Best Brag Poems
A braggart for sure
The top best at everything
Amazing stories
A hit at a few parties
Until we could not stand him.
He razzed Iran’s chieftain emir
Cotton's had his writing premiere
The paparazzi
Might call him a Nazi
But he's just a smart profiteer
Author's note: This young senator reminds me of someone who might have attended a Hitler youth camp. Fear is his opportunity. While he is strangely self-assured, he is on the same side of the nuclear negotiations as the Iranian hardliners. He doesn't go back and talk about the time the USA overthrew the democratically elected government of Iran and installed the brutal Shah. (Even if that information is critical to the relationship we now have with the Iranians.) If talks fail we know there will be a short term benefit to certain groups. Are you affiliated with them, Senator? Follow the $$$.
Republic Day Republic Day
We can celebrate all day
Watch the parade with pride and have a nice time
See the hoisting of the flag from far and wide
Everything is closed so stay at home
Even though you want to go
Salute the Flag from the get go
Dress up in the colours of the flag
Have yummy food but don't brag!
challenges in life
positivity wins race
music fulfills soul
Holly bragged to be awesome singer
fans believed she should be the winner
until joined acclaimed contest,
she tried to perform her best
heartbroken~ trophy eluded her.
playing harp with soft delicate fingers Holly's music came alive
January 21, 2022
Charlie Hai-Lim-Ku Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Charles Messina
Syllables checked by HMS.com
SECOND PLACE
My pal, Elsie has the biggest plans, grandiose almost, fantastically fun to hear about.
She is a complete delight to be around, and the clothes, hats, and shoes she wears really shout.
She keeps me in stitches for days on end when she flies in with her long-suffering earl.
She is going to start a blog, paint a best-selling canvas, write a novel, and paint a city mural.
Her terrific thoughts, her enormous dreams, her extraordinary plans somewhat set and well-laid.
Hilarity jumps forth when she comes around, to regale us with stories of her latest escapade.
I cannot wait to see her, to find out what she has actually completed this year, all done.
Although it has been rather tough for her to implement or start a project, she is always great fun.
What about your award-winning sculptures I ask her and your paintings, how are they coming along?
I traded those things in for calligraphy, she informed me, but I am writing a terrific love song.
What about your fantasy novel, are there a few completed chapters that perhaps I could read?
Then she throws back her head, laughing prettily from Accomplishment, her well-decorated white steed.
We wave goodbye, knowing we will have this delightful almost identical conversation next year.
It never ceases to amaze me how close to getting started dear Elsie has almost been near.
Her muse and mine hug tightly, because when we were young girls, they were exceedingly close and tight.
Her enthusiasm is exciting, I admire her determination to make her creations perfectly right.
I am not ready, she tells me. Creating a masterpiece is something that takes time.
Maybe next year, she confides because my productions and creations must be awesomely sublime.
Years of incessant planning have not helped Elsie put pen to paper or get started, it is true.
Three husbands, a two hour a week job and a couple of children have prevented her from a glorious follow- through.
But we never brag about Norman Fell
A native son of Philly we must tell
A comic like Larry Fine
Heroes now on the line
Six degrees of Kevin Bacon in Hell
Donald Trump decided to score
With a **** Star he thought was an whore
He got less than Bill
But it was a thrill
Just to pay her an hundred grand more!
that guy’s sure in rags
sniffing glue from plastic bags
his torn trousers sag
i drive past in fancy jag
paroled with an ankle tag
By
David Kavanagh
I always write in perfect rhyme.
To me, near rhyme's not worth a dime.
Its use is a poetic crime.
If you want poetry sublime,
I offer mine, succinct and prime.
For Juli-Michelle's contest
I dream every night, she brags. I am wearing an aquamarine chiffon dress, and I am doing the tango.
I hate her a bit, for I do not recall even a petite part of my dreams.
Last night I was dancing with a handsome stranger, he was wearing a tuxedo, she said.
Good. I have never been fond of tuxedos. Now I despise them, and men who wear them.
We lived in a gorgeous house, and we looked down on the little people, she said.
Her true self is coming into the conversation now.
Another teacher in the lunchroom catches my eye.
We throw back our heads and laugh.
We cannot stop.
We are cry-laughing now.
What? She asks, having no idea.
There is no way to explain.
Normalcy seemed to resound
like a year-end brag letter,
for out of reach are those possibilities
when locked up in a ward.
Voices itched inside her body
and creepies crawled along her skin.
Scheduled meds didn't cessate this,
just kept the demons from screaming
loud enough for others to hear.
I ask about her, in cordial simplicity,
through our sporadic letter correspondence,
but those words only fill a void
that speechlessness requires,
for I know she isn't well.
Unable to contribute to society
must be a burden of worthlessness.
Long term, she hasn't seen
the trials of the outside world,
only the weight of sin within.
No muscular arms carry that weigh with love
and no one receives her vain attempts.
Many boyfriends have left
over a decade ago
and took her sanity with them.
Possible opportunities of redemption
are now ghosts that taunt.
I flounder for words
to tell her plainly about
what's going on with my life.
Marriage, kids, home, hobbies, a job,
all common things, generic to many,
seem like a year-end brag letter,
for in her life
all these things
could have been,
but are now far out of reach.
Instead, I prayerfully and artfully inscribe
just one phrase, and only this,
"Happy spring, a new beginning."
5/30/20
Wealth sings in my domain, you conjure the Arab kings of old
your brag of a fat account in a bank with my portrait
is laughed by the mouse stealing from my wasted hay
nature’s balance fights me just for you to have stipends
you try to run the way I do, I’ve left you b’cos I now fly
you display your newly acquired peacock, in my backyard is a muster
a new Mall you have, your speakers taunt towards my direction
my store is permanently dark from the fullness of its resources
my garage, the next century’s prototype for your building to feel sandy
media interviews, social trends, increasing has been your meds
and in every of my birthday, a Yacht joins in the give away
the strata is never full, there’s always a head ahead
don’t compete with any part of the chain or you lose your leg
life is nothing, so I live in the pool of extreme modesty
tempt my guts and you’ll see I’m the host of all currencies.
Boasting inanely,
After taking much booze
You are so bamboozled
Trying to woo some folks.
Singing , "
Boom ,
Bloom,
Hum...hum
Zoom in
the zoo
room.
Boost up
Boost up
Yooh!
Heh...heh! "
You are
boasting
your
stupidity
Unknowingly.
March 16/2023
By Alfonso Warally Ngengethe Mussabwa Chris
Chance Rooster had greatest cockscomb around.
The deepest, coppery color, shiny and sound.
He strutted his stuff.
Put on lots of guff.
Turning off most hens for miles around.
I'm amazing I know and it's tough not to brag
But it always blurts out, I'm still an old sleazebag
Try but can't hold it in
In self adoration I swim
Only a few are equal to this stunning stag