Long Daubed Poems
Long Daubed Poems. Below are the most popular long Daubed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Daubed poems by poem length and keyword.
1#
Brewed tea
Wife and myself
Nothing between us
2#
He was metamorphosed
Into a frog
When his wife had left him
3#
I needed
A lonely woman
Thousand years back
4#
She shivered
In yellow sun
Struck by her coyness
5#
God travels
With three suitcases
One for me
6#
I kissed
Her frostiness
And my lips turned icebergs
7#
The bed
Gets embarrassed
At our nakedness
8#
Her hands
Stopped me
To pick evenings
9#
We two rested
In a cave of Kundalini
Behind the waterfall
10#
The alien woman
Travelled six moons
To deliver her baby in a burial ground
11#
An eagle swoops
On a field –mouse
Tables of wedding
12#
The woman kissed me
I felt her hollow ribs
As if in a spring dream
13#
The woman’s hair
Struck by a gale
Made waterfalls
14#
My wife locked
Me one fine evening
In my neighbour’s hole
15#
The rats are away
When mice take in
My wife’s clammy face
16#
The summer rain
In exasperation
Took wings to raid the moon
17#
Lolo my wife
Her green sleek steps
Thundered an innocent fly
18#
In the dead of night
God made two wives
One for me one for my neighbour
19#
My neighbour’s wife
Delivered a child
When I was asleep
20#
The woman said goodbye
And I took a fish for dinner
I mistook it for my wife
21#
My wife is a canvas
Where I paint
My forebodings
22#
A painter’s apprentice
In sheer foolishness
daubed in red my wife’s rear-view
23#
A squirrel saw my wife
And in haste
Lost her guava
24#
I was caught in neighbour’s bedroom
By my wife last summer
I lost my glasses
25#
A wolf entered the graveyard
Unannounced
And annoyed my wife
26#
Sarah my wife
Lumbering
Dizzy commuters
27#
Sarah wed me
And in brief forgetfulness
Greeted my neighbour
28#
A tiger ate Sarah my wife
It happened by accident
The tiger knows
29#
Morning bell
Wake up call
I want to sleep
30#
Pola my pet fly
Fouled things up
She ate my wife’s breakfast
31#
My dog Pintu
Hydrophobia
I set him free on my wife’s posterior
32#
Eons ago a butterfly
Gave birth to my wife
Now, a caterpillar
33#
A hard slap
Stammering
Hurricane Sarah will win
34#
You have gathered enough winters
Woman sighs
Leave one for me
35#
The woman flapped her wings
To clouded mountaintops
Silky as white
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
An evanescent bouquet of skewed briars,
is how a tinsel laden tawdry essence wickedly unfolds ,
scuppered signpost to a fetid human compost,
faint light pendant on soul crushed quantum migrant,
who might chortle at vivid veil flimsy vacuum,
skirt recklessly around bogus symbols,
peer behind the squalid limp sodden hedge,
mock myopic moribund mist upon boundary busting dawn chimera,
sneer at synthetic spectrum elastic in its irritating tidal wave surfeit,
cerulean fabric‘s milky way escape plot,
in a perilous quest for that eternal tape loop mantra,
the synaptic heart of that vainglorious horizon,
self-knowledge under charcoal moon and silver cloud veneer,
or feral waste rapid fire contagion,
the indecisive day glow dither on the margins ,
of fly weight feeble frantic dash,
that velvet shadow treason daubed pettifog,
known as tangential wanton cobweb fester creed,
the mind a bloated ripple vortex numbing in its scope,
golden mirage but faux fur real concoction,
against the banal backdrop of complex-ridden superficial eddy,
from floral garland poseur stricken en train,
some vox pop indignation mere shrinking violet showcase waver,
the gleam-hued truth has this dastardly demonic derailment,
that I brush aside as spiteful oxalic sting repost,
that deceptive mint green forest of chameleon cant,
sly nuanced molten maple syrup hint,
from out of kilter tree pierce otherworld,
unseen yet bliss-edged virtual garden of firm conviction,
not just from isolated enigmatic individual script,
such as torrid turbulence or mindless scattered rim shot,
when conventions can be altered in exotic prose,
human zeitgeist has this far too often penchant,
for silkworm rapt effervescent double speak,
whilst plain unvarnished uplifting utterance,
resides within the deep crystal spring well,
of us torch aloft emerald earthling sages,
please augment the rock buttress stark phrase,
whose bluntness is a carrier pigeon of candor,
devoid of muted gray cloud blind waffle,
aromatic sprig to giant spasm of bold pluck,
quandary of human race at hearth,
frightened cliques, hidebound yes men who yen,
to swim the azure gulf of august freedom,
to the Eden where lucid tongues herald pristine witness.
where values at the centre of our being should blossom
hold still, eventide ...
