Best Brandishes Poems
Too long spent in deep shadows
prevented my eyes from seeing
why the lights were so dimmed
why I had the need for freeing
Verses written by candle light
but not signed with my name
with one step out of the shadow
my first poem went up in flame
No lack of inspiration to fuel
a captive poet's sensitive ire
he reached for my written words
I torched their corners with fire
A ray of light through a small crack
the dungeon door he didn't close tight
stimulus kept me awake and writing
penning until darkness of the night
Words of anguish and freedom I wrote
morning shadows danced on my face
he came once more to taunt my soul
he who buried me in this tomb-like place.
He reached for my writings on the table
I stubbornly shook my head, turned away
clutching my night's work to my breast
I bravely said, "I must see the light of day."
Carried from the cavern's earthen ground
I looked at him near the edge of the river
he reached again for my treasured verses
into the rushing water, my writings deliver.
Hands covered my face in fear of reprisal
his strength brandishes strikes with clout
eyes shielded from the sun's blinding rays
I waited for him to take his thrashing rout
No clobbering fists or slaps given in anger
no harsh threats to bring forth my cries
no monstrous shadows looming over me
freed from my shadow by opening my eyes.
I think that I shall never see
A lovely poem written in defense of the bumblebee!
The ponderous and not so glamorous humble bee -
Obviously dreamed up by a senatorial sub committee!
An old stump that in summer becomes its deadly lair,
It flits about chasing little kids, settling in their hair!
It brandishes its fearsome stinger- its well-known bane,
And when stabbed in the fanny causes a heap o' pain!
It bumbles about with gossamer wings so delicately thin,
And upon its loutish face, notice that fiendish grin!
Such silly poems as this are composed only by fools like me,
But 'tis for certain that only God could love a bumblebee!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
With sincere apologies to one of my favorite poets, Joyce Kilmer,
for my parody of his beautiful poem "Trees"!
A Waltz with Thomas Jefferson
He is waiting the moment I open my eyes
So erect he stands with an air of elegance
I’m quick to notice his handsome face and tall size
The Declaration’s author seems poised for romance
A foot taller than I, he intimidates me
Curiously, he brandishes a violin
The polished instrument is but one of his three
He eyes me, pulls the violin’s scroll from his chin
He lays the violin down and extends his hand
Tom’s smile reveals his lady’s man reputation
He winks coyly, quite pleased to retire from the band
I'm thrilled to waltz with a founder of our nation
We step gaily about the colonial hall
As Benjamin Franklin and John Adams look on
Tom’s gentle hands lead me at the first Congress ball
Envious are the expressions of Ben and John
Tom sniffs the sweet yellow rose I placed in my hair
Sadly, I release him when the band’s music ends
You say I was dreaming, but I swear I was there
Our thrilling, romantic waltz all logic transcends
February 3, 2017
Amidst saffron robes nail-bit hand reveals
mobile
phone
Laughing-robed companion brandishes
ice cream
cone
Shaved-headed naughty boys practice
chanting
tones
Humble golden temple gates peeling paint
stone on
stone
V. Anderson-Throop 22 May 2015
The Tweetamol as you will see
Is strange beyond deformity.
You’ll gasp, then gape and then declare,
‘I’ve never seen a bird with hair!
A hairy bird- what’s that about?’
You’ll hear yourself begin to shout.
And if you’re lucky you might see
It do something extraordinary-
But this may give you quite a shudder
To see it start to milk its udder.
(It does this every other day
Then posts it to the milky- way).
The thing about this crazy bird
The thing I find is most absurd,
Is that it does from time to time
Pretend to be a porcupine.
Now porcupines, and I think I’m right
Have quills and come out late at night,
Whereas this barmy batty beast
When it comes out to have a feast-
Dons lilies from the lily pond
And brandishes a wizard’s wand,
And then, in words I cannot utter
Gobbles jars of peanut butter.
It does this till it’s had a few
Then swims off in the ocean blue.
To which it sings a lullaby
To whales and roes and flutterbies.
Another thing about this bird
Is that it doesn’t say a word.
That’s not because it cannot speak-
Or that it hasn’t got a beak;
The beak it’s got is well applied
And opens up from side to side.
Instead, as best as it is able
It likes to write thing on a table,
Then charge a pound (which I think is fair)
To see what it has written there.
But if it thinks you’re being stroppy
It will refuse to give a copy.
And so, before you ask advice
Do try and be a little nice.
No one knows his name…
He is a villain though his back looks pitiful
because he walks with a limp; nevertheless, to hide his complex—one leg is shorter than the other, he bathes with innocent blood and quenches his thirst with the breath a malignant spirit exhaled.
He dethroned his father to gain power.
He devoured his own offspring to satisfy his insatiable appetite.
He chopped ‘Present’ off with an axe sharpened with a stone
named ‘Past,’ and stamped on it with his limping leg, to make sure
that uncertain ‘Future’ would never be able to germinate.
You who survived today somehow,
should go to bed with the prayer for tomorrow as the sun goes down.
People step out from their homes with hope because the sun rises.
They get to their work place to earn a day’s living. They step into the manmade order, the gears, and after all the day’s skidding and crushing in the gears with missing teeth
they stop by a tavern, on the way home to relieve the day’s stresses,
where the glasses of booze are filled with drifting ripples.
It may be a blessed moment.
For ‘Present’ is granted in a light-headed haziness
from a few shots of whiskey; they see distorted yesterdays
and twisted tomorrows, and as the happy mood deepens
the comets with long tails crossing the skies fall into the little universe;
the glasses they hold in their hand.
