Long Batted Poems
Long Batted Poems. Below are the most popular long Batted by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Batted poems by poem length and keyword.
I was given the challenge
Well in truth it was a bet
And the bet was to get a date
With Prudence the librarian
Whose coldness was legend
It would be a tall order
But I picked up the gauntlet
And headed to the library
I walked up to the desk
And there she stood
She was short in stature
But imposing nonetheless
Her countenance was severe
Thick chestnut hair
Pulled back off severely off her face
Her make up would best be described
As minimalist
And she peered at me
Over thick framed spectacles
She wore a chunky beige sweater
Two sizes too big which hid her shape
And a dark pleated skirt, knee length
Over thick black wool tights
And the not unattractive legs
Terminated into sensible shoes
I tried small talk
But she was not receptive
Her demeanor was positively frosty
Every enquiry she batted back to me in the negative
But despite everything
There was something about her that I liked
Something intangible
curiously she was not my type
in any way, but still there was something
So I decided to persevere
But because I wanted to
Not because I had to
So firstly I paid off on the bet
I wasn’t doing it for a stupid bet
But because of that intangible something
An itch I couldn’t scratch kind of thing
Realizing small talk would get me nowhere
I thought I would try a different tack
And converse with her on her own terms
I had to engage her intellect
So each day I would go to the library
And ask her to recommend a book
Which we could then discuss each day
And each day she thawed a little
Then I posed her questions,
History, Geography, the arts
I found her to be both knowledgeable and interesting
And I found that I was becoming interested
In the subjects we were discussing
And looked forward to our time together
As each day she thawed a little more
I wanted to have more
Than just the few precious hours at the library
But I didn’t want to undo what I had achieved
Upset the status quo
And refrigerate her again
Then at the end of one particular day
Prudence asked me
“Would you like to go for a coffee?”
I was speechless but nodded in the affirmative
Later she told me
She fell for me because I engaged her mind
And valued her for what was between her ears
And not what was between her legs
Or inside her sweater
Form:
Compared with us, the kids today
Too little play and too much weigh.
Alone indoors they snack and sit
And buttons hit, while we stayed fit.
We'd quickly chores and homework do,
Then dash through doors to fun pursue,
To basketballs and arrows shoot,
To jump with ropes, and footballs boot.
We'd earthworms dig for fishing bait,
On scooters glide, and roller skate.
We'd hopscotch, seesaw, chase. and swing
And boomerangs and frisbees fling.
We'd tackle, dribble, leap, and throw.
We'd tunnel through and shovel snow.
In haystacks dive and wagons ride,
On ice and into bases slide.
We'd whittle wood and baskets weave
And pennies pitch and horseshoes heave.
We'd yank the strings so tops would spin,
When wrestling, try to shoulders pin.
We'd kindling fetch and firewood chop,
Inflate balloons to later pop,
Sink numbered balls in billiard halls,
And topple pins with bowling balls.
We'd weekly swim at downtown Y,
Our kites and model airplanes fly,
We'd darts and putts and marbles aim,
With lens or flint set twigs aflame.
We'd sneak beneath the sideshow tents,
Climb ropes and poles and chain link fence.
We'd hike and camp with scouting troops,
Rotate our hips in hula hoops.
We garden weeded, hosed, and tilled,
We'd soap box car and treehouse build,
At picnics joined the tug-of-war,
And barefoot romp when rain would pour.
We raced on stilts and pogo sticks,
Made pies of mud, our pets taught tricks,
Were paper, pin, and altar boys,
Ignored complaints of too much noise.
For caddie tips, we'd golf bags lug;
To jukebox records, jitterbug.
We'd carpets beat, played kick-the-can,
Collected rocks, and errands ran.
To school and back on foot we tread,
Down steepest hills and alleys sled,
Played pitch-and-catch in yard with Dad,
Pushed mower that no motor had.
We'd rake the leaves and chestnuts crack
And toddlers carry piggyback.
With feather pillows fight in bed,
Our cap guns fire, and fall down dead.
We'd wildly flail at punching bag
And batted balls and passes snag.
We'd zig and zag, avoiding tag,
Till tuckered out, we'd homeward drag.
No trophies or applause we'd get.
Our play was real, not internet.
