Long Baying Poems
Long Baying Poems. Below are the most popular long Baying by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Baying poems by poem length and keyword.
Embarkation upon meditation...
Believe me you upon manifestation
regarding Das godaddy bing linkedin
with avast cosmic consciousness
self induced light hypnotic trance
I become enthralled
unless wife disrupts intent concentration
calling out "Matt...Matt...Matt"
bajillion times Googleplex
(slight hyperbole for literary effect),
subsequently courtesy
disembodied voices
deliver poetic inspiration
without forcefully summoned,
rather gently coax (zeal lust lee)
amidst Smokey and Bandits spiritus mundi
plethora of discordant
indistinct jabbering murmurs
requiring exacting golong strategy
kickstarting coalescence regarding
faintest hint analogously harboring
shipping news a boat
reeling in catch of the day
thus, fingers snakishly
slither skitter, sidle
at greased lightning pace
across Macbook Pro laptop keyboard
feverishly unleashing
unexpected brainstorming tsunami
recalling steely apothegm
strike while the iron iz hot,
thus such epiphany occurred
moments ago - in case
ye heard "Eureka" shouted
loud, free and clear
without moment to lose
yours truly brooked
stream of consciousness
ignoring flash flood warnings
slapped down one after another
figurative pontoon bridge
all the while skirting
eddies, whirlpools, fierce whitecaps
fortunately hauling unexpected
magnificent linkedin kindled
sense and sensibility
yours truly rendered speechless
(most time non verbal when writing),
additionally hodgepodge mashup
offers no rhyme nor reason,
yet burst of pooled
imponderable gushing silent spring
(courtesy ghost of Rachel Carson)
currently did flickr
demanding immediate typing
though poetic license expired
please don't tell commission,
nor chief word den
these unpredictable eruptions
(most likely indistinguishable
turkey in the straw gobbledygook
to the untrained eye),
rather good n plenti
camouflaged indecipherable creativity
(nope, not even practiced experts
keen on esoteric etymological arts)
stymied to understand)
mine swiftly styled harry tailored
gibberish oh baying avant
(to assign long sentence
upon Matthew Scott),
which "FAKE" premature ejaculation
incorporating poppycock mishmash
screened for your viewing discomfort
unbelievably came to this homeless tramp,
while he plodded across no man's land
with hud door hubble mojo risin.
Hakim. The Gatekeeper from Esagila.
(A lone voice whispers)
In ancient Babylon,
I once stood alone and mixed fire
Iron and clay
All day
Creating a spell
To entice my only light to come my way
Sent merchandise of gold and silver
To her,
The Pythoness of Endor
Hidden in dark woods
Over the deepest of rivers
Bundles of finest fresh linens and purple silk
To satisfy her and her ilk
Citron wood and every kind of object
I could ever find
Made of white ivory and black marble
Whenever I could
No matter the expense
Incense sticks
And scented Egyptian
Candlesticks
Made of expensive Frankincense
Delicious crates of red wine
Bamboo baskets filled with white flour and yellow wheat
Fields of fat cattle and herds of baying sheep
Priceless trained horses and golden inlaid chariots
New slaves of broken souls
Lascivious ladies and ravenous men
To do her bidding
Even acts of depravity
Linked to the forbidden
For the fruit of my soul
And to be joined to her again
A bright light
I once saw
On a seemingly endless night
But in the year 323
When my leader
Alexander the Great
At only 32
Died and was eternally set free
In the opulent palace of Nebuchadnezzar
She
The Lady of the Wild Woods
The Pythoness of Endor
Cursed me to chase her
Forever
The Queen
I once conjured by fire
Iron and clay
So today
In the 21st century
Her I still chase
Since eternal life
Is now my only penitentiary
My only great living version
Of Babylon of Old
When I desired to sire
A queen, I once met
Dancing
The Raqs Sharqi
So fiercely
That her raw beauty
I can never forget
Adorned in soft crimson and glittering purple linen
Clad in silver
Wearing gold and shining diamond stone earrings
Reborn into the likes of
Badiaa Masabni
It's why I still chase her
If I could confess
For underneath
Beneath all things linked to trying to achieve immortal strength
It's why now
To seek her out
Once more
I always choose to break free
From the external grip
Of The Valley of Death
(C)
Copyright John Duffy
I thought I knew a shortcut, a quick way through the wood
But I fear I missed a turning, for I knew not where I stood.
Unfamiliar and oppressive, which way should I go
Trees I'd never seen before, tracks I didn't know.
It was late in the afternoon, the light was getting dim
I was lost and frightened, panic was setting in.
