Long Bated Poems
Long Bated Poems. Below are the most popular long Bated by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bated poems by poem length and keyword.
Isn't it weird that I say multiple names a day, but my breath catches only when I say yours?
Isn't it weird how people try to make me smile, yet all their attempts remain futile?
Isn't it weird how my eyes travel across the room, in hopes of finding you?
Isn’t it weird how I stay awake hoping for a call or even a text, while I barely get a chance to rest?
Isn’t it weird how I’m begging you to stay, while I push everyone else away?
It’s funny how I crave for our eyes to match, and that one look is enough to keep me attached.
It’s funny how I miss your presence, while you wouldn’t even notice my absence.
It’s funny how I wait for you with bated breath, knowing I won’t see you even at my last.
It’s funny how I kept the hope alive: maybe one day you’ll arrive?
It’s funny how you promised me everything, but broke those vows with no prior warning.
Isn’t it crazy, the way I believed I'd never fall, but you came along and changed it all?
Isn't it crazy how I always felt caged in my own mind, but you easily tore away the binds?
Isn't it crazy, the number of times I yearn for you, whilst I’m only a thought for you?
Isn't it crazy, the way I overthink every glance, the way you leave me in a trance?
Isn't it crazy, the way this crept up on me, and it's now my only source of glee?
Teetering I stand poised with bated breath,
Staring at the precipitous of death.
Ground beneath, slippery, shaky slimy.
I fear my state, fate and fear will collide.
A gust of doubt, a whispered wisp of fear,
Blown on ledge, all it takes to topple here.
Each moment hanging on the edge of chance,
Cast into a risky hazardous dance.
But I resolve to not relent just yet.
Though all my strength and poise is almost spent.
Each shake, teeter, totter, slip that's beaten,
Gives me hope that this can be defeated.
Just when I feel safe, sound akin again,
A sound blast shakes me off, all hopes in vain.
I slip, fall, scream, with arms flailing wildly
Tumble down, it seems for eternity.
I startle, awakened by my own scream.
Ah, that was such a vivid lucid dream!
"Hyar she comes! The weekly stagecoach is a-comin' to old Santa Fe!"
The driver cracked his whip and blowed his klaxon to herald the way!
The weekly arrival of the stagecoach was cause fer raucous celebration!
The town's ne'er-do-wells found another excuse fer excess inebriation!
The excited citizens one and all awaited its arrival with bated breath,
To see and greet the motley rogues brought to town by the driver, Seth!
Seth descended from his perch midst snarlin' curs and guttersnipes,
Gun-totin' hangers-on, genteel ladies, the sheriff and other sundry types.
Grizzled Seth cut loose a stream of cussin' and in a furious rage,
Yelled, "You'uns clear the way and let them people git off'n the stage!"
His bedraggled passengers set foot on the dusty streets of old Santa Fe,
Happy to be relieved of the stagecoach's nauseous lurch and sway!
The Baptist Ladies Guild gasped when down stepped a lady of the night,
But she was greeted by the fellers of Buster's Saloon with a cry of delight!
Next was a feller all dressed in black scannin' the crowd with a gloomy glower.
He was a preacher-man causin' fellers from Buster's Saloon to cringe and cower!
A steely-eyed dude with 44s on his hips viewed the mob with condescension,
But his shifty manner put the sheriff on alert and merited his attention!
Down stepped a foppish dandy wearin' diamonds and dressed in fine attire.
He was a gamblin' man aimin' to see how much town capital he might acquire!
Seth hollered, "All aboard! I gotta git to Albuquerq' by six tonight!"
He whipped his steeds to a gallop and soon old Santa Fe was outta sight!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2015 All Rights Reserved
We bite the dust every morning,
spitting gray powder, like desperados.
Firebirds nosedive in forewarning,
perverting the trees into hell’s tornadoes.
We taste sooted smog on our tacky tongues,
dragging all our shadows of remorse.
Finding no habitat for our wheezing lungs,
we long for the rain’s fecund watercourse.
We find Death Valley spreading like a contagion,
and dodge parched patches, bruised and baked by sol.
So delirious our meandering, we know not our region,
our infernal night camps reek of cinder and wood coal.
We chant, not knowing the meaning of an arcane lyric,
unsure how to summon the recondite eidolon of Seth.
As city shells smolder, all chronic hearts await some mantic.
Surely hell will freeze over, so we wait with bated breath.
Sunbeam in the rain
The aura that surrounds the pure
Is something we shall never know
So beautiful and untouched by hate
So kind, so loving, yet so touched by pain
Oh! Never have we felt so safe
In your loving motherly embrace
Still every time the war gates were pulled
The commander in you seemed to unfold
A friend we saw among all our foes
In the greatest battle to win the unknown
That’ silver lining beyond the cloud
That might radiance from up above
A picture of grace and a fount of hope
Is something you painted as you walked the corridor?
Elegance so deeply personifies
The voice of the young quarrelers and spies
The pain we feel shall forever resonate
At the loss of your guidance in the rain
And in the end with bated breath
Bid adieu to our mother, our love and our friend
BY
Amanda.M.Miller
Form:
' Hesitant Heart to wobble despite of desirous soulmate to welcome.'
