Poetry Brother Poems

These Poetry Brother poems are examples of Poetry poems about Brother. These are the best examples of Poetry Brother poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Rhyme |
Too hard for me to say goodbye
For all apparent reasons why
Even though we all know it must be
Each heart will someday stop the beat
When the rhythm of life, and silence, finally meet
Yet I always seem so surprised 
To find that death is part of life 
Knowing that regret, will now haunt my every rhyme 
The specter called "if only", will inhabit every line.
Wish I could arbitrate a deal to have gained a little time
Just one more talk with Sissy, to ease my guilty mind. 
And the sun now sets on my regrets
I gamble on time and lose each bet
Thinking I'll move on and yet, 
here I set . . .
Wishing for one more time 
One more pun
One more smile 
That will never come 
If I could just recall the things you said that mattered to you most.
Memories un memorized
That now I'll never know
Years of conversation when I didn't pay attention
Times I should have said I love you 
And somehow failed to mention
Then when you tried to tell me you felt your time was drawing near
Your selfish little brother pretended not to hear.
Even when you did your best,  and tried to let me know
You'd made your peace and you were ready, and that for you . . . 
It was simply time to go

Copyright © Kelly Crenshaw | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry |
He'd be typing away on his desk
with blueprints for the next big thing,
While I'd be staring off into the azure sky
appreciating the "insignificant" things

You really are a genius
in your field of technicalities,
with which you thoroughly water;
A wife, a place of your own,
and a destination in mind


You'll find me in the corner
(no not a corner... think rounded edges,
much more safe)
Half past ten, still in bed,
with rolls of cash in a Ziploc bed
(I'm not dealing and I'm sorry if I gave you that
impression... more likely
just a descendant of Scrooge)

Your perfectly organized life
(my just screw it attitude)
Well I must say you are on your way,
but where exactly too?

I solemnly wish
we had, but one thing
in common, dearest brother,
Even with the knowledge
that I wrote this for you
I'm sure deep down
you'd think this quite sappy

And being the person that I am
I'd immediately think of tree metaphors
(now what what rhymes with cedar?)

And being the person you are
you'd probably just go about your day
wondering about the latest Apple product

You live next door
and yet somehow
galaxies came between us,
Practical you gathered sticks and stones
for your shelter here on Earth

(I was too busy daydreaming
on Mars)

From the moment I opened my eyes
and peaked my little head out
from the pool in the backyard,
we were brothers, through and through

... so why do I have this nagging urge
to shake your hand and ask

"Have we met?"

Copyright © Timothy Hicks | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |
             ~ My Primary Emotion~

Three days ago I decided to become heartless by
eliminating my Spirit and Soul I could not take
the agony anymore.

I urged my lawyer to come, he looked at me and 
asked, what is wrong? Gazing at him said, 
I don't regret committing that felony against them 
I need to be punished lets go to court. 

Having no reaction, looking disoriented he 
opened the door walked me to his car & drove 
to court.
Standing opposite the judge I stared at 
him bluntly, he was reviewing my report 
looked at me ushered to sit in the box 
to be persecuted.

The defense lawyer aware of my crimes 
seemed intrigued and asked, madam 
what caused you to retaliate against your 
Spirit & Soul?.

I needed to disrupt their thoughts which 
turned against me, the chaos in my brain 
became unbearable, exhausted by their 
discussions aggravated my strength 
weakened me, my whole body was 
antagonizing, intentionally forcing my 
thoughts to become heartless, merciless
when I attacked them.

Both profited from my kindness my 
patience, my healing was not responding,
needing some peace to pray for a miracle
as my young brother today is near death, 
cancer of the lungs, he`s getting colder by 
the minute, not eating, not socializing, alone, 
my tears were overflowing beyond control,
when I heard a friendly whisper coming from 
my Heart crying, enough is enough your thoughts 
need to stop to allow yourself recognize wrath is 
unbearable, your sorrow is taking you nowhere, 
wait for the diagnosis.

