Best Brandish Poems
Don’t think me fragile, quick to break
No, don’t ever make that mistake
My warrior spirit’s deep and strong
I can avenge when faced with wrong
I am the Warrior Princess
I gallop on the my mighty steed
Brandish my sword, fulfill my need
What my eyes crave, I swoop to take
No human dares this heart to break
I am the Warrior Princess
With mad abandon, I make love
With eagle talons, I’m no dove
I subjugate, and I command
Full surrender to each demand
I am the Warrior Princess
When you think me supple and weak
The fire in my eyes will speak
I play a role, capture your soul
I dominate not part but whole
I am the Warrior Princess
In my veins the power to rule
No man can play me for a fool
Yes, he may think my heart is won
But can you hold the blazing sun?
I am the Warrior Princess
My fierce passion, you cannot match
Your body from her bed I’ll snatch
Ravish you till I’ve had my fill
Might let you live, or...I might kill
FOR I’M THE WARRIOR PRINCESS!!
Beneath thunderous waves near craggy shores
Exist in frigid seas the ancient men of cold blue
Fallen angels who now cast to earth are kind no more
Courageous seaman’s souls they look to accrue.
Imprudent men have eternally suffered
Callously the blue men of Minch, have crested the waves
Pursuing those without wit, for the challenge that’s offered
Condemning fools forever to the brinies depths and it’s caves.
Beware of the blue men and their command of the seas.
Fierce waves will extend from a flick of their tails,
Exhaling breathe launches a furious breeze
Masts shall be shattered; and shredded are sails.
Consider angels as fair, but fear the blue men of the Minch
Salvation will always encroach with a twist
Quick be the poets, whose conviction won’t flinch
Sheltered passage from verse, is the pardon, that blue men insist.
Trading verse with the devil, would be sounder for souls
Blue men of Minch have true depth to both rhyme and their prose
Brandish poems from heart and the head instead of old scrolls
Caution for that cold clench of the sea, is the poet that froze.
What makes a girl?
Is it not “sugar and spice and all things nice”?
What makes a woman? Oh…all that and so much more
A woman is made of sugar…sweet to the taste
Spice…Oh…she can burn your tongue and soul
All things nice? Hmmmm…
Things….let me define them for you...
The warmth of her body
The warmth of her soul
Her nurturing heart
How she makes a man whole
Her soft curvy form
Her luscious sweet lips
Her pillowy bosom
Her curvaceous hips
Her eyes that can speak
In many a way
Her hands that massage
All the worries away
Strength that bears
The pain of giving birth
How she puts herself down
To give you more worth
She is wispy and dreamy
Ethereal, unreal
Sent from above
To make a man feel
She is a seductress
Who can be a friend
She is the strong one
On whom to depend
Who can define her?
She is beyond all this…
The mystery of life
Is contained in her kiss!!!
Now…..For the glimpse of her other side!! I’m posting an old poem of mine,
Warrior Princess. Yes, women can HUNT as well! Read them and Weep.
The Warrior Princess
Don’t think me fragile, quick to break
No, don’t ever make that mistake
My warrior spirit’s deep and strong
I can avenge when faced with wrong
I am the Warrior Princess
I gallop on my mighty steed
Brandish my sword, fulfill my need
What my eyes crave, I swoop to take
No human dares this heart to break
I’m the Warrior Princess
With mad abandon, I make love
With eagle talons, I’m no dove
I subjugate, and I command
Full surrender to each demand
I’m the Warrior Princess
When you think me supple and weak
The fire in my eyes will speak
I play a role, capture your soul
I dominate not part but whole
I am the Warrior Princess
In my veins the power to rule
No man can play me for a fool
Yes, he may think my heart is won
But can you hold the blazing sun?
I’m the Warrior Princess
My fierce passion, you cannot match
Your body from her bed I’ll snatch
Ravish you till I’ve had my fill
Might let you live or I might kill
FOR I’M THE WARRIOR PRINCESS
Eileen Manassian Ghali
You can never DEFINE a woman!
September morn flutters its bright wings
Radiant colors of love and joy it all brings
Never just a dream
Drizzles fuse with summer air in delight
Rainbow looms are strewn in vast site
They perfectly prim
September smiles brandish vibrantly on air
Virgon-Libran Stars pace dazzlingly in flair
Trees arc overhead
Gilded crackers carpet densely around
Others in streaky flames stud…abound
Let’s frolic and tread
September aroma wafts, whirls… swirls
Bracing breeze bounces, dances, twirls
A lavish confetti-bearer
Overture of year’s most awaiting parts
Enchanting hues rain from the start
Ber Months’ fun greeter
Sept. 23, 2016 (Fri) 9.59pm
©2016Leonora Galinta
I wrote this poem to greet you all lovingly a Very Happy and Blessed September!
