Best Brandishing Poems
Sarah’s Story - Mental Illness
Sarah, the “Crazy Lady,” was a familiar sight,
roaming the streets any time of day or night.
Her foul body odor announced her presence,
as she paraded around in her filthy, smelly garments.
Walking barefoot regardless of the weather,
in her state of mind, she couldn’t do better.
Children teased and made fun of Sarah,
reciting ridiculing ditties, adding to the drama.
Behind her a lively entourage would follow,
taunting and calling her names creating a sideshow.
They howled with childish laughter,
as Sarah hurled angry profanities after.
An avid collector of all kinds of trash,
she transformed her abode into a garbage stash.
Sarah’s odd behavior made her fair game,
to unkind people who had no mercy or shame.
While many folks turned a blind eye,
young boys threw rocks and other missile,
at the roof and windows of the shack she occupied.
Behind bushes, they would scamper away to hide,
as Sarah furiously dashed outside,
brandishing a machete, cudgel, or broom,
screaming out curses, damnation, and doom.
Like a cancer, her mental illness had devoured her brain,
and before long, she was officially "certified insane."
Most agreed it was for her own benefit,
and for the good of society to be rid of this "misfit."
But even though she was locked away in an institution,
no psychiatric treatment could cure her mental condition.
When Sarah finally died, she was unloved and alone;
her passing was hardly noticed, and she was mourned by none.
Note: This piece was inspired by a true account. While we have made great strides in the study of mental illness and understanding it, unfortunately negative attitudes and beliefs toward people who have mental health conditions are still common. Thus, as a society, we still have a long way to go to improve our attitudes and to show more caring and compassion for those who suffer from various types of mental illness.
08-06-2015
Contest: Mental Illness
Sponsor: Nathan D.
Placement: 7th
A quote from "90 North" by Randall Jarrell:
"I see at last that all the knowledge
I wrung from darkness -- that the darkness flung me --
is worthless as ignorance: nothing comes from nothing,
The darkness from the darkness. Pain comes from the darkness.
And we call it wisdom. It is pain."
The first bike I ever owned --
when I was ten or eleven --
was a Christmas gift
from a friend. He was receiving a new one
and I was gifted with his old bike.
He had cleaned it up and brush painted it
with a nice coat of red paint.
It was the only gift I got that year,
one of my only gifts as a child.
I loved that bike:
it freed me to pedal around so
I could accompany my friend
as we rode anywhere in our tiny,
sandy, two-paved-road fishing town.
Before the bike, I ran alongside him.
I was quite accustomed to running everywhere,
especially in summer, barefoot, usually shirtless.
Most years from first grade
until we were about twelve,
we spent our time together,
at his house or in imaginary jungles
or on wild, indian-infested wagon train trails.
We defended those trails from apaches
intent on taking our scalps.
Sometimes, on pirate ships, we manned canons
or forced reluctant traitors and mutineers
to walk the plank for failures and misdeeds.
We were never bored, usually outdoors.
On jungle safaris we were frequently attacked
by ferocious lions and tigers and
often captured by cannibal head-hunters
who put us into large pots to cook us
while dancing all around and brandishing
their spears. They sang or chanted
amazing, invented language repetitive
verses overloaded with frequent "ughs'
and tongue-twisting nonsense phrases.
His mother served us gallons of Kool Aid,
gave us snacks we ate with relish.
With a child’s trusting nature,
I hoped this could never end –
I felt secure in friendship and
apparent acceptance by
my friend’s parents. Of course,
things did change.
But..........I did not.
Not for a long, long time.
You possess me with those eyes of pyromania
a tidal wave of temptation thrashing into my need for euphoria
romanticized on appetite for agile reckoning of kiss ravishing, harnessing my hysteria,
plumed with lashes lent from love's wings, curling wet wishing
brows preened sexy mean, fur strip stiring me,
hypnotized by your hot umber rings
I learn how suspense stings
circles of crave unbuckling my brazen brandishing,
deep set on my desire I'm unraveling for the vixen fire, heart sweating,
born from the brown of beauty's sweetest warmth
eyes that bite and suck the stress
right out of my soul's duress,
for you I go forth...
