Long Bohemian Poems
Long Bohemian Poems. Below are the most popular long Bohemian by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bohemian poems by poem length and keyword.
Joyce Ann was unlike any other woman he had dated.
She threw new ideas to him so fast, he could barely catch them.
Had his head spinning, which was rare as he is an accountant.
His organized, plain, simple life became complicated.
She would not let him into her home after she saw his.
White walls, beige carpet, gray furniture. She laughed as she said it.
He thought this was how all houses were, but she was Bohemian.
Warning, she said when she invited him to her kitchen.
Parrots dwell in this kitchen, as did a cockatoo and two squirrels.
They were injured, she explained. I plan to release them later.
The squirrels chittered at her in an accusing way.
Or not, she said, endearing her to him even further.
His mother would never understand this one.
She was so free, spirited and wholesome.
He was shocked when his mother fell in love with her too.
I used to be a hippie back in the day, his mother said.
On Tuesday I was a prancy, dancy, pirate queen,
On Wednesday I was a velvet-clad bohemian traveling fancy lady,
Yesterday I as a native American who had been done wrong by cowboys.
I am on a Treasure Island today.
The youngest son in Swiss Family Robinson.
My personas are found promptly when I pick up well-loved missives.
Last week I was Jo, the heroine of Little Women,
cutting off my hair and selling it
to help my family.
More often than not I am Pippi Longstockings, living alone,
without parents, taking care of me and my monkey.
There is truth in every book I stick with, for in that book I find a sliver of myself.
Books where I see no inkling or believable bare hint of me hold no interest.
They are not the ones I return to again and again, relishing in my glory days.
Slashing my sabers, showing the world what I can do with a bit of fantasy.
Bedlam and mayhem in the mistress's boudoir
(Nsync with variations on a theme:
various and sundry
pseudo lurid fictitious escapades)
mostly I did merrily wet
whet madness aye ever did dream.)
The missus personal trappings
strewn helter skelter
every perilous step fraught
with danger analogous
riding as passenger
with death cab for cutie
'course thy quasi bohemian rhapsodic Queen
of denial feigns ignorance
attributes hazardous condition
linkedin with accident prone
little lord Fauntleroy's
double doppelganger, me
trumpeting pet husband,
her unrequited germane Liebchen
willing to risk life and limb
doting hand and foot
as proper husbandly duties.
He (ahem... me) exhibits drama
whimsically visiting slapstick pantomime
especially pretending to remove sneakers
pulling with all my feeble strength
off little feet of wife
half-heartedly struggling,
lamely denouncing marriage
nevertheless conveying jollity
regarding marital entrapment
er... rather unbridled wedded bliss
constituting fits and starts enduring
about two dozen years.
I reciprocated amorousness,
whether toward MaryAnne,
(his long ago coldly dismissed
sagacious enchanting first paramour,
(half a dozen years my senior),
whose astrological forecast
accurately predicted promising
acquaintanceship/relationship
potential soul mates
(two score years ago -
gone to naught),
which latter aforementioned humble lass
decried he fomented
incessant emotional grief,
he cruelly (albeit unwittingly)
doled out nothing
but lackluster lovelessness
attributed to identical zodiac signs (Capricorn)
(matter of fact shared same birth date
January 13th - six years age difference)
stubborn misconstrued perception,
whereby fancy free and footloose
selfish nasty short brute nevertheless
deemed himself undeserving of love - humph!
Addeneum: Approximately four decades
re: one quarter century after
aforementioned baptismal initiation
love stricken paroxysm
forty fifth president of United States
took (i.e. plagiarized) many pages courtesy,
cruel playbook authored
by Matthew Scott Harris,
Great transitions became part of human experience
after we gave up on daily nomad lifestyle,
perhaps too bohemian
to have ever actually existed
out of nutritional nurturing choice
As contrasted with necessity
of drought,
floods,
pestilence,
famine,
chronic wars,
climatic absence of healthy peace.
Great transitions
are choices,
positive more than negatively motivated,
to move from one habitat
in space and/or time
to another
that feels more promising,
worthy of trust,
a potential celebration of interactive beauty,
holistic balance,
resilient health,
aesthetically resonant wealth.