To kids today, I this advise:
Get off your butts and exercise!
it all started on a nothing day
one where the sun shines just so
not too hot, not too cold, like the tea
that stirred easy in the mug staring up at her &
the fact that they had been friends for quite some time
made it even harder for the news to travel across that café table
(ever so small) like a painting extracted from Période bleue de Picasso,
et la pléthore de couleurs qui avait illuminé la salle
à seulement quelques minutes il ya
maintenant commencer à s'estomper et terne en se fane monochromatiques de céruléen, la malachite, de la misère de béryl et de jade être fouettés en place dans un nuage assombrissement de vieillissement misère---
when the conversation begins to turn towards the death that comes next
the eyes of the party being spoken to
begin to wander outside the context of the table,
pondering the streets outside
et tout à coup une jalousie étrange de sans-abri, des prostituées, de tous ceux avec des problèmes beaucoup plus pire que ceux qui sont illustrés à la table en question
commencent à inonder l'esprit du parti d'être exonérés de la relation qu'ils avaient pensé à quelques minutes il ya avait existé &
une peinture d'un monde dans lequel les distractions,
si plus immédiatement physique
sont moins émotive à l'intérieur en raison de la nature hors de propos de frivole tels veut
en comparaison avec les nécessités de la vie---
as the words being batted from the “friend” sore into the outfield,
the other party’s rejection is not caught
but instead, left rolling around
while the runners make their way almost effortlessly round the bases,
a wall is built quickly around one side of the table
higher & higher,
where aspects of “trust” deteriorate quicker than a sugar cube being held under a steady stream of hot water &
while all the sweetness flushes down the drain
et le tourment psychologique commence à s'inviter à nouveau,
le parti a rejeté se demande à quel point ces murs dans la prison de Saint-Lazare
apparu à la jeune génie &
comment la mort horrible de son ami Casagemas bonnes mangé à lui
tranquillement
comme il se promenait dans les rues sous la pluie
seul, un cliché jeune triste,
avec rien, mais ses peintures &
l'ambition de dépeindre cette douleur.
late …
summer eventide ...
I lay on the rug,
head by the window,
feet tended in the direction away
from your house ...
deliberately ... designedly ...
full moon drizzling its
cornflower bloom thru venetians,
dividing into soft, dripping
strips of liquid sapphire
that slather my skin with somber
streaks of twilight -
shredded like the ragged raiment
of my heart, and what's left of
my shirt - my favorite shirt -
the one you always wore to bed,
for me, for passion ... for us …
the one I JUST took off
and tore to ribbons,
soaked with the unholy
issue of wet from my eyes,
now strewn across my bare chest ...
in this bare room ...
ALL - clothes, love, life -
in disarray ...
the sea is breathing ...
regular balmy bursts of brine that
push the blinds away from
the sill, then relent ... push ... relent,
making the shadows part
like lips and purse,
just as a wee child blowing the thistle
off a dandelion, or the
way you'd wake me each morn,
parting my hair with
puffs of tea-scented breath,
until my lashes
batted open and sopped
up the splashes of your smile,
my fingers tunneling their
way through Egyptian cotton
to prize your softest, tickle-friendly spots ...
greeting the day with slow, sweet,
tender love-making ...
those thoughts quickly
perish, fizzling like white phosphorous ...
I am stone now,
as cold and sallow as the moon -
bloodless and stark,
with no breath but what the
ocean gifts me ...
my only tie to you now,
this moonbeam, a streak of wan
light that I shall grasp like
a wispy, tenuous rope, and hold on
with what will I have remaining -
with what semblance of
a spirit you've left me with ...
a rope of soft glow that is
now my only connection to you -
from my barren heart to
the mocking moon,
from the mocking moon to
your mocking love ... and you ...
this strand of moonlight
lustre will tie us, ever,
for if not, it will most assuredly find
its way 'round my throat, and I
can think of no more
fitting or beautiful
a thread
from which to …
dangle.
~ 4th Place ~ in the "Disarray" Poetry Contest, Nina Parmenter, Judge & Sponsor.
When the night claims you like a wayward leaf of old
and it takes you to the caves where anything turns gold
you don't ask any questions and you don't dare breathe
you just follow her, like a light weight tumbled weed
Down the passages of dark, down the staircase of rune
every step a little deeper than the crevices of moon
you can almost taste the air, on your tonguing clepe
you can down the stars of heaven in one single leap
Taking you by the waist it shall dance you through
the elixir of happiness when your feeling down n' blue
you just thank the Lord for the magic of this gift
all you need is skin n' eyes to cross her lowly rift
When night claims you like a wayward leaf of old
and takes you to her caves, all etched with gold
don't ask her any questions just go ahead breathe
no, don't ask her anything at all, just breathe,
yes breathe...