Out of compassion the judge set me free
my kindness befriended my Spirit & Soul
together we went back home. Waiting. 

I was surrounded by them knowing
ahead of me will be the longest night 
I will ever experience in years, because 
I was determined to stay awake 
for that call.

The echo of the ringer came louder than usual
we heard this message! 
Minutes ago he was wide awake
Minutes ago his heart tore him away
minutes ago his casket was carried astray
minutes ago underground he will lay.
Minutes ago I wished him an endless
goodbye with a sigh.

My friends held me step by step walked
me to bed covered me up stayed until I had 
no more tears to shed. 
Those were my emotions for today. Grieving
over the loss of my young brother. Sadness.

Therese Bacha
Contest of Dan Williams. Primary Emotion Today..

Copyright © Therese Bacha | Year Posted 2013

Details | Light Poetry |
The purple on his chin was tellin'
there was just no use to lie.
That pesky, good for nothin' goat
had eaten Mother's pie.
She  had set it on the porch 
jist to cool it down a bit,
and don't you know that goat had come
and calmly eaten it.

My little brother looked as if
he was inclined to cry.
They'd warned him things
would have to change
or Billy Goat would die.
I got a rag to help him scrub
that bright dye off his whisker.
He could appeal to Mom's good side,
but didn't want to risk her.

That goat had climbed on everythin'
from our new car to house.
He'd eaten nightshirts off the line.
No wonder Mom would grouse.
I'll kill that goat", our mother said
a dozen time or so.
Of course she didn't mean it but
our brother didn't know.

Now little brother'd come along
when most of us were growed.
He never seem to learn the ways 
the rest of us all knowed.
He didn't learn to work around
our mama's laws and such.
He had no wiles to pertect him.
His goat was sure in dutch.

Bein' so much younger must be tough
and not too easy sailin'.
His best friend was this pesky goat
and that was fast a failin'.
He guessed the only way to go
was take his goat and run.
He didn't think to take a coat
and weinies and a bun.

The rest of us when we run off,
we knowed enough to take
some warm clothes and some
sandwitches 'n even choclit cake.
We were all scared when brother
didn't turn up for a meal
and we could see the worry our
mama began to feel.

So Daddy got his good horse Dan
and took the dogs along,
and said he'd just go scout him out;
be sure nothin' was wrong.
It seemed a good long time before
we saw Dad ridin' back
with somethin' on his saddle.
It looked much like a sack.

But it was our little brother
and he was sound asleep.
Dad found him in the orchard
with apples in a heap.
His cunnin' goat had climbed up
in the ole apple tree
and flung down the ripe apples,
as nimble as can be.

So brother wasn' hungry
but he was mighty weary.
Our mother grabbed him in her arms
and all of us were teary.
That wily goat was smart enough
to prove himself a winner.
He'd saved our brother and himself
from becoming our goat dinner.

By: Joyce Johnson

Copyright © Joyce Johnson | Year Posted 2009

Details | Light Poetry |
Sometimes in our life an angel comes,
To spend some time with us below.
The time may last but only a short time,
Or it may last a life time filled with love.

Sometimes in life an angel comes
To guide us along when life is rough
And our faith is low. They come
And stay until we are on our way.

Sometimes when life seems all down hill'
An angel comes to clear the way,
To bring the sun on a cloudy day.
God sent you an angel to light your way.

As much joy as she brought to you'
You also gave to her when your lives entwined.
Within you she will always be.
So when your heart is down and sadness is around

Just reach down deep inside and feel
The warmth of her love come shinning through'
For she will always be but a kiss away.
Sometimes in life an Angel comes
To bring to you the comfort of God's love.

Copyright © Patricia Edwards | Year Posted 2012

Details | Prose Poetry |

I stood by your graveside this cold winters day.

A heart broken with sorrow that won’t go away.

I called out your name and shed many a tear.

And hoped in my heart that you would appear.


God took you from us that fine sunny morning.

Our lives now shattered without any warning.

Your work here on earth has finished this year.

Your books and teachings you spread  far and near.


It was a pleasure to know you for sixty odd years.