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
You possess me with those eyes of eagle blue
you use a single glance my hesitancy to unglue
soaring in the sky of my sweetened fantasy
these blue crystal orbs foretell of ecstasy
But first...the hunt...looking for prey - it's true
it's you - the Eagle
brutally brave and fiercely famished
you glide on the wind of my desire
your wings ablaze with fire
your eyes fierce, Oh, how they pierce
again and again
my inner sanctum deep
their hue puts the sky to shame
demanding passion and cravings untame
they bore deep into me
slashing bonds of inhibition free
Our eyes speak
Brown and Blue
Me and You...
in your eyes the need to seize
in mine, the need to please
yours dominate
mine capitulate
yours subjugate
mine consummate,
your eyes speak...
mine respond...Bonded, we belong
Eagle and Dove
poetry love
Our eyes speak...
A Collaboration Made From The Quills Of Justin & Eileen
Brandishing the lightning lance, the sun arrives,
The mighty, majestic monarch of the day.
Kissing the mouldy mountain rows, he comes
Banishing mist and frost from night’s blotched brow.
In what rich ruby ring of radiance, he appears
Smearing and splotching liquid gold, he gracefully moves
With sparkling splashes, the world becomes bright
The prompt and punctual rooster raises his raucous revelry.
Birds and beasts wake up from their slumberous sleep.
The feathered folks tweet and twitter in harmonious notes.
The verdant vales below send up a welcoming sign.
The leaves stay bright tipped with dainty droplets of dew.
Morn, the bashful, mousy maiden with modest grace,
Peeps and peeks through half drawn curtains in the East.
Removing all trace of a tarnished yesterday,
The day arrives making me smile in burgeoning bliss.
I did not mean to snatch your heart
Like with the claw of a vorocious bird of pray
You fell into my unset trap
Speared yourself upon my harpoon
Which had only been hanging on the wall
You threw yourself into my way
stole my arrows and brandishing them with cupids blood
Punctured your heart without a thought
Other than the whisper of my name
You claim that I'm a siren
I've led you to your death
But it was the birds i sang to
Your name did not leave my unforgiving lips
With swollen eyes from crying
Filled with swirling colors of obsession
You beg to me and plead with me
Blaming me and cursing me
Claiming that i drug you here
Forgetting it was you who snuck in through my balcony
To watch me in the fountains
And listen to my voice
To see how the animals follow me
And witness how the moon becomes my robes
And the stars become my eyes
How the setting sun remains all night
Within the silk of my hair
how roses color my cheeks
In the darkness of the cold
And the world surrounds me
And the beauty of the light i behold
Where in this story did i bewitch you
Where did i make you call my name
Did i once respond or invite you to play a game
you claim i did this to you
When you only did it to yourself
did you enjoy your gaze upon the child of Cerynian
Did you think I'd become your obediant wife
When did i claim i loved you
How quickly you think of these blasphemous lies
Your not in love you simpleminded mortal
Your infatuated and in lust and your lust is a lie
Death and Forlorn Time in the Shadows of True Evil
Death and Time holdeth onto eerie and most frightening shadows
Whilst pervading deeply within that infernal region where the dark
Evil and uncanny mists occlude the terrifying presence of a great
Dark Doomsday cult of vicious and horrifying beasts that are now
Perpetuated from a putrid Hellspawn by Lucifer’s own command!
Corrupted with the presence of sacrilegious beasts of true violence
Who hate all aspects of humankind with their spirit of maleficence,
And wince not whilst decapitating the heads of those who disagree
With them, and creating a mindless havoc of unparalleled tragedy
That’s become an expected, sad occurrence of Mankind writ large!
