Best Brawls Poems
Muted evidence proclaimed the subtle oddities of night
Lunar time should have reached the zenith of its height
No chirping crickets were heard, nor angry feline brawls
Lacking was the rhythmic chanting of nocturnal owl calls
No lengthened shadows grew where they should be cast
The moon, in pale depression, had only risen half mast
Strange and sullen manner, for summer's interlude to end
As though it were lamenting the loss of a beloved friend
Not just physical in nature, but with heartfelt immortal pain
Darkened was the dead of night for one whose love was slain
In grief there is no consolation, the future bleak and ominous
but there remains a hunger for love, one intensely ravenous
Alas, hordes of ravenous relatives from very far and even near,
Won't be celebratin' at dear old Grandma's bountiful board this year,
Since the corona virus pandemic has spread an ominous cloud of doom.
But hold on! Perhaps you can celebrate via the miracle of Zoom!
You can enjoy from afar your green bean casserole and punkin pie,
Not havin' to tolerate obnoxioius Uncle Clyde sloppin' gravy on his tie!
Clickin' a button will mute Grandpa's interminable prayer of grace,
And spinster Aunt Alice's spewin' inane babble at a furious pace!
The mute button will silence any brawls about politics and religion,
And silence cousin Cletus crowin' about his thrivin' stocks a smidgen!
It won't be the same savorin' pleasant aromas from Grandma's kitchen,
But won't the mute come in handy to silence all the bickerin' and bit..... in'!
(The censors at Soup scrubbed the last word in the last line but I think you get the point!!!)
We're Covid free - restrictions lifted
Shop barriers, they have been shifted
But there’s still a queue
For the ladies loo
Weak bladders, us gals have been gifted!
Bars opened for drinking last night
At closing there’s a stupid fight
Folk have drunk too much beer
And they cannot think clear
These drunken brawls are such a fright
We’re finally free to go shopping
Pub’s open, at discos folk bopping
We can meet up with friends
At night time or weekends
No lockdown, but home’s where I’m stopping!
On the Isle of Man we have been covid free for 30 days and many restrictions have been lifted including social distancing but in general we are not doing anything different to how its been over the past 12 weeks - the BEST thing is I can visit mum in her care home once a week for 15 mins but because other people aren't using their slots I've been able to see her twice this week - I was one of few people who used to visit on a daily basis so I've been told if there are free slots I can request to go again. the border is still closed so hopefully we can remain virus free but we cannot be complacent.
6/19/20
heartbeat of the American dream
early settlers escaped tyranny
rode West, used squatters’ rights
claimed land and turned to ranching
nights ‘neath stars and grub by campfires
from nearby hills wolves howling
driving cattle across wide prairies
boomtowns erected when gold was found
ghost towns remain as a symbol of lost wealth
cowboys saw the growth of a nation
encountered tribes that rebelled
met others that passed peace pipes
Tombstone today haunted by sounds
barroom brawls and sultry saloon singers
not an easy life; the strongest survived
few emulated Clint Eastwood or John Wayne
just men who still enjoy freedom to roam the range
but freedom always comes at a price
few riders had family ties
ladies of the night were their comfort
only a handful became rich ranchers
still they ride
still they ride
Dearest Santa, my one wish may seem strange
but please do not interpret me as snide.
I wish this kindness so please do arrange
my Christmas gift of a mail order bride.
Surely she would lighten my hard work load,
help with the children and spousal demands.
She can be pretty or favor a toad
as long as it’s English she understands.
I fail domestic perfection with house,
Mom affection with little ones each day
and attending His Lordship, my own spouse,
because my to-do list stays in the way.
Again, this may seem most unorthodox
but this is me thinking outside the box.
I know that you must judge, weigh and ponder
if I was a well-behaved girl this year:
I tried leaving home for the far yonder -
my car died before even driveway clear;
I lace my morning coffee with brandy;
hide my husband’s tickets to pro baseball;
stuff chips under chairs when comes Priest Andy;
I oft ignore my children when they call;
sometimes I name dust bunnies on our floor;
sarcasm is my first go to coping tool;
I cheat at cards when adding up my score;
and June just past, I peed in a pal's pool.
I work hard without reward all day long,
so sometimes, yeah, I get this life all wrong.
I wish to remember why I am here;
recall romantic love that started all.
I could succeed if I had a wife-peer
helping with spousal gall and toddler brawls.
I want more than bathtubs layered with dirt
and stinking trash bordering on a spill.
Let someone else produce an ironed shirt
and seek deep sleep as an ambitious thrill.
I want memories of kids where I smile
and husband conversations standing still.
I seek family love to feel worthwhile
lest I seek happy docs with happy pills.
One or both of us can wed my wished bride,
just, please, Santa, in my favor decide.
Disco dreams and disco balls
Big city,bright lights
Pub crawls and bar fights.
Mini frocks and hair dyes
Made up faces
Mascara filled eyes.
Vodka martinis and champagne
Bus trips and black cabs
Standing in the rain.
Nightclubs and deejays
Entry stamps on wrists
And tattooed fists.