I am a capricious cad among wraiths,
waltzing with a mop in
a Marrakesh courtyard - catching stars
as they drip with waxy and
wild wonder, into the braids of my maudlin
noose, tightening
jangling, dangling ...
rose gold anklets, (wrapped 'round leggy perfection),
shimmer their hammered facets,
kicking smoke into toroidal hoops with
raw regard
while they spin, table-top, to a
Chaabi chant
candles waving their
flames to beckon the darkness close ...
notes from a punji weave
mystery thru the heavy heat, Henna-striped hands
cradling a bottle, jade green, as the
white flowers gush their cold, gold bounty
down a curvy thigh
wetly wrapping an unblemished
capuccino calf, Perrier-Jouët trickles off tender
toes to plop, warm, on my
tantalized tongue
I kiss the fuchsia-daubed nails to
show proper veneration, then spin back to
the murky music, mop-handle
lover in tow
down to the spinning
tie-dyed rugs and pillows, I surrender all to the
callow flesh there, wanting ... willing
her hair and hide and ebon eyes
dark as delirium, while the brass-headed
snake-of-a-hookah waits
for a kiss
long draws bring dizzy
dreams and hypnotic swirls from the lamp,
aromas and an opiate nirvana coiling
around my cares
lost as a lamb, to soft skin ...
and sweet smoke.
( Jemaa el-Fnaa Square in Marrakesh is one of the most active and exciting places on earth, with exotic foods, snake-charmers, clothes and antique vendors, magicians, dancers, haqle or street theater, storytellers, acrobats, musicians, comedians, water sellers, tattoo artists, carnival acts, even organ-grinders with monkeys, and yes, opium and hashish traders. It has remained largely the same for over a thousand years, and is indeed an important part of history, declared by UNESCO as a "Masterpiece of World Heritage" - if you're ever in Morocco, it is a MUST-see! )
Perhaps in another i.e. alternate world, this middled aged (baby boomer bona fide bra burner) of two well nigh near grown daughters felt caught in an invisible whirled wide web The Parent Trap.
Oft times, the languid days of his life seem to revisit a parallel universe, where sequels continue to air years since family time constituted shared watching thee designated Verizon Fios fiber optic channels favor by the youngest.
I confess sitting transfixed in from the television (back in the days when me girls attended grade school) marveling at the camera tricks purportedly played identical twins Hallie and Annie, but in reality the prepubescent actress averred asper the title of this missive.
A series of unfortunate events (perhaps abetted by Lemony Snicket) found these fictitious, marvelous, and vivacious separated in life soon after their parents divorced.
Happenstance and cutting edge cunning movie making wizardry linkedin believable existence of two exact looking innocent ingenues incorporating various tricks of the filming, directing, and acting of said nymph actress.
Some fluke chance encounter when both “girls” attended the same summer camp allowed, enabled, and provided the raw fitbits, whence each respective lass discovered visa vis via question asked and answered, that they shared the same mother and father.
Soon after this unexpected (believably conceived drama), they secretly plotted to reunite their estranged parents.
Although farfetched (which plot twist stretched to the realm of possible feasibility), nonetheless the story continued to offer appeal even after numerous viewings), when both my darling dimpled daubed daughters reveled in such small screen young adult age appropriate materiel.
Within a similar vein, the gestalt viz zit hid within Freaky Friday (also starring the same teenage uber vixen) gal riddled with an identity crisis twas ably, admirably, and affably evincing the crisis of fifteen year old Anna (also Lindsay Lohan).
My dearest love oft' pledged her soul,
For life, though life then took its toll,
My heart, the thread-bare casualty
Of her regrets, (though ne'er of me),
Now she breathes not, my name ...
While this fool yearns her all the same.
Her eyes recalled the burnished brown -
The choc'late lace that crimped her gown,
That frock that, for my sake, she'd worn,
And 'midst our throes of passions, torn,
Soft-daubed with moonlight blue ...
Her china skin, thus moonlit, too.
Her locks were tawny, plat'num streaked,
And framed her visage, crimson-cheeked,
They swirled those eyes - one dark abyss,
So spilled their strands to spice each kiss,
With dappled hints of fruit ...