Brandishing a razor-sharp, coal-black-blade is their evil incarnation,
Of a time, that’s totally indicative of their chaotic rampage of bloody
Burning attacks as battlegrounds are drawn into an eternal darkness,
From whence there may be no return since there’s a dark, blood-red
Poison, from the dark afterlife, in which every drop of blood is toxic!
Every drop of this spilt blood-red poison has a deadly demonic aroma,
That produces nasty swarms of ravenous locusts to torment all innocent
Victims caught between the machinations of Almighty God and Lucifer.
In this reality, these evil spirits cast their malevolent spells without any
Scruple, wishing for Mankind’s swift destruction by Lucifer himself!
Gary Bateman and Liam McDaid – A Collaborated Poem,
Copyright © All Rights Reserved – November 24, 2017
(Quintain)
While doing my daily internet loop
I read some poems at Poetry Soup
Some souls were bared
Emotions shared
By a wonderfully talented group
So many unknowns are gathered together
Brandishing their talents without a tether
Notable skills
From gifted quills
Flocking together like birds of a feather
Whether mundane or totally bizarre
Through words they express just who they are
Some young, some old
Some shy, some bold
Each as marvelous as a shooting star
To the nameless owners of this great site
Thank you for giving our poetry flight
No longer adrift
Because of your gift
You are the beacon that brings us to light
I’m noticing the seeds I like to buy
are running out in flavor “Nacho Cheese.”
They’ve got sunflower seeds in Ranch, but I
require my nacho cheese ones. Geeez Louise!!
I look it up on Google and I find
they’re selling out. I run to every store!
They’ve got that dang “Dill” flavor, but my kind
is not in stock and won’t be any more.
I know a service station that’s still got
those seeds I love. I’m off! The hunt is on!
I’ll buy up every bag in every spot
where I can locate them before they’re gone.
Some other stations carry them. I dash
from Pleasant Grove to Provo, brandishing
my credit card. I buy them. In a flash,
all seeds in Nacho Cheese are vanishing!
I’m driving south as far as Mapleton!
The chance of finding bags of them is dire
for fellow addicts. I’ve found sixty-one
to last a year before they all expire!
A true story that happened to me about five years ago
See "About Poem" above. When I love something, I try very hard to get it!!
For the Obsession Contest of Silent One
I held the stumbling humanoid,
Standing on two feet, scared as an alien
I am his cradle and his playground
Even before he was named *****Sapien.
Watched him crawl on hands and feet,
Watched him grow, move and trail
His mind having lost all its restraint
Unknown quest beckoned his first sail
Wandering unhinged in the oceans midst
Lost his color, lost his curl
Breathing the air on land unknown
Came back white as a polished pearl
Placed himself on a glittering throne
Uttered words, harsh and foreign
Ruling all with his reeking greed
Brandishing his spear, sword and the gun
Started digging my gut for diamond,
Chafing oil off of my skin
Pulling out my heart of gold
Making mules of his kith and kin
Chained his brothers, labeled for sale,
Subjected them to conditions sinister
Bent and flogged all their lives
Sisters raped at will of their master
I silently watched the macabre play,
Where no one but he smiles
My eyes oozing out warm tears
To fill at least a dozen Niles
Ate my arms and thighs for dinner,
Bathed me with blood each night
As he danced in a trance unashamed
But I Africa —I refused to die
Written :04/25/2017
Grandpa was a Bowie.
A tight-lipped protestant Ulsterman
who drifted into the Poblacht na hÉireann
in search of a cure for his cold heart.
His thin lips wed a soft Catholic girl.
He joined the Garda Síochána settling down
to breed Kerry Blue’s. After he retired, he still
wore his uniform, his neck as stiff as ever.
Grandma wrote letters to the Pope
begging for Papal forgiveness
for her heathen husband.
I have not been to Hidalgo County,
but if I were one day to go, I might try
to convince the Daughters of the Alamo
of my credentials to be worshiped
in a mild, concessionary way.
