Best Brawny Poems
Remember the story
of Billy Goats Gruff?
The troll under the bridge,
and all of that stuff?
If you liked that old story
it's all good and well,
but it isn't at all
the troll tale I will tell.
Now, Trolius Troll
was a timorous soul;
A more timid troll
you never shall see.
He lived in a hole
in the base of the bole,
(that is, the trunk)
of a turpentine tree.
Young Trolius Troll,
I ask you to note,
is a strict vegetarian;
he does not eat goat.
You might not believe me,
but, begging your pardon,
he eats only produce
from his vegetable garden.
One day, after harvesting
some of his crop,
with a basket of turnips,
with some carrots on top,
he strode up the path,
just as proud as could be,
toward his home in the trunk
of the turpentine tree.
Then, outside the door
of his pine tree abode,
was a sight that made
Trolius Troll drop his load.
There, with a chainsaw
and a double-bit ax,
stood a brawny, black bearded,
blue eyed lumberjack.
With his feet wide apart
on the green, grassy ground,
the lumberjack looked
the troll's tree up and down--
Then, laying the ax
on a moist, mossy bank,
he gave the saw's start rope
a sudden, sharp yank.
With a white puff of smoke
and an ear splitting sound,
the saw shattered the silence
for acres around.
The lumberjack stepped
to the tree's sturdy base
with a smile of delight
on his black-bearded face.
Then, the usually timorous
troll gave a shout,
and, pounding his chest,
he went leaping about.
With a wild snarl of rage
and a blood chilling wail,
the once timid Trolius
charged up the trail.
The brave lumberjack
was stricken with awe.
He turned from the tree,
and dropped the chain saw.
Through the ferns and the bushes
the tree feller ran.
and he never returned
to the forest again.
And so ends a story,
that some might find droll,
of a timid and timorous
tree dwelling troll.
But its message is clear,
it’s as clear as can be:
You may monkey about with Trolius, friend,
but you’d better not mess with his tree.
It was meant as a lark -
walking with him that day in the park.
He was the boy who used to live next door
back in town revisiting his days of boyhood lore.
Kind of cute he’d been back then in a nerdy way -
that boy with whom as a child I always liked to play.
As we walked, I noticed how tall he’d grown
and his eyes so blue like the sky in which the sun now shone.
We strolled on over to the park’s small pond.
Of feeding ducks both of us always had been fond.
A gentle breeze wafted to us the fragrance of flowers.
We nearly skipped to the garden where we sat for two hours
chatting, laughing, reminiscing about
summer fun when we were young -
when I’d played volleyball far better than he.
But today his arms were brawny.
I bet at any sport he could now beat me.
Sun was surrendering its place in the sky
as we watched families and couples strolling by.
I felt the sparks of something that was kin
to the streaks of orange that heaven was painted in.
As we stood to leave, he boldly took hold of my hand.
We heard in the distance the playing of an oldies band.
As we walked to where old tunes filled the air,
It felt so right, so romantic and so rare.
My heart was throbbing as his fingers twined with mine.
I was feeling things that only the word delicious could define!
In the sky no longer was there a single cloud
as he twirled me in darkening twilight away from the crowd.
I looked up to see the young man gazing at me.
How did I never before this day see
how radiant his smile was.
Twinkling stars appeared. We were lost in a magical pause . . .
Beneath an old willow tree out of anyone’s sight,
our lips came together on that enchanting night.
Our day had begun as a lark in the park.
But what it ended up as was the beginning of so much more
than I had ever known before -
So extraordinarily sweet . . . a kiss in the dark.
I dedicate this poem to Thomas Cunningham,
who I admire for the tales he tells in poetry form.