As stars fall,
the limping Cronus hurriedly enters the tavern
and brandishes the axe to chop the happy drunkards’ heads off,
because he was left out in cold by the drunkards, who were in a happy mood.
Note: 1. Titan Cronus and personified chronos-time, are used as synonym 2. Cf: Goya. Saturn [Cronus] devouring one of his children
Cosmic Consciousness
Within immense universe
Human is a desert mirage
Ancient being in search of
His veiled mysterious past
Brandishes worthless gold
As wisdom opens the path
To enlightenment that last
Penned: 1/15/2022
3:20 a.m.
Lake Worth
Florida USA
Fairies rejoice and dance ballet
Scarlet brandishes the Pimpernel Palais
Smash of a broken lock
Whispering, they talk
Time, it seems to stop
They’re in my house,
They’re inside.
Searching for some loot
A tried and tested crew
What damage they may do
When they find us,
They'll find us.
Footfalls of the stairs
They think I’m unaware
That I would never dare
Come out there,
Go out there.
Doors smash, they see my wife
He brandishes a knife
My shotgun roars to life
He falls down,
He’s bleeding.
The others turn and fly
The ringleader he lies
Looks confused as he dies…
He made his choice
...So be it.
Doubled over like a sandbag
I examine the scars of gluttony
And the leftovers of
mistake cake
Little blistered trails litter
My infirm white skin
Like little red tears in my heart
They shame me, they wet my eyes
They burry my suffocating bones
Under the weight
Of what I’ve done
And each step I take to heal
Brandishes new stains
Each bounding step
Unearths deep heaves in my chest
And air can’t come soon enough
The salt won’t stop building up
And I am just pile of sand
Unable to stand
Or take his hand
And be something worth a smile
Or a kiss, or a diamond on the wrist
I am stuck in a room
And I can’t get out
Not here, not now
And I know that…
It’s because I am fat.
I've met someone I think I could love;
she brandishes what joy is made of-
I lose myself in thoughts about her,
And how I would love to surround her;
The way she talks is hypnotizing,
The way she walks is mesmerizing-
but how do I know the love is true,
or if she just reminds me of you?
I cannot help but vainly wonder,
If, toward you, I still will plunder;
because even in my lovers trance,
The thoughts of you still scantily dance.
Loving her leaves impressions of sin,
When your shadow walks upon her skin.
Lance-Lot
by Michael R. Burch
Preposterous bird!
Inelegant! Absurd!
Until the great & mighty heron
brandishes his fearsome sword.
Keywords/Tags: Nature, Animal, Bird, Birds, Heron, Herons, Fish, Fishing, River, Ocean, Ardeidae, Egret, Egrets, Bittern, Bitterns, Great Blue Heron, Goliath Heron, Gray Heron, Great Egret, Crane, Stork, Ibis, Spoonbill, Beak, Bill, Sword, Lance, Spear, Inelegant, Gawky, Awkward, Ungainly, Gangly, Preposterous
My love crèche refreshes the niche
Where stacks of bliss
Vie to dish
Out the kind of love fleece
That my love nourishes and brandishes
Clear avenues
Where sorrow finishes
Blues disseminated in news and views
Expected to chart the way forward
In matters of the heart
That reward
The start
To an enriched setting
Enmeshed in prisms of happiness
Waiting
To displace an episode featuring unhappiness
Which sometimes creeps
Into nooks and crannies
In a berth that keeps
No faith in pennies
Counted once in a lifetime
In need of a dose of affection
Genuine to bless a life for all the time
When attention
Needed to bless a union
Is never in short supply
But given a standing ovation
To dry
Unshed tears
To grace a salutary coupling
Bereft of beers
With no inkling
To derange the range
In which love lubricates
Gears to arrange
Happiness states
In which bliss thrives
Heartbeats breathe well
Sweet love derives
Love feelings that swell and spell a love scale.
Giorgio rode his red Ducati to climb a mountain
without a helmet to protect the fragile brain
from damage, then all sirens started wailing
as if an earthquake or a hurricane were coming!
" They won't catch me because cars
can't ride mountains or steep hills,
they get stuck in between rocks."
A large crowd gathered below, they yelled,
" Don't crash into big trees and break your neck like Bill did;
your dad is furious about the terrifying news and brandishes
a leather belt. Cops get out of patrol cars but soon realize,
climbing will give them a heart attack and called it quits!
Riding without a helmet may cost a precious life anytime,
use your noodle: motorcycles are more dangerous than cars;
I've seen dead bodies across highways to be replaced by crosses,
don't be the next victim and be listed in the obituary of the Enquire.
Giorgio found his hiding place in a small cave,
where fat, chittering rats roamed and snakes chased them for food;
he shivered and called his mom, she never came
to rescue him: his fear was worse than wrestling an enemy in a feud!
Standing on a hump,
a chilled remorselessness
of a shadow trauma climbs out of a sealed
grotto of infinity
like a vas deferens, spilling fiddled lies.
You grope for your identity in griping
acceptance. From the umbilical cord
the pink flesh brandishes a monster.
You forget the vowels in a solo monologue
in a tormented accent, muffled
in bleeding throat. Take my ears
for cosmetic therapy, which killed my hearing.
Between blindness and tidy rocks
I am walking discreetly to count the
digs of mysterious armless truths :
disappeared in the pages of history.
SATISH VERMA