A complimentary burger, a free pass
to the museum, a photograph
of myself brandishing a big knife
at a picture of Generalissimo Santa Anna
that would suffice.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Poblacht na hÉireann" = Republic of Ireland (Éire).
"Ulster' (Northern Ireland).
"Garda Síochána" Is the Police Force of the Republic of Ireland.
From a developing land
The body shakes
Trembling in ancestral amber
Swirling and flowing
It must penetrate the light
Its destiny is that light
Away from the closing space
Mother-bound
Nourishing and holding
But then they come
Proclaiming and brandishing
Curled tightly in this place
Hiding and frightening
The amber turns to mud
Green and thick like tar
There is no escape
Pulling and separating
The limbs freeing or fettering
Same result.
Unwanted here in a plentiful land
contrary to
conformity
finding com
fort in in divi
duality she's
the redhead
in canada
that uses
her words
carefully
and her
pen as
an anvil
knowing
which word
even before
writing it down
what shape it will
take maybe a
razor sharp
blade of
a haiku
katana
or simply
to wait for
the weight
of a twist of
her wrist and
end a poem while
brandishing in hand
a Scots broad sword
but haven't you heard
that a sculptor can
size a marble
stone no
matter
the size
by touch
knowing if
this is where
an arm will be
then all falls into
place proportionately
placing an arm
at arm's length
and the waist not
to waste a single
chip of chisel to take
away the balance of what
figure that is figured out to
be even to the tiniest detail
so as Michelangelo
lay on top of the
stone that he
knew would
become
David
he runs
and rubs
his hands
over what will be
come a young
man's ribs
and down
lower his
mind al
ready
sees
what
people
will talk
about for
centuries
of mankind
and manhood
Sheets of blank paper had yellowed with age
I wielded a pen, but no ink was spilled by my hand,
Memories were left unwritten on every page,
though as many as a beach holds grains of sand
I gave in to my Muse and scrawled line after line
thoughts drawn from my soul, buried fathoms deep
Were all of those sad recollections really mine?
They were flowing as freely as the tears I weep
Reflections of my past in sunlight and ebony night,
refusing to remain entombed, fled from their prison
Strokes from darkness were escaping their plight
Released by my pen, from their sepulcher had risen
There is battle brandishing power in the pen I wield
A weapon I've found useful in place of a silent tongue
It cannot protect me as though suit of armor or shield,
Emotions shouldn't be confined; they should be sung
Time evolves often into unforeseen reality
when dreams seemingly come true
you entered my life with the gift of passion
which has grown into a love so pure.
Sharing private moments of intimacy
connecting the infancy of our love
seeking to understand each other's world
my love, you are my queen.
Searching life's cornerstone for that oneness
on the verge of giving up, out of the blue, you appeared
brandishing those qualities, that has made this
journey for love, sweet and everlasting.
So precious are you, yet so fragile and sensitive
from when we first met, I knew this was right
you've made it so easy to be open and true
my love, you are my queen.
Communication, understanding, trust and honesty
have made our love for each other, ever so special
I am forever your king, sharing our palace
of golden touches and diamond dreams.
A love like yours, is one in a million
bringing smiles to my face and joy to my heart
I love you, yesterday, today, tomorrow and forever
my love, you are my queen.
Traveling through the jaded discourse
With bartered pen and little remorse
Brandishing sharpened scalpel; tour de force
Unabashedly seeking all texts from lexicon to divorce
Developing underlying themes to alter the broader context
Freely abridging each verse to establish the pretext
Isolating each stanza to create a subtext
Inferring connotations to establish a hypertext
Disassociating words to broker more inflection
Delinking phrases building new bridges for reflection
Deconstructing patterns to sculpt out a new direction
Decoding mores and values to foster introspection
Voiding punctuation; compressing verses to scuttle metric time
Extrapolating dominant motifs to devalue the inculcating paradigm
Decoupling dissonant accents to deflower the sublime
Erasing phonetic schemes; disbanding symetrical order; decelerating rhyme