Best Bragging Rights Poems | Poetry

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Some Bragging Rights by Poteet, Reason A.
Schoolyard Bragging Rights by Fraser, Carl
Bragging Rights by Henderson, Charles

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The Best Bragging Rights Poems

Details | Bragging Rights Poem | Create an image from this poem.

What should I Be Aware Of

What Should I Be Aware Of

That sure seems to be a magic question to me.
There are always comments about my poems catching my attention.
If my poem, was smooth, perfect and properly flowing it may be overlooked.
I really wonder how many times a good poet has to rewrite their poem.
I may be afraid to say it, but my vast writing takes away a significant
amount of time that could be available to correct my works.
I kind of wonder if there is such a thing as muse abuse being a perfect excuse
to end up saying what is the use.
When your and my ideas start to collide would mine I want to take off and hide?
Another item often in suspense is verb tense and making no sense.
I often may deliberately dream up words or make errors on purpose.
It is almost like a self-fulfilling prophecy. 
Situations defined as real are real in their consequences.
If I make you think it is your idea it will always be more appealing then my very 
own idea and me trying to ram it down your throat or into your mind.
Poetry Soup always has so much readily available great advice at your convenience.
Sometimes I become spell bound by the totality of Poetry Soup.
I am so deeply indebted to Poetry Soup and each of its members.
I couldn't ask for a better possible group to work with.
Haven't you heard the latest? To me. all of you are the greatest.

James Thomas Horn
Retired Veteran and Poet
RiverSea Plantation
Bolivia, NC

PS. Wonder what is the amount of the latest population of Poetry Soup.
It would be interesting if you saw a running count readily available.
If there are any bragging rights to be had, Poetry Sup sure has them.
It is


Copyright © James Horn | Year Posted 2015


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A Understanding Of The Past

I remember summers past in the south 
and the sultry heat.
Iced tea and back porch confessions.


Making time with that first love.
The swing underneath  that old tree.
The radio playing softley in the background.

Thoose ways have long since died.
Replaced by a breakneck pace.
As were all to willing to forsake a conversation between 
two human beings.
It's all about one night stands and bragging rights.
 

It's like comparing velvet to burlap.
All harsh no mystery.
Where people would rather surf the internet
than ocean.

The passion of the kiss.
Is but a dinosaur that people 
view as some old silent film.

A blanket underneath the stars
Has been replaced by a encounter in a 
bathroom stall.

Upward we advance  as deeper  we sink within the
mud.
As the poet reflects  ink drying 
in he pen.

I recall thoose times so very slow.
To this sudden stand still.
Like a pile up on the interstate.
I no longer live I wait.

But the sunset still haunts me.
Along with the scent of the salt filled air.
that tree's swing does no longer stand.

As in dust and memories it's been taken with 
the wind.

The road echos  of another time.
For all that was free and wild.
Is slowley vanishing.

As we blindly advance.
I'll sit and watch the tide.
And be happy to be left behind.


Copyright © John Patrick Robbins AKA Gonzo | Year Posted 2009


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A Lovely Day

From the past days of old.
At Seventh Street & Florence Avenue.
Vehicles in pristine finished.
Bragging Rights Mint Condition.
Proudly rolled by in a yearly tribute.

Very close behind did the present.
Spanking brand new, Virgilina's, VA.
Town's first responders debut their life-
saving vehicles of rescue.

Summer Fest proudly displayed.
Awesomely colored painted fine cars.
Including trucks and plowing tractors.
The drivers and passengers.
Cheerfully waived tossing smiles and candy.

I watched so many of the children laughing.
Enjoying themselves while playfully.
Scrambling to grab all and as many.
Of the tossed free candies.

So very comforting it was to see.
Neighbors, visitors, friends and family.
Witnessing together. 
Standing side by side
In such a loving comradely.
History and our future.
Embracing one another.
In supreme harmony.

Refreshing the supportive celebration.
Veterans from old world wars of our past.
Keeping close in step were our gallant;
soldiers of wars in our present time.

