"baize" poems - Hello Poetry

you might have thought there was no wordthat would've rhymed with orangebut there's a mountain where i livecalled the mighty blorenge half a ***** of a cleavageblaenavon nestles deepa baize of fern and heatherwhere we go ******** sheep

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Feb 27, 2010

Feb 27, 2010 at 12:23 PM UTC

ioan-pearce

orange

you might have thought there was no wordthat would've rhymed with orangebut there's a mountain where i livecalled the mighty blorenge half a ***** of a cleavageblaenavon nestles deepa baize of fern and heatherwhere we go ******** sheep

1

302 Like Some Old fashioned Miracle When Summertime is done— Seems Summer’s Recollection And the Affairs of June As infinite Tradition As Cinderella’s Bays— Or Little John—of Lincoln Green— Or Blue Beard’s Galleries— Her Bees have a fictitious Hum— Her Blossoms, like a Dream— Elate us—till we almost weep— So plausible—they seem— Her Memories like Strains—Review— When Orchestra is dumb— The Violin in Baize replaced— And Ear—and Heaven—numb—

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2.3k

Emily Dickinson

Like Some Old fashioned Miracle

302 Like Some Old fashioned Miracle When Summertime is done— Seems Summer’s Recollection And the Affairs of June As infinite Tradition As Cinderella’s Bays— Or Little John—of Lincoln Green— Or Blue Beard’s Galleries— Her Bees have a fictitious Hum— Her Blossoms, like a Dream— Elate us—till we almost weep— So plausible—they seem— Her Memories like Strains—Review— When Orchestra is dumb— The Violin in Baize replaced— And Ear—and Heaven—numb—

17

What brilliant baize of summer grasses Sprung from the ochre sun-bleached passes Imperial blades brushing and heaving Glistening clustered fresh bright weaving Pungent message, each leaf speaking 'Somewhere below, your drains are leaking' _____________________________________________________________ Inspired by a real patch of grass that was growing remarkably well in the middle of a drought because it was being fertilised by the leaking drains in the soil below!

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Jul 20, 2010

Jul 20, 2010 at 2:11 PM UTC

chris-1

Flourishing in the drought

What brilliant baize of summer grasses Sprung from the ochre sun-bleached passes Imperial blades brushing and heaving Glistening clustered fresh bright weaving Pungent message, each leaf speaking 'Somewhere below, your drains are leaking' _____________________________________________________________ Inspired by a real patch of grass that was growing remarkably well in the middle of a drought because it was being fertilised by the leaking drains in the soil below!

8

They all said it was risky, cos the stakes were too high. But I'd drank all the whiskey and my sense had run dry. So I sat down in earnest and she pulled up a chair. The place was a furnace, as she swept back her hair. Well we called for a dealer and counted out chips. Then we ordered tequila, as her tongue traced her lips. So we started out betting, till the game was ablaze. I confess I was sweating, as the cards hit the baize. Well I studied the table and covered my grin. Cos I knew I'd be able, to play big and win. I raised her bets higher and gave no reprieve. Until the light of the fire, caught the ace up her sleeve. As soon as I spied it, I tried to withdraw. She took no pains to hide it, or the guard on the door. I felt instantly older and shuddered with cold, when a hand gripped my shoulder, I heard 'All-In or Fold.'

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Dec 17, 2013

Dec 17, 2013 at 4:50 AM UTC

dave-gledhill

Showdown

They all said it was risky, cos the stakes were too high. But I'd drank all the whiskey and my sense had run dry. So I sat down in earnest and she pulled up a chair. The place was a furnace, as she swept back her hair. Well we called for a dealer and counted out chips. Then we ordered tequila, as her tongue traced her lips. So we started out betting, till the game was ablaze. I confess I was sweating, as the cards hit the baize. Well I studied the table and covered my grin. Cos I knew I'd be able, to play big and win. I raised her bets higher and gave no reprieve. Until the light of the fire, caught the ace up her sleeve. As soon as I spied it, I tried to withdraw. She took no pains to hide it, or the guard on the door. I felt instantly older and shuddered with cold, when a hand gripped my shoulder, I heard 'All-In or Fold.'

32

The rain drops land on the dark window pane, And are frozen into diamonds scattered on a black felt baize, By the room's yellow reflection. I watch the few that break free, run, downwards, Tracing irregular paths past their cohort Until they vanish, behind the cold grey alloy finishing line. In this silence, occasionally broken by the sound of rolling rubber on wet Tarmac I read of villains and heroes in futures and in pasts. And once again, As my breathing becomes shallow and my pulse becomes slow, I put the cap on another day, without you.

