Long Blaine Poems
Long Blaine Poems. Below are the most popular long Blaine by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Blaine poems by poem length and keyword.
Rage, despair, grief, devastation and regret, flowing like
hot lava spewing out from a volcano through my veins,
pushing out my red hot blood onto this white leaf;
For suddenly and without any fair warning came,
an enormous black cloud that stationed itself overhead and
obstructed the sun from my first redwood seed in sprout
and with a great fury it released a violent torrent of rain,
drenching it completely, until alas my sapling did drown.
My budding redwood tree, destroyed before its time,
the damage is irrevocable and my sapling is no more.
Like a cannon ball shot from its cannon, fire shoots
from my mouth with all fierceness and in rage I roar….
“Who really is to blame for this unfathomable demise of
my precious sapling, my budding grand redwood tree?
Was it the black cloud with its tools of destruction or
the lack of assiduousness of those with their expertise?”
Yes, regretfully my sapling was not planted by the stream.
As a seed, in ignorance it was sown upon soil rocky and dry;
yet against all odds, my seed sprouted with some foliage,
but its roots did not run deep and so with the specialist I relied
to care and strengthen it so it could withstand the bad elements.
Sadly, they were specialists with an expert eye that could not see,
they were worthless and of no avail, lacking the assiduity needed,
for their eyes, mind and heart were blinded by their own greed.
Rage, despair, grief, devastation and regret, flowing like
hot lava spewing out from a volcano through my veins,
pushing out my red hot blood onto this white leaf.
For the black cloud is now set above me like a fixed stain,
with all might I struggle to escape it’s dreadful grip, but
still it hovers over me obstructing the sun from my days,
releasing a torrent of pain and in the agony of my loss it
drenches me and the answers to my questions are still opaque.
Oh...but take heed all you with your degree, my roots run deep,
I will not drown and like a raging bull I push forward so valiantly
for the lucidity of the answers, lucid as a glass made of crystal;
all for the love of my departed budding grand redwood tree.
Written by: Joan Marie Peranteau
copy written May 3, 2014
Dedicated to and written in regards to my beloved son;
Nathaniel Blaine Gibson
I only be looking down now, looking inside myself now,
not head set in defeat but reflection, not the thoughts but the actual events that happened, wild flower child, yea right boom boy im a power plant, a quater-back serving audibles, wide-receivers run em in slants, run deep, swapping the rythym up, call it skill or pronounce them fiery darts of the devil, replay read a lot of fake words, deploy nothing but truths that carry troops, dead-zone drop-off swing wide scrape the danger, winged right there then, repairs upmost respected like I have a strong command of the english langauge, a strong sense of honor, PoW's plenty of wise men, plenty that u couldnt challenge on the battlefield, u better be ready to die when you walk in their battallion, Feel the valance the stealth, feel nothing feel what you feel wether its false politics American Goverment, I dont condemn my country, American people be the damn blindest, conditionally unseasoned , refutedly would he die in that war man? Well im a black speck in his eyes dying where ever it dont make a ****, you think a soldier gives a damn about being remembered, nah its about fighting your hardest, living longer, having your friends back, perfecting that last love letter, asking God for guidance, as waiting for it, Command given stretch the ammunition, permissions only to use your intuition, now i put a disatant on that idea's be balanced if you spot it u got it, six strikes 3 terrible battle plans, instructions be on a good heart. we life size- we realize it. we competition cams with a lope pulling deeper compression, true intentions blow up in your mind like mushroom clouds, like the repurcussion was a blast to the laws broken in an accident, cheap shells cheap never be Blaine c cheap s sweetlies b bashing breaking *****es, bullstrong. balls with the brillance, beautiful blows, brainstorming, bulls of bashan beaware the wheel of furtune turns quick ask me I slip out simple vibes I be on top soon. blanks broken hollypoints I keep one jax in the chamber, Bang baby I still hit hard with the power, bang *****es blaine me, can u blame me? Straight and narrow , not like in a false form, warfront back on a warhorse, back on the foremost thoughts of a man with a decision to make..
Form:
Cuba…Mamma Mia…like most of the Caribbean; part of the 1492 slam…
Slavery, sugar plantations… invasions, upheaval, independence…
Then the American kisses; with a slight twist…who initiated the ’disses’…?
Was it Blaine…is he insane…?
Was it Marti…the heart of the party…?
Or Teller…many say he was the real speller…
Or Estrada Palma…could he have been the calmer…?
Was it San Martin…any questions of his parting…?
Or was it Batista…is he the real twister…?
With his interwove of expansion…then stagnation and dissatisfaction…
Coupled with his increased economic regulation plan…
Was this the spike for the revolution…?
Enter Castro; was he the real maestro…his thoughts, his plans; communize the land…?
Centralize, non-democratize…ostracize, reorganize…
The politics…were they laden in tricks…?
The CIA; not here to stay… but what role did they play…?
When they realize the RAF size…what will they emphasize…?
With great plans to defeat…did they end in retreat…?
Now with Eisenhower…speculations of a great shower…
But after only months…fixation shift to ouster hunts…
Severed diplomatic relations…the new sensation…
Impositions of trade embargo…the ‘Fargo’ in my cargo…?
