Best Brusque Poems
"September, beautiful month of my birth, is nigh, but I cannot feel glad."
September, drifting in with glow of moon,
you stifle Summer’s ardor. . . and she grieves.
In guise of fire, the Fall comes all too soon.
Your breath grows cool. You’ll blow and loosen leaves.
The hills and woodlands will reflect new hues.
You stifle Summer’s ardor. . . and she grieves.
In Autumn’s chill, the colors are a ruse!
You're passing on, and trees are set ablaze.
The hills and woodlands then reflect new hues.
Though warmth may linger through your final days,
old Sun is waning, yet he still seems strong!
You're passing on, and trees are set ablaze.
September, you’re a melancholy song.
Though time be short, you paint a brilliant dusk!
Old sun is waning, yet he still seems strong.
October looms. . . Your ending will be brusque.
September, drifting in with glow of moon,
though time be short, you paint a brilliant dusk.
In guise of fire, the Fall comes all too soon.
8/29/11
for the '2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 7' Poetry Contest of Mark Toney
Categories:
brusque, nature, sad, sun, time,
Form:
Terzanelle
Cooling off in falling months, approaching dusk.
Coordinated chill and quilting of snow, brusque.
Cooking lots of soup, beating down dough,
as the wind whoops on a weeping willow.
The sky blue sheets aired out on the clothesline.
Coordinates of beauty in her decline.
Cooties shots on the medical menu…sigh.
Cooperation of dirge, the woe-filled cry.
Co-occurence of life and absence of fog
on the handheld mirror, down by the bog.
Cookout of fried boughs and its vestment.
This particular parish was not a good investment.
Autumn’s turning down the soil - leaves
storm in turmoil, slowing down what it believes.
The coos of despair…her ring rolls off finger.
Her dreams of love no longer linger.
Cool when Autumn clashes with Winter
and the clash of letters are placed by printer.
The clouds are snow white, they get the scoop.
Doves cry and hover - eyes droop.
Categories:
brusque, death, imagery,
Form:
Rhyme
Two ravens in the summer dusk
Were, back and forth, debating
From two phone poles, loud and brusque
They kept deliberating
When one gave their rebuttal
The other answered back
But far be it from the kettle
To call the raven black
And while I stood observing
They looked at me askance
A creature undeserving
Of a simple sideways glance
On this one thing they did agree
Those two birds of a feather
And, mocking all humanity
They flew away together.
Categories:
brusque, bird, humanity,
Form:
Rhyme
plump red strawberries
the kind we knew last red dusk
when time inched by brusque
garnet stars flash on
scarlet leaves and cardinals
mars phenomenal
crimson dragonflies
when fruitful days are going
true colors showing
Categories:
brusque, autumn, beauty, fruit, nature,
Form:
Haiku
On a ledge and in trace of paths to incandescent tunnels away from illusive digression.
Voices fade overhead into narrowing echo of screams amid mild depression.
I drown in the shadows to escape the mean pressure from society and peers combined.
A Judgement of guilt and inequity, that doesn’t seldom need to be redefined.
Provocative words full of rage and furry frequent as it flows meandering its way into my pale ochre imaginations.
Like the drizzle of a brusque morning serene abrupt with no opposing confrontations.
My body sway from side to side as I walk on, perhaps my heavy heart weighs me down .
Hollow with no ideas and aims to pin down failure’s momentum building up beneath my feet.
Love keeps me going as I crawl in the shadows leaving behind dreams I can never fulfill.
Out of the cave and the world opens to a pool of light so sublime invading the dark all around.
I hope my ascending calls for divine inspiration brews love for in it I believe.
For I climb the sable stairs to recuperate under burgundy solar flares where my ambitions succeed.
So give me a rope, so I can ascend a bit further to see what lies beyond the Rhine .
Guess it will be my chain of broken dreams rearranged in velvet swirls that entwine.
Categories:
brusque, absence, anger, anxiety, fear,
Form:
Free verse
He's left me. I'm coming undone -
like linen on a spinning wheel
much in need of still being spun.
Half-cloth, I'm feeling unreal.
In need of completion, I'm lost.
He's left me. I'm coming undone.
as if to brusque winds I've been tossed.
i seek a sweet breeze. There are none.
His touch, like the warmth of the sun,
is gone. Only blackness i see.
He's left me. I'm coming undone.
Dark waters are swallowing me.
He gave me no cause for mistrust.
Vibrant was i when we'd begun.
But now I am turning to dust.