MUTINY
I stands at the bow
Proud to lead
I get the first catch
and splash
Pretense while I breathe
as if our lips our sealed together
in this hallowed breeze
The skill of his hands
that masterfully guide
the ship to the seas
My intricate gown
he sees only in his dreams
as he feels the form
underneath
with his intrepid heart
His feet firmly planted
on deck,
this captain of mine,
steers the ship
He must think of the coins
the greed, the gold
under the nose
of his crew
They often smirk
and besmirch his name
under tobacco’d breath
and the stench
of a whore’s perfume
My hair is in disarray,
I dread his fate
under the hallowed moon
The thunder roars
from a shotgun
into the air it soars
In chains, he’s still in charge,
his thoughts for me alarmed
I’m pale and soaked,
the downpour mad
And so am I
My knees bend
My hands fold
My head bound
to see you through
You stand at the brawny depths
where the sirens roar,
where tremendous teeth
and hideous fins
nearly frighten you
I beg for your pardon,
plead for your soul
The head shark
leans in with stain’d fangs
mercilessly mocking,
tearing up the captain
with dead man tales
The compass spins
wildly as the traitor
vehemently describes
the fishbait before his eyes
The treasured bride
asks for a trade
her life for his
The sand sinks her knees
“No, no, Josephine!”
her sisters on her trail
“Take ours, us two,
save both of them!”
The Lord wipes his tears
and takes the dears
into his arms,
safe from the storm
The tables turn
as a sail
slices the air
rebuking the mutiny
and the crew they stare
as their daring
is circled and bit...
one arm, one leg,
one ear at a time
They’ve seen nothing like this
Then their eyes open
A light from the bow
They rub their eyes
but still they see the captain’s bride
She smiles like the crystal sea
She waves and disappears
The crew drops their gear,
unties the captain,
begs mercy,
unless they go down with the ship!
10/10/2020
Unmetered narrative
Heroes of my age in their morning mourn,
Filled with teardrops of pain and sorrow,
They'll be now part of the epic history,
But the cloudiness of who ones's fault still remains a doubt for justice,
When all lies in secrecy,
Can we blame peace and harmony?
Where we are all thirsty.
The masters of war behind the walls,
Safe and sound from the bullets of death,
The heroes in order and duty,
When guns can't do anything for victory,
When bullets can't do anything for survival,
They hide behind the seeds, behind the prayers
Behind the first fallen hero.
They, who are grabby for one's life, for one's blood,
Thirsty for distraction of one's covenant,
They, who pulled the trigger, who ought killing is a game,
Shooting one's body as if a little toy,
Like the Trojan war of old, was trapped and deceived.
Will their consciences arrest them?
Will forgiveness forgives them?
When they will die?
In service, for security the heroes died,
To sacrifice one's life in the name of duty,
A peace we wish is a peace they're yearning?
Or an inside job for another piece of power?
Who knows, we only care
But the Man can see them behind their masks,
Through their eyes, inside their brains.
The agony and heartaches they leave behind,
The scars that'll bleed for justice and life,
For the woman of love, alone in coldest times,
Somehow tears may dry by the aging of time.
For the cries of baby longing for daddy,
Searching for brawny arms that will lift them,
The baritone voice that will laugh with them.
Now change of path, life will never be the same,
The light will also be now the wall.
All will pass, all will calm like an ocean after the storm,
But justice still pursuits justice, must not hide from another demise,
Will give them the truth? Will the lives be not wasted?
Afraid for this will be one of the unresolved cases,
Repeats the failure of my Country,
Their coffins, their graveyards, in memoirs for the heroes
Once the stewards of us, once the fathers of Country
Worthy of prayers -for them, for families and for justice.
We salute the Fallen!
A BEAUTIFUL WOMAN
Her face was a constellation of perfections
She was ravishing; beautiful beyond condemnation.
Her voice was like many water
Yet, it's coo whenever she sputtered.
Her gait was just so alluring
No wonder men couldn't help but kept gazing.
She trod on her pathway like a goddess -
This woman I saw was priceless.
Even her dance step sent signals to heavenly bodies
The immortals were mesmerized - she was more than a novice.
The flexibility of her body was as a swift wind
It moved so fast, it could not be filmed.
When she sang, it was like that of an angel
Kingdoms let loosed: heaven, earth and hell
In her eyes, you'd see paradise
In her world, great men and women did arise
There was ample concinnity in her kingdom
Everything was cloudless, no entrenchment of freedom
She also spoke with authority and with great audacity
Owning to her greatness, she created a brawny fraternity
Loosed men and women longed to have her by their side
'Sorry, I'm not your type' she did chide
They tried to restrain, but they were so much in love
Her being angry at them only waxed their hearts together in her glove
Men of great status came to have her
They were with their luxuries - they came from afar
The splendour of her beauty got them sprawling to the floor
The radiance of her look made their visions blur
In her, greatness was defined
There are so many traits of hers which can't be outlined
She kept her statute; she was a woman of virtue
Her works were known, they reached their plateau
Of a truth, this woman is a goddess
And this makes me remember the game of chess
At the end, the king and queen are brought to rear
So also is this woman I saw. Her name is Nigeria.
