Best Brat Poems
A soft spring breeze blows gently
across the open toes
of my Italian leather sandals.
Sitting on the weathered oaken bench
I can picture you swinging on those wooden slat swings
with your flowing hair pushed back in a ponytail
bouncing up and down off the top of your cashmere sweater
I imagine your little smile as you giggled with your girlfriends
I can still see that little twinkle in your eye as you caught me staring at you
I smiled and my cheeks turned a pinkish red
I remember walking over your way and asking your name
You said it was Spoilt Brat and I couldn't help laugh
We took a walk as all your friends watched
You were so bold, grabbing my hand and starting to run
We ran so fast and then fell helplessly in the grass
You touched my faced and pulled me in
and we kissed, oh such a wonderful kiss
so soft and light. you lit up my night
Such beautiful memories coming back to me
on this sunny spring day.
She was definitely a strange girl,
Many odd and weird things I have heard;
She dreamt of riches,
Silk robes,
Rich husband,
Deepest bag of diamonds,
High-priced banquets,
Treated like a princess.
From the church the bells tolled,
Her wedding was due,
Hip hip hurrah,
I met the spoilt bride,
She held her breath,
Balanced with fears,
Her man arrived in time,
She was only eighteen,
He was nineteen, fifty years ago,
Married three times,
Widowed three times.
Beside her he knelt with difficulty,
She looked at his wrinkled face,
His cotton white hair,
His hands shaken,
But he was made of money….
Who cares….
Her eyes blinked,
Who cares…
Ill-fated is this married life,
Ominous prediction for this wife;
Still he was rich,
She was a,
Birds of a feather,
Spurious and preposterous,
For she’s eighteen,
He’s sixty-nine….
Wondering if he manages this sexual position!
An army brat, a pain indeed,
never destined to succeed,
from place to place,
from camp to camp,
with soldier family I did tramp.
Two years at each, and every school,
how could I know the golden rule,
that only those with silver spoon
should try to reach up for the moon.
Flung from class to class to learn
that army brats were last in turn
when teachers chose just who to teach
mere passers by were out of reach.
In moving on from town to town.
free from the things that tie one down,
I collected all the scraps they threw
and kept them in my knowledge stew.
For mix and match was right for me,
I reveled in variety,
although they only shared a bit,
I grabbed the lot, and made it fit.
And so with different tidbits fed
and patchwork learning in my head,
I used my mind to make them whole
and thus came owner of my soul.
Each single thought that I now bear
arises from near everywhere,
for none have been my corner stone
with constant change, one stands alone.
Sometimes I think that I would be
a very, very different me
if I had had a stable home
and not by life was forced to roam.
But I’m the master of my mind
and not a replica of kind,
I am myself for all to see,
there is no other just like me.
An army brat, a soldiers child.
A spirit born to wander wild.
A mongrel of the forces kind.
I now reside within my mind.
Ivor G Davies
‘Princess’
in mess
Flicks hair -
Beware
Bad mood
Is rude
She whines
At times
She pouts
And shouts
Mummy …
DUMMY!!!!!!!!!!
Stamps feet
Retreat!
Can clout –
Watch out!
Prissy
Missy
Spoilt brat –
Hate that!
5th June 2015
We the army Brat
Two year here ,
three years there,
We the army kids have to go everywhere.
We always have to leave &
make new friend ,
But that make us stronger
In the end .
Our life is different
& Difficult too,
But we are scolded
For playing with swiss knife.
We the army Brat
Sometime have long night party,
Cause we dance on every song.
We used to be formal in official parties.
But out of sight ,
we are not normal.
We can adjust anywhere ,
Even if we are in ozone layer.
Studying away from one parent ,
Makes us sad.
But when they are there ,
We don't feel so bad .
Cause two year here &
Three years there,
We the army kid have to go everywhere.
We - the army Brat !!!
A Military Brat
Before have not been in mortal combat,
And yet still I once was a military brat;
To Mom's dismay,
Did enlist one day;
Wore an Air Force uniform with their hat.
Jim Horn
My dad was killed in an aircraft accident on
the Aircraft Carrier Intrepid CVN-11 now in
the New York harbor.
Veterans Day is coming soon.
I have a certain cat,
Who's such a spoiled brat
Tippy is his name,
And eating is his game
He whines early each day,
As in my bed asleep I lay
His loud purring in my ear,
Is all that I can ever hear
He's always wanting more,
Of his dinner for me to pour,
In to his silver food dish,
So he can eat it with great relish
Next, he wants to chase his ball,
To and fro down my hall
Then finally, he likes to take a nap,
While being curled up in my lap
Planted like a seed, the giant fell from the beanstalk.
