Long Bleach Poems
Long Bleach Poems. Below are the most popular long Bleach by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bleach poems by poem length and keyword.
Some places you don’t write about. You survive them.
Frost on the telly, piss on the stairs,
Smells like bleach, burnt foil, and prayers.
Boiler’s gone. Sockets dead.
Someone’s screaming. Someone bled.
Tinfoil wings fill every bin,
Ashtrays stacked with yesterday’s sin.
Fridge blows air. The kitchen’s grave—
Nothing left, and none to save.
Upstairs she rocks a silent kid,
Eyes like glass, ribs half-hid.
Skin all wire, voice all gone—
“He screams less when I use alone.”
Three doors down, a bloke named Rick
Dealt ten bags to fund his fix.
Found his brother stiff and blue—
Took his coat, then shot up too.
They found her curled behind the bins,
Legs like rope, cuts on her shins.
Said she slipped.
Said it was rain.
But silence screams
when soaked in shame.
Kid got stabbed by the corner shop—
Twelve years old, still learning to chop.
Mum lit candles. No one came.
Council rinsed, but the stain remained.
Still—
still—
Through all the filth and smashed-out glass,
a streak of sun begins to pass.
It cuts across the piss and pain,
slides through blinds, through cracked windowpane.
It brushes past the silent kid,
Eyes like glass, ribs half-hid.
No cries now, just the ticking room—
Still rocked gently in her gloom.
It lingers at Rick’s old front door,
His coat long gone, his name no more.
His ghost still trapped where the rot runs deep—
No peace, no fix, no final sleep.
It finds the girl still by the bins,
Track marks raw on paper skin.
She doesn’t move, just lets it burn—
“Smoke still holds me. Wait your turn.”
The sun don’t ask what you’ve done wrong.
It just turns up. Don’t stay too long.
Don’t save the good. Don’t curse the bad.
It lights the wreckage, leaves you mad.
And while it’s here, we breathe. We fight.
We crawl one inch. We steal some light.
A thread of gold. A breath. A flame.
On streets they curse but still proclaim.
So write it raw. Don’t make it sweet.
Don’t bleach the blood. Don’t clean the street.
We ain’t saints. We ain’t pure.
But we’re still here.
And we endure.
This is the sound of neglected Britain—
forgotten, boarded, pissed-on, driven.
A country that don’t fix, just shame.
And sun that shines on piss and pain.
Standing Watered Ground
Silence Within My Sound "Sentinel"
In the midst of oceanic chaos and madness
The shores cornerstone anchors in pain
Elemental forces assaulting in frigorific air
An amphibious blitzkrieg, a coup de main
Proud, stoic tower of light standing strong
Within the core of this cyclonic devastation
Whipping winded white water warrior waves
Surrounded lone structure of land starvation
Tidal waves of torment fill watered down walls
Gasping for air these breathing blocks may drown
Anxious skies await to bleach newly broken blocks
However this man made structure stands its ground
04/06/2016
Donning rubber gloves, the wife does washing of clothes and dishes...
(plus cutlery, pots pans, et cetera) in the kitchenette sink.
She started what would immediately become
a first and last generation tradition
(the spouse as washer woman
and scullery maid)
soon after we moved here
eight years ago come July 1st, 2025.
I trumpet her pioneer spirit
to apply elbow grease
(to tackle tough
heavily stained articles of clothing
(after her weary cowboy husband
comes back home on the range
after a hot day rustling cattle)
think underwear of mine -
whereat even bleach
falls short of removing
stubborn noticeable discoloration)
such gusto similarly applied
to glassware or cookware caked
with crusty hardened food.
After washing wearable goods,
she squeezes the excess water
from saturated item(s)
and drapes still moderately wet garment
over drying racks
despite the availability
of clothes washers and dryers
here on the premises
of Highland Manor Apartments.
Though she continues to threaten
with colorful epithets
never to wash my clothes ever again,
her words ring hollow
when some time elapses
and... guess what?
yepper, her hands slide down
into the behavioral sink
and I make sure
to acknowledge gratitude,
yet admit to falling short
of filling in the blank
(with a select response),
when she asks me
what will I give her in return.
Earlier in our
almost thirty year marriage,
we (I more so than the wife)
used to be conditional
and if asked a favor,
the immediate response
from yours truly (me)
just so happened to be
what do I get in return?
That Pavlovian feedback loop
occurred way before
my libido took a kamikaze dive,
into a suicide mission
a strong suspicion arises
(but I dare not utter
a premature ejaculation)
videlicet that being adverse effects
linkedin with one or more
of the nine prescription medications
ingested for mental health issues
such as anxiety, dysthymia,
obsessive compulsive disorder,
and palmar hyperhidrosis
could be the only logical explanation,
and interestingly enough,
I breathe a sigh of relief
cuz all to often sexual fantasies
ofttimes filled every waking
and sleeping hour of mine.
I’ve picked at it, tore at it
Pulled it with my teeth
My mouth filled up with nibbled bits
Which gave me loads of grief
I had to rinse and gargle
With diluted chlorine bleach
Every time its just the same
Success seems out of reach
It’s like another groundhog day
It’s never any better
Well this time is the final time
I’m gonna write a letter
They say a job ain’t finished
’til the paperwork is done
I chuck this one across the room
And try another one
I’m trying hard to calm myself
But feel my anger grow
Someone needs to tell me
’cause I really need to know...