And when my time comes I will have no fears.

You will be waiting to greet me as oft times before.

When I call to your house and knock on the door.


Each night when I lay my head down to sleep.

I will ask the lord your soul to keep.

And if you find any time away from your books.

Look kindly on me as I walk in those woods.

Copyright © Patrick Ronan | Year Posted 2007

Details | Light Poetry |
I was just trying to remember the past
 trying to remember the good people
 and the bad people,
 that i came across on my way,

i want you to know
that you are among the good people
 that left a good trace in my life,

once again i just want to say thank you
for passing through my life,
is so short but is wonderful
i want you here forever.

Copyright © VICTOR BUN | Year Posted 2012

Details | Light Poetry |
Death Speaks
As I walk through the valley of death bullets penetrate and opens up my chest.
 I am slumped on the cement with scatter brain fragments.
 Onto the pavement lamented the loss of many benefits.
Blood lines in the earth, embedded blood in the dirt my blood leaks through my shirt.
 My life flashes before me as my blood lies beneath me.
The life that I took for granted, everything is now a chain reaction.
EMS tries desperately to save me; I no longer have a heartbeat.
My lungs deflate my chest compress with my final breath.
As my wig is pushed back my body relax, my head react and falls gently into my lap.
I am a casualty lying in these streets, as they begin to throw the unforgettable white sheet over me.
Flashing lights all around me, and I am not talking the paparazzi.
I feel my spirit leave my body my mother cries over me, “Lord please don’t take my baby from me”.
Inevitable death penalty simply unavoidable my life was so predictable.
My father made me a deputy, and life made a man out of me.
A legend in these streets generations of my historical legacy follows me.
I was the big boss chief, king almighty.
Soon to become a distance memory, my flesh is weak.
As the devil stands before me, I am cast into eternal misery.
Bleeding from main arteries I am facing my destiny.
From beyond my grave these words fade.
If I could make these words cry invisible syllables, a justifying biblical miracles.
Speaking in lyrical riddles, my death speaks to every individual.

Copyright © twanna Irisha | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |
Frantic searching for my sanity as the odor of explosives and burning flesh assault my soul.  Longing for the boredom of stuffy barracks my eyes my friends constantly search for your return I hide all but fear.

We know the death of friends but in our life embrace we conceal all that is deferred for recollection in our final days.  For now bravado, lots of scotch, and a Thai stick sets the pattern for our only security.

Lost are the joys of spirit we envisioned as children; gone is the clarity and respect for lives easily expended in the most secret of a nation’s honor, generalities served in a bitter beer.

I know you friend, your dreams your plans you say them softly in your sleep.  Our  prayers to will keep you safe.

We dare to plan in-country encouraged by being too short not to let our minds drift at the possibilities.  

We hope that God is truly on our side and confess only in our eyes the sins we speak to no one.

The blood of those we do not know anoints the heads of those we do and love for now, until our final taps brings us home.  

With this kiss of honor I embrace what remains of you my friend and your courage.  I curse your departure and salute the honor of our time together.

