Best Brandished Poems
Written: March 05, 2025
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As the final petal droops
upon quivering leaves,
while the soul begins to decay
akin to the evening lights
fading into a coffin.
Tears flow quietly across vacant rooms,
sheltered in the hidden retreat,
of a hapless fool folly.
Aged and forsaken, an ancient blade lies
on a ragged oak table.
All around the termite-ridden
floorboards are strewn with
tattered sheets of stories.
Valiant voices of victory,
vibrate in vivid verses,
preserved with lively Ink.
Decades of disarray have faded away,
leaving behind a cherished tale,
its inked revelations whirl into a frenzy,
as I peer through the glass,
reminiscing about those golden days
when my youth overflowed with joy.
I couldn't assist but notice
the drooping scarlet dahlias.
A gleaming golden crown,
sparkling with lovely
crimson queens
rests upon the head of a forlorn exile—
and that is all that remains.
Under the relentless sun
that preys upon the flames,
how can I rise above
the crimson chaos
that encroaches at the edges,
surrounding the ghostly grave
of the poetic soul
I have lost in the quest for acclaim.
Within the weeping window,
a wild wonder reveals itself,
draped in a vivid shade of vermilion.
Amid the whispers of wayward spirits,
the flawless porcelain of our past
now bears unsightly marks.
Fractured dreams are embellished
with delicate threads, while shafts of
sunlight slices through shadowy skies.
The family fortress,
frozen in cold stone,
waits for its wary wanderer,
beckoning the illustrious
to traverse its dimly paths.
In the serene silence of slumber,
the sorrowful saga emerges.
The embrace of eternal sleep.
A chilling chronicle of the collapse
cascades in the corridors
akin to a haunting harmony.
The aspiration and avarice
ultimately overwhelmed us
As the clock chimed cheerfully
at midnight on that chilling night,
the cunning usurper brandished
a blade and brutally
broke their beings,
birthing ghosts of grim,
unspoken words to weep
behind weathered walls.
At this moment, I am
the emerald evening
of the early dawn,
The waxen white wick
that waits before their
weathered tombstone is
withered to a whisper.
Skies sparkled with snow diamonds drifting through
the magic that surrounded the effervescent darkness.
The tulle breath of the forest spirited the moonglow
in a spritely capricious demeanor and addressed me as
… it spoke …
of the curious sounds seeping from the lavender mist.
Moon and stars joined to illustrate a tale of strength
behind the human laws of moral theory and bid me
… harken ...
for in their story was buried the essence
of the earthborn plight to live, to love, to hope,
and to ascend the sangria stones of immortality.
As the moon opened and began to spill,
… I listened …
offended by the grape and Tyrian wafts
of desire, hatred, indulgence, and greed.
My silvery tears rolled violet down my cheeks
illuminating the raisin-hued darkness.
Sadness washed over me with sparkly specks
of magenta moon dust manifesting through lacy clouds.
As dawn crept in, it brandished the cold, corrupted,
hateful thoughts and spread its orchid enchantment.
Beauteous shades of periwinkle enshrouded the sky
… and sang …
The wait seemed eternal to feel inspiration.
Minutes were mountains as each one ticked by,
my hand poised grasping a pen, and then
seated without hitting one stroke on a key.
A closed mind submits nothing, zero and zilch
in a life that's been deeply anchored
in the annals of an abyss shrouded by opacity.
Somewhere between midnight's noirs
and the misty grey flow of morning fog,
I'd fallen into a cavern, deprived of light.
I'd built a bulwark fortress that fenced me in
and the key to my cell... held in my own hand.
I brandished a pen that became a sharpened sword
that hacked and sliced at my every written word.
My dreams were gone, along with life's sensation.
No wonder I could not find a cause for inspiration.
A poet who doesn't write is of no use, none at all.
I stood at the edge of a cliff ~ should I jump or fall?
Sounds of laughter caught the attention of my ears
and through eyes blurred by tears,
I saw children running along the water's edge.
Hesitant, I decided to watch them from upon the ledge.
I sat atop the cliff with legs overhanging that day,
wishing I was a child of ten again to join in their play.
"Well, poet," spoke my muse. "Are you a withered bloom?"
A scolding for thinking of naught but notions of doom
A flurry of fussing she threw at me, hassling like a Harpy.
Exactly what I needed for living in doldrums of gloom.
"Now, see what you've done," she was decidedly terse!
"Your burden is that you always begin in free verse
but always end up writing lines ending in rhyme.
You continually do that. Time after time."
My laughter was louder than the children at play
who stopped traipsing in the surf to look up my way.
A wave of my hand and down to the beach I ran.
Inspiration filling me like waves crashing upon the sand.