Whoever has a job
Where their single daily goal
Is gluing down the the first ten sheets
Of every toilet roll
26 June 2021
Contest: Let Er Rip #3
Sponsor: John Lawless
Lost Love
There was a girl whose heart felt so cold;
Her true story has never been told.
With her head full of dreams, she walked the streets;
She dreamed of having the world at her feet.
She was trying to live on the razors edge;
She appeared from nowhere and left me for dead.
Screaming from a wonderland inside my head,
Came the sound of a frightened animal so easily lead.
I am an animal lost in loves wilderness,
Begging for another chance to be blessed.
She may be gone, but she is always inside me.
She cleared away the bad memories the bleach couldn’t reach.
This isn’t a day for suicide,
This is a day to rejoice and say “I’m alive!”.
Love echoes inside each and every one of us;
Even angels cry tears of love into dust.
Now I’ve got you under my skin in the summertime;
Nailed perfectly inside my heart and mind.
Love is born to die with no time on our side,
We rush along so blind in search of loves light.
Free love is my drug and love is endless;
Now love will be reborn and I have found a long forgotten happiness.
(C)2012 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Form:
I knew I was dying as I drove myself across town to the hospital
I was gasping for breath; my lungs were closing fast like concrete
I did not expect to make it; I was leaving a fourteen-year-old daughter.
I felt sad about this, because she was home alone.
Miraculously, I reached the hospital and lumbered toward emergency.
I thought I would collapse and die in the parking lot.
I was heaving, not breathing.
A nurse grabbed me when I got inside.
I was gasping Ahhh ahhhh ahhhh
“Asthma’, she said.
She put me on a breathing machine. and I was alive again.
someone tried to put an I-v in me.
Five tries.
There was blood dripping on the sheet.
Were these people vampires?
I was ready to scream.
Call for Bob, someone said.
Why didn’t they call for Bob three stabs ago?
Bob is apparently the only one here who can push in an IV.
I did not want him to try but he did, and it was a success.
the room smelled like bleach and some weird medicine.
I felt relieved to be here, but angry about all the stabbings.
Vampires are gentler than these people.
My gown was open and my butt was showing.
I could feel the draft but I did not close it
I felt these people deserved a show
after what they had put me through
Earth can hear you
better when invited
to wisely engage,
to co-invest in healthy experiences
and wealthy images
of our mutual care
and strained
constrained neglect.
She watches
as you wonder
again
If humanity
fully defines what Earth's animals are
together on our best Earth Day
because our DNA roots grow back
into prime sacred relationship
of win/win balanced oxygen
synergizing hydrogen.
She invites us to stop
degenerating toxic alternative universes
Loser egos inside
eco-asystemic losses
Chaotically swirling
against organizing organic life
Wiped out by industrial ammonia
and disempowering bleach
Like acidic agents of Orange
with pits
and poisons
of privileged pukey Peach.
Pointedly poignant points portend pointillism.
Pontiffs pontificate pointless pointers ponderously.
Pompous poems populate Pompei pottery potently.
Porous *********** portrays Portuguese porta potties.
Poppies pop Popeye’s popular popcorn.
Populist populism pots ponies properly.
Blithering blather blots bloody bleeping blips.
Bloomberg blogs bleach bleating bloated blinks.
Bluebloods bloom black blackberry bloopers.
Bluetooth blizzards blame blurry blackboards.
Blithe blighted bladders blatantly block blades.
Blazing blasts bleed blooming blenders.
Fumbling fumes funerals fast.
Feuding fluid furniture flutters flaps.
Fighting flatulent flamingos flounder.
Floating flotillas flee flying flops.
Families foment future futile forms.
Freaky frozen French fries frighten frogs.
The sky watched over the world in silence,
a guardian stretched from edge to edge,
holding the weight of every heartbeat,
every whispered prayer that never left the lips.
It saw the laughter that never lasted,
the wars that stained the soil below,
the children reaching up for stars
they’d never be tall enough to touch.
And when it could no longer bear
the ache of what it witnessed
it broke.
Not in thunder or rage,
but in quiet surrender.
Its tears fell like confession,
soft and endless,
washing the dust from forgotten graves,
tracing silver lines down glass and leaf alike.
Each drop carried a story:
of a promise left unkept,
a name whispered to no one,
a mother waiting by the window.
The earth didn’t flinch.
It simply opened its arms,
letting the sorrow sink deep,
turning grief into green again.
And somewhere, in that trembling stillness,
the sky exhaled.
It had cried enough to remember
and the world, for a moment,
looked a little more forgiven.
She entered the store
With list in hand
Hating every moment
Knowing no one would understand
Who hates shopping
It is supposed to be fun
But to the clearance girl
Just something else to be done
She carefully went to XL
Knowing nothing would fit
The color would be odd
But she would take what she can get
Maybe she would try again
A credit card would provide choices
But then, she played it out
And succumbed to the voices
.........YOU WILL NEVER GET WHAT YOU DESIRE
Settling had always worked
Why would she try a different way
Dressing nice, at this point
Would leave her broke at the end of the day
Sloppy bum, ain't bad, really
Especially for folk, just gettin' by
Life is being lived just fine
Without having to confront THAT particular lie
She walked out of the store
With nothing to account for the trip
So she stopped at the beauty store
To buy bleach for her hairy lip
Who cares that there are stores
Of every kind in this nation
Shopping is torture
When you have no grid for pleasant sensations
.....WORK, WORK, WORK
..............and yet nothing is for YOU!!!!
Written by Trudy Schrader on 07-21-2019
Note: My son taught me how to shop yesterday, and we had a wonderful adventure!