The ‘Bay of Pigs’…will you understand the gigs…?
The ‘Cuban Missile Crisis’…what was this Tri-fit…?
The military games…were these substances in flames…?
For a superpower war…or the everlasting scars…?
Of suppression, political persecution…migration, and interventions…
In Angola, and Ethiopia…from Nicaragua to North Africa…
To the Congo…to some say; ‘Jah Mek Yah’…?
Cooperation with Russia…was this the real crusher…?
The mid-eighties…the beginning of their ending gaiety’s…?
The dissolving of the Soviet Union…continuation of the country’s isolations…
Reduced rations…the new fashion…
Unpainted buildings…now the in-thing…
Old vehicles with limited repairs…any scares…?
Lack of electricity…did it colour the ethnicity…?
A country on the verge…is there a new urge…?
Tourist attraction…one logical concoction…
Amidst the flow…of system many Cubans know…
The US now attests…it is in the country’s interest…
Cuba has withstood the test…put the embargo to rest…?
Alas; my maternal love couldn’t save you my beloved son, hence;
in excruciating pain, I shed an ocean of tears asking why.
Was my love not enough or was it too much? Too much that you,
couldn’t live without it or not enough, that you needed much more to thrive?
From my breast you suckled the pure and warm milk of nurturing,
then proudly I weaned you, to spoon feed you the solid foods of this life.
Gently but with reluctance, I nudged you from our protective nest,
although you tried with all your might, maybe you weren’t ready to fly.
Alas; my maternal care couldn’t heal your inner wounds my son, hence;
in extreme anguish, I search for the answer to the question why.
Was my care not enough or was it too much? Too much that you,
couldn’t live without it or not enough, that you needed much more to thrive?
I gave you my compass to direct your steps, on the roads that you would tread and
my lamp filled with oil to light up your way, on life’s lonely and dark rough paths.
Salves, balms and essential oils of my love, to your wounds I would often spread,
but sadly I suppose, it was all for naught, your inner wounds were much to vast.
Alas; my deep maternal love couldn’t save you my beloved son, hence;
until the day we embrace again, I shall be haunted by the question why.
Was my love not enough or was it too much? Too much that you,
couldn’t live without it or not enough, that you needed much more to thrive?
By: Joan Marie Peranteau
Copy written March 2014
Written for and dedicated to my first born, my beloved son,
Nathaniel Blaine Gibson
Who fell asleep, a deep sleep on February 19 2014, and will continue to sleep until the resurrection.
So until we embrace again, he is in Jehovah God’s memory and care.
However; while we wait for that time to embrace him again, our hearts are heavy with sorrow and with missing him, there are no words to express how much.
Form:
December 14, 1982
* A piercing scream echoes throughout the basement*
"What is that?!" I shriek
"Well this one is a scapel, this one is a bone saw, and this one is a crowbar," says Blaine, "hahaha, I don't really know which one is my favorite, but when I figure it out that's the one i'll use".
"Use on me? Why? What did I do for you to want to kill me?" I say with eyes full of tears.
"OH BRONTE LIKE YOU DON'T KNOW!" he yells, " ugh I hate when you make me yell, and first i'm going to torture you Then i'm going to kill you! hah and sense you want to know why i'm going to kill you, the reason is because you claim not to love me....so since you don't love me...you won't get the chance to love anyone else.haha"
"But,but Blaine", I stammer desperately, "I do love you!"
Oh I'm sure you do now...but I remember you telling me that you really just don't love me. Ahhh hahaha found it, we'll start with the bone saw."
(Saw turned on)
"Please!" I scream helplessly. "Please someone help!"
December 7,1982
"Look Blaine, I don't think its gonna work out, ya know, you and me, so I think we should start seeing other people", I say reluctantly.
"But....but don't you love me?" Blaine says with that weird look that just makes me skin crawl! Thats why I have to break up with this creepy guy now.
"I love you..."
"No Blaine", I say mater-of- fact like , " I really do not love you".
" Oh ok that's fine then I guess", he says with a weird look in his eyes. "I'm sure you'll change your mind or I'll help you change it".
"Huh?" I say
"Nothing Bronte, I gotta go but I'll see you around....."
Form:
December 14, 1982
* A piercing scream echoes throughout the basement*
"What is that?!" I shriek
"Well this one is a scapel, this one is a bone saw, and this one is a crowbar," says Blaine, "hahaha, I don't really know which one is my favorite, but when I figure it out that's the one i'll use".
"Use on me? Why? What did I do for you to want to kill me?" I say with eyes full of tears.
"OH BRONTE LIKE YOU DON'T KNOW!" he yells, " ugh I hate when you make me yell, and first i'm going to torture you Then i'm going to kill you! hah and sense you want to know why i'm going to kill you, the reason is because you claim not to love me....so since you don't love me...you won't get the chance to love anyone else.haha"
"But,but Blaine", I stammer desperately, "I do love you!"
Oh I'm sure you do now...but I remember you telling me that you really just don't love me. Ahhh hahaha found it, we'll start with the bone saw."
(Saw turned on)
"Please!" I scream helplessly. "Please someone help!"