Today's events were also in celebration.
Of the soldiers whom honorably.
Transitioned to a much peaceful home.
This was a very lovely quick get away.

Cotton candy, home made ice cream.
Scenie's Old-fashioned Peanut Brittle.
Freshly squeezed lemonade.
How fortunate to meet Ms Marion Woods.
Author of Uncle Jerdon's Farm Children' Book.

Thanks to my cousin Natarsha.
I am experiencing a very lovely.
Memorial Weekend Holiday.

My Uncle Joe Lassiter our beloved Veteran.
His daughter and my cousin Andrea Miller.
Stood in the longest line waiting patiently.

For what I learned was the town's best.
Brunswick Stew.

It's evening now I sit here as one.
Within this blissful time in nature.
Pleasantly at peace.
Relaxed taking in the beauty.
Of this picturesque piece of land.

Reflectively pondering.
On on this lovely day.
I joyfully have a writing instrument.
Very close at hand.



Copyright © Cheryl Chandler | Year Posted 2014


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Underdogs Have Their Days

Well, well, well!
The whole world knows by now, impossible dreams can come true,
In the game of professional soccer, it has just been proven at Leicester,
Starting the season with a laughable 5,000 to 1 odds of winning the Championship,
Leicester has the last laugh now, they have topped  the 2016 Premier League,
They are into their victory parades and celebrations, ticker tapes and partying,
A minnow in spending with prudent management in the world of soccer,
They confounded all the disbelieving sport pundits who think they know better,
For when all the battle dust is settled, they are the Premier League Champions!

Of less epic proportions are the latest sporting achievements here in Asia,
Somewhere in the unlikely courts of Chinese Taipei, member countries of Asia,
They were battling it out for bragging rights to be the best in Asian Squash,
Of particular significance was the women teams event, team spirits at its best,
The 2nd seeded Indian team knocked out the top seeded team from Hongkong,
The Indian team were in the finals after a surprising 2-0 drubbing of Hongkong,
The Malaysian team, seeded 3rd, was a rookie team headed by Delia Arnold,
She is the only veteran seasoned in these kind of team competitions.

In the final shootout, it was rather tame affair as the players strutted their stuff,
First to court was 17year old Sivasangari who despatched her Indian rival 3-0,
Next in court was captain Delia Arnold who was classy as a 30 year old veteran,
Her game against her Indian rival Joshanna Chinappa was a quite dicey affair,
Losing her first game, then having to dig it in to carve out a win in the second,
There were many an anxious moment as each player tried to dominate the other,
But playing the captain role to perfection, Delia Arnold presevered to be a winner,
Deservedly, the Malaysian Captain secured the winning point for the gold medal!!

Back in Kuala Lumpur, a miracle of sorts was recently achieved on a playing field,
A local rugby team, against all odds and in spite of little or no publicity,
Outran and outfought other international teams to claim the Division One title,
An incredible triumph on home soil to win in this Asian Rugby Championship,
Of course we have have the services of 3 Fijians, as foreigners in the other teams,
What is significant is that we have a winning team in this international sport.

Well, well, well! Heads up, underdogs!

http://www.thestar.com.my/sport/say-what/2016/05/17/the-day-the-underdogs-hog-the-limelight/


Copyright © KENG CHUAN SENG | Year Posted 2016


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The Flowery Kingdom

A kingdom with flower citizens competing with the west with discoveries and inventions, boasting of a time-stretching written language and a non-stop dynamic civilization globally significant. White is for sadness and red symbolizes happiness. Even with its obese geography, all of it is timed under one scale. Its culturally molded body-defense arts originates from ancient hunting and farming skills Unique in its glamour and special in its glory; from the awe of greatness of the forbidden city to the great modernization and powerful skyline of Hong Kong. Also the beautiful intimidation of the stone forest and the amazing human grit exhibited in the terracotta army building all stand tall in the flaunting of the globes bragging rights. Popular is the amusement established in the combats of crickets. Inhabits one of every two swine in the planet. Creation of ghost metropolis as its exhibition of economic power. American census can’t even beat the number of its English speakers and yet, the pipe sucking out its mental potential is known to be the largest in the whole world


Copyright © Funom Makama | Year Posted 2015


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Let the Games Begin

B.C., seven hundred seventy-six
was the date of the first Olympic picks.
They held (these sportsmanship pioneers)
Olympiads ev'ry four years

The first Olympic race was for sprinters -
Corubus, a chef, was named the winner.
Running one hundred ninety-two meters
he took the lead without any sneakers.