Copyright © Violetta Antonia Sorcini | Year Posted 2016

Details | Blank verse |
"Your first poem was an 
excellent poem....you are 
welcome...." Commented 
skat on my first poem.
"Wonderful and deep 
poem....you are welcome 
to poetry soup..." That 
was Poet Destroyer.
"Wow you have touched 
my heart in a special way 
with your poem.....your 
new friend Leonora 
Galinta" said Galinta.
"Well penned" said 
kithinji and so many 
special poets.
Hearty words from these 
unique poets spurred me 
to write better poems.
Which they appreciate.
Poetry soup is safe haven 
where feelings and 
emotions are expressed 
in tangible forms.
An educational enclave 
where different forms of 
knowledge are 
exchanged like two 
hands washing eachother.
Am most humbled to 
meet these dazzling 
gems radiating warmth 
like the sun-a privilege it 
is connect to parts of the 
I believe we all will meet 
someday,not in the after 
Leonora Galinta is an 
angel to meet,whom I 
admire amongst others.
Love to set my eyes on 
her delicate and graceful 
nature. See her graceful 
carriage, feel her gentle 
hands and smiles as she 
exudes sweetness. I pray 
hand of time will 
backwards when that 
day appears as we walk 
in the woods leading to 
silent deep blue sea with 
gentle breeze 
whispering...... A prolific 
writer as well.
PD will I meet 
someday,love her 
amiable nature,full of 
grace and charm. A 
prolific poetess.
Skat is lovely with her 
immeasurable words of 
Kithinji will I love to 
behold,to learn from him.
Have drink with Robin,
Alian, shake akinyemi, 
stroll with Joe, hv a hike 
Sibanda, dine with Ralph 
and you.
Saying hi and hugs to 
Paz Samelo.
Meeting the soupers is 
making a happy family.
   Am gliding like the 
eagle,soaring higher as 
the day pass by.          
you soupers are my 

Name:Ifeanyi Bob 
(Baron Of Ebullion)

Copyright © Ifeanyi Bob Ekechukwu | Year Posted 2013

Details | Light Poetry |
This is from me to you , My bro
When we grew , I never knew...
I had a brother , Just like you...

40yrs gone , That’s what we’ve missed...
I never knew i had a kind bro just
like you.................

Now i know my bro , Its time to show ,
What we've missed ,This is from your sis ...
A special birthday kiss , On such a special day

Happy birthday bro , With love from your 

Copyright © donna burns | Year Posted 2011

Details | Light Poetry |

Look at you , my young brother so alive
like a sea-god with feet curling on waves,
the reef drenching our  boxers of summer
with impish eyes grinning till noon cracks.
I have a best buddy gentle as crests’ ebb;
he’ll be a rocker  like me when we grow up,
chart- topper of  wind-songs blowing the tides
drooling cool rhythm ; fine lyrics I will supply.

Years from now, we’ll ride on windy coastlines
and if a bully dares you , ill whack his neck …
guy secrets we’ll trade and seal along this lake;
perhaps kiss some girls in Dad’s night camper?
Trust me, your super hero vows on bond’s warmth
under lit stars, guitars and bonfire shall flame…
now, if our folks can add a sister into this knit
five of us beachcombers, can conquer the seas!

Oil Paintings 1-2-3 any Poem form
For Eve Roper’s Contest
Visual #1

Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry |
Bhai Phonta is a Bengali Hindu festival, usually celebrated two days after the Kali Puja or Sakti Puja where the sisters mark the foreheads of their brothers with sandalwood paste and pray for their safety, well being and success. 
According to Rig Veda, Yama and Yamuna(or Yami) were twins (brother and sister) born to Surya. In their earthly incarnations, Yamuna(Yami) once longed to see her brother and invited Yama to her house. When Yama, the god of death visited his sister, his sister prayed for his well being.
However, according to folklorist and social historians, due to various societal changes with the advent of agriculture, the sisters began to pray for their brothers' safety, well being, and success. The Bhai Phonta festival is rooted in that social practice.According to the Bengali Hindu lunar calendar, the festival is celebrated on the second day of the Shukla paksha of the month of Kartik ( Oct-Nov) in late autumn. Sometimes it is also celebrated on the first day of the Shukla paksha.
The sister puts a mark of sandalwood paste mixed with curd on her brother's forehead with her left hand little finger thrice, while reciting a traditional rhyme:

"I dot my bother's forehead
Let there be thorns before the door of Yama, the death
My brother lives long, for ages
And be dotted by his sister
Let my bother be happy
Let my bother be safe
Let my brother be rich
Let my brother be pious
O Lord, make my brother divine
O Lord , make his life sweet"

The sister then offers sweet to her brother. Brother touches her feet if she is elder and gives blessings if sister is younger. The gifts are exchanged. The ritual ends with feast and special sweets as desserts.

The brother-sister relationship is considered one of the most sacred relationships in Hindu Culture. From ancient times down to the present day there are stories a legion where a bother sacrifices his life in the battlefield to defend honour of his sister.
We have observed this ritual today, 25th October. My sisters came and dotted me. They prayed for my well-being and health.

