be for
Where I'm just lying
a longing core
Where all I want
is peace of mind
When all my heart
is swept to find
And only love is fine by me
When not enough to set it free
Though long enough to cause it pain
and drawn as small as down the drain
As all my feelings have no end
to what is loved for me to end
When only love is lost to me
as all I've loved flows back to me
And ending in a world of bain
when reaching out means no one plain
As all my love is out to be
detached from life I know to be
And all her love not fit to see
As all her love to bright for me
For I am weak and still in love
When all the times's means meant to shove
Where love can take you to the other
but not be seen for love another
As only God can make what's true
when all that's life must pay to you
For all the wonders you would stead
for all the love that's God ahead
When even love is left to him
in only loved by blessed to whim