_ Poet
Tale of An Ambivalent Guise
Day Dawn's ! Early Morn.
Crimson Sun in radiance.
Mr. Ambivalent Guise
roaming on non mowed lawn
even ignores to glance slant
on Her awaiting with scintillating look
at bated breath.
Idle noon : Pale placid white Moon
Anxious Girl with eager ears to listen
Mr. Introvert Persona's voice
seeming audible as His eyes to glisten.
No ! Stubborn silence not to splinter.
Afternoon merging dreary evening.
Mr. Dubious Phantom
seems to come close.
She rose to hold His hand :
He has neither stopped nor touched.
Mystic Mesmerizing night :
Mr. Morose Enigma
unleashing hard hesitance
undulating and vaporising
in escaping silhouettes.
Through chasm of wobbled peak of
rigid static mountain
oozing amorous flow
surging, cascading in opulence.
Emotive urge enraptured,
captured in Her heart.
One moment stood still
encumbering passage of eternal time.
Simple Single sentence
of six syllables
' I like you, Dear Sweetheart '
embellished Her dreamy desires.
01\14\23
Metrical Poem
Contest by Hilo Poet
I feel her wake, and I quake
Afraid...I'll make the same mistake
For goodness sake
My hands....
how they shake
I hear her low moan, and I groan
She'll rise from where she's been thrown
I'm not alone...never alone
I can't atone
for deeds she has sown
She is so real...her power...I feel
As I reel
she makes me kneel
No, mercy...she won't cut a deal
My breath of life...she'll steal
Sedated....
I try to keep her sedated
Her desires bated
Her wanton whims weighted
The prey she wants....crated
I need her to be....
dated
But...it is always the same fight in the night
Her insatiable delight
burns through her superwoman might
It’s not right...it's not right!!
I'm lost in this plight
And so....I give in
I let her win
She’s my weakness, my sin
She unbares my skin
Laughs above the din
My right and wrong in a spin
I smile...
I smile...HER sultry grin
Tonight, she would not be sedated
And her prey, she neatly bated
Her desire, swiftly sated
His heart, with her blood nails, grated
It was fated
Fated
So....complicated
She has the control
Of my body and soul…
Destruction, her goal
Buried...in this black hole
She keeps me....
Sedated
Eileen Manassian Ghali
This is a poem about a woman struggling to keep her inner longings at bay....It uses personification....the SHE....is a symbol of the sin that struggles in the woman for mastery. It is not a poem about a man and woman though when SIN has its way....men are the casualty.
The world awaits with bated breath
pause, listen and most all feel
there it is, a deep sense drumming
in the back ground coming to life.
we all feel it, indeed yearn for it
insistently wait for it to come
then all of a sudden we can feel
the gradual warmth winter is defeated.
He shies away taking with him the freeze
allowing SPRING her rite of passage
everything comes back into blossom
almost battling each other for its space
All around we see new tender leaves
feel her warmth stirring things to life
watching birds fly to and thro building
busily their nests for new hatchlings
Riotous notes peel out thrilling us
as delightfully they fill the skies.
Snow drops fading as crocus fill
beds with startling shades of colour.
At last we can peel of the extra layers
wear our pretty clothes never can we
match Spring's awesome display of style
Indeed she gayly leads us towards Summer
it's the midnight hour
as i watch the rise and fall
of your breath blend
in peerless harmony
within the cicada's song
i twirl along
in secluded mind
where thoughts fall
faded like shadows
beneath moon's lambent light
remembrance comes
in winded breaths
as i recall
the camber of your body
pressed against mine
in the soft melodies
of nighttide
the endless tempo
with bated breaths
in stepless dances
between young lovers
the smile
with the glow
of a thousand stars
gleaming back
in brilliance
now paling
in fragmented
flickers
of clouded mind
the chirr of bed
as you shift
closer to the edge
leaves me wondering
is this love enough
to keep me grounded
in the distance
laid between us
Mama's Golden Pond Cried
Mama loved to chew
off the Golden Pond
bone
chew the fat
of their autumn leaves,
dressed in splendor,
a scenic lake and cabin,
her pseudo stage,
of her new found barbies,
smiling at her
smile they did
so minted the american dream,
their lives golden.
These.
These
pocketed keepsakes she kept
next to the chip
on her shoulder.
Yet her music plays
ill forgotten lore and simile
of her family and children,
scruffy unkempt dogs
she never proud,
she drummed over and over,
her catch phrase.
We watched the movie
long ago,
in her element,
in her tempo,
bated breath,
tears falling
and detached.
Yet her music plays
so content
and spawning such a fondness
in her heart,
of them rowing a boat,
aging, golden.
Yet her music plays
sadly
in her heart
of emptiness
at home
dying,
lifeless grey eyes.
Yet, so steely
her song
snow blind of her son
sitting next to her
in the darkening theater,
her wintry chill,
so indigenous,
taking life hostage.
Just my child
her teeth
chattering
to piano keys
playing,
playing in her concerto
dancing on golden pond...
such a waste her lips mimed.
Her keys.
And mine sink low.
... Just my child
she sat akimbo,
in silhouette,
tears I imagine,
and her voice
... and her voice
once icy then
now a scar,
a ghost,
... scruffy come here.
connie pachecho
6/30/17