Then I heard a barking dog, I thought maybe a farm
If I head in it's direction then I should be safe from harm.
I found myself before a wall, It had a mighty gate.
I loudly rapped upon it, it was dark and getting late.
The gate it slowly opened, and there a figure stood.
I cried "thank God I found you,I was lost deep in the wood."
"Then I heard your dog, as he barked and barked again"
He bade me in to meet his hound, saying "Cerberus was it's name."
Oh the relief I felt, my anxiety it now eased
Glad to have his company, I was feeling rather pleased.
He beckoned so I followed, down a darkened track
I could hear the creaking gate as it closed behind my back.
I was feeling nervous now, for the figure hardly spoke
I felt it getting warmer, there was the acrid smell of smoke.
We headed to an entrance, from whence came an orange glow.
I thought, ah that's why it's so warm, there's a fire on the go.
I said, "Sir I'd like to thank you, it was kind to take me in"
He said, "what is this you speak of, you're here to answer for your sins"
"Do you not see the flames, can you not smell the smoke,
You're about to enter Hades," laughing as he spoke.
"No I cried I was lost, this was not my fate"
He said, "your soul belonged to me, once you knocked upon my gate"
He said, "But let us wager, let us have a bet
You set off running, then I'll release my pet.
'If you outrun Cerberus, my three headed hound
He will not cross the gate, for he guards the underground.
Off I set running, my feet were but a blur
I had to beat this hellhound, this slavering demonic cur.
I reached the gate, I staggered through, then fell upon the ground
I turned, the gate was closing, there stood the baying hound.
Then I saw the signpost showing me the way,
I heard the devil laughing, he'd had his fun today..
"conjoined with the whole
we play our life role
exuding a scent
granting love consent"
We burble and bubble likes ripples in a swift current.
It's our role in life, but not everything can we control.
We scowl and frown, howl and drown in sorrow
like wolves baying on full moon nights.
When fright fills us, lips quiver, praying to the life giver
for one more year, one more month, another day.
Our world darkens to gray as we try to get away
from the enemy ~ fear ~ from which we beg deliverance.
Another moment of breathing, of loving is what we desire,
but to a leaf, it's the length of its entire existence.
As a bud, a sprig of green, each one begins to grow.
Does it know how little time it has before its demise?
Is there the slightest significance given
to hands of a clock when a leaf is oblivious to time.
Spring is the birthing season and like us in youth,
young at heart, but quickly its skin ages
supple becomes wrinkled, opaque fades to translucent.
The way of the leaf as autumn encroaches
is to change color, day by day as Fall approaches.
From green to crimson, russet and gold
while in grief, its story is being told.
Our dark tresses lighten to gray, but
peace can be found in the way of the leaf
across a sea of color, on the ground they've fallen...
tumbling from dawn to dusk in autumnal winds.
Nature gives its consent for leaves to fall
as hearts give us the direction to find love we seek.
Life can have the sweet scent of a flower,
but how long will it last for the rose or for us?
There's nothing more the leaves or we can do
but prepare to be whisked away, withered
from the limb of its tree or for us from those we love.
Our roots are shallow, but to the ground returned.
Mortality feeds on grief.
It is the way of the leaf ~ their belief is that life must end.
There's nothing that will amend life's predacious call,
but if we could we'd uncork a Dom Perignon '61.
What will be in my heart when it beats for the last time?
Who will be in my thoughts when I take my last breath?
I'll not end this line with the rhyming word... not even in a whisper.
fo'c·'sle /'fohksel/ noun deriv: forecastle
1. the forward part of a ship below the deck, traditionally used as the crew's living quarters.
2. historical: a raised deck at the front of a ship.
With the equinox illuminating a fortnight of recovery
On pelts spread like Ionian jars left askew,
My flame-keep sparked alight against the doldrums of
Greed. Stagnant and fetid.
My bark beats out a call stretched
Skin-tight over the sea’s virgin core
And sets trust aflame.
Ashes collected into the collated casks and
Corked with animus, Moon Girl pounded on.
Drumming a dirge on the tanner's own flesh.
Pounding the seed of echoing hope.
Pounding the corpus beat of life anew.
Those echoed my own harmony and emptied my ears.
My tunes would now be true and crisp.
My struggle to syncopate the middle eight
Was like on the saltchuck the time before.
Before we crossed the bar,
Breakers chasing, pounding aft of stern.
Now in the glow of the coal oil lamp
Sat The Dane who came to trade.
He mumbled a Chinookian curse and winced.