As fingers weaved their attribute.
Her mouth, twin bows of plums, divine,
That drew their perfect match to mine,
Those pearly whites and sugar tongue,
The pride of heav'nly strains, unsung -
As moist as highland mist ...
The kind designed to find them kissed.
Her flesh bloomed as the warmest May,
Those soft-twined corners of the day
That beguile you with their fairest frill,
The sweet, veiled places, warmer still,
With treasures hidden, deep ...
Wild wonders 'midst her carnal keep.
Still, all these traits found fairer, yet,
That charming calm her arms beget -
Sweet languor of her love and limbs,
To fill my heart and hopes to brims -
Thus lost within her grace ...
The drowning depths of her embrace.
There's some who muse why I still pine
For sweet love, lost, no longer mine ...
Despite these traits and those between
It's more the things that CAN'T be seen
That I miss, dear as life ...
That cut my soul, deep as a knife ...
And wend my mem'ries, raw and rife.
my dearest love oft' pledged her soul
for life, though life then took its toll
my heart the thread-bare casualty
of her regrets (though ne'er of me)
now she breathes not my name -
while this fool yearns her all the same …
her eyes recalled that burnished brown -
the choc'late lace that crimped her gown
that frock that for my sake she'd worn
and 'midst our throes of passions torn
soft-daubed with moonlight blue -
her china skin thus moonlit too …
her locks were tawny, plat'num streaked
to frame that visage crimson-cheeked
they swirled her eyes, one dark abyss
so spilled their strands to spice our kiss
with dappled hints of fruit -
as fingers weaved their attributes …
her mouth, twin bows of plums divine
that drew their perfect match to mine
those pearly whites and sugar tongue
the pride of heav'nly strains unsung
as moist as highland mist -
the kind designed to find them kissed …
her flesh bloomed as the warmest May
those soft-twined corners of each day
that court you with their fairest frills
the sweet veiled places, warmer still
with treasures hidden deep -
wild wonders 'midst her carnal keep …
still all these traits found fairer yet
that charming calm her arms beget
sweet languor of her love and limbs
to fill my heart and hope to brims
thus lost within her grace -
the drowning depths of her embrace …
there's some who muse why I still pine
for sweet love lost - no longer mine
despite these traits and those between
it's more the things that CAN'T be seen
that I miss, dear as life -
that cut my soul deep as a knife ...
and wend my mem'ries … raw and rife.
Copyright © 2025 Gregory Richard Barden
That day is very much vivid in my memory,
I was holding a baby who was weeping inconsolably,
and I did not know how to make him smile,
was sobbing myself!
My father saw me and said,
"I couldn't imagine my bookworm daughter would make such a beautiful mother",
And the doctor said,
"How is it that both Mom and the baby are crying together? "
That day I became a real mother,
who tried to do everything in her power
to raise one little human being,
That tiny human being became the centre of my universe!
One little being, who just came to the earth
to be a part of this cosmos, to find his place.
I and my Baby both grew up with one another,
We were blessed with the love, the laugh, the joy, the bliss
of being together!
His laugh was my laugh, his cry was my cry,
There was no gift comparable to the bond we had.
Spending too many sleepless nights, I didn't know I was capable of,
I was walking every step after him when he started toddling,
I was climbing every step up the stairs after the little baby, in case he stumbled and fell,
I was swinging him on the swing till he was tired, and I was exhausted,
How many songs did I sing till he fell asleep?
I was bursting into ecstasy with every word he babbled.
Pored over Tintin stories together, and giggled,
Daubed canvas with bright colours, and marvelled,
at our artistic creations,
Strolling on the streets licking Buskin-Robbins,
And gazing with fascinated eyes
at rainbow-coloured fishes and turtles floating in the aquairium!
One day I realized, my baby was not a baby any more,
It is time to let him fly.
With immense pride I watched him soar, and thought about my mother and my grandmother,
about all the mothers in the world,
who had done the same in every generation.
Puddin Day
Christmas Begins
they come on a Saturday
in November, the Puddin People,
brothers, sisters, nieces arrive.
family with their arms full of parcels
sacks bulging with ingredients
and of course the maestro to orchestrate.
bags of raisins: sultana, golden
tins of spices from distant trees
grown in exotic lands,
flour white as the snow
sugar and carrots by the pounds
and an new bottle of best Brandy.
on a cold and frosted morning
we gather for another year
snow or no, our spirits are tinselled
bells tingle from the sleeping garden
we carry out a tradition formed
out of our love for Mum and the season.