Great transitions
have their inhale stage,
before the moving Team appears,
which includes hard and soft decisions
and indecisions,
memories,
and rude reminders
lacking acquisitive memories
about where did all these properties come from,
external
with their internally complementary feelings
of way too much stuff
in my cluttered life,
Happiness to be bringing warm memories along
and sadness to leave so much cold
and neglectful waste
behind the dumpster
And great transitions
also have their less famous exhale stage
after the moving Team
moves on
to facilitate another household's preferably Great
but sometimes Traumatic
Transition.
Great transitions
in second stage
open one box at a time
to reload new closets
basements
attics
garages
sheds
shelves
entertainment centers
dress drawers
treasure chests
jewelry boxes
safes
mailboxes
kitchen and bathroom drawers
cabinets
medicine cabinets
CD and DVD racks
soundtracks
shoe racks
pot racks
wine racks
over the door hat racks
behind the door spice racks
tool racks and peg boards
hangers
umbrella stands
coat trees
bird feeders
pantry shelves
under the oven drawers
armoires
desks
hutches
book cases
curtain rods
picture hangers
linen closets
nightstands
pillow cases
guest beds
Great transitions
never die
they just fade in
to what remains of yesterday
Sufficient for this new age
of rebecoming
habituated
co-acclimated
seeking a healthier climate,
a wealthier place
for healing uncooperative
lack of felt resilience
To survive
and hopefully thrive
into our next Great Transition,
inhaling into recycling lungs,
exhaling out into greener
more resonantly resilient
Great Earth Habitat.
You know, it is rather difficult to discuss mental health
The simile of the racing thoughts is a swift flight
Swift, and Intrepid like an Arabian horse,
Sometimes, too hard to decipher, even.
I face the past,
and I talk.
and I keep talking about many, many issues
And you heard me there, silently.
Then, you whispered into my ears, “Un the lib.”
Did you utter the word, “Un the lib?”
Or, was it a call for another scapegoat,
with the name Andalib?
My understanding is getting clouded, and clouded enough.
Vulnerably, and abnormally.
But there is no problem.
Neighborhood concept runs into such difficulties, these days.
They are yawning and dribbling in so many places,
chilling effects...
With the metaphor of a prophetic narration
with so many broken chains, harder to trace even.
Understanding.
It whittles down to an empty bottle of pickles, decisively.
Never tried to forget “Un the lib” though,
Never tried too hard to break free, nonetheless.
Word abandons me along the way, cult of own whims too.
Let us come to the points,
Closer enough to the bullet points,
A poet’s life, bohemian, unpredictable
A very fine line to decipher between irrationality, insanity
Nothing more than this. Just this.
“Hallo, microphone testing, one, two, three, hallo?”
Nothing more than that,
not even a one liner.
Please do return to your beloved dream.
Find your imagination in your beautiful enigmatic lover
You may fetch her, even from the farthest corner of a poem
And, please be sure that you may.
And you may do so, for me
On and on.
Is it too much of a task?
I saw you both, together, already.
Wandering around, streets imprinted you both.
Footsteps.
Muddy constellations.
Guided me through. Meticulous coldness.
May I perceive it
as a stigma?
As a cliché?
As a bubbly snow? Whistleblower?
crawling with the irrationality to linger more?
Perhaps, just so, because,
it never served me enough.
Or are there anything?
To digress with any of these?
Yes, it is better that way
Do return, please do so, earnestly.
And lame excuses are in abundance,
It will find me too, sooner or later, anyhow.
“Un the Lib,”
how far are you there, with your two cents?
Autumn ultimately unveils it all,
Basking in bold bohemian design,
Pastoral poets’ inspiration shrine -
Enlivens lavishly before the fall.
Winter ultimatum trumps with chill swing -
Impetus frozen by a frigid muse -
Sublimating into slumbering blues,
Melting away under the spell of Spring.
Spring’s ultimate pizazz wafts in the air,
Awakening the passions of pristine -
Romance’s timid touch from hues of green,
Blush to blossom under Summer’s hot stare.
Summer struts with an ultimate demand -
Party for all disciples of the sun -
Sweet sweat of dog days in the languid run,
Til Autumn takes a precedented stand.
March 24, 2023
“When I am silent, I fall into the place where everything is music.”
Rumi
If life was a song,
what would be your refrain?