* * * * * *
Deep breaths I took when she stepped into my world
a goddess she became when in my arms she twirled.
At entry to her cave she beckoned with promising eyes.
I would've followed her until the stars fell from the skies.
We heard celestial music playing, a lover's waltz the tune
I held her in my arms and we danced around the moon
Back down into her cave, we romped into a golden maze
Her scent of wild magnolia set the fire in my heart ablaze.
We paused for a moment as she placed a finger to my lips.
Passion aroused, my hands slowly dropped down to her hips.
She batted her silken lashes and danced deeper into her cave.
Teasing little minx, turned and raised her hand in alluring wave.
Not a dream is my goddess, who still sleeps within my arms
enticed me into her cave with soft music and sensual charms.
I will linger here beside her until we take our last breath.
In our cave where all is gold, we'll stay even after death.
yes, we breathe... we breathe as one
* * * * * * * * *
December 29th 2015
Collaboration Contest
Sponsor: Mystic Rose
Armageddon wold be an amazing boon
to accompany ourselves amidst others in rubble strewn cocoon
or perchance an arid extra dry spell blows humungous dune
donning any brave soul to weather
fierce-some dust bowl appearing like a ghoulish goon
vis a vis via global sand man disallowing any inhabitant 2b immune
whereat autumnal days will mimic those analogous to tropical June
day where nary a species of flora nor fauna,
which latter muffled cry viz Claire de lune
barely heard above the blindingly pitched
(scoring major lunar home run) when earth's moon
appeared to be batted, snatched, and whacked -
piñata like casting darkness at high noon
this out of other worldly debacle
(viz: a scene of apocalyptic, cosmic and epic rune
from twilight zone re: outer limits offsetting
sole millennial Gaia satellite believed rigged forever) -
which end of planetary status quo came soon
er than expected, accompanied by Gustav Holst eponymous tune
once Luna rung seismically, titanic ally uprooted, violently wrenched
prior to crash landing at ground zero rocked and rolled out of orbitz
before careering, and screaming thru the atmosphere
analogous to a near full term baby in utero yanked out of womb.
though the above dynamic gigantic jack-knifed
nihilistic quantum spectacular universal wreckage
sans the inner sphere of solar system
(known to mankind, when said creature, an outlier)
whence even amidst the early
bipedal hominids that throve a sage
no event (whether natural or caused by human error),
would compare neither cap cha, when are bit rage
emasculated, and wrought onto the terrestrial firmament
no way to measure nor gauge
the depth, length, and scope of total and
absolute value eradicating any trace of simian equipage
reducing the arrogant, conceited, ego-maniacal, dotage
boot far-fetched science fiction phenomena would
witness civilization captive in their own technological cage!
Form:
1Hundred6
1Hundred6
CharlaXFabels
Easter2
Christ Crucified.
The Cross
They took him from the crowd apart and nailed HIM both hands and feet unto the
instrument of torture the cross of Golgotha complete the scriptures had prophecy
concerning this event to complete the salvation of all of man. The LORD of all
creation hung and suffered ridicule and thirst and hunger of a different sort for
Heaven he was thirsty then. They cast lots upon his garment.
The prayers were hardly out left far behind when eye began to reap the benefits
of health improved my finances of wealth increase can be explained away by
fools but ewe we knoe the truth for JESUS gives. My target Heaven my wealth
health and all my food my found and scrounged and Easter egged 2 all come
forth from HIM. A Poor and sinfilled man quite given to the drink may lie and steal
and say he found it near his drink he “assumes someone has left it there” is
what he barks at the beertender the drunk outside may soon die from his
concussions the man left near the bathroom door he took a wooden batted
thatch knocked upon the drunken noggin put the man all out took from him his
wealthy purse to pay just for one more night out seeking oblivion again to drink
perchance to dream the detectives came to task the man for overall complaints
the thief he muttered “HOW? did you know that it was me ,yes? HOW?” Detective
Fabel was on the case he was pushing by the place the alleyway and heard the
cricket paddle whack the commoner went down he is bound to get better now in
the hospice we have found for him but you will only get worse in the old
hoosegow. The old banded man in the alleyway digging in the trash can has
more hope than you as they take the thief away the scrounger finds a basket full
of boiled eggs left there an Easter 2 colored all purple and white inside the
yellow yolk looking like a big surprise the color of a dandylion sunrise.