There were no medals; first place got a wreath
worn on his head, twisted from olive leaf.
Second and third place got only glory -
plus bragging rights in telling their story.

Men competed in the nude at the start;
women were invited "not" to take part.
These games were stopped by Roman signature:
“Way too pagan,” declared the emperor.

Make no mistake; it’s not a mystery
exclusive to Athens’ sports history.
What we still call the “modern” Olympics -
were revived back in eighteen ninety-six.

Nineteen-o-four, here in my own country,
my grandmother traveled to St. Louis.
The Games were held as part of the World’s Fair;
Granny Emma and three sisters worked there.

written August 13, 2016
for Janis Thompson's Olympic Mania contest



Copyright © Reason A. Poteet | Year Posted 2016


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Some Bragging Rights

 compound word verse 
Any youngster can make us smile ‘specially when it's our grandchild they're awesome. A new grandson brings on more fun blond-haired, blue-eyed, the smallest one cuddlesome. A twelve-year girl full of joy an eight-year old busy boy now threesome. Shelby, Braxton and baby Jase once empty nest – a lively place un-lonesome. Baby noise rattles our rafters crying, sucking, burping, laughter he’s winsome.
written for gautami phookan's, The Sweetest Touches of Verse by Reason A. Poteet


Copyright © Reason A. Poteet | Year Posted 2014


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SUPER BOWL FUNDAY

SUPER BOWL FUNDAY...

Superbowl Sunday's nothing can quite compare
Super charged energy is  in the air !
Time for talking trash and celebration
We CANT STAND the anticipation !
All eyes are glued to the big screen TV 
All of us  come together in perfect  harmony 
Lots of chips dogs and of course beer
Sit down and relax the gangs all here 
Everybody grab a seat come sit down
Once the games on theres no fooling around!
In this house we take our game quite SERIOUSLY 
We get kinda wild just wait you'll see!
The game is on I'm ready LETS GO!
Here it is the quarterbacks first throw 
Wait a second intercepted no no no !
That was the first down that was lame
Cmon guys pull it together we NEED this game!
Now Everyone is yelling at the tv 
You have to win please don't disappoint ME!
Plenty of time left to make it right
I gotta have victory AND bragging rights!
"Come on guys have to get a touchdown" 
I see nervous and excited faces all around
It's halftime time for round two
Now is the time to grab a Cold Brew
Go have a cigarette or enjoy a smoke
This games gettin good at least I hope!
Yay my team makes the last touchdown 
I am so EXCITED start dancing all around!
We jump yell  shout and scream 
Finally victory for our team! 
As I scan the room everyone laughing and having a good time
I so love hanging out with this crazy family of mine!
A celebration toast to our team get my beer
As I look around can't help but think 
That I am the BIG winner here


Copyright © Diana Viguri | Year Posted 2016


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dont be mad you cant be me

I rhyme for delight not bragging rights
don't be mad you don't match my light
claim the best I suggest practice
light yourself on fire like a book of matches
not many can match this, words so attractive
mind so active, holiest of passage
perfection poignant, I push prowess
posers prove positions powerless
outstanding outside your little boxes
squares far from fair, comparing 
Wolves to foxes
only this is no contest, i just contest
how far fetched people are out of touch
from their own conscience, how grotesque
I have more to learn, opportunities now
display my heart, impunity foul
expect responses when others fall short
who can only try their least to retort
jealousy, anger, but they deny its true
If I were you, working on me is what I'd do
but thanks enough, my thought will stretch
To test claims above the rest until my death
poems for battle, love, or common sense
problem is I am sure it's as far as it gets
so stay deep like puddles, or thimbles
life can get complicated, why not keep it simple?
cheesey like pizza, or green bay's symbol
amounts of effort put in couldn't fill dimples
as long as you feel good about whats been said
be amazing as you want, all in your head


