Long Bargained Poems
Long Bargained Poems. Below are the most popular long Bargained by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bargained poems by poem length and keyword.
While as a sparkling carefree brook of gay youth
she meandered on the plateau of valiant yearning,
the precipice of destiny dragged her down
into the ambiguous abyss of no return.
Sucked by the vortex of wanton whirlpool,
she sank in the hellhole of corrupt lust.
With flesh bargained in the marketplace of perversion,
she morphed into an object of lewd attraction.
Perceiving the aberrant life absolutely undone,
and the unfeeling inert soul utterly defiled,
she compromised with her crumpled conscience,
for her usurped body was no longer hers.
When the sleazy alley winding in the mist of infamy
became dark after the red lights were turned off,
she turned into a self-seeking stalker wolf,
waiting for the full moon to rise for her early.
February 22, 2021
Contest : They Closed The Brothel
Sponsor : Kai Michael Neumann
Every moment of our lives is precious,
Even the dark and painful times of doubt and regret...
But the night passes
A new day begins, and hope is reborn into the willing soul...
It’s so easy to miss this
To become distracted by the noise of everything around us...
But when I quiet myself and look
When I embrace all my life, even those things I don’t understand...
When I take the time to listen to the silence,
And the truth that wells up from within,
It always reminds me of the mercy of God...
Of a love that can’t be bargained with or bought
A love that is generous, kind, forgiving,
And relentless, in the pursuit of my fragile heart...
So my tears mingle with the dew,
As I watch the sunrise...again
I'm sitting in the garden
With my small son on my knee
He looks up at me with big brown eyes
And says “Tell me about Granda's tree”
My father planted a tree
In nineteen forty two
He nurtured it and hadn’t bargained
On just how big it grew
When I was just seven years old
I had a love of climbing trees
Many times mum put plasters
On my bloodied and skinned knees
I can remember one day
Wearing my new party dress
Peering in through the window
A grubby bedraggled mess
I’d climbed as high as I could go
Then heard a quite loud crack
The branch it snapped in two
And I landed on my back
I’d excelled myself on this occasion
You could say I’d gone the whole hog
I’d landed on a little offering
Left by next doors dog
I remember as a little girl
My father built me a house in the tree
A sturdy wooden house with windows
Especially for me
When I was in my tree house
I could be almost anywhere
In a tropical jungle
Or in a cave hiding from a grizzly bear
Hanging onto my rope ladder
With a plastic cutlass on my hip
I could be looking for buried treasure
My tree house a pirate ship
Underneath the carpet
In the middle of the floor
My father had lovingly made me
A little brass-hinged trap door
Whenever I got fed up
Of being stuck inside
I’d open up that trap door
And go straight down the slide
Sometimes I would stand
For maybe half an hour
And pretend I was a princess
Imprisoned in an ivory tower
Some days I’d be a cowgirl
On a wild west ranch
And sometimes I’d pretend to be
A monkey swinging from a branch
One day I picked some flowers
And mum asked what they were for
I said “they are for my cottage
With roses around the door”
My son is looking wistful
Then he smiles at me
He says “mummy I would love
To see my Granda’s tree”
Tears come into my eyes
My son’s smile turns into a frown
I say “The tree's no longer there
The new owners chopped it down”
My son says it is sad
That the tree's no longer there
But no-one can destroy the memories
That my son and I share
He let her down easy
He didn’t want to hurt her
Gently, gently he drew away
A little more everyday
He was a gentleman
And would never make
Her little heart pay
For his BIG mistake...
So he let her down easy
Easy…easy…easy….
Slowly…slowly…he’d recede
Till he’d fade away
Gently…gently…she’d never know
The emotional investment too high
More than he bargained for
Not an easy ride
He let her down easy…
Little did he know
That while he was perfecting the show
Someone saw her beauty
And was laying her down gently
Gently…gently
Nice and slow
Laying her down gently...tilting her head
Closing his lips over her mouth
Investment of all his time
And heart besides….
Laying her down gently
A real gentleman
Making her feel
His words were real
Laying her down real slow
Making love to her
Gently...gently….
Nice and S L O W
Laying her down
Loving the sound
Listening to her moan
Laying her down.....
G E N T L Y.....
Eileen Manassian Ghali
whence place thy sight up above thine shoulders,
as it tarries to see no one but thee alone,
even when thy path seemeth crooked,
and goest astray like a lost wondering sheep,
ye durst wax in the Barn of thine selfishness.
Thy ego seem so high to accept rebuke
and chastisement, at war with thy virtues.
Been sober, thy countenance speaketh not,
submitting only to thy will and thy will alone.
Always wanting to so'er up high,
but impatient to beget wings.
Ye only bequeath Love for thy honour
and thy appreciation, dost for thy increase.
Art thou worthy of thine brag?
Nay! But thy acclaim, betwixt fame and glory.
Loudest in the proclamation of thy victories,
like a conqueror from whence sing of his battles
and a Merchant, fullsome and majestic.
Thy Robe, when touched or felt by she below,
light up fire from the fuel of thy Anger.
Henceforth, beseech not thy friends,
for their company art thou ruthlessly bargained
with the proceedings of thy wanton folly.
Verily, verily this cancer-worm soweth deeply,
like the root of a deciduous Tree
and just before its leaves wither away,
the path to destruction befalls thee
and behold! the time to take heed hath by-passed thee.