A Random Act Of Kindness
A little old nun all dressed in black
A habit on her head and chest
Contrasted in white with her silver cane
Doubtful she could cross the street
A little boy sat on the curb
Playing with his spinning top
His hair a shiny yellow mane
A tee shirt and pair of shorts
He saw this figure very old
Dressed dramatically in black
A brandished sword was in her hand
A weapon that she did not hide
He stared at her with so much awe
He walked to her and took her hand
And checked the traffic as they walked
Then crossed her on the other side
She smiled at him and then she said
Thank you, little lad, you are very kind
You’re welcome lady, he said with pride
Any friend of Zorro is a friend of mine
Random Acts Of Kindness Contest
Sponsored by Kai Michael Neumann
March 7, 2018
Pray, if the Gods love us all so much
Why is it that they never do open the skies up
And save us?
Why is it that they remain silent
Letting our hearts bleed
Letting our tears pour
Letting our delusions get even more
Misleading?
Do they really love us then?
Or are we hated
To such an extent that we deserve
Our sorrowful fates?
Why, if loved I am by the rulers of the cosmos
My prayers be sent then
To them
To take me out of this murky swampy land
Before my bones get too old
To carry myself
Before my body refuses to keep on
Shouldering me!
Pray, I am sure the cosmos hears me
Knows it too well
Of the allegiance I hold to the Gods
I lived, merely to find my purpose
Purpose which turned out to be void
As, in the end, the world unveiled herself
And brandished her sword haughtility at me,
Causing my glass cage to break into irrecuperable pieces!
I have nothing left for me here
No duty to carry out
No dues to repay
And I am defeated by the mundane existence!
Why, I shall keep waiting to see
As long as my will remains with me
I shall keep waiting, to see
If the Gods do love me!
I shall be sure of their feelings
The day I shall unzip my mortal self
And unfold my wings,
Set for worlds which are yet to be explored!
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.
It's five o'clock, she checks her watch, at last the work day's done
Her forehead pounds, a coke is found, she gulps two aspirin down
Walking through the parking lot, a cell phone to her ear
Three calls to make, six texts must wait, until she reaches home
A dreadful day, is worsened now, by a cocktail shade of smog
Too dazed by crazy sitcoms that seem to fill her life,
on an escalator going up or down, to nowhere in the strife
A contrail stream of traffic noise, is brandished against her ears
The snail-paced freeway travelogue, a prequel to the dialogue
that sails into her blue-tooth buds, enhances all that aches
The modem in her deep-fried brain is in a dismal state.
Just blogs of malware, here and there, is skyjacked by the haze.
She fails to see a taxicab, in the multiplex of cars
A screech of brakes, a near escape, it's not her first mistake
The rushing, crushing motorcade, can't stop to see her scars
The escapade, the glitzy parade, no shelter from the beat
The drum that pounds, the sounds that come, awake or fast asleep
The docudrama of her life has muddied up her brain
Dumbfounded, by the life she leads, is lost before it's found
Some think, perhaps the gods are crazy, (at least that's what some say)
I think, instead, it's not the gods, but folks who've lost the way
________________________________________________________
1/6/15
For Contest: "The Gods Must Be Crazy" Sponsor: John Lawless
CRUSADE
The crusader brandished his stiff sword
sharpened
didn´t want
but beheaded idols
to liberate his inner temple
swift and passionate was his riding
saturated
didn´t want
but unpaved the temples
to remember the first stone
and had peace
on the way he clashed spades
bled
sparked spades
was blinded by light
floated in the void
and saw colors
earthly shades
and then kinetic spatial explosion
of unknown prisms
crossing cross crusaders
irreligious and revering
I cannot offer a gift for you to hold,
no millefiori paperweight of brightly coloured glasses,
or fancy timepiece cast from golds of yellow and white,
for it could never rest, smooth and heavy, within your open hands,
or sit proudly marking time upon your sun-tanned wrist,
fated instead to be cast aside in guilty haste;
a bittersweet secret buried beneath time’s fallen sands.
Born of heartfelt words,
that need not be brandished or worn outwardly,
neither be hidden away in a dark and airless closet,
my gift to you lies deep within my own heart,
remaining without exception,
promising love, support and friendship always.
A life that even death cannot undo,
for there are portals I've yet to find,
hidden life in the green, I wish to pursue,
oh, the secrets of life and death entwine.
I search and search, I will not know defeat;
each corner turned will show new paths to tread.
The deer, the bear, the fox, each beast I meet
will reveal their secret life's in their death.
So, let the woodland speak hear its reveal
riddle the meaning left, see it understood
the less armor worn or brandished we wield
the higher truth we gain in form of good
Into the woods I plunge as in my youth
I face the final test of nature’s truth.
Hats are such a marvel,
when the weather is so garbled,
A multitude of quick coverlets to warm the brain
protect the head from snow, wind and rain.
A dapper, flamboyant chapeau
to quickly dawn where ever you might go,
A fedora brandished by some handsome man
that would display his appealing stand.