A warring god of wind storms and lightening,
Rudra, rough looking, well built, braided hair
Golden in color, of firm limbs widening
With streaks of lightening and fearful blares
Making nervous with fear all the beings.
But caters medicines to the world with care
The wind God is the breath bringer to all
Perfumes, caresses and senses at his call.
Rudra sired his wife Deeti with a son
Deeti vowed to keep him in her womb for more years
Letting the child be more and more brawny one.
Indra, the chief deity of heaven, out of fear,
Entered her womb and chopped him with passion
But pieces so strong reformed into numbers.
They were named as Maruts, varied Gods of wind
Who lash the world from end to end with great dins.
They are progeny of Rudra, the bulls of heaven,
Radiant in serried rank free from spots and stains
Who drench the earth with heavy rains uneven.
No one know from where they take shape and rain
Spreading forth darkness during the day time even.
Bring health and wealth in noisy way, but veterans.
*"The winds of God’s grace are always blowing
It is left to us how to set the sails flowing."
+++
*Rudra, Maruts and Deeti are characters in Hindu Mythology*
* Inspired by a quote
December 21, 2014
Third Place win
Form: Ottava Rima - Rhyme Scheme abababcc, dededeff, ghghghii
Sources : Wikipedia - hinduwebsites
There once was a model named Connie
who wanted her skin to be tawny.
She took the wrong stuff,
so now she’s Miss Tough!
Her arms and her legs became brawny.
Feb. 20, 2016
* The rhyming vowel of COnnie and tAwny are the same in American English
An angel, he appeared one afternoon -
amazing, amorous, and alluring.
Beguiling her with beautiful ballads,
how splendidly he bewitched her!
Long languorous summer days they lazed
in a field of daffodils
as she lay blissfully in his brawny bronzed arms
looking lovingly into his eyes -
those baby blues with long lush lashes.
Seventeen were they. Their first love it was -
a lovely flirtatious and fabulous first love.
Suddenly, it all just stopped.
Sent away to serve in war,
her sweetheart sadly disappeared with barely a Sayonara.
Several seasons swept away
like brown leaves in September’s breezes.
Studying at school, sometimes she recalled
with longing - the love of her young life
and the boyish glee in his bright blue long-lashed eyes.
Unbeknownst to her, her lost boyfriend
was back from his lonesome barracks
and the bloody battlefields of an awful World War.
Back was he, though limping from a bullet to his leg
and looking for the love of HIS young life.
Seventy-seven years later,
see them sauntering together
in a field of daffodils
situated by a house he built for her -
two lone centenarians
with grown twin sons and seven grand-kids.
Their lasting love was lost but only for a blink
of their long lifetime -
a lifetime of lovely marital bliss
that envelopes them still with bountiful blessings.
March 31, 2022
for My Lost And Found Love Poetry Contest
Sponsor: JCB Brul
Born out of incest of father-daughter
Semite god, hunter and a fair offspring
Women’s laments and cries to stir and blur
Festivals on me in autumn and spring
Living six months with Aphrodite unbanned
I’m the most favored man in her portal
Though am loved by many gods and mortals.
Then next six months living with Persephone
The queen of the underworld and the dead
Pomegranate in hand, very bonnie
Who seduced me, the under-aged lad
Know of “The Adonis Complex” widespread
A problem rife faced by men of all classes.
Ye, Mortals! Don’t you have our replicas?
You’ve me, Aphrodite and Persephone
I’m not god like Allah, Krishna or Christ
Pray lead me not to undeserved brawny
Forbid don’t forget, you masters of writes
Please blame me not for polygamous tryst
Bid me farewell I'm leaving earth to truce
You’ve enough Adonises to accuse.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++
**The poem was posted on PS on 30-1-14**
Now
August 17, 2014
Form: Rhyme Royal
Contest: Structured Verse by Giorgio V.