Copyright © Davin Payne | Year Posted 2013


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The Lover

As I lay up treasures in the summer of my youth.
Counting coup on censure, random acts uncouth.
Defenseless maidens hover,
searching for the lover
they find not in me, neither compassion nor truth.

Forbid me not to boast my many conquests done.
The bragging rights mount as I subdue one by one.
In lonely solitude they weep.
Dreams fade, they cannot sleep,
wasting their gift on a fly by night just out for fun.

While I make no promises which I can not fulfill.
They expect to interject a language of love at will. 
A mental walk to the alter,
then afterwards they falter.
When any hopes for further cohabitation I kill.


Copyright © Charles Henderson | Year Posted 2010


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Fertility Marred With Miscarriages

The fattest land mass within the borders of Europe is also a mother with an extremely fertile womb to once go third in the global grain export. Sitting on a ground blessed with hidden treasures, it has unfortunately been blown by the nuclear disaster of Chernobyl. Its architecture, literature and music are a mirror reflection of its faith, the borscht and verenyky- the appetizing symbols of its meals; built ‘the Dream’ to wow the world of flight and weight and emits the radiance of the Carpathian mountains through the longest musical pipe ever played. Home to the greatest ever boxing family and having cities with their individual bragging rights. Accumulation of cafes stands tall in its western giant to the point, one of them exhibits masochism in soft core; while its heart is home to the deepest Metro station and also a sustainer of the chronicles of the Bald Mountains. Among all is its amazing feature of having the globe’s most beautiful women. From Stalin to Putin, its road flirts with Russian misfortunes and restricted by the limitations of corruption’s chains. As one of the detached buttons of the soviet design, it falls off but still tied with a closely knitted Slavic thread. From such a connection, it has since been under the suffering of its disowned father to mount the stones of instability on a ground up north the black sea for its identity to remain fully eastern.


Copyright © Funom Makama | Year Posted 2015


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My Dearest Daughter

I want you to know my dear daughter
I thought of you every day
The thought you say your daughter hates me
The question asked is how can a baby hate

The answer is, a baby learns what it is taught
I never raised you to hate in any way
To disrespect or live such a troubled way

You've hurt me like no other has
In such a way it no longer bothers me
Although I think of you more then you'll know
I no longer care if I see you again

You were my dearest, my one and only
And the day I gave birth to you
Gave me bragging rights in all that you do
I showed I was proud,  you didn't understand

Much time has gone by
I hardly think of you any more
The day will come, you will need me again
That day will be, when it's much too late

I won't be the one who will be so hurt
You will find that you waited much to late
My time will have ended on this dear earth
I will be gone, spending my time in Heaven

I will watch over my dear granddaughter
I will guide, guard and protect her
From the evil that you teach her
That my dear daughter is a promise

I will take care of her, from above
I will teach her how to love, honor and respect
Things I did teach you, you weren't paying attention

I want you to know my dearest daughter
I loved you before you were born
And I loved you 'till my dying day

I now love you from above
But now you're on your own without my love
Just remember this my dear daughter
You took the love I had to give my granddaughter
From her life, she'll never know

You cheated her, from a part of life
She will find out, and pay you back
When that happens, remember this
It's the same, you did to me


Copyright © Letitia Alvarez | Year Posted 2012


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Haiku Crazy Wisdoms

The crashing waves ripped.
One surfboard flipped, disappeared –
And strength swam ashore.

Soldiers seek God’s face
Amid blasting, fire, and death.
A few find solace.

Women birth children.
Fathers become their leaders -
When love has no girth.