He’s left me. I’m coming undone.
Categories:
brusque, lost love,
Form:
Quatern
An adolescent dawn, an adult noon,
an elderly twilight, an ageless dusk…
I wonder why in the decreasing Moon
I love you love when I am a bit brusque
with you. Your acquiescence, your retreat,
your sweet participation in the crime
against morality tempts me to treat
you like you do deserve: to pick up rhyme
with your obedience, to find the most
salacious likeness which is not enough
to properly describe your innermost
enigma of the lust. Oh, how I love
your shameless bareness, your exposed moles
and the increasing Moon when we swap roles.
Categories:
brusque, love, passion,
Form:
Sonnet
Guaranteed to make us smile-
our new Spring comes every year;
its magic brings a warmer, brighter Sun-
as snow begins to melt and seedlings sprout
their fresh green leaves with blossoms to unfold.
Later, Summer takes Spring's reign-
her brush paints scenes verdant green,
and blossoms open wide in colors splashed
against lush lawns, while all the sprawling trees-
their branches filled with leaves, embrace blue skies.
Summer soon starts long goodbyes
while the Fall's brisk days come through
to chill the plants as leaves will fade and dry
from deep, dark green- to orange, red, and gold.
Weeks pass, and thoughts are turned to harvest time.
To crown year-end, Winter comes-
brusque, strong winds sweep Fall's debris
to blur the bleak, bare trees and ashen grass.
But, snow repaints these scenes with pure delight;
grand shawls of white safeguard our sleeping Spring.
Seasons cascade, one by one;
merge, adjust- complete one year!
Categories:
brusque, inspirational, seasons, tribute,
Form:
Verse
Queen in our eyes!
Goddess in our hearts
Alleviated fears ;Shaped behaviors
Built careers ; Educated a nation
Sang hymnals :Through the moments slowly.
She learned to live and love
Unperturbed by failure unruffled by haste
To rise in the midnight glory
Unbounded by time ,Undimmed by hope.
She sang dirges in ceremonies
boxed by pain raze with tears
Called on a God in heaven !
Pushed by problems unleashed by dreams
To wipe our tears and fails
Charred by life’s harsh realities
Unbroken by woes strengthened in invocations
Into our stubborn adolescent years
The hectic times, the sick bed comforts
I reminisce her brief scolding
Refusing to go to school for no reason
And all her exquisite wares I broke
Can’t phantom the pain I caused her
But she never gave up on me
Not he not her not us
Even the once who upon her laps they laid not
A neighbourhood mum ; circumventing the hemisphere with her selfless deeds
Spreading euphoria here and there.
With little that she has and her love unrelenting
For the ones she nurtured beneath her feet
With a partner she adored since day one
She smiles and there’s hope
Of small beginnings and of grand endings
In her voice comfort and peace
I will forever be grateful for a mother like you
So thank you for words uttered
Your actions and inactions
Thank you for the love unconditional
Even In your anger in your pain
Thank you for souls well nurtured
The spanks so brusque The food The gifts
Thank you for the care unending
May God bless you always
Thank you for a life well lived
In your footsteps we follow suit.
Categories:
brusque, blessing, celebration, love, mom,
Form:
Ode
I wake up in the morning, eat my bran and germ,
You know I'm pretty hungry, since I'm a pachyderm.
I have to write a poem, will hold the pencil with my trunk,
Better read up on style, courtesy of White and Strunk.
The poem, it must be just right, not too long nor brusque,
Yes that's right - you got it - then something about a tusk.
I may be big as writers go, but I'm smaller than a whale,
Away, pesky illiterate fly, I'll swish you with my tale.
Such a perfect morning, with tea so hot and sweet,
My poem will be playful, my prose light on its feet.
I've just one sheet of paper, but no worries, mate, no fears,
I'll pick up my trusty ink pen, and write upon my ears.
Categories:
brusque, humor,
Form:
Light Verse
Once,
About ten minutes ago in the year
2006 or
2549, depending upon which avatar or
Messiah is consulted, I
Tumbled out of my bed to the
Untranslatable
Predawn
Cackle of
Frantic voices
Descending.
So, with urgency
Rarely experienced since the
Evacuation of my spirit
From the Land of
Possession Addiction, I was called to summon previously
Unknown prowess
Chancing traffic choked streets
Of Nakhorn (used to mean “New City” 700 years ago but not sure now)
Chiang Mai.