A stetson for the guy from Texas
who stands tall before the rest of us.
A tam, a topper
a Panama show stopper.
Some pretty little girl in a bonnet
that inspires a Shakespearean sonnet.
Better yet, a woman's choice of millinery
to walk a fashion show off fritillary.
To church or same gandiose Easter parade
that gleams and stands above the seasonal charade.
Hats are such a blessing
when the cold requires warm protective dressing.
The prediction is for gusty winds and cold,
hats need only be warm not necessarily bold.
Take your pick
but make it quick
your nose, your face, your head
need covering, that goes unsaid.
as temperatures drop
Glitterin' gold wuz struck along Alder's Gulch in eighteen sixty-three!
Potential prospectors came frum as fer away as Knoxville, Tenn-o-see!
Hordes uv soiled doves and gamblers migrated to the Gulch as well,
Along with platoons uv ruffians and barkeeps, their potent booze to sell!
Fellers labored hard all week pickin' and a-shovelin' at their claim.
But Sundays wuz set aside to raise 'oly 'ell, much uv it to their shame!
Baptist preachers thumped their Bibles tryin' to preach above the din.
There warn't no churches so they preached in saloons aginst the wages uv sin!
Hurdy-gurdy gals roamed about 'neath the steely-eyed gaze uv their 'madam'.
Guns and bowie knives wuz rife and wuz brandished by the dudes that had 'em!
Brawls erupted resultin' in blackened eyes and numerous bloodied noses,
Leavin' heaps uv rowdies sprawled on sawdust floors in grotesque poses!
Pie-aner players added to the din beltin' out their bawdy songs!
Preachers gave up and said to 'ell with it and joined the festive throngs!
Poker games wuz proceedin' in ever' saloon, usually endin' in a ruckus,
Since there seemed to be an excess uv aces held by some cheatin' cuss!
Fallin' down drunks wuz nuisances that bouncers simply booted out the door,
But they somehow meandered to another pub to imbibe a little more!
On Sundays they had their spree - on Mondays though sick and broke,
They panned fer 'dust fer another Sabbath frolic - the aim uv ever' bloke!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Bobby Brown threatened to knock me down
but Billy Blues took off his shoes
and with a barefoot blocked his fist
just as it brandished my wrist,
and even though they fought desperately in the rain,
neither bothered to complain.
They boxed and kicked and blew smoke
but neither even spoke.
Finally I cried, "Stop!"
"Belinda is calling a cop!"
So bloody and bruised, Billy put on his shoes.
Bobby was so muddy he looked really cruddy.
And though I felt bad because Billy was bloody,
I was bound to boast to my friends
how Billy had come to my defense.
And now Billy and me and baby makes three
and Bobby is history!
By: Carole O'Terry Duet
Copyright: Oct., 2016
"All Rights Reserved"
Dom and Georgia caught the bus,
And boarded it without a fuss.
Although the bus was bound for school
They found the journey rather cool.
Dom leapt on and found a seat.
He opened up a pack of sweets
And turning on his MP3
Yelled “Frasier, come and sit with me!”
Georgia, being more sedate
Settled down by her best mate
And chatted as the bus drove on,
Of last night’s homework and so on.
Dom and Frasier, being boys,
Were now creating quite noise.
And as the journey seemed quite slow,
They looked around for stuff to throw.
Tutting, Georgia shook her head
Wishing she was still in bed.
She wondered should she tell her mother
All about her naughty brother.
“Lob this at Tom!” and Frasier brandished
What looked like half a moldy sandwich.
I bet you a strawberry lace
That you can’t land it on his face.
“I’ll take that bet mate!” Dom said grinning
(Through the air the bread went spinning).
“I bet you a further fiver
You’ll never throw it at the driver!”
From the back there came a shout,
As Andy gave Marie a clout.
Responding to a double dare
Jack put gum in Mary’s hair.
While tony tried to count his feet
Alice pushed him from his seat,
And as she didn’t like his look
She also ate his science book.
The driver pulled the handbrake on
And shouted to the boisterous throng
“We’re here you lot, leave me alone!
I’ll see you on the way back home.”
A Random Act Of Kindness
A little old nun all dressed in black
A habit on her head and chest
Contrasted in white as she held her cane
Doubtful she could cross the street
A little boy sat on the curb
Playing with his spinning top
His hair a shiny yellow mane
A tee shirt and pair of shorts
He saw this figure very old
Dressed dramatically in black
A brandished sword was in her hand
A weapon that she did not hide
He stared at her with so much awe
He walked to her and took her hand
And checked the traffic as they walked
Then crossed her on the other side
She smiled at him and then she said
Thank you, little lad, you are very kind
You’re welcome lady, he said with pride
Any friend of Zorro is a friend of mine
Random Acts Of Kindness Contest
sponsored by Debbie Guzzi
February 7, 2017