Long Beading Poems
Long Beading Poems. Below are the most popular long Beading by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Beading poems by poem length and keyword.
Balzac is beading,
Robespierre is reading,
Introversion I am needing,
Reflections I am heeding,
In old bat cave central,
Like an ancient Sybil, hypothetical,
Wisdom is supposed to come with age,
As Balzac turns his own page,
Why am I more religious than the Pope?
Can any faith give Earthlings hope?
Better than folk smoking dope!
If you have problems embarrassing,
Bring them here for my listening,
Sage advice I am providing,
Reflections I am heeding,
Yes, boys, beer understands,
How did dinosaurs make it in Pleistocene lands?
Answer: They didn't, for beer, no hands,
Yes, reflections I am heeding,
Humans are minute cosmic specks, spinning,
on a pebble in Outer Space, clinging,
If gravity didn't suck, we'd all be floating,
Reflections I am heeding,
As Robespierre shall keep reading,
Then Balzac shall be beading.......
Today I cut my beading class.
I didn’t feel like going;
But there will be no consequences
Due to my not showing.
I will not get detention
Or some points off from my grade,
Though of course it will take longer
For my bracelet to get made.
It reminds me of the feeling
When I struck out on my own
And became aware each choice I made
Was mine and mine alone.
Beer and nacho chips for dinner
With some ice cream on the side?
There was no one there to tell me
My decisions were denied.
So today I played some hooky,
Not my usual routine,
But at times it’s nice to feel again
Like being seventeen!
A living corpse breathes on the bed
Light and Death cool the sweat
Beading on the forehead of blank
Centuries heeding on greed and a
Invisible monster numbered in the book
Of souls misting in the laughter of science
Come now the voices
Coo and be reborn into the bleeding
Tapestry of blood and violence
Sex and death pulse from the atom
Bombs and the makers of worlds destroy
The color like lead throats choking
On the beauty of a balmy window soothing
The pain in psalms ruptures butterflies and bees
In the breeze of yellow summer lying in haze
White sheets wrapped in murders’ dingy
Rooms fading windows lust stabbing
Each heartbeat a vision of nothing
-ness and the lyric of one more soft
meal and the murmur of crowds chanting
the name of digital songs evoking Gods
dead in the commerce of equations stocks
falling in the channels of streets babbling
from scabs of dreams dry and broken the
bread is poisoned words empty cupboards
crumbed with the myth of laurelled paradise…
Soul of one's life, does it live to exist
Perhaps emotional wreck of many desires breath
Love, hate, judgement to feel as if thought
Undying voice controlling journey of life
You can not kill for its idealistic
Realities truth to honesty in a race
Can not hide, darkness depths can't contain
Even the unkind feel it eating for something
True, one does have heart behind deadly eyes
What is it we look for in life fulfillment
Except that in everything love be found
Is what breathe a heart felt momentarily vison of what could be
Where soul is not but just molecule times passing
Dying away in mist glaze of comet's tail
Why is it we thrive on deaths door
A broken heart aches, unwanted edge to fall
To bury its pain, search of its touch
Why does it hurt so deeply felt, wanting
Even not to love, anguish breaks my being
The scent, unnoticed call to an attraction
Body race in enthusiastic rage of impulse
Salt droplets of love's passion beading the skin
Love, many levels we can experience
Even fall out of love we have lasting bond
I know you feel me, I love you also
Love's beating, takes a licking and never sleeps
Tic, tic, love; emotional or nature of our being
We were like smoke rings in the way that our bodies curled around one another, wisps of lovers' cries intermingled with the ecstasy we once discovered
We were all arms, legs, hands and fingertips, two people became one on that night that isn’t supposed to exist
We both let down our guards, the walls that we had once built up, just so that we could feel the way we made each other feel, with the release, the fire within, the rush
We couldn’t seem to get close enough, it’s almost as though we wanted to live within one another, lips touching places upon my skin that are only meant for you, my lover
We were wrapped up inside a whirlwind of nothing but pure bliss, and you were like a breath of fresh air entering my lungs once I touched your luscious lips
I can almost still feel the sweat beading up upon my skin, I can almost hear your whispers in my ear your breath depicting that you’re sated, but wanting nothing more than to go again
I can make my mind conjure up the memory of your handsome face, and I can almost taste the sweetness that you chose to erase
All in a wisp of smoke like a magician’s trick you disappeared, and I have nothing but the scent of you that lingers on me once the smoke has cleared.
I'm in the house all alone.
(She is no where near alone in this house.)
I hear the ringing of the phone.
(And believe me its not just a mere mouse.)
I answer, but oddly there is no one there.
(Not even a dial tone, will she hear on the line.)
I think this is more than the average scare.
(When this is over, not even her body, they'll find.)
I hang up and turn around, eyes open wide.
(My decaying corpse I shall let her see.)
I realize suddenly I'm trapped inside.
(Tell whomever you want, but no one will believe.)