========================
The poem was posted on PS on 30-1-14
Date: 30-1-14
Form: Rhyme Royal
Dr. Ram Mehta
sixth place win
Contest: Romanticism In Rhyme Royal by Gautami Phookan.
**There are very many versions of Adonis living with one goddess for six
months or 1/3 of
the year etc. etc.** The Adonis complex of the health issue or issue of love,
incest etc.**
It's a real story that happened in one school
when a teacher appeared to be a complete fool.
Once when a teacher of math was sick
a teacher of physical education came, named Nick.
He wanted to show how intelligent he is
so he said: Solve my problem please!
- The car moves at a high speed.
To go to Spain a plane we need.
How old am I if the plane now is high in the sky?
- If to take all these tasks and mix
we’ll get the result: You are twenty six.
- Right you are Johnny!
Your arms are scrawny but brain is brawny.
How did you solve this problem so quick?
For me it’s easier to break a brick.
- Well, our neighbor being so sleazy is thirteen,
and my mum says that he is a semi cretin.
©Larisa Rzhepishevska (Odessa, Ukraine)
For Francine Roberts contest "Humor Me"
He hit me..! mom did you see?
What is all this OOAAHHH! in my head? This thing I will call-
sound...
Where did the warmth go?
I can't breath..
who are all of these creatures..
crazy beings.., is that called smiling?
Looks as though they intend-
to eat me... unprepared, naked, me.
So cold, can't they see I'm drowning?!?
I want to go back where my eyes don't
scream in my head,
back where it was warm..
mom.., why?
Hello new one, it's life,
the ticking continues..
to the end.
Let the comparison begin,
for life!
why can't you be's forever on!
crazy, isn't it fine
that I'm just me..?
Why can't you be!
more like your brother,
smart like your sister,
pretty as a peach,
skinny as a beanpole,
curvy and fit,
taller than my ex,
or tan and brawny,
as Hercules.
When will you grow up!
when will you listen!
when will you stop whining?
Please let me be happy,
please let me be...
just me.
Brobdingnagian people of wealth
Possessing sinewy warriors of health
Brawny nature makes empires shiver
City wall stronger more than ever.
The people of great black magic
Though they are meek
Gallant like the pride of barbados
They brought glory to us.
Their food, culture, tradition and music
Known all over the world like Sikh
Great Empire Dynasties of Oyo, Ibadan, Ife, Owu and Ogbomoso.
Source of great writers to Nigeria
Whose work are publish around the world in various media
Salute to the shrewd people
Of the South-West Pole
She sometimes hears him moaning in his sleep,
and if he wakens, often he shows shame
to have his woman hear him softly weep,
“I should have died instead, for I’m to blame.”
He coughs (from scars inside him). His wife aches
To know her husband carries in his heart
a pain as deep as that large scar that makes
folks stare at him! Oh, guilt and pain depart! -
She screams inside her brain, but they do not.
She cradles him, this great big brawny guy,
a hero fireman who so bravely fought
as ashes filled a blue September sky.
Oh, how she wishes she could make him see
how beautiful, with scars and all, is he!
He was a Blacksmith
He made swords for the movies
Tall, strong and brawny.
Motorcycle Persecution gone mad.
Are they persecuting Posties?
On the streets of Brissy town ,
Cos them brawny bloody bikies,
Have made the Police to frown,
Hells Angels on Vespas,
on the footpath interviewed,
Do you have the drugs upon ya,
Is ya doing something lewd?
Nah we just taking Teddys to the kiddys hospital mate,
To put a little smile on the sad ones dial or plate,
Worried weekend bikies, being jerked off the bloody road,
And poor old guys at seventy, grilled for the bikie code,
The muttering and whinging, it’s all about the super sap,
The prince of persecution he knows just where it’s at,
Motorbike of persecution, good ole Police know where to pat.
Ludicrous say the locals,
as bikie Posties cringe in fear, {postman}
The Syndrome sure is biting,
And me “put put’s” acting *****.
Don Johnson
Of course we have bikies and Hells Angels etc and gang wars...
We also have a state Premier who persecutes people including bikiers and the handicapped, tossing the cripples out of their housing and taking their carer payments from them...big smiles all the time too:}