NOTE: On a special spot of forehead. The spot is at the root of the nose and between the eyebrows. In Yoga tradition it is called "Kutastha"" Kutastha Chaitanya". They are synonymous to Christ Consciousness. We feel the presence of Lord here first. Hence the ritual of Bhai Phonta is closely related to Yoga , the way of life.

(c) rajat kanti chakrabarty 25/10/2014

Copyright © RAJAT KANTI CHAKRABARTY | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry |
It was early one morning, when you arrived..
You entered the restaurant and I noticed your stride..
Your manner of dress was quite elegant.. and ..
It appeared you were having breakfast...
With a very important guest..
Seated at the table, and I couldn’t help but notice,
The strange thing you did , when you removed from your purse..  
An old and tattered faded hat..
You took it lovingly in your hands and..
Proceeded to give it a kiss..
As you placed it across from where you sat...
I knew it belonged to someone you missed..
Then you did something strange...
You did a smile and a wink.. 
Poured two cups and I began to think....
Perhaps the car was being parked,
And soon your friend would join you..
As I sat and watched you seemed to be...
Engrossed in a conversation...
The twinkle in your eyes and the smile on your face..
Sent the message you were in a happy place...
Then you got out of your chair...and hugged the air..
And left the same way you came...but ..
I heard you say as you walked away..
Same time..same place next year ?

Copyright © kj force | Year Posted 2014

Details | Elegy |
We only talked sanely a few times, 
About how he also had a condition like me, 
Although my dad, who had a Medical Doctorate, when James was small wouldn’t say, 
Obvious as it was that he had CF from his inward-growing finger-nails, 
Dad decided to bypass the issue, medicine to assail. 

I have CP, and needed James’s comfy chair to read, 
It was given to him in misogyny because it was blue, 
About three months before he died he said, 
I could have it, and must convince mum and dad that it was mine;
They were Christians, fundamentalist and strict, 
And so sometimes there was an elephant in the room,
Between me and James, about the physical.

Death is inevitable, but to them it was only a maybe for James, 
When the doctors had said that 14 was the expectation, 
I prepared myself for the worst well before it occurred, 
As an atheist I am, with no qualms or hesitation. 

James wanted for me the best, happiness and friends, 
Wanted me to do my best physically, ‘cos he knew I wanted that too,
But he also suspected that I would grieve for him rightly, 
Not like a sentimental fundamentalist who believes that Jesus is risen, 
But as a steadfast atheist who knows what has been given; 
So he knew to remark on my immediate life without him so as to adjudicate. 

I cherished Christinna Georgina Rossetti’s poem, Remember, 
Long before and for some time after James’s death, 
And quietly held in my heart the loved-one’s good wish, 
Mum used to think that sometimes I was cold as stone, 
But really I'd faced the fact that James was dead and gone. 

Although Rossetti was by no means an atheist, 
Her poem recites the mantra of the bereavement psychologist,  
That to get on with your life as best you can,
Is a right, the partner of grief, and the pathway for your lone self;
In the Bleak Mid-Winter puts Christ as relational to nature,
Instead of pertaining nature to Christ, as it is normally, 
And so we must partake of it within our space and our pasture. 

Rhoda Monihan 


Copyright © Rhoda Monihan | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry |
My brother’s hand regarded not my words for, they go unheard, as the silence grows my brother’s hand clinches cold and my last words fall to the ground pooling, congealing into an unsatisfied thirst. The devils on horseback are led to the water, but never drinking, as the blackened house lies in ruin. I wonder about the tree in the forest and the forest without ears to hear and the tree never seen, but alas and alas every man. How does a machete make more noise and fire be heard on the other side of the world? It may have been bearable, but I am not alone and I know their words will never be heard for they are in my brother’s hand. 11/5/2014

Copyright © John Beam | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry |
Two men meet on the street corner by the park,
the day's light just beginning to decline into evening.
Their beards hang like icicles; the men are very old,
but still with sparkling eyes and smiles.
A few months ago they played chess in the park,
on the tables now covered with snow flakes,
surrounded by drifts and the eddies of the wind.