Thy redemption, more difficult than building Rome
because the cup of thy transgression hath gone full.
you'd beckoned my thoughts again
through sudden whispers
i've declined to respond morbidly
catering to the quaint findings
of life after death a quiet calm
arose over shattered fixings
wildly i'd mastered the gory details
hindering my every whim
childishly i catered to his robe
nestled beneath wrath carny
and the mild mannered masterpieces
torn between terror and sheer neediness
while captured beyond graveness
the sullen memory of where time resided
my inner self crawled eagerly i suppose
as my body bargained with my soul
a meaningful gesture giving my heart
infamous nudges arousing tattered bliss
mere ashes to be smeared throughout
the galaxy of fairness and the norm
It’s all been decided for me
I was told to get up and go
To reap the harvests for free
Which I had no idea to sow
In a competition of fictions
The most plausible won
I bargained three new convictions
For the price of the cheapest one
I invested them in three essays
Which I was relieved to forget
I walked through the Roman arcades
I rested on faraway sand
I drank from the springs of wisdom
And ate from the plates of good
Almost lost my immune system
Survived though wasn’t too shrewd
I bet this plot is predetermined
It’s all been decided, you see
I gave my word to return it
But still I keep it with me.
Irma Sunday Evening
By Franklin Price
9/10/2017 - 6:22PM
For six hours we've been watching
The eye of Irma twitch
As the winds and rains around it
Are making life a *****
Since I last wrote her actions
She has twice come to the shore
As some have indicated
Here to even up the score
She landed last in Naples
Eye overhead on land
Was determined with her wind and rain
To make a gallant stand
The weathermen stood with her
She tried to blow them to the ground
They grimaced and they squinted
As they were buffeted around
She sucked the water from the bays
To make the tidal surge
Then when she would pass them by
She would open up and purge
The surge already happened
And it made Miami flood
Covering streets and highways
With much debris and mud
Although the eye was never there
Miami got the brunt
Got much more than bargained for
More than they could ever want
Irma keeps on moving on
Without a full blown eye
Left the lower lid in Cuba
Tore it off when passing by
It did not seem to matter
Her focus still not bad
She saw to pummel Naples
With the right hook that she had
She's headed for the city
With the Russian sounding name
Saint Petersburg is waitng
To see how Irma plays the game
Putin is not resident
Nor is the POTUS Trump
If they were she'd do the same
And kick the city's rump
Half blinded, getting old and tired
She's traveled very far
Still searching for new lands to hurt
Irma's now a fading star
Still can do some damage
Although she's hurt and sore
If you are in the path she takes
Should hunker down a little more
The wounded beast still packs a bite
With her surge and wind and rain
Still able to hurt and end you
Or at least to cause you pain
I am fearful and full of dread,
As I lay here on our marriage bed,
We have had yet another fight,
And as yet it is our end of the night.
He says he wants to show me he only cares,
But it is not love I feel, as I lay there.
I say, "No I am to sore and in pain."
He moves forward anyways as my tears fall down like rain.
I beg and plead and say, "Please no more"
But that is not what for me he has in store.
I give up as my claims fall on deaf ears,
I just lay there in my pool of tears.
I know he knows what he is doing,
That this is not my choosing.
What once was an expression and an act of our lovemaking,
Has now become something that he thinks is his right in just taking.
The days that I used to crave and hunger for his touch,
Have now turned to an act I must endure as such.
Even though he knows this is wrong and our fight has really had no end,
He believes that in this and this alone our love will transcend.
As he is holding me there on that bed,
Another world is where I go in my head.
He is my husband and I am his wife,
I can't believe this has become our life!
I lay there numb of spirit and mind,
Waiting and waiting for the end of time.
I think of all the ways that I can make him pay,
But in the end, as usual, I stay!!!
This is not the life I bargained for,
There in this life has to be more.
Why with this one man is it hard for me to walk away?
With any other man, I would not stay!
Now the time has come that I can take no more,
Though the time has not come to settle the score.
He begs and pleads for me to stay,
He can't bear for our love to go away!
I still love him and I know that is sick,
But we cannot help who our hearts pick!
I can, however, leave him alone,
I won't write nor will I phone.
His days of cruel treatment and torture so vile,
Are long over, there will be no trial!
I have become judge, jury, and executioner in this relationship!
You can bet there will no more second trips!
Time to move on and to heal,
I cannot and will not give him an appeal.
A new life is what I am forever bound,
A new love is what I found.
He does not get all of me,
For now, he is fine to let me be.
Will I ever be able to love again with all my heart?
Who knows, but now is the time to start.
it's more than an obsession
with words;
i wouldn't go as far as calling it
poetry,
it's something more.
this writer's fingers
bite down on something,
tightly clenched,
feeding off of thoughts
while the wrists
bend and twist
to the rhythm,
bleeding words
like splatters of blood
on walls
or pages.
this writer's mind
twists,then turns
through memories
of past,
present,
lost at daybreak
and found
on night's doorstep,
only to open the door
towards something more
than bargained for.
this writer's heart
and soul
ignite, then explode,
like july's sky,
a few intense moments
of excitement
that submit
then surrender
to total darkness.
it's the death
of one thought
or more,
depending
on how intense
and colorful
the grand finale became.
it's an autumn mourning
not a morning risen,
this viewing
displayed before opened eyes
as the writer closes their own.
would you call that poetry?