Also, a very Happy Birthday to the September Celebrants especially to our very dear poet and friend, Andrea D. Her very special day was last Sept 5. Once again, Happy, Happy Birthday! This poem is for You and for all my/our dear Septemberian poetic friends. Wishing you the BEST in life especially Good Health, Happiness and Success. Biggest and sweetest hugs from me.
I Love and miss you all!
One's poetic ability, yea willingness, to speak
Truth.
To stand, soul-naked, as it were...
Whilst your poet enemies stone you or avoid
you in the online public square.
To swim with the sharks, though thou
might be their delicious repast.
To be be happily avoided because you
don't follow the crowd.
You won't bow and scrape and sell your
soul nor your country out, no how!
In this battlefield of ideas, the small of
mind will shame you.
Brandish your sword of courage,in full
view!
A stalwart poem with three hundred reads and
comments, but two?
Shows that popularity trumps truth here,
So much so, I want to permanently vanish!
Or have 38,000 poets here to the famed,
"isle of Denial" be heretofore, banished!
~~~~~~
July 13, 2020
10:30 pm PST
They shoved Lady Justice to the ground.
He tried to help her up.
He warned them not to touch her.
And in his last breath,
he asked her if she was okay.
How should we remember Alex Jeffrey Pretti?
They said he brandished a gun,
but everyone could see it was a phone.
They said he was a violent terrorist.
officers attempted to disarm him.
Why won’t they release that video?
How should we remember Alex Jeffrey Pretti?
His extrajudicial execution?
The way they pinned him to the ground?
The way they pumped ten bullets
into his mortal form even after he lay lifeless?
How should we remember Alex Jeffrey Pretti?
An American intensive care nurse,
working for the Dept of Veterans Affairs,
living a life devoted to the care of others.
or a friendly neighbor always helping
those in need?
How should we remember him?
I will remember how he gave his life to help
Lady Justice to her feet.
Don’t know how it started, or how it ends
I’m older now then I will be then; when
I was scribing with quill, candle and scroll
A mind of dubiety, road full of holes
A wanderlust dream, of apples true taste
A destined arrival, from earth to space
Learning my place around the bend
My limbs sinking in the chair akin
To the rustic oak desk, branded by toil
My hands numbing, gears lacking oil
Watching raindrops kiss the window
A top hatted, hunched mans figure descends
He says with a grin, I’ll show you how
To properly command your pen
I pinch myself over and over again
Thinking I’ll wake next moments blink
I said sir, let me sip that ink you drink
Dine from the flowery plate you ascend
With glib he said, the drink is to think
Outside of a realm we transcend
The ink is verve that the heart kindly lends
To our inspired souls speaking
To minds boundless pen
I blink and he vanished
A note left to me holds words I brandish
“Calm eagles yield more then the busiest wren.”
https://www.youtube.com/edit?video_id=M1uhJSVuz_A
School bashings in 1951
Oh I went to school in fifty one
Like every six year old should
I did't know what was in store
A flogging for my good?
Bushy got a sandwich from another kid at school
He handed me another, nice tucker it was cool
Bushy did not come this day, I got another sandwich
Head teacher grabbed me by the scruff
A long cane he did brandish.
He thought to drive the evil out
I surely got a thrashing
Blue stripes from heel to nape of neck
Yes mate I got a bashing .
Beryl Mason was the older girl (bushys sister)
Who came and told my father
He sprang upon his horse, did whirl
His stockwhip cracked like thunder
He rode up the steps into the school
And sprang upon the teacher
Belted him often hard and cruel
And Joe become a preacher....he saw the light
So I did not get the cane for awhile after that.
I'd had all I needed for awhile. Don Johnson 6-12-10
My mate Sourpuss Noble of Dirranbandi had his head
Jammed through a plate of glass in a school door ..
As the teacher said .You will not talk no more?
One day a pale star began to glow
in scarcely-noted nebula where it swirled.
And this five thousand million years ago,
to bathe in light a distant, dusky world.
Lightning streaked amid primordial dawn—
stroked a soupy mire of mute quintessence.
Diverse concatenations urged a spawn
and coaxed life into coalescence.
A hive and every mind within related,
yet diverse and mild in their expression.
Collectively their members liberated,
verisimilitude their progression.
Myriad were their subtle variations.
Legion were their specialties outlandish.
In unison they laid a world’s foundations.
Limitless the skills they had to brandish.
But in Mars' core, dying breaths were taken;
fury from creation’s fires abated.
Absent these, Ares was forsaken—
magnetic lines of flux truncated.
The shield from radiation thus destroyed,
innocence’ pogrom bitterly ensued.