He left behind his golden eggs and singing harp.
It was a faceplant…a belly flop…a real humdinger.
The trench went on for miles with no smile.
All he could think was, “That little brat, Jack…”
The giant was wobbly at the tippy top of the stalk
for the teen had tricked him, into drinking whiskey and rum,
then had him dancing, snorting, laughing with tomfoolery.
Jack dared the giant to look way down, pointing out
things that could never be seen, then woops…
wobble wobble and the giant flew through the air,
like a bird of prey with great big open eyes.
Light as a feather…never had he known the feeling.
Nor the one that followed it - a smackdown, demeaning.
Gravel and soot filled his wide open mouth, as did curses.
As he recovered, the giant imagined Jack as a fly -
he’d splat or a mosquito- he’d clap, or as a roach
that his heel would nail. “That little brat, Jack…”
Meanwhile, Jack was living large at the top
of the plushest beanstalk. He’d not see his demise
as over time the goose and harp won him over
and tricked him into making merry with them.
The golden stage, with food and drink and production -
the musical that told the demise of the giant.
Jack clapped his hands, like a toy monkey, so filled
with glee…but fiddle dee dee…he lost his balance
and had no wings to fly as he was tossed into the sky.
No worries, a giant palm caught him…that little brat.
The reunion caused bulging eyes…a heart attack.
They both perished from overexcitement…
I bet you didn’t see that coming? Flying has its hazards…
2/23/2023
Brat Who Is Spoiled
Out next President is not very bright
With orange hair and rouge is such a sight
And to all of us what seems so scary
He has such a horrible vocabulary.
If it wasn't for computer spell check
Many words were not spelled correct
And something we have contemplated
For four years he should be sedated.
Is best to keep Trump out of our way
Never knows right thing to say anyway
And can you imagine him being sent
To speak at graduation or sporting event.
Down country Trump is sure to drag
Can you imagine him saluting our flag
For President others tried and toiled
We ended up with brat who is spoiled.
He ikes eating bratwurst and it the worst
brat we have ever seen. Plump Trump
we should try to dump. He might like
acting part of Forrest Gump.
Jim Horn
If in Baton Rogue he should start batting
down the hatches and do it by the batches.
On those hot summer's afternoons around five,
there's nothing that soothes like ice cream;
sweaty kids can't wait for Mr. Softee to arrive...
and they run while their hysterical moms scream!
The line is long and noisy children begin to drool,
" Get my ice cream, mom " the wild kid yells...
" You must wait in line...you silly, little fool! "
And he gets angrier by stepping on broken glass!
" Scotty, be good...your ice cream is coming! "
" Yes, that's mine, mom! " he jumps up and grabs it;
I watch him eat it as the cone starts dripping...
" Yummy, I like chocolate! A good treat for a brat! "
Written on 10/23/ 2015
Beastly brat coddled
Daughter like mother
Father overcome
You know "Mr. October",
"Say Hey", and the "Babe",
Moreover, this player,
is another of my "fave's".
Although Eddie Stankey,
isn't in the Hall of Fame.
They claimed he was a Brat,
and he earned his nick name.
Well, he bent a few rules,
then the League said Ix-Nay.
Shrewd Eddie Stanky,
was a student of the game.
Shrewd Eddie Stankey,
saw the game his own way.
The Brat played to win,
and win every play.
The Man was all in,
and Baseball his game.
Shrewd Eddie Stankey,
The Brat was his name.
For L.L.
On those hot summer's afternoons around five,
there's nothing that soothes like a rich ice cream;
sweaty kids can't wait for Mr. Softee to arrive
and they run while their hysterical moms scream!
All of him is exacerbating,
Feelings, lies and pain.
All by him is exaggerated,
frustration or a strain.
Fussy and particular,
Nothing ever good enough.
Weak, lazy and exhausted,
Everything just too tough.
Vein, and big-headed,
Enamoured with himself for sure,
On top of all he got,
He always wanted more!
~Written in 2002 when I was thirteen.~
(This is a fictional poem)
My son makes Dennis the Menace look like Opie Taylor.
He has the manners of a tyrant and the mouth of a sailor.
He's only eight years old and he uses the F word.
He cusses me out and then he gives me the bird.
I ask him to stop cussing but he says hell no.
That's the last time that I'll let him watch HBO.
He cussed out his principal who happens to be deaf.
I'm glad he can't hear because my son called him an MF.
He circumcised me with my pocket knife and my wiener sure is sore.
Somebody please shoot me so I won't have to take his crap anymore.