Late nights and hangovers
Fast cars and kebabs
White wine spritzers
And mishaps.
One night stands and live bands
Autographs and queues
Sing-a-longs and sad songs
And over packed loos.
One line gags and handbags
Glitter and sparkling eyes
Cigarettes and suffragettes
Gossip and lies.
Brawls,another one falls
Drunks and punks
Frilly skirts and love hurts
And late rides.
Secret kisses and front row seats
Cinema aisles
Red lipped smiles
Beauties and beasts.
Flashy cars and night time stars
Takeaways and glad rags
Silly jokes and whiskey cokes
Dreams and high hopes.
Nights out and walkabouts
Cheap thrills and teenage wonder
Hitch hikes and motorbikes
Delinquent lightning and thunder.
Mother suffered most in the late night brawls.
We peeped through cracks in timber walls.
Plates smashed as in movies, with shouts galore.
Us caught up in the frenzy we could not ignore.
Mother suffered most at the hands of gin,
whiskey and brandy, how could she win?
Trying to smash bottles that had been hidden.
Suffering drunken blows that came unbidden.
Mother suffered most we can't deny, but
we children carry scars from those days gone by.
26/02/2018
Shedding Feathers
One by Two
By Two and Three
And Three keeps shedding
because there is more,
Divine Feathers
which held and defined His soul.
He let them be White,
Paper White,
but proud as a Knight,
fighting enemies and Holy battles
on a destrier with a saddle.
He let himself be unconquered,
His Soul intact.
Many brawls and fights won
though corroding shield and armor,
a warrior with no starmer
and no history,
no claim.
Lest those feathers shed,
which claimed his immortality,
from slight gray to slate
they precariously turned.
'Here are feathers'
he somberly called his
Dear Friends,
fledging each one.
'Let me come down and drink
and give alms.
I'll soil myself and shed my feathers.'
he roared
while his friends cheered.
'I give thee my own soul'
he said almost passing out,
'to which one and two i hope you do enjoy.
My Plumage is with me No More
but forever with you evermore.'
“Wandering through empty and crowded streets with no destination in sight and sleeping under the sky with the fire burning inside was my life, the life of a vagabond. Survival is a funny game and life is an endless odyssey for survival” ~ By Poet
Homeless, a wanderer all his life.
An orphan, he was raised in the streets.
Mongrel dogs and gypsies were his company.
He had wild days and dolorous times.
At nights, he curled up on street corners,
Had brawls with other street children.
But as he grew up, he began nursing a dream,
To own a home and no more be a vagabond.
He took up odd jobs and worked day in and out.
Over time, against heavy odds
A little hovel, he did build,
In a verdant stretch of fertile land
Off the noisy, frenzied crowd
With sheaves of hay, he thatched its roof.
With reed and bamboo, its walls were made.
With mud and charcoal, its floor was glazed.
With wooden planks, its entrance he laid.
At dusk, when birds to their nests depart,
And beasts, to their covert burrows and dens,
After the day’s toil, weary and weak,
He curls into the cozy comfort of his home.
Through months and years, it gave him succor.
Sheltered him from storm and rain.
Made him differ from the gypsy tribe.
Lent him a footing in this populous world.
He wove around it many a dream.
With frugal care, his needs he met.
Like a squirrel stocking nuts and grains,
In it's secret granary for the rainy days,
He saved all that he had earned,
For a life to be lived later in bliss.
But alas!
His haven lies so derelict!
Its very foundation raced to the ground.
The once beautiful stretch of land,
Robbed of its greenery and grace!
The eviction squad usurped his land,
Hurling him down to the streets!
Making him once again a vagabond…
Bewildered, failing to budge an inch,
Like a boat, midway stranded in sea, he stood.
But his resilient spirits, to him affirmed,
‘Never defeated, though destroyed'
Soon the mud hovel, to a palatial mansion turned.
Where he envisioned himself as king of the land.
His smiling progeny picking fruits from his orchard,
And his cattle chewing cud in the shade of trees.
Why scoff it as the fancy of a fevered mind?
Oh! But to dream is every man's right.
When history someday recalls
Behavior that simply appalls
They just have to reach
Those we chose to impeach
To see some who defy protocols.
Yet the record of Senate near-brawls
Will have info that sometimes enthralls
Such as votes that got split
Like the one in which Mitt*
Proved a pol in his party had balls!
*Mitt Romney, the only Republican
who voted to remove Trump from office
Loneliness comes in blues
Mood strikes serotonin falls
Night is on snake venom
Burning like coals.
I am alone
I am alone
Where's my wife?
Where's my son?
Who cares?
The world is on shares.
Curtain of depression falls
I am in rabbit whole
Cutting my souls
Neurons are in brawls
On all my existence
Scroll of depression rolls.
NOTE:
This is a true story. 2001. I suffered a bout of depression. I felt extreme loneliness. But this was a symptom of my disease. In fact my wife and my son did everything they could.