Air swept away forever to the void,
sentience vanquished—majesty subdued.
A life that no death could ever undo
Long hid portals which remain to be found.
That better life, which all wish to pursue
the secrets of life and death interwound.
Searching and searching, seemingly defeat,
each corner we turn finds new paths to tread.
Stands as the prize in the future we meet,
the secrets we seek, the books of the dead.
Some things we find are better, not revealed,
their meanings like riddles misunderstood.
The less armor worn, we brandish or wield
higher truth follows our message of good.
And as we found in the days of our youth,
we still face the test of absolute truth.
The festivities of the autumn equinox begin.
Wicca acknowledges this yearly event as Mabon.
The fruits of all who labor are gathered this night.
A coven encircles an old oak tree in the moonlight.
Giving thanks and praise to all spirits is the reason.
At this Sabbath, summer passes into the fall season.
The witches gather as a full moon shines in the sky.
As the summer departs, there is a chill in the air.
None in the congregation feels it, or seems to care.
Among them is my red-haired doll I see with my eye.
Sky-clad, they are not naked any moment.
They wear the moon and the stars for a garment.
Each gives me jitters with their strange incantations.
Skyward, they brandish their athames and oblations.
For this red-haired beauty, there is a growing yearning.
Never let the flames die. Keep them forever burning.
Don't worry about
classification,
We're all born as new stars.
Watch us brandish our
emotions.
Watch us mend a broken wing.
Watch us watch a cradle
rocking.
Classification nudges us to put
frames on things.
The universe has no frame,
Constantly reaching outward.
Enemies of love, pride and injustice
The actions of the benevolent unnoticed
Omnipotent powers
Spark the cigarette that blinds your eyes
The smoke that hugs your nose, and penetrates your clothes
Grey streaks on rose-colored dyes
The red man that guides your actions,
Is the same man you look at in the mirror
Childish ambitions, oh cute superstitions
Ego of a scapegoat, the nightmares of gloat
The pirates of humanity afloat with no fear
They mime the tale of those who seek
The money in banks and the water of the creek
Their enemies brandish guns, cars and jewelry
Brownish tones of indifference
The Robin Hood mentality of selfishness
The human condition overlooked,
Suffering is malignant
The cancer spreads to the lungs of the desperate
Shooters of chemicals and perverts splattered in blood
Shrewd victims of consequences
Flooded in waste, the barriers of insecurity
Robbing our children of their eloquent innocence
Don’t think me fragile, quick to break
No, don’t ever make that mistake
My warrior spirit’s deep and strong
I can avenge when faced with wrong
I am the Warrior Princess
I gallop on the my mighty steed
Brandish my sword, fulfill my need
What my eyes crave, I swoop to take
No human dares this heart to break
I’m the Warrior Princess
With mad abandon, I make love
With eagle talons, I’m no dove
I subjugate, and I command
Full surrender to each demand
I’m the Warrior Princess
When you think me supple and weak
The fire in my eyes will speak
I play a role, capture your soul
I dominate not part but whole
I am the Warrior Princess
In my veins the power to rule
No man can play me for a fool
Yes, he may think my heart is won
But can you hold the blazing sun?
I’m the Warrior Princess
My fierce passion, you cannot match
Your body from her bed I’ll snatch
Ravish you till I’ve had my fill
Might let you live or I might kill
FOR I’M THE WARRIOR PRINCESS
Eileen Manassian Ghali
Oh…oh…oh….I had SO MUCH FUN WRITING THIS! One of my students once told me that I reminded him of Xena, The Warrior Princess. I burst out laughing, and then… others corroborated the story. Oh for her spirit! LONG LIVE the warrior princess within!!! ;) Yea…have a laugh. Why not? Just make sure you don't cross me!!!!
Amidst forest sheath, shelters a castle once coppice
Yielded promises once kept now relinquished roughness
Shadows lace the ferns, cracks, and emboss moss; orchestral
Pieces crawl upon the ancestral stone castle walls
Noiseless dark and foreboding hypnotic mistral wind
Surround and bound my realm of one with one and all blind
Ought I, beget this magical slumbering beauty
Verdant tapestries would flourish my solemn duty
Sovereignty thereof my own medieval kingdom
Beauty in its grandeur, brandish domains sublime rhythm
Kingdom undivided ruled with integrity
Capture back what had been once blessed with its legacy
Days would chuckle with praise of honeysuckle sunlight
Rewriting freedom like the ocean waves move to bite
Bathed in the light will flourish enjoying the harvest
Overflowing wealth of golden fields, rivers, harnessed
Gardens comfort lambent skies through nourishing seasons
In my reign; doors open welcoming to the region
2/25/2017