He sensed my mariner's cred, how I lit my smoke;
Muscle memory and addiction married in my subconscious.
But His eyes would never sense the venomous flow
Of the seabreak distant,
Like hounds baying to the highway of stars
And up to the dunes ran with phosphorescent faces
Fermenting the blackness.
Hell-hounds bounding.
Lungs pounding.
Driving on.
River may lick Disappointment’s shanks
But Drake’s gold remains unfound.
The cavities carved along the capes
Echo an emptied ethos and sapped spirit
Which salal and sage cannot clense.
Walk with me now Sister Ilchee.
Beat your dirge
Along the pock-marked ports of plunder
Laid before the flattened corpse of
Ebbing freedom found.
I dwell in desolation, damned in a fathomless abyss.
What sin have I committed to live a life such as this?
Without a window I cannot gaze upon stars above.
What hope is there for me to ever find the one I love?
Shall I never again feel the tenderness of his kiss?
Fear is an onerous anchor, dragging me further down.
I am filled with anguish knowing that I shall drown.
I scream aloud, but no wanderers respond to my voice.
For just a tiny glint of sunlight, I would gladly rejoice!
Am I to die here shrouded in this filthy tattered gown?
If loneliness is an ailment, I languish on my deathbed,
clamoring with hope to be heard by someone overhead.
Again, I shout, "What have I done to merit such an end?"
Silence, my answer from these depths I shall not ascend.
My life now tethered to the clemency of a fraying thread.
The pale silhouette of death hovers near me in the deep.
Its frigid fingers chill the marrow in my bones as I weep,
daring the courage to ask; Does my torturer live within?
Is it destiny or fate who strokes the strings of her violin
as a requiem for me in the shadows of this prison keep?
Doubt pervades my brooding senses in this muted space.
I know not why I've been confined in calamitous disgrace.
What price am I to pay, and how many nightmares more
before I am released and depart through freedom's door?
Am I never again to feel the passion of my lover's embrace?
An animal I shall become, a lone wolf howling in the night,
baying at a moon I cannot see, nor the glimmers of starlight.
If I shall not glean sunrise and feel its warmth tomorrow,
then a kneeler I shall be, begging an angel if I may borrow
her wings to liberate me from this dismal dungeon's plight.
October 28, 2022 ~ 2022 Marathon Mile 18 Contest
Sponsored by Mark Toney
December 6, 2021
"A Shout Into The Void" Contest
Sponsored by Edward Ibeh
now we come to the taboo part of our presentation
in which the secret of all time will be revealed
to those who wish to understand understanding
characters arranged in uncharacteristic sequence
a nice little codification on toasted bagel
hitched to the static measurement wagon
so many pretty numbers so subdivisable
into both shape and penetrated substance
down where the cognitive revolutions
splash about cageless canaries preening in song
what is it we perceive if not dimension
floating upon a squirming ocean of magnitudes
of enormous potential in zero space
is pretty much it see not so difficult
10,000 years of hocus pocus gurus
couldn't begin to tell you this eye to eye
being knee deep in spirit and guesswork
and various intuitive instruments of torture
while still thinking in 3 color caricatures
mystery on her own is something to bother about
this assessment brought to you by the same 10k
a constant ball park estimate for side arm pitchers
following the contours of the cracks in that great glass
where the buzzword signal meter needles
are perpetually evermore bouncing off the peg
trying to tell a story that hasn't been told before
to your narrator who is all ears all the time
bringing the reign of the ephemeral cortex
to the light of day much to everyone's disgust
irretrievably drawn to the abandonment of ornament
and their many delicate sedimentations
chased by a brace of Tennessee blueticks
baying like a steam whistle spitting sparks
assured of the one validated certainty
the wax was melting off his wings
apparently this is not a trial run
with God whispering in my big bunny ear
you probably want to be like me right
the wavy haired platinum blond at his elbow
adds a lascivious every day has its price
naturally I had to agree and nodded heedfully
knowing a single sliver of the future
the bogs will take them
As the clear light rises higher
Illuminating fog
Humidity from Friday's rain.
Thicker down in the bog
Ole hound dog is baying a prey
He yelps for hours today
I don't understand how he sees
Even a squirrel at play
Ole hound dog uses his sense of smell
To get that squirrel treed
Then in the quietness I hear
Another dog answers his plead
The fog quite heavy in low places
The dove's coos vibrate on
There is something unsettling
Maybe not as active in tone
That hound is getting annoying
He needs a little nap
The roosters can hardly be heard
To bridge musical gap
The sound of a hummingbird is brief
As he seeks some flowers
Drink nectar to sate his appetite
Though no hibiscus bower
Hibiscus a delicious meal
Now bees come in burst or waves
To feed from begonias and moss
Their buzz is heard then fades
My hands are hurting as I write
Even with arthritis cream
Which does seem to ease the pain
Freedom only a dream
God grant me the insight to seek
The Great Physician, and not complain
Unlock my heart to the beauty here
And anchored in You remain.
