Long Bashed Poems
Long Bashed Poems. Below are the most popular long Bashed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bashed poems by poem length and keyword.
On the hard cement, she lay
Her dark hair was matted, and her skin was grey
At her side was a soulless shoe
Her face, beaten black and blue
Her clothes were very tattered and torn
Everything about her looked well-worn,
She was well known in this street
Where she played the violin, so haunting and sweet
Something did not feel right today
She picked up her violin and started to play.
Her violin was her best friend,
Without this instrument, her life would end,
She lost herself in the magic of the sound
as her violin played to those who usually stood round
Listening to her play
But not today.
The street was almost empty; hardly anyone was about,
Which made her feel uneasy. And then she heard him shout,
As she saw him coming towards her, she began to shake
Where were the passers-by, for goodness sake?
As the young lout got closer, he yelled. At her to play
She lifted her violin, and the hoon snatched it away
Waving it in the air and taunting her as he did,
He said he would return it if she gave him a few quid
I cannot show you any money; I have none to give.
Said the terrified woman, who had to busker daily
Because she had to eat to live.
The hooligan felt defeated. No money was forthcoming,
He tormented and bashed the woman in the face,
She fell, and he started running
He raced up the road, feeling no remorse
How could he know his fate was sealed? Of course
A police car turned the corner without noticing the lad
There was an almighty screech of brakes
The outcome was both unexpected and sad.
The felon lay in the middle of the road, gasping for breath,
He and the woman he murdered had an untimely death
Summertime
White lace and lemonade,
the powder is white sugar.
It is very sweet to eat.
The tea jar is out,
and baking still,
but the magic lies within.
It is not nearly dark,
but the time of the lark
is truly close at hand.
We will all stand together,
and pray, for the day,
and each other.
before the end.
Yet, for now we dance,
and prance about,
like wild animals let go,
for a show.
The air is full of buzzing bugs.
The smell is like no other.
Flowers are in full bloom.
Trails to run on, paths to walk on.
Things to do everywhere,
Words to say,
and time for play,
if you only may...
and leave out the can.
Bright summer sand to lay on,
a million pieces of shells...
bashed upon each...
one and another
to make a bed,
soft.
We play as friends,
and love as family.
We think about nothing, but the afternoon.
Fall is far off, and winter is of no concern.
We are happy.
You were like a daughter to me and I was like a dad.
Your death was heart-breaking because it was so bad.
I got the idea to call you my baby doll because that was what Mom called her cat.
In August of 2013, my house became your new home and that's where you died at.
It has been one year since you died.
You were a great dog and that can't be denied.
I found you dead in my kitchen at about ten o'clock.
I would've rather had my head bashed in by a rock.
I was very upset and I knew that I wouldn't get any sleep so I stayed up most of the night.
I buried you the next morning and I'm sure that other pet owners can understand my plight.
When a person has a pet that's as special as you, it is sure to please.
I'll never forget you even if I live to be 100 and have Alzheimer's Disease.
[Dedicated to Agnes (2011-2020) who died one year ago on July 11, 2020]
----I thought I had posted this a while back...guess I didn't. Oops. : ) here it is...couple years old.
When sorry words offer but sadness and pain,
When weary thought drifts into the tides of shame,
When heavy darkness fills my soul,
Freezing last embers upon the coal,
The love in my heart burns in vain
It burns in vain, for I can never quite reach
The paths that entangle, while the demons breach
It burns in vain, for I try so hard for naught
My tears in a frost-bitten muddle—construed and caught
As snowfall sifts ice onto disdain,
As afternoons crawl into midnight shade,
As every mistake has torn me apart,
This foolish soul crushed—bashed from the start
The love in my heart burns in vain
It burns in vain, for reality is but a fret
Knowing tragedy shall befall, though it comes not yet
It burns in vain, for I have hurt you still
As I try to escape the furrowing doubts that kill
So now I cringe, and cower, and remain
So caught in your sorrow as I turn away
So sorry and hateful for what I put you through
For as I falter, you are ever true
The love in our hearts burn in vain
Yet, somehow the yester-embers among the frozen coals return
Upon the frost-bitten windowpane—somehow they burn
(verse 1)
I’ve lived a short life,
for which my tears have gone dry.
A state of mental confusion,
from a mother and father.
Twisted lies, twisted truth,
which to believe, which to distrust.
(chorus)
Will I shine like the sun,
and glow with self loving esteem?
Or will i fade off into the blue,
with a mind that’s bashed by depression?
(verse 2)
A man that’s lost on a path,
that was created by a child.
What was it that I dreamed?
Was it lost in days of yesteryear.