Contest Name: FACES OF LONELINESS
Sponsor: frank herrera
Poet: RAJAT KANTI CHAKRABARTY
Form: Rhyme
Theme: Loneliness/Depression/Delusion
Date of composition : 19 Nov 2014
Shimmering brightly
In the darkest of skies
Reaching down to guide me
Through nightly brawls
With melancholy visions
That flood my heart with
Secret hues of misery
Discovered within the mind
Who knows what it means
To break with earth shattering
Mistakes, despair and fear
Facing lost grace and vanished
Inspiration, insight, imagination
Flooding the peace within
By leaving off sensations of
Passionate impulses and urgency
To lay aside the sorrow and gloom
For the opportunity to dance
With the moon, in a light of yearning
For truths hidden behind the brilliance
Of glistening starlight breathing
Intimacy into the spiritual realms
Within souls who know that God
Gave us this sky to awaken hopes
And paint wisdom through the
Face of a sparkling starlit night
One who welcomes spirits into
A union of purity and love coming
Alive in a dance of purposeful
Joy discovered on the rising beams
Of compassionate starlight flowing
Through the ebony cosmos to leave
A impressive light with my name on it
The star that awakens the night
With grace flowing through space
Capturing the colors of mysterious
Wisdom and letting the heavens rejoice
In the knowing that every star is a wish
For harmony with only a hint of vision
To lead hearts toward the face of God
Where they’ll be met with love that is
Alive, filled with passion and acceptance
Love that is unconditional and lasts
Throughout eternity, forever and ever!
There is a star with my name on it Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Silent One
November 9, 2020
Life Weary, So Hungry I Could Eat A Dry Bone
Trekking through fire breathing desert, yes all alone
Mouth full of sand, shattered heart so heavy too
Life weary, so hungry I could eat a dry bone
Looking back at this life, where were the breaks my due
I recall all hellacious bad times that came
The motorcycle wreck when I was but fifteen!
All those shots that should have given me greater fame
Those barroom brawls, man that one dude was so damn mean
I laughed, I ran full amok, a bit crazy
I cried like a baby when they shot down Dean
I raised hell doing farmwork but was not lazy
School was a blast but math work I wasnt too keen.
Trekking through fire breathing desert, yes all alone.
Life weary, so hungry I could eat a dry bone one.
Mouth full of sand, shattered heart so heavy too
Looking back at this life, where were the breaks my due.
Robert J. Lindley, 6-08-2023
16 VERSE SONNET , WITH 12 SYLLABLES
EACH VERSE
Note_
My life in my youth was anything but dull.
I worked as a club bouncer, farmhand, factory working manager 4 times, carpenter, roofer, bricklayer, metal fabricator, even worked at a car repair once.
Fists flying people crying
On this crazy day black Friday
What a disgrace as the hunter’s race
Christmas bargains with a punch in the face
Dozens of brawls and 999 calls
From stores all around the country
These midnight sales just turned into hell
Behaving like wild animals that were hungry
Shopping madness hit the towns
Customers fighting like savaged clowns
Ripped stuff down from the shelves stacked high
And within minutes the TV’s and gadgets went dry
Reports came in from everywhere
This place is a battlefield they don’t care
Shocking behaviour and violence broke out
Some were screaming whilst others would shout
It was deadly like a war picture scene
People grabbing and pushing for just anything
They were having a tug of war over electrical goods
Rivals punching black and blue to snatch for their hoods
Supermarkets were forced to close their doors
When the crowds rushed in they forgot civil laws
It was a shameful site and the customers weren’t polite
Those black Friday shoppers they did fuss and they did fight
© Copyright by KC.Leake
29th November 2014
All Rights Reserved
Back in the days, when men bold,
spun golden legends;
of exploits in the wild west;
of punch-in and herd-in cows
and saloon brawls where they’d shoot
and scores of bullets roared.
Stories of the Iron Horse’s roar
and gunfighters and marshals, bold;
Of gamblers, who’d go shooting
for the stars in cards; those were feats of legend.
Days when plains of cows,
fur-painted the landscape of, the old west.
These are the breed that won the west,
as across the plains, the Iron Horse roared.
those are the backs worn, herding cows;
the exploits of the brave and bold.
those brave and haggard legends
made of silver spurs and pearl-handled shooters.
You’re darn toot-in, shoot’in
like that, was what won the west.
While the Iron Horse died, its legend
lives on, belching out its roar,
across the plains, so bold.
Still, cowboys herd and rope their cows.
Modern day cowboys, herding cows
by truck and shootouts
no longer ring so boldly.
Wild no more, is the west,
where now, only cars and planes roar.
Yet, there still live the legends.
They aren’t as great, these new legends,
but it doesn’t phase the cows.
They calmly graze, amid the airplanes roar.
Though one may say, “shoot,
it’s spoiled now”, the legends live on, in the west,
of heroes brave and bold.
The west will always, have its legends, Though trains no longer roar.
Cowboys will always rope their cows, as they did in the old, wild west.
Upon museum walls, stories of the shootouts,
are told; of ancient heroes brave and bold.
10-8-2020
Impress me with an old poem (002)
Poet Destroyer A