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Aug 24, 2015

Aug 24, 2015 at 7:01 PM UTC

The-Man-in-the-Wind

Midnight Solitude

The rain drops land on the dark window pane, And are frozen into diamonds scattered on a black felt baize, By the room's yellow reflection. I watch the few that break free, run, downwards, Tracing irregular paths past their cohort Until they vanish, behind the cold grey alloy finishing line. In this silence, occasionally broken by the sound of rolling rubber on wet Tarmac I read of villains and heroes in futures and in pasts. And once again, As my breathing becomes shallow and my pulse becomes slow, I put the cap on another day, without you.

12

We can have our Pushkin, all thinky and sad And our poker-playing pups, cheating at cards Ruslan and Ludmylla dancing on ice At the Houston Airport Holiday Inn Did Pushkin paint the poker-playing pups Or carve tetrameters while in his cups? That green baize poker table, a samovar And the Big Giant Head, who needs an ace We can have our Pushkin, all thinky and sad And too those kitschy dogs, being real bad!

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Feb 9, 2018

Feb 9, 2018 at 4:01 PM UTC

lawrence-hall

Alexander Pushkin and Those Poker-Playing Dogs (a Russia series, 18)

We can have our Pushkin, all thinky and sad And our poker-playing pups, cheating at cards Ruslan and Ludmylla dancing on ice At the Houston Airport Holiday Inn Did Pushkin paint the poker-playing pups Or carve tetrameters while in his cups? That green baize poker table, a samovar And the Big Giant Head, who needs an ace We can have our Pushkin, all thinky and sad And too those kitschy dogs, being real bad!

10

Alexander Pushkin and the Poker-Playing Dogs We can have our Pushkin, all thinky and sad And our poker-playing pups, cheating at cards Ruslan and Ludmylla dancing on ice At the Houston airport Holiday Inn Did Pushkin paint the poker-playing pups Or carve tetrameters while in his cups? That green baize poker table, a samovar And the Big Giant Head, who needs an ace We can have our Pushkin, all thinky and sad And too those kitschy dogs, being real bad!

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Sep 27, 2017

Sep 27, 2017 at 5:30 PM UTC

lawrence-hall

Alexander Pushkin and the Poker-Playing Dogs

Alexander Pushkin and the Poker-Playing Dogs We can have our Pushkin, all thinky and sad And our poker-playing pups, cheating at cards Ruslan and Ludmylla dancing on ice At the Houston airport Holiday Inn Did Pushkin paint the poker-playing pups Or carve tetrameters while in his cups? That green baize poker table, a samovar And the Big Giant Head, who needs an ace We can have our Pushkin, all thinky and sad And too those kitschy dogs, being real bad!

11

now it’s camaraderie down the plughole dry pint glasses and an unstabbed dartboard as this Parthenon of chalk dust played host to its last epic clash of the amateurs baize blessed for the final time many-houred conflict of breakoffs and ***** shots a throng of fortunate bespectacled punters quiet for the final frame all back and forth ‘til two unknowns outside of town shook hands proclaimed a draw MORE the crowd cried playtime was over but they’ll always remember this tussle for the title in the multi-tabled hall that sleeps where an angry scarlet sign on the entrance doors bellows NO ENTRY to the memories held within

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Mar 19, 2024

Mar 19, 2024 at 1:19 PM UTC

reece-aj-chambers

The Final Frame

now it’s camaraderie down the plughole dry pint glasses and an unstabbed dartboard as this Parthenon of chalk dust played host to its last epic clash of the amateurs baize blessed for the final time many-houred conflict of breakoffs and ***** shots a throng of fortunate bespectacled punters quiet for the final frame all back and forth ‘til two unknowns outside of town shook hands proclaimed a draw MORE the crowd cried playtime was over but they’ll always remember this tussle for the title in the multi-tabled hall that sleeps where an angry scarlet sign on the entrance doors bellows NO ENTRY to the memories held within

21

A tide imperceptibly rises, a sun dies just a little more. New lamppost starlight blooms but fails to hide a carpaccio of night pounded thin and fried; autumn thoughts of all sizes clot in the gut, a bezoar that might be a bitter cure for tomorrow's sweeter troubles which double and then redouble. Yet even a heart-worn raconteur reveres leaf-fallen days; wind rips a brittle baize.

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Aug 27, 2025

Aug 27, 2025 at 10:20 AM UTC

EvanS

IX. September Sonnet

A tide imperceptibly rises, a sun dies just a little more. New lamppost starlight blooms but fails to hide a carpaccio of night pounded thin and fried; autumn thoughts of all sizes clot in the gut, a bezoar that might be a bitter cure for tomorrow's sweeter troubles which double and then redouble. Yet even a heart-worn raconteur reveres leaf-fallen days; wind rips a brittle baize.

14