2 Corinthians 4: 16 (NET) Therefore, we do not despair, but even if our physical body is wearing away, our inner person is being renewed day by day.
2 Corinthians 4:14-16
Amplified Bible
14 knowing that He who raised the Lord Jesus will also raise us with Jesus and will present us [along] with you in His presence. 15 For all [these] things are for your sake, so that as [God’s remarkable, undeserved] grace reaches to more and more people it may increase thanksgiving, to the glory of [our great] God.
16 Therefore we do not become discouraged [spiritless, disappointed, or afraid]. Though our outer self is [progressively] wasting away, yet our inner self is being [progressively] renewed day by day.
Written: July 2, 2022
(It’s Simply Now) A Matter of When
Verse: I’m phoning up a lawyer, I can’t take this anymore
the whiskey and the women keep pouring out the door
You’re staying out ‘til sunrise, then sleeping in till noon
so you can do your baying by the light of the moon.
Chorus: This can’t go on forever
so I’m through debating whether
Now it’s no longer if!
It’s simply now a matter of when.
Verse: I’d wish you’d turbocharge my bed the way you do your car
Peeling out the driveway, leaving tread marks on the tar
spend the Sabbath watching every pigskin taking flight
If I speak or interrupt you, then I’m picking one more fight.
Chorus: This can’t go on forever
so I’m through debating whether
so it’s no longer if!
It’s simply now a matter of when.
Break: Forgive me Lord for thinking what I know to be a sin
Yet every single day you see the predicament I’m in
Verse: I can’t endure your buddy who shows up here like a slob
to lubricate your liver while I’m dressing for my job
You don’t really need a wife, but you sure could use a keeper
I’m pretty sure that pretty soon you’re meeting with the reaper
Chorus: This can’t go on forever
so I’m through debating whether
so it’s no longer if!
It’s simply now a matter of when.
Break 2: But this man has really driven me right over the edge
Should I end him with a pillow or a twenty pound sledge?
Verse: When you think I’m sleeping and you whisper on the phone
Another night is coming when you’ll leave me all alone
Last night, another hussy, just 21 and married twice
You’ve handing out the sugar while you’re sparing me the spice.
Chorus: This can’t go on forever
so I’m through debating whether
so it’s no longer if!
It’s simply now a matter of when.
(Spoken): MAYBE I’LL DO IT TONIGHT! Finis
When I spotted Saint George in a van,
I feared that his horse might be lame.
Or worse, in a Doggomeat can,
when hurt in some chivalric game.
Saint George, it appeared was not happy,
now carried around in this way.
He used to dress well and quite snappy,
with armour and sword on display.
It didn’t seem right, when I saw him,
in wellies and minus a hat.
I expect my Saint to be trim,
not looking like some bureaucrat.
“You there!” said Saint George to a swain,
“I need you to help with my quest.
They’re wanting a Dragon thing slain,
because it’s becoming a pest.”
“Noble Saint, may it please you to hark,
‘tis Ramblers and Naturalists Day.
They’re swarming all over his Park
and demanding a new Right of Way.”
“Yon Dragon is hid in his cave,
all cringing from lads and the lasses.
He claims he’s no longer so brave,
when facing the wrath of the masses.”
The Saint then climbed back in his banger,
but soon got it stuck in the mud.
He next was assailed by the clamour
of peace keepers baying for blood!
The Entrance, he got a surprise,
when told he must purchase a ticket.
‘For seeing a Dragon who cries,
when hiding behind a small thicket!’
Saint George soon fastened his tabard,
(of bio-degradable tin),
then drew out his gun from its scabbard
and gingerly ventured within.
“Brave Saint! You have come and will save me,
before I am forced back to crime
or ghastly do-gooders enslave me.
Thank goodness you’ve got here in time.”
“I’ve finished all Dragonly trades
and prisoners now been released.
I love little children and maids.
My fire fighting days are all ceased.
Saint George said, “I must go ahead.
This isn’t the world as we knew it.
The age of old Chivalry’s dead.”
He pointed his gun – and he slew it!
~
For Judy's "Hail to the Dragon Slayer' Competition.