When instruments of fate performed
in a ballad of somber sorrows,
I floated like a ballet dancer
in an eclectic fashion.
My silent tongue had no melody,
before love sowed harmonic tones,
in a reverberating remedy of refreshing
rhythms soothing a tortured soul.
As my voice softened in a symphony
of violin strings and saxophone vibratos,
our bond composed a chorus of notes,
like satin feathers from hummingbirds
in soft clarinet choral chords,
only heard in an orchestra of a
velvet butterfly renaissance.
You always have my songs on repeat,
but I wonder if you will change the record?
Together we write lyrics,
sing verses as distant duets
with drumbeat dynamics.
Yet I am a metaphor of saffron rays
lost in the absence of lilac moonlight.
Everyday you disappear with dawn,
as morning whispers her blessings.
I'm left alone with birdsongs,
who join in with my colourless chorus -
echoing my angst of yearning to be free.
I wonder if you will remain a twilight sonata.
If you are the ebony to my ivory keys
in this crescendo of bohemian dreams,
why can't we be boundless as the sea?
This vinyl veil we call existence
is a composition of heartbeats
with heartstrings woven into
a vibrant bridge of emotions.
Sadly no pedestal can reach
lingering lullabies of the sky,
so we continue to cast hues
of golden heavenly harps,
before final tenors are heard.
If life was a song,
our refrain would be an acoustic
with steady beats, sometimes
with too much bass to air -
but we can control the volume.
Tempo will always change
like a decrescendo,
but we are the conductors
of our own musicality.
Not all serenades sounds the same -
no muse sings forever.
(To be sang to the tune of
"Bohemian Rhapsody" by Queen)
Here's a wee warning.
Eowyn is on his way.
He'll blast round the UK.
So now batten down the hatches.
Lock up your house.
Close all curtains now
And hide!
We are just human.
They are the elements...
Dark clouded skies
Wind is strong
Rain will batter
All day long.
We need our shelter
Coz otherwise we'll all be blown away!
Like debris.
Warning!
There's a red alert.
All the gusts that travel past
May be a hundred miles fast.
Warning!
Pets need protection.
We don't want our animals to fly!
Hours!
That's how long.
There will be damage.
Be aware that fences aren't as rooted as trees!
Make sure you stay inside.
Any trips can wait.
Make sure you stay inside.
Snuggle up, keep cozy -
Stay safe!
I want to be youthful and free,
Like the Gemini Sun and Moon conjunction person I am.
I was born, destined to be a soul reborn via New Moon phase.
I want to feel the right to be me,
Like a twelve-folding of all my natal astrology star signs.
I was born, destined to be another unique individuality.
I want to respect nature and animals,
Like the Taurus Sun and Moon conjunction soul I am.
I was born, destined to be an epileptic, Bohemian in spirit.
I want to hold steadfast in my faith,
Like a unifier of all religions; spiritualities; sciences.
I was born, destined to know how God lasts eternally.
I want to serve justice and liberation,
Like the Libra Sun and Moon conjunction spirit I am.
I was born, destined to be a true believer.
I want to embrace the world I'm born into,
Like holding a fondness for all countries.
I was born, destined to learn about the world as a whole.
I want to achieve my ideals and dreams,
Like holding a spirit of never giving up.
I was born, destined to realize not all is as seems -to me.
I want to know a lot about myself,
Like holding a candle in the darkness of unknowing everything.
I was born, destined to find out all of who I am in a life of mine.
I want to be myself in my own way,
Like a wise child wandering and silently learning things.
I am a soul reincarnated, born to be myself (who I am for now).
I am known as Tarot Card Mama our Bohemian dressed hall advisor said.
My roommate and I spoke of it later, thought she was daft in the head.
By midweek we saw most of the laughter was coming from TCM’s room.
We were invited to her tarot sessions, they were put out on a Zoom.
Let’s do it, we agreed, thinking it would be something to laugh about.
She was in a serious session, and the young girl began to pout.
She let out a scream and ran off down the hall with a bouncing rear.
There might be something to this, we thought, feeling a bit of fear.
Should we keep looking? Just then there was a knock on the door.
Tarot Card Mama needs more positive energy, said girl from number four.
I ran down to help out, and ended up staying for the next six sessions or so.
When Tarot Card Mama closed down for the night, I did not want to go.