Christmas pudding created each year
since the first, exploded onto the walls
and ceiling of the kitchen on Clinton street
ever since nineteen forty four.
this is our day when we
remember together.
an assembly line of merry alchemists
forms around the table in the warm kitchen
chopping, measuring, mixing and tasting
telling jokes as old as Methuselah.
laughter rises up on scents of steaming
cinnamon and nut meg
old stories, each year slightly different
depending on the teller, regale us all
with Brennan history spilling into
catch-up conversations
about kids and their lives
those dispersed to the far corners.
the pressure cooker,
one of Methuselah’s wive’s,
perks happily on the stove
its own Christmas song of
whistles and hisses
producing the sweet dessert.
the day stretches out unnoticed
by the flour daubed
some what sticky crew
popping in batter
pulling out fat round puddings
enough for everyone’s celebration.
we part in the dusk for another year
Holding close our memories like gold
and pudding of course all brown and moist
soaking in its first drizzle of Napoleon.
at Christmas dinner, no matter how far apart,
we feast on Puddin and remember.
My friend has gone shopping for chicken stock.
I miss her so much.
The drapes are drawn
I have to see, cannot be closed in
I miss my outer side so much.
Outside, last winter’s trees are clutching a few leaves,
I miss their bare bodies so very much,
I miss the broth of green, its absolute greenness,
where did that color go?
The turtles of May are here early,
I have missed their wet-eyed sleepiness,
missed them, for they arrived early.
The unexpected earliness of most happenings
is so easy to miss.
The May blossoms arrived in secret,
were daubed quickly by wood elves,
soon they will run out of pink and white paint.
My friend will come back with the chicken stock
and a Saran wrapped pre-prepared roaster.
I miss thanking and dispatching a live chicken,
miss the plucking and the slimy fingered
dressing of the plump bird,
the cleaning and chopping, the spatchcock
the mise en place of coq au vin
miss the taste of past meals.
Today I will cook some missing ingredients.
Dandruff clouds on the rim of my spectacles,
I miss the clarity,
miss the glossy curls of middle-aged poetry.
It’s almost unbearable to have missing teeth;
the stars have full gleaming sets
they are surrounded by mouths
everything is in order,
everything is hungry and surrounded by mouths
the perfection is unbearable.
I miss the farm-wise cat,
the sheepish dog and his waggish ways,
the strange speech of men looking for women.
the mélange and medley of fat times.
Nobody settles for consommé anymore.
I will miss cracking chicken bones today
scraping out their boiled gelatinous marrow,
miss the suety brewing of bouillon,
the simmering potage.
My friend rushes back from the shops
just so she will not miss seeing me.
If I am left alone too long I tend to make lists,
get too empty
and disappear for a while.
Beachfront condos shrouded in the early mist
of morning. Seagulls hanging on the breeze,
their screeching waking sleepyheads
before their coffee, it's July the 4th,
the holiday is here!
Sailboats daubed in milky opalescence
growing clear, as sunlight nibbles at the sea wall.
Artists set their easels, hot dog vendors
primed and waiting, T-shirt boutiques
ready for the avalanche.
Parking-lots are full, it's getting hot now.
Suntanned beauties modeling string bikinis
scramble for position.
"Let's get the best spot on the beach!"
they cry, toting towels and frisbees to the sand.
Flags and beer are peddled in profusion,
smells of barbecue and pizza fill the air.
Suntan oil for those who need it,
all those fair-skinned redheads seeking
rest and refuge from the blazing sun.
Painters competing for the famed Grand Prize,
trying to catch the essence of the ocean.
Could be the next Monet! Muted pastels
smeared on canvas. Hold on, Claude,
you'd best not give up your day job!
Para-gliders soar in gay abandon,
floating through the sky like eagles hovering
they lay it on the line. You ask me,
it's sheer recklessness,
all those crazy people cheating gravity!
Musicians making ready for the concert,
violins and tubas tuning up.
People find their beach chairs
and get comfortable to listen
to the melodies of vintage Broadway songs.
And then the fireworks - woosh, boom, crackle! -
shock the heavens with their iridescent light.
'The Star-Spangled Banner.' Couples cuddle
up in blankets to watch the rockets
paint the sky 'Red, White and Blue!'
They make their way contented to their cars,
young and old alike loved the festivities.
Stop to get some Rolaids, (too much pizza,
fun and frolic!) but the day will last forever
in their memories.