Long Bathwater Poems
Long Bathwater Poems. Below are the most popular long Bathwater by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bathwater poems by poem length and keyword.
A man
is not what
he wants to be
but what he has to be
A dream
no longer
the dreamers
leaving our sleep undreamed
A vow
no longer
a promise
when fidelity has died
And trust
no longer
sacred
— when intent becomes a lie
__________
The Past
I lost you to love
you left me for dead
Before moving on
and leaving our bed
That dream that we shared
no longer alive
The present imperfect
— the past but a lie
________
The Baby’s Bathwater
The worst form
of delusion
is self-delusion
The worst form
of denial
denying what’s felt
The worst form
of deception
is self-deception
The worst form
of rejection
— rejecting the self
________
Shoo
Those who can ...
do
Those who can’t ...
mime
Go paint your face
for one who cares
As blissfully
— I rhyme
________
Doomed To Repeat
Crying about
the effects of war
will never stop
or prevent them
Evil inside
the human mind
violence births
its fatal intention
The best laid plans
a pathway to hell
devoid of
any action
Asleep at the switch
its gene still in place
to surface again
— in greed’s superfaction
________
Endure
Disagree
without being
disagreeable
Resist
without burning
it down
Commit
without being
a fanatic
Endure
without wearing
— a frown
(The New Room: July, 2026)
In my minds eye surely it’s skewed,
But I can’t fish out the bad eggs from the shells,
The baby’s flushed down with the bathwater,
And I’m so utterly screwed.
Clean the seat, hide it beneath the fibres,
But still, there’s Scarcity, and Squalor beneath the gown,
I glance back to see if you’ve noticed
I need you to pull me back, and lead me to the cure for being a miser.
Is your flame so malleable, because mine keeps giving ,
You’re 10 times my age, Spirit, they’re all older,
But least resistance is the smoothest path,
So pity their thinly veiled tact of acting none the wiser.
The beauty’s all yours,
It’s in your eyes not mine.
It doesn’t reflect the light,
So I never got to be the beholder.
Tell me you’re concerned by our lack of knowledge,
But you didnt make that cut,
And where were you
During my four AM forage?
And now you’ve etched your memoirs into my brain; that’s a users manual.
An old pro, I’m a jack of this trade,
And you’re the master of the flies on the wall,
Prodding me whilst laying low.
You think you’re the knowing eyes in my kitchen,
Yet you ask me: is this hunger? Is this habit?
But we’re cut from different reams of cloth,
It isn’t even the same fabric.
A culture is sustained by its traditions
And its quality is known by the fruits
Of those traditions.
We live in a time of change
When tradition is challenged and discarded
Simply for being traditional.
We don’t know what will replace it
We just want “hope and change”
With blind faith it’ll be better.
But that’s not the way civilizations are built
That is how they are destroyed.
When the bottom falls out
Morals are abandoned
Values are reversed
The baby is thrown out
And the old dirty bathwater consumed
As if nectar.
Then drunk on delusion
The revelers cry
When in the morning
The large, shiny Trojan Horse is empty
And it’s clear their life will never be the same.
(8/30/26)
Casting Off The Bow Line
Goodbye
my unwed darling
I’m married
to this dream
Freedom
calling out to me
betrothal thus
redeemed
Bachelorhood
a Siren’s calling
Feted tween
the sails
Truant winds
to act upon
Legends
tell the tale
Setting off
this final time
Rudder
in my hand
Truth when hoisted
up the mast
Liberty
— commands
(Dreamsleep: February, 2024)
So Imbued
Crime without sanction
honor among thieves
Tomatoes tomattos
prudish obscene
Rules as their written
intention entwined
Good becomes bad
sight becomes blind
Credence engendered
by those so imbued
A prince or a pauper
depends on your view
The world in a tailspin
no two think the same
the baby the bathwater
— praising the blame
(The New Room: February, 2024)
Time Awaits
Not connected to
the dollar
Courted
never wed
Engaged to no one
but himself
Making
his own bed
All fame and fortune
lost to fate
Constancy
of mind
Whose future readers
time awaits
His legacy
— to find
(The New Room: February, 2024)
“I fight the good battle!” I thought:
But a warrior
whether Christ’s or the Devil’s, or Self
is still “A blade held high” demon
of sorts, though the conscious motive
May be of highest righteousness--
the transformation of darkness into light.
The demon
(our second-hand creation)
(manipulating matter
but not the originators),
a recycling of lesser egos
claiming the Formative Light
our own
though pure and complete
before our jealous
acquisition--
Divine relationship denied
(the arrogance of man),
agnosia perpetuated--
our insufferable debate over
that tender-less chicken
or her overcooked egg;
And oh--the science!
We squeeze even our genitals
into a singularity
(the academics juiced answer to all)
when denying the enriching trickles--
the crushed, the spirit-runny,
our essence, the immortal soul,
with each bathwater tossed.