Tsunamis may drown,
Earthquakes may scatter earth around.
Willingly, God helps

The distant planet
Travels, showing its dark face –
Man shall see its light.

Signs and seasons pass.
Life lessons inflict sore pain.
But God can uplift.

Daybreak welcomes dawn.
The sun delivers brightness.
Wisdom is thankful.

Before the sunrise,
A rooster crows in darkness.
Singing bragging rights.

Traveling with speed,
Interstate traffic flies by.
Some folks watch and pray.

Hanging on to life,
Two, in sickness and in health,
Love nature’s great gifts.

Time passed slowly
Once upon a youthful time,
But speeds up with age.

Fool-heart was happy
When it heard many crickets –
Ringing in its head.

Euphoria knows.
A wonderful thing…the mind –
Can be a compass.

God gives His riches.
Open eyes perceive great gifts –
Beauty everywhere.


© October 3, 2010
Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen


Copyright © Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen | Year Posted 2010


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Once Were Kings

ONCE WERE KINGS

Pigskin sails past outstretched arms
Another inch perhaps?
Grins on faces kids from afar
Memories made memories lapse

Neither friends nor foe, yet strangely so
They seemed like us but strangely no
A tackle too hard, a tackle too late
We share in victory, we share in hate

We huddle like penguins with nearly a sound
Plays are drawn on hands or ground
Nods are given, all is clear
Our secret safe, our secret sound

The play unfolds, not quite as planned
Defense charge, our line outmanned
Quarterback scrambles, the outcome dim
No fear of defeat nor life and limb

A last chance prayer, Hail Mary by name
Don’t anyone say it’s only a game
Bragging rights pending, youth in their prime
It meant so much to us at the time 

Recollection muddied but joy it brings
We meet at ball fields, our kids on swings
Were prayers ever answered?
Does it matter at all?
We were rivals and pals
When we were kings










Copyright © GIDEON GREY | Year Posted 2013


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Winter's Fancy Dress

Oaks in white laced snow
Winter's smile has bragging rights
Sun kissed and lovely




Copyright © Cynthia Alvez | Year Posted 2012


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Beyond the Shadow of my Heart

Beyond the shadow of my heart
Drumbeat continues without pause
Giving my world sense of peace
World engraved with floral design
Of beauty visible in the dark
Leaving me stuck with compassion
With sparks of mystical powers
That ends the dryness in me
To flourish like the rain-
-Divine treasure planting hope-
-When drought is maintaining bragging rights;
Beyond the shadow of my heart
Clouds assemble harmoniously
As I sing to the listening blue sky
Always showing warm devotion
Shoving delightful visions on my path
And fostering lively thoughts in me
To sense purity of my own dreams
And look beyond planets I know
May be there is one named after me;
Beyond the shadow of my heart
Gladness and harmony are in my pleasant streams
Making my pathways 'spick and span'


Copyright © Lekau Mamabolo | Year Posted 2014


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Time

The clock ticks
When will the world fix
Everyday concerns
As in, equality for all
And an educational system
Where all learn?

No more Ivy League colleges
For bragging rights
All knowledge is to enhance
Ones insight

For employment
No more unbalanced scales
For opportunity
All shall be able to hear
The bell

The clock ticks
When will people fix
A social system
Where all men mix?


Copyright © Lara Wash | Year Posted 2014


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the sith's voice

The sith’s voice 
through naked trees at dawn
bragging rights


Copyright © Charles Henderson | Year Posted 2011


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Schoolyard Bragging Rights

Oh ya ,well my mom makes better apple pie
Really,well my mom makes brownies 
With peacans and chocolate icing
Thats nothing, my mom sewed me this new sweater from scratch
Well my Dad can fix my bike anytime it breaks,
My Dad sells bikes and got mine for free
A hush,
My Dad left when i was 3, no bike for me.


Copyright © Carl Fraser | Year Posted 2012


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Hamilton, the Play

All the buzz is justified;
If I’d said different, I’d’a lied.
A slice of history unfurled
Like nothing else that’s in the world.