Even though I'm locked inside, I still try to flee.
(I slam the door, there is no escape here!)
Oh why, oh why won't this ghost let me free?
(Oh how I love the smell of her fear!)
Oh Lord I wish I could take back that night.
(She should never have been drinking.)
When I ran her down in drunken delight.
(What was wrong with her, what was she thinking?)
I got out of the car to see what I had hit.
(I lay on the road a crumpled heap.)
In my stupor I pick her up so I can take her to a fresh dug pit.
(She throws me carelessly in the back of her Jeep.)
I now see for the wrong I've done I MUST make amend.
(Breathing hard with sweat beading on her forehead.)
I grab my chest as my life suddenly comes to an end.
(Eye for an eye we're even now that she too, is dead.)
For the Duo's Game, Thanks John Loving III for tapping us!!! Sandra Hudson & Sami
Al-Khahili, You both are next!
~
Cross water stories
beckon with pictures of auras,
glowing symbols of that dream
cast aside long ago
on a wayward stone,
flushed of soft banks
and cattails swaying
in synchronized movements
Winding down some unforgotten stream
where rivers meet oceans
and waves conjure thoughts
of rhythmic bystanders
wishing you well
as you float to that island,
where days last forever
and heart shaped seashells
bloom amidst the sand
Where the footprints you follow
are hers leading toward you
beneath a Mardi Gras sun
beading sweat on glistening bodies,
sun tanned symphonies
wallow in the warm breezes
while aquamarine desires
coming with the tide,
drench you with love
bringing out the garbage.
not in bags but inside boxes.
smells so bad.
books and all my bull.
bristles.
barely able to breathe.
baked in butane.
burning it all into oblivion.
banished borders.
barriers.
brine and bristle.
bursting.
buried in the backyard.
benign, yet blasphemous.
bouts of boredom begin again.
blended with bacteria.
biting at my brain.
a billion bits of alphabet.
but none is ever submit.
betting I’ll never be bred again.
bed beckons.
but there’s a therein.
biting.
bleeding out in barometers.
blisters.
blasting me for a burial of bliss.
besides what’s better?
borderline or bipolar?
not sure anymore about it.
breaking bullets.
bits of bone in a barrel.
but I’ll begin again.
bustling.
bludgeoning.
blossoming.
becoming a beast like beating.
breath bleating.
retreating into the bleak.
black holes.
buttoning up my best dress.
breast beading.
leading to a baked out feeling.
no one believes in.
bibles on the battalion bar.
brittle from the battle but bustling.
by the by I’ll buy it all back.
then pry it open from behind.
it’ll be back.
brackish but boiling like butter.
brother doesn’t bother.
before it breaks into bitty bits.
bit into by the bitten.
backstabbing.
besting all others besides Bukowski.
perhaps Blake.
for Christ’s sake baptized.
but bound by some Beelzebub.
blessed be the blind.
because they know not beauty.
but it’s 6 a.m. baby.
is that our breakfast baking?
eggs Benedict and bacon.
biscuits with gravy.
it’s all over anyway but the blues—
Mist moved over the river flats,
beading cobwebs along the fence.
By dusk, raindrops gathered
and danced in the dust,
each small impact
summoning a hundred more.
By dawn, their bright insistence
drummed on every roof,
swelling down into the river
until it forgot its banks.
Freed from its borders,
the flood rushed to the lowest point—
the open cut.
It crossed the service road,
slipped past rusted gates,
and filled the excavation.
It lifted the warning signs,
worried black silt from the seams,
carried the company’s name away.
As the rain slowed,
a wetland took shape,
mirroring the sky—
a chorus of warbling and croaking fills the air.
Brenda and Banron bounced slowly on his boat
as the brilliant sun sparkled brightly on the glistening water.
Big and burly he was the boy she sought after in her book.
She smiled bravely as his battered pole slipped smoothly
through the babbling blue surf leaving the sand far behind.
"But why have you brought me to this barren sad place?" Brenda spoke.
Banron sized her up, staring blankly into her soft beryl eyes.
"It is seven leagues beyond the barrier reef that we are bound," he said.
Sea gulls skimmed lazily across the bow of the bobbing boat
as it slowly yet bullheadedly sloshed sprays of salty brine
into brackish basins starting to fill under the benches where they sat.
The sun was intense, battering her senses and beading sweat on her bosom.
"You better take me back Banron," she stated as their destination drew near.
The breeze blew stiff from the opening in a cliff soothing her hot breast
as butterflies stressed the bile in her bubbling stomach making her want to barf.
Believing Banron simply saw her for her body enticed her emotions,
but now she stirred self consciously as he gazed at her from beneath his brutish brow.
As the boat smoothly slid into the cave, before her she beheld a dark brackish stream
"You don't seem to understand beautiful Brenda, I am not Banron, I am Chanron the boatman
and before you lies the river Styx, now, one silver coin, if you please, my sweet baby."
09/19/16