When, in our power to create
truly as The Omnipotence:
from nothingness;
out of canvas yet
uncut from the fabric
of time--
not with warrior knife
nor artist brush
but by faith alone--
by love and grace…
Grace that has kept man alive
prepared to some day make
of sleeping, self-possessed children
fully awakened
independent
Gods.
Prisoner Of Language
Will time live eternal
or just its retelling
A prisoner of language
whose paradox mined
Dimension in contrast
ill-fated contrition
To look but not touch
—and hope they align
(Rosemont College: December, 2023)
Through A Vacuum
Biologically tethered
time is the demon
Your flesh and your blood
by nature defined
Each tic of the clock
your heart beats in cadence
Dogmatic in method
caught up in the brine
What if your consciousness
took a leap forward
Abandoning reference
erasing the lines
Polarity exits
its jail through a vacuum
Releasing reversing
—becoming sublime
(Rosemont College: December, 2023)
Starting Over
Dig up the foundation
requestion each premise
Wade through the bathwater
the baby must go
A leap when it’s quantum
still subject and object
Fly out of the portal
—rejecting what’s known
(Rosemont College: December, 2023)
"You drown not by falling in a river, but by staying submerged in it.”
A gentle mist
billows above the man-made pond
that spawns a rippling
sorrel-dusky brook
that ebbs and widens as it becomes
a river.
The runnel is dark rust colors,
it is restful but unquiet,
as its flow
softly murmers.
The tributary sits next to a parking lot.
A car's yellow-
white headlights
are bright orbs six feet
above the rivulet;
the lights
penetrate the early morning
as two approaching comets...
Hot water
pours into the tooth colored tub,
it rises;
Irish feet
with puffy soft ankles
step into the bath,
the knees bend
as the hands grasp the tub's sides-
she plops heavily
into the bathwater,
she thinks that the thud disturbs
the tenants below...
never a sound from them.
Her legs curl in Indian style,
the warmth comforts...
The river, yes, is restful;
and twisted, bent branches of trees,
thin, small and dove brown,
adorn the dirt banks,
reach over the rill-
they are knowing spectators...
and she soaks,
and she becomes cleaner;
she levitates, like the aurora's brume...
The river winds
throughout the towns and cities in which she walks, before the sea captures...
it is in some places
shallow, she can see the sandy bottom
is the tint of sunshine;
the river
seems to always be near her...
and the river brings her home.
January 1, 2022
I want to write a song today from six feet under here.
Won’t paint to kill the dead saints but I want to make it clear
that I’ve been praying in the dark while lying in this grave,
and wishing the bathwater clean in hopes that it can save.
I hope to finally find the strength. I know I have to try,
but so far every effort yields the gist of one big lie.
That’s why I’m here, I’ve learned there is no X amount of words
that have the power to change despite how many I have heard.
But I know I’m the one who has to claw my up through
this dirt room I have called my home, it’s time for me to do
whatever it takes can’t you see, the end is at the door?
I want to rise and feel that I’m not broken anymore.
Cuz everything is changed by time, why should I die alone?
Why shouldn’t I break through this ground, rise up and make a home?
So I will write a song today as if I were a king,
then you will know, “I won’t let go” by every word I sing.
Hey kid, whatcha doing here
Has it already been a year
Father time is all grown up
2017 I wish you luck
Years gone by to tell the truth
Have been more than a bit rough on you
It's time to pass off the baton
To the new kid on the block
This new kid to come along
We hope to fatten him all up
With the best of everything
All the goodies life can bring
We'll treat this year like no other
Save the baby and bathwater
Keep him around until he's old
Polishing the silver, shining the gold
As every year we hold out hope
That this one's not all that she wrote
Oh and if you don't mind,
One more thing
Will you get the phone...
I think I hear the New Year ring
I like fixing broken things.
I detest breaking things to fix them.
I cannot deny that I sit where you sit.
You see things broken and needing to be fix.
I see things well built and needing to be adjusted.
From where I sit;
From my perspective;
From where I hear and see;
From what I feel and sense;
From my heart, I believe it's true;
There are a lot of things broken.
Broken promises; broken hearts.
Broken people, communities, and nations.
But there are also things that are not broken.
For things broken, it's natural to try and fix them.
But things that are not broken should be left alone.
There seem to be a mad rush to fix, to redo America.
America has problems, lots of them, but she is not broken.
Yes, I see Cracks in our pillars of strength.
Yes, I see Leaks in our walls of defense.
Yes, I see Tears in the fabric of our society.
But I see a Foundation holding solid and strong.
Some Ingredients may have been left out of the menu,
but that calls for an addition to make it better, not a fixing.
Remember, we do not throw out the baby with the bathwater.
May we remain seated together to fix only what is truly broken.
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