Lin-Manuel Miranda wrote
The lyrics, book and every note
Of music, all in hip-hop time
With such creative, perfect rhyme.

For everyone who has the chance,
Go see it, for it will enhance
Your theater props, with bragging rights
(And more if you’ve seen “In the Heights”*).

*Lin-Manuel Miranda’s previous play


Copyright © ilene bauer | Year Posted 2015


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Before it's too late


Before it’s too late

Distant bells clatter on cloud fed weathered skies where
darkness creeps past low light vestibules, faded beams flicker 
Short skirts wave in a winter wind, breezy attributes
revealing fishnet thighs calling to the next hidden passenger,
batting lashes and blowing bubbles of stale gum placed under
crushed velvet seats worn in places, stained deliberately
for bragging rights and handkerchief blotting

A ghostly mist lingers as lips are touched up, bright red, crimson,
shades of desire, occupational decisions, advertisements leaking
into sewers and hopscotch squares spread along the avenue
Silhouettes in porch lanterns, whistling…so unladylike, ducking
constables with nightsticks swinging like the clapper in those damn bells
waking the unsuspecting and spooking the transients offering
a few coins for a ten dollar dream

Swine wallows in last week’s gossip, slimy little beings
fat on sausage and biscuits, cursing the rats pushing their way in
below curtains and kitchen windows framing inquisitive eyes, 
watching cash change hands and satisfied smirks 
on the faces of those wiping feet on mats, 
greeting the family in disguise, shirt un-tucked,
long day rewards and dinner on the table

Yesterday’s newspaper tumbles down the walk, 
clinging to sign posts, featuring headlines of death, a warning in bold print,
still at large, a menace to society in a grey overcoat,
double breasted and fancy shoeprints in the fresh mud
No further traces except the body, contorted and frozen, smeared faces
littering cobblestone gutters, frightening children and pets, 
as passersby look to second floor balconies, oblivious   

Midnight calls, staggering drunkards exit Chauncey’s,
hard up and spent, slurred laughter, boisterous to hide worries 
and tomorrow’s jobs, time clock lies and penciled in wishes
Iron fence posts rust at the gateway as they glance to the headstones
of friends long past and recent memories, sensing the urge,
seeing the painted nails and low cut blouses, thinking…
before it’s too late  


While from a secluded archway… 
   



Copyright © Chris Green | Year Posted 2017


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A WHINE AND CHEEEZ MEMORY

As I was eating some cheese the other day,
 it reminded me of you, and the things you used to say.

  After all, you had all the bragging rights...
 because it was you who had won all the fights.

Now, when I sit here with my chins all sagging,
 I can only remember those hours of your nagging.

  I tried to get a word in here and there...
 but then all I got was that inevitable stare.

Remember the time you said how I was so whiny,
 You thought my diaper must be too tiny.

   We left each other with all that passion...
 In those days we knew it was all the fashion.

So now as I am eating this last piece of cheese I think...Cheeez,
 I'm glad you're not here to make me say please.

   No, I no longer have to hear you Whine,
 As I pour myself another glass of wine.






  Better still is now when I have some whine...
 It's the one made from grapes and fresh off the vine.

Written: 7/31/16  (Really a work in progress)


Copyright © Dan Cwiak | Year Posted 2016


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Walk your line

Walk your Line 

A word to the blind:
From the day your first mount and ride
Till the moment you die
Walk your line
Walk proud and high
Through each and every wreck your stride unwinds
Walk your whole heart
spine upright
till it breaks if you like
But drink the whole pint down
and with an appetite for burning in the stirrups
See if you can swallow the time. 

Walk, right away from your childhood dreaming
lay it beneath your feet in caliche
And when you're yearning most to tie on a tourniquet 
Telling yourself you deserve it
stay in line, as you're not entitled to anything. 
Never more a burden then when asking for money
and worthless for thinking of quitting
cuz there's nothing in the world worth half it's weight 
unless for it you're bleeding. 