December 7,1982
"Look Blaine, I don't think its gonna work out, ya know, you and me, so I think we should start seeing other people", I say reluctantly.
"But....but don't you love me?" Blaine says with that weird look that just makes me skin crawl! Thats why I have to break up with this creepy guy now.
"I love you..."
"No Blaine", I say mater-of- fact like , " I really do not love you".
" Oh ok that's fine then I guess", he says with a weird look in his eyes. "I'm sure you'll change your mind or I'll help you change it".
"Huh?" I say
"Nothing Bronte, I gotta go but I'll see you around....."
Now listen close to these tangles that we have involved in
As we evolve now, I'm just hoping that i can last longer
If I can program my mind into, as fast as a mind has ever gone before
If I tell myself I will never win, then i will continue to lose in my sin
But Thank GOD that Lo came to save me
Even though I'm so sinful it's kinda crazy
It's the definition of insanity
Your talking to the man who answers you
Along with these anthems that have been handed me
Your trophy and proof of a better hand than me
Now these can be like the Macabee's
We can chase the end of the world and see who's at the end now
Oh! there goes the after death, Now here comes the after life
Just stay focused and don't ask your wife
For a yes! for a no! or for a maybe
just listen to these lullaby's like i was singing to a baby
Name me! Please name me! If it's Timothy Blaine then it's all gravy
Now these are not navies, these are not armories
These are just the things that be trying to harm me
Now evil can be like a swarm of bees
You can look down on me but don't you try to swarm on me
Now hold up! I'm not trying to be
something I'm not, I'm just trying to see
My kids by January
Because December's looking very scary
It's a hell of a month, it started out rough
Now we're hitting up into a rough
Now we're hitting into a sandpit
Better get my sand wedge before i ban this
Yes it's the whole world and it's the baddest
System you ever been into now I'm saddened
By the catastrophe that i have endured
By the tragedy that i have supported
still I rise still i live here still a small part of me dies everyday
say what yellow wont say, when feds come felons say, what the hell, oh well , felons fell, bounce back,be very fast, be clean like glass , clear as i pass countless familar with the airwaves, my ball lands on the fairway, kick that ***** in the rough, pick my path choose decide as treacherous as this life is, as my girl be right there, trinity sounds nice well, lands with lights on a dark path,dark matter crys out, my mother prays more, my heart swells no pride boy, take that no bribes boy,dead serious furious, call me a vapor, call me a maybe, disapataion seen who I dont know, been Fed dressed in gold medals, been best on both golds , still i press on, see so well very cold, so dead on, so u wanna get feresh, match that i pour a gallon in your face *****, pass down turn down, go left and be aware, be a southern when i got a man crush by gladiators, man them post unnoticed, salm baby down the sale, announce painpronounce blaine, be hard in the heart still, be all about the scars, shine some dye the sorrow, be a friend of mine, be a stone when still i feel like coming in for kills, oh a narc, dont start, drift my wrist as i spell, 3 kinds of hell, snatch badass ,
Battered Blaine down in the rain.
And kept still in the winter’s chill.
Sudden appetites and several sour fights.
His moods distorted by the pain.
Seasons came and swirled the same.
Inside his brain, a sickly change.
At the will, of the world ‘s exchange.
Slept in sap and cloaked in shadow.
Amongst the sorry sights that drained him.
Deep in thought he stayed, inside a numbing claim.
Repeating his name, as the rain turned to snow.
Restless and weighted, he fell into cravings.
Worthless and hopeless, empty and shame.
Silently, he shouldered all the blame.
Irritable from inability, he lied alone.
Lied to those he loved, lied of his state.
And lied in the embrace of nature’s disgrace.
Until a tone rang from his phone.
A message to remind him of himself.
Which broke the haze of frozen plight.
And brought him back into the light.
He soon rested near a common man’s fire.
An electric heater, with a lamp above him.
Nestled in a blanket with his phone in hand.
He took his medicine and began to aspire.
To soothe his moods and mend his wrongs.
He would not give into his disorder’s might.
Instead, he would remember his light.
In the Southwest of Scotland
Marin county Argyle-shire
Extends a narrow mass of land
Known only as Kintyre
A certain mull on which is known
What sea the eye adore
As glitter to a rolling mist
As waves align the shore
Not far from there in Campbeltown
Five miles or maybe more
Sat Duncan Blaine McGeachy
His hat upon the door
Young daughter Isabella
Bound for distant farms
Alas to Rocky Mountain House
Clutches in her arms
Where Peter Paul of Eckville
Did spy the raving lass
More fair than any local
And quite a lovely yass
Peter Paul and Isabella
Rose the Adams pack
Jack Loreen and Mary
James Peter at the back
I remember James Peter
Marge would say J. P.
And when she called him Jimmy Joe
He’d hide behind a tree
Old Jimmy Joe he got to know
How grievous love could be
He stood inside a few short days
More tall than any tree
His mother Isabella
His darling Marjorie
Would both depart on one foul whisk
The maker for to see
Of Jim and Marge had come a brood
As fine a brood could be
Of Randy Eddy and Janelle
And my sweet Laura Lee