One is stooped and bent, the other stands yet straight,
though he too must bend as they embrace, the hug of brothers,
the brotherhood closer than what the rest of the world can ever know.
The city stops, the noise of traffic falls away to nothing.

One of the men has a Polish name, the other is Hungarian.
One has mementos of his wife,
found after her death in what used to be their house,
a thin gold necklace and a silver earring.
The other has nothing, because nothing survived.

It's been a cold winter, but not so cold as the one 73 years ago.
No winter could be as cold as when they lost their wives,
when they were made to work with spades in the hard ground,
when they got their first and only tattoos.

There used to be many more of them that came to the park.
Now, there are only these two.
Next year there will be only one.

December 4, 2016
For Shadow Hamilton's contest - 'A Winter Poem'

Copyright © Doug Vinson | Year Posted 2016

Details | Light Poetry |
Let's escape to space
& Leave the human race 

Space-love a new awesomeness
Forget the life & the gloominess

Kiss me, because I care
Even thought the life is unfair

I want to be a space-lover
Love you now, tomorrow & forever

Lest Live in a house made of stars
& drive spaceship instead of cars 

We feel the space-love in moon
I'll be yours, you'll be mine so soon

Galaxy, universe, stars & limitless
Screw the world, we found happiness.

Copyright © zineb laddioui | Year Posted 2013

Details | Couplet |
Retook a relationship, 
With an old friend, chip. 

Bought lots of new clothes, 
There weren’t any woes.

Became a vegetarian, 
Not an authoritarian. 

Got back to YouTube,
More of the mind cube. 

Wrote evolution essay, 
Not creationism heavy. 

Wrote about my brother, 
Who was often my other. 

Contacted a technology OT,
I’m not special blatantly. 

Downloaded a course,
Won’t become hoarse. 

Wrote lots of poetry, 
Not ashamed, openly.

Copyright © Rhoda Monihan | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry |
Focus means everything!!!....  

                              Effort.                            Courage.       


In times of our lives we strike out but it is a team sport.    

Think about when you hit that home run!!!!!!!   

It really doesn`t matter at that MOMENT who was there and who wasn`t.

Who applauded and who didn`t.      


Moments are all we have, when "time" itself was calculated by the stars and man; 
therefore i fail to believe it truly exists.   


Love and The Fight For Survival  continues on............

(Let's play ball!!!!!!!!~incidently my all time favorite sport to play, watch, and 
burn 'em, every chance I get!) 

Spring is here!!!     WoooooooHooooo!!!

Life is just that way. 

Thanks to all for allowing me to openly express myself here at 
this soup, where there is no norm in form, it's just poetryman.
 No right, no wrong... 
Let's shake hands because it sure has been an exciting game that at times I didn't 
realize I was even playing...! 
All in all life is sweet and short. 
May you be blessed in your lives and your creatitity.

                                                   *~THE END~*


Copyright © Lucinda Bulger | Year Posted 2011

Details | Light Poetry |
That guy
The one you called phantom
Then fled from
A gentle giant meek and strong
His convictions -
Voluntary surrender to get better
He oozes love
Like muscular Mandiba
Listen with your inner ear
He's your brother.

Not a ghost of a chance
No weight weighs him down
His love behooves, sans avaunt. 


Copyright © Iris Elizabeth Sankey-Lewis | Year Posted 2015

Details | Light Poetry |
Ponder this thought my brothers and sisters with me…it’s just an observation 

from someone who has seen the same things you see, night after night as I 

walk the streets.

Who made that sister sell her body just to be able to buy your crack?

Who made that brother shoot another brother in the head, all over a piece of 

land that neither of them owns?

Who made that sister have a baby at just 15 when she couldn’t even afford to 

feed it or give it a decent home?

Who made that brother throw that trash in our streets, who told him he could 

write graffiti anywhere he please?