Your life's only worth your life's work
the grinding gears in your temple, spinning
Always on time, you can count on it 
strides lengthening
but despite it all you'll walk well beyond all you thought
you'd get
When you first agreed to begin
When for what you signed on for you've nearly forgot
Some crockpot reason to pursue a living 
in what to most is only a vacant lot
You'll have to walk to the empty spot on the map
just past where your mom and dad had given up. 

And then keep walking
Bypassing your own bragging rights stopped dead in their tracks
and all parts plastic inside you have snapped in half
In fact, you'll soon be worn so far past the point of no return 
to think you were actually born on its welcome doormat.

Everything is past the big fancy hat
walk, before your feet get frozen, stuck to the bar 
for something more than can be bought no matter who you are
To be the one who takes it this far
and to become the soul of the man
as if you've finally landed – working for the homeland
Riding for the brand, cuz you were given a single chance
And walk for the credit of at least one loop correctly cast
and for the wisdom of knowing if and when to turn em back
or hang on for dear life like you've dallied your own hand. 

And stick by the very skin of your big toenail, as you pitch in the norther winds
just trying to send you clear to rock bottom
and only then, they might not prevail.

So go on out, the time is now
Walk high and proud, and take a breath in town
then keep being the nail, always driving deeper down
never quit walking the sacred ground you're standing on now

If you think you love that gal.


Copyright © Trey Pearson | Year Posted 2016


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Bloody Knuckles

Bloody knuckles
Are all that remain
Of what I use to be.
Torn skin,
Scars and scabs,
Memories and
Reminders.

Of a time when I was young
And without ambition
Or caution.
Running through green forests
With friends chasing behind.
A root,
I trip,
And my fingers collide with the dirt.
The soil stings my
Bloody knuckles.

Bloody knuckles
Are all that remain
Of what I use to be.
Torn skin,
Scars and scabs,
Memories and
Reminders.

I majored in Political Science,
But couldn't make the grade.
My effort fell short
And I fell into bad habits.
Days and nights
Spent alone.
Helpless
And at the same time
Overwhelmed.
Too much to drink,
I throw a punch
And the soft cheek of a stranger runs into my
Bloody knuckles

Bloody knuckles
Are all that remain
Of what I use to be.
Torn skin,
Scars and scabs,
Memories and
Reminders.

I changed
My ways,
My life.
I was better,
But not much.
A few local fights
For local cash
And local bragging rights.
Then a few local wins
And a few wins
Far from home.
Oh how things had changed.
No longer did my fist collide with the face of
The poor and angry;
Now the skin of champions
Caressed and slammed my
Bloody knuckles.

Bloody knuckles
Are all that remain
Of what I use to be.
Torn skin,
Scars and scabs,
Memories and
Reminders.

Now I sit
In a creaking chair
Alone once again.
If I had family they would visit me,
If I had friends they would call.
But I remain shut out
And fading fast.
No longer can I remember my girlfriends
Or the places I went
And the things I did.
The only things I hold on to
Is the memories tied onto
My wrinkly old hands
And my 
Bloody knuckles

Bloody knuckles
Are all that remain
Of me.


Copyright © grace freeman | Year Posted 2014


Details | Bragging Rights Poem | Create an image from this poem.

dueling parents

one starts by talking about 
what they did on the weekend,
subtly sliding in the name of their
kid &
the bragging rights get pulled
just as quickly as the pistol at
high noon in a 
spaghetti western---
the dueling parent
pulls their own kid from their
holster &
begins to blab about how amazing
s/he is,
whilst the other parent is trying
their best to out-do 
what this kidslinging parent
has already done---
with bull*****bullets flying,
mixing fact with fiction,
making these innocent kids out
to be the best human beings that
ever walked the face of this
planet,
so that the parents of these kids
can float away 
with their over-inflated egos &
the rest of us in the room
get to watch & listen,
wondering the whole time if that
is the real reason that they 
had them in the first place.


Copyright © andrew delapruch | Year Posted 2012