National Belt Time For The Bros
tell me this didn't happen
it did
lil bro and big bro are fast at it, again
two tapes, a plastic, a tennis ball, a golf ball
all batted by the bros onto the neighbors roof
across the street
bros are thinking what to do
what to do next
there's no more balls to play with
think, think
this is national past time
baseball, baseball
two outs in the ninth tie score
Kristina's looking on, blowing kisses to the both of us
she's our neighbor's daughter, when we grew up in Norway
she's fun, she's first base most of the time
bros come up with an idea
games still on
both look inside at dad's pool table
and grab a cue ball
hmm. it's white
nothings going to happen
bros say to themselves
no,no,no
oh please listen
this isn't happening, bros
your dad's recreation
where he invites all his friends for weekly pool games
no, stop
think, think ...
... the bros do think, somewhat
it's okay. dad won't know
angels, angels please zap them
stop them, stop them, please
before ...
it's too late
it's too late
big bros winding up,
leg high in the air
lil bro's in the batter's box
focusing on the sweet spot
the cue ball sails towards lil bro
a speeding bullet train
he swings with all his might, misses
big bros won, big bros won
hands high above in the air
oh, oh
there's a glass shattering sound
hands sadly sagging low now
see i told you
both bros look at the hole in the window
double panes of glass laughing at their youth
Kristina runs home, smart
both bros look at each other;
tears running down their faces
it's too late bros
thinking the obvious,
what were we thinking
yet in the heat of the moment
it was baseball
national pastime ...
until when dad arrived home ..
national past time hurt
let me tell you, let me tell you
it hurt the sweet spot
connie pachecho
2/17/17
Swaying and shuffling to the bathroom,
once again,
I hoped this time that I’d summon the wherewithal
to finally start my Saturday.
But my visit was bookended by
my usual return to bed.
The previous night’s tequila and IPA’s
had been reincarnated as leftover remnants of vomit that
spackled the roof of my mouth.
Voice deepened by hangover—
also made hoarse from
shouting over the bands, in the belly of the Roxian,
let out a groan
as I shifted in the cozy-yet-itchy cradle of the basement couch,
trying my best to avoid the irritating sunlight…
face shoved into the upholstery,
smothered by pillows.
Nose dizzied by the familiar scents of home
dulled and havocked by cigarette smoke from
Rudy’s High Dive,
where the bartender remembered I wanted to be a writer, as a kid,
but all the THC made it hard for me to remember what
I’d just said to him.
Just then, I was disturbed by
incessant tapping—frequent and forceful, like my offbeat attempts
at matching the rhythm of Donna the Buffalo
on the venue’s upper floor’s safety railing.
Seeing how ignoring it proved fruitless,
I dragged my body upstairs to find my dad.
He too was slumped on a sofa
safely transported to & from McKees Rocks
on his first ever Uber ride.
While I showered,
Timmy Z snooped around, eventually discovering
the culprit of the commotion:
a trapped woodpecker.
We armed ourselves with brooms
swatted, batted, and shooed,
dodging our feathery friend’s
maneuvers near our heads
as it flew out the door before company arrived.
"Judge not lest ye be judged yourself" Matthew 7:1
That phrase is appropriate.
I am who I am.
I am WHAT I am.
I make no bones about it.
I am a poet.
I write when I write.
I write what is in my head.
I write what is in my heart.
Some is fiction, some true.
Some of it is scenarios in my busy head.
Some is a dark. Some light.
Some perverse. Some nice.
I am a friend.
One who stands for what I believe.
Even if my friend is wrong, I stay
I am a lover.
Not in a physical sense.
But a lover I am just the same.
I am a child of God.
Just because I am NOT
A bible thumping, card carrying
Member of a particular church
DOES NOT make me any less
A daughter of God.
He knows my heart and
He loves me just the same.
I am tired of people looking
Down on me because I do
NOT live their way!!!
This is my life!!!
God gave it to me.
I refuse to be beaten anymore.
I refuse to have a husband
To take what is supposed to
Be a act of love and have it
Whenever and however he likes
It, no matter the hurt.
I refuse to be punching bag!
I refuse to be the wife that smiles
For all the world to see and pity
Because her husband is off screwing
The cute young woman that batted
Her darling eyelashes at him,
I have tattoos.
So what?
So what if I want to
Date a younger man?
I am a good person.
Take me as I am.
I am me and for ALL
Of you that judge, I am
NOT committing any sins.
The only sin I committed
Was believing I am worthy.
I know I am not.
But just because I am
Unworthy does not mean
That I can not have a life.
I will answer to God
In Heaven when My
Time comes.
He is the only one
EVER allowed to judge me.
"Judge not, lest ye be judged yourself" Matthew 7:1