Who told that brother that just because he wears his pants hanging off his but 

makes him look cool?

Ponder my brothers now can you picture this with me...what if we stop trying to 

live black and instead just be black and do what we all just need to do to do 

right in life? 

What if we each took responsibility for ourselves and stop blaming other races 

and people for a ghetto we are each creating by the way we each are acting? 

So, you tired of this ghetto and you wanna get out? Then take a good hard 

look at yourself my brother or sister's and make sure that you are not the one 

who is contributing to turning this place into a ghetto instead of a place you can 

call your home.

Copyright © Jay Anderson-Taylor | Year Posted 2010

Details | Prose Poetry |
Personally, we clash because we want to be different yet, this only brings indifference. We have a chip on our shoulders as individuals. We want to be innate in which one must be the greater person. Personally, we confront each other about dumb things when it is not business structured. Our conflict becomes that of jealousy. Non-bias to gender this is, which cause differentiation. We are the people of the cosmos. Our brotherly and sisterly love is what unites us. Let us learn from each other through the structure formed and join for a greater focus. The reality of today states life is a place in time. Formed by animal and by humankind, our living determines our destinies. Strength empowers! A common cause unites! We are all God’s people. We must bond in some shape, form, or fashion. This is for certain and ascertains a more meaningful existence. Our personality clashes should not stop us as individuals. The multitude is what matters and we are in that configuration. Inasmuch, integrity integrates. Amour-proper allows us to become more diverse. A greater determination brings forth application. Therefore, we must concentrate within these thoughts. Our single-mindedness plus our constructive efforts manifests destiny. This is our world our universe. Let us not asunder. MAY OUR WILL BE DONE! _____________________________| March 08, 2014!

Copyright © Verlena S. Walker | Year Posted 2014

Details | Light Poetry |
Brother i miss you so dearly
I am sorry you left before i could say goodbye
What a beautiful soul you are
your passing away has left us so  empty
My dear brother i am sure god made it 
a pinprick because i cried to the lord that you must
not feel pain

I am sorry i was not there to save you
I wish i was with you just to sit by your side
To say a prayer when you lie on the road
Your friends did find your favorite shoes on the other side
Sorry brother for being so young and snatched away

Mum was sick and they called for someone in the
Family to identify your body
As they drove closer to the station
Memories of our childhood hit me so badly
Sitting in the car i lay my head next to the window so that the wind
can dry my tears

As we came closer
My heart pounded with fear
could they have made a mistake
Thoughts of hope flashed in my mind
that you were still alive

As they took me nearer
I saw this body covered with this silver foil
I was frightened brother
i managed to take a peak
And found you brother oh what sadness i felt

You lie still and cold an empty body 
Blood dripping from the hole in your head
I found a flower and placed on hole of your injury
I wept like never before
I bent down and kissed your cold lips
And bid your farewell

This is my prayer to you my  brother
Dear god look after my brother
Bless him with all your love
Shower abundant grace on him
God you know what a kind soul he was

He was loved by all his friends
His family loved him
God please look after him
As you know his heart was studded with rubies and gold
That was the beauty of his heart filled with kindness
and love

I know you have made a special place for him
Brother i hug through my words
You have left your legacy behind
Of impeccable qualities
One day i will meet you again
In heavens road when
its my time in this temporary world
We blow kisses for you brother
Know we will always treasure
the memories we once shared
Goodbye brother

Copyright © vani Gopal | Year Posted 2016

Details | Light Poetry |
they stay up
to fill the cups
sit by the christmas tree
listen and sing jinglee
its there face  light
that so bright

Copyright © kurtis scott aka curtis futch jr | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |
“Big Brother”

Brother I grew up in front of your eyes
I have seen you tear in silence
You don’t have to hide your pain
For I understand
Why you can’t meet your mother’s gaze
You have been brave
Roaming the streets late at night
We prayed for your safe return 
Each time you felt the need to be alone