Did daddy do what mother said he did,
and did mommy suffer the way she claimed?
(chorus)
Will I shine like the sun,
and glow with self loving esteem?
Or will i fade off into the blue,
with a mind that’s bashed by depression?
(verse 3)
When I turn old and gray,
will my friends and family stay?
Will I abuse my wife with fists?
Could I end up beating my kids verbally?
Can I conquer the sickness,
or will it just be a fantasy?
(chorus)
Will I shine like the sun,
and glow with self loving esteem?
Or will i fade off into the blue,
with a mind that’s bashed by depression?
FADE OFF INTO THE BLUE
1-25-95?
Lyricist Inc.
David A.P
poetic trilling of joyful greedy song birds in summer
faded pink male cardinals swoop and flip
running red squirrel flashes tail
excited white-tailed deer knocks down bird feeder
mushy wet birdseed is now on the ground
bashed in red feeder lies limp and helpless
october transmogrifies rapidly into december
holiday activities are keeping farmers busy
wife is not filling feeders as diligently
snuggly nights get longer and darker
ice and snow brings in frost from the north
squirrels are in hiding now
feeder is emptying fast
hoggish crows, cardinals and wrens
blue jay watches and waits, uninvited
She stands invisible to any fair go,
Mentally bashed to a paste,
In a world where she is not wanted,
Where she is simply erased,
Where none of her self is accepted by men,
Women distrust her as well,
Where she is politely told to vanish,
To crawl back into her shell,
She’s been beaten and bashed and raped by angry,
Pushed to the fork in the road,
This academically gifted heart beating girl,
Has been pushed right out to the cold,
She believes what folks whisper about her,
She believes the things that they say,
She believes she doesn’t fit into this world,
That she’s defective because she is gay.
The cut bashed from a hike in the woods , and the roll down the
Hill and the wound if not washed and dressed with the proper
ointment will fester and have a malodorous odor. The wounded
hiker should as duty calls rush home, head to the closet , seize
the first aide kit, and wash the laceration conventionally as a
nurse would. And apply ointments and gauze to avoid problems.
But left untreated one part of our anatomy is unseen and forever
hidden of the prying eyes of X-rays, ultrasounds and surgeons on
operating tables or exam rooms. Its even hidden from the one
whose body it was given to before all ages. And we know this
because the Holy Spirit has given us our soul to enrich and
enliven us. I can talk to my soul by telling him I love him and
listen for responses and welcoming guidance.
What can I do to my soul after years of wounding. Addiction,
sexual exploitation, lack of nourishment of prayer to God,
neglectful adoration of God and degradation of my soul left
alone imprisoned through indignity after indignity until the wound
festers and my very being lingers on the verge. No ointment or
gauze or bandage may be of service to the substance of my
being. Alone the body moves as the soul watches a silent
tear ,gradually, and slowly gushes out of the heart of mine own
eye as he lingers crying.
Those lasting words pour through my lobes as with each gasp,
reaching further inside of me for something hidden, I see a
shadowed face tear struck and wanting, reaches and pulls me
forward.
My favorite vegetable is a potato
I will eat it fried, filleted, with salt and pepper.
Bring me butter
That won’t be enough
Some people add cheese.
I am not interested in that, unless it is cheddar
shaved, on the top of sour cream and chives.
Yes, I love a baked potato loaded and potatoes scalloped
I adore French fries, also made from the beautiful potato.
I dip them into barbeque sauce or honey mustard.
Keep the ranch to yourself, I have never liked it.
A sweet potato is not the same. You can have it.
Unless it is loaded with cinnamon and brown sugar.
But wait, let’s get back to my favorite which is the potato.
I like potato soup, I love potato salad. I like potatoes in my chili.
I love corn and butter with salt and pepper over a potato.
I like beef and noodles over mashed potatoes.
I like potatoes smashed, bashed and dashed.
Give me a potato in any form.
I love them all.
Potatoes forever if you ask me!
(or Bumping Faces)
Sometimes I find it really quite difficult
To differentiate between reality and fantasy
Fantasy seems like it's a whole lot more fun
Whatever I wish for always comes true
At times I forget and kiss total strangers on the street
Which can lead to a bashed in skull
And the odd broken limb now and then
Thankfully I'm still able to differentiate between the sexes
Of course my all time favourite people are women
But in a pinch... LOL
Okay scratch that, I'm strictly a lover of the fairer sex
I have a question... when did this custom begin
Did the first neanderthals bump faces
And think, “Hdsidbvehxksh!”
Loosely translated, “Where have you been all my life, baby?”
Centuries have gone by but we all still love bumping faces!
Hdsidbvehxksh!
© Jack Ellison 2015