She broke your spirit
Made you feel less than a man
She convinced you that you were insane
She broke you down 
Isolated you from family and friends
Made you to sit and wait while she sleeps the day away
Your soft nature in her eyes a weakness
She knew how to pull your strings
And have you dance to her tune
You have endured her physical and mental abuse
Silently loosing yourself
Your business and dreams took second place
Dancing to her every tune
Waiting on her hand and foot
Withholding herself 
Whilst having affairs at work
The Great career woman
She broke you totally
Drove you over the edge
Working late nights to support her shopping sprees
Exhaustion drove you to crystal meth
Introduced by a friend
She boasting to her friends
Her raised voice your submission
Belittling and insulting you in front of your staff

You know what, Yahya
You have come a long way
Finally you have made it back
You have conquered all the hurt
Your future bright
Success in the palms of your hands
Rise above it all 
Show what you are made of
You were once a self made man
You can do it again
The family believes in you


Copyright © Shining Bright | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |
  The 'Happy' Porn Star.
Grew up in poverty, 
on a farm,deep down in the south.
With too many brothers 
and many her cousins.
She had not the time to love them all..
Except for her pet pink pig.
She had no use for a cork screw.
Most of the house looked like there's.
Not her room, 
full of lace and silk, they yurned.
She burned and burned wanting more.
She has her own pony.
Nice little pony and friends.
By the time she was grown and tall.
Every thing of value she owned.
Old gold coins and silver in a box
southern confederate money, 
yellowed with age.
She packed it all up, 
while her pony and she rode away. 

Is It Poetry 

Copyright © Poetry Is It | Year Posted 2009

Details | Light Poetry |
I have an ant farm and the ant that lives there works very hard, He makes sure that his house is always neat and so is his yard. When I stop by to look in on him I can see he loves me oh so much, And I always want to keep him safe so on to him tightly I will clutch. One day my brother asked me how I know just what he thinks of me, I told him put my ant it to the test then he would also see. So my brother got out a magnifying glass to get a better look, In the light the heat built up and my poor ant began to cook. My brother burnt down his house with his whole ant family, As well as everything my ant had ever built as near as I could see. Then the other farmer ants came to comfort their little friend, And to see what he had done wrong in hopes that they’d transcend. My ant’s wife said he had it coming and of the reasons she’d made a list, It made my ant so mad at me that he stood up and shook his four ant fists. Here is the lesson that I learned, I hope that I’m not being too verbose, If you want to know how someone thinks don’t look at them too close. When you put them under the microscope their faults are out of scale, And in the end they’ll have no other choice but in your eyes to fail.

Copyright © Tony Lane | Year Posted 2011

Details | Dramatic Verse |
Spiting poison with an apple heart/ 
The message stinks like biblical farts/ 
Inspired inspirations speed bump tearful ears/
Legless rhymes walking towards human like reptiles/ 
This is no apple from West Side/ 
Lyrical farm trees grow broken spirits, polite/
Snake eyebrows sees no pain in speech lines/ 
Without poverty rhymes would vomit dead-lines/
A medium selling pain self taught healings/ 
Nobody listens to ssssssssssnake rhymes/ 
Dragon spits catches your attention, soldier!!/ 
Dream skills evaporated by government’s big dreams/ 
The sssssssssssnakes cook apples before spiting venomous hot steams/ 
This animals know ancestors puked sick flows/
This Rap, tiles and protects us from silence/
Stolen big dreams destroyed peace in pieces/
I speak dirty though i need no clean smiles/ 
Greedy venomous tongues come in plural painting starving rurals/ 
Life is a museum in murals/ 
Laboured stanzas healing shacks named after Diepsloot/ 
Blood and crips born poverty's own style/
Ballot papered menus serve snakes & apples/ 
Eat or be eaten that is the question/

Copyright © Raymond Ngomane | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |
MY little brother said,
"You'll cry if I ever Die."
And some years later 
He died beneath an oak
with thirty-three 
stab wounds
And He was so
Goddamn right!

I not only cry
but die each night.

:: ~~ ::

Copyright © Ernest Robles | Year Posted 2016