So there I was
Aboard my mostly pint-sized for a European descendent Kawasaki 112,
Red-blooded American head
Protruding
turret-like out of an
Undersized helmet that,
If nothing else,
Officially pronounced me foreign
Blazing a jutted path around
Decrepit trishaws,
Ubiquitously red baht busses and,
Not the least, a motorcycle with a sidecar bandaged to its
Aching side just in time to witness a
Spit-shined just out of the wrapper BMW
Brusque aside a
Sardine packed dump truck
Loaded,
Not with dirt, but five dollar a day
Laborers.
All this and more
Just moments before
Mounting the silted Ping and
Stampeding city gates, I glimpsed
Censored Snippets of TV reports blurting something unintelligible like
“Bangkok coup”,
“Corruption”,
“A King”
And
Somewhere,
Quite uncensored, of a not so pleased
Laozi,
Lotus splayed in
Meditation
Kneading the Eastern soil one
Daoist grain at a time,
Before ancient city walls
Rose up,
Monolithic in my path.
And then the recall that
Centuries before,
Burmese raiders
Resplendent in warrior garb
Plundered the palace and soul
Of the kingdom Thai before stealthily
Creeping back to their lairs,
Buddha-fat with riches.
That leaves the Siamese of 1935
And me, to wonder
Where is freedom
When we travel so far
Pell mell and
Peril, only to discover
In a fleeting brief moment the road to
Iniquity marked, rather
Erroneously, with the signpost to
Promises?
Categories:
brusque, political,
Form:
Free verse
Up on the hill I found my joy
on grass of green and gold
I would roll down when a young boy
for I was fast and bold.
Oh how we'd play from dawn to dusk
in torn pants and bare feet
The day a thrill when winds were brusque
yes we were colts so fleet.
We ate the small fruits in the grass
sweet ones red and blue
Oh yes the joys found as time passed
were there for most of you.
Up on those hills who was to know
that time would fly so fast.
That life would bind our bare foot soul
and days so swift would pass.
Categories:
brusque, adventure, childhood, freedom, time,
Form:
Ballad
Searing love does not fade
It simply lies in wait in hollow partitions
Prone to sudden gusts
of breathlessness
These come in waves
Some driving brusque prickles
Others curling unhinged senses
into further disorder
Yet others stirring a cruel blend of
cupidity
and reason
The waves prompt a light-headed
introspection
About confidence in a fractured shell
About love with no one to tell
They commit to change
But winds carry a familiar scent
Songs are about us
And she’s in every silhouette
The scent and songs
swirl around the hollow partition like dreams
Walls are tested
to the point of rapture
And still,
there is no one to tell
Memories merge with the scent and songs
Crafting a cogent immunity to time
Our past is fused
Changing seasons bear credence
to the tenet of hope
But tomorrow hangs on meanings
crammed into last words
Laughter ceases
And searing love seeks deliverance…
But
there is no one to tell
Categories:
brusque, lost, lost love,
Form:
Personification
FOR A MOMENT
Your cry isn’t loud enough for the world to hear
So wipe your tears.
Even your so called ‘friends and companions’ are turning deaf ears
Wipe your tears and look up to the hills, from there comes your help
Tears come from sorrow’s hole
Tears will continue to flow until you control your whole
Dilute your sorrow’s hole with joy,
And effervescence of smile will frizzle your tears
Don’t pamper that hurt inside, lest, it will linger
Letting go of is the best panacea
Embrace life’s vicissitude, and make peace with your past
Until there’s no tomorrow, fortunes are in life’s queue
For as mischance exists in life’s cast,
So is great chance.
Life can deny you of breakfast, but that breakfast may not be worth comparing with your brunch.
As you crunch, your life realizes that you can wait for tomorrow’s breakfast even if it denies you supper.
Sometimes, life makes you feel Charlie,
Especially when life gives you a malignant glare,
At a moment when you are in a state of ‘devil-may-care’
You are compelled to say cheerio to the world
Because life is using a brusque tone
But when you chance upon successes, you bury that decision
That’s life
Don’t escalate that hurt or pain when life confronts you
It’s just a fortune recess
Embolden your spirit and wait for the resume of success.
#sanguine, sangfroid, pertinacious#..That’s what you ought be……
Categories:
brusque, art, heart, inspiration, inspirational,
Form:
Lyric
A smile, a wave and goodbyes were exchanged
She said she would try to remember the good times
After the misery they had endured
He replied he would seek the silence of the night
It had been an amicable parting
They had loved each other deeply
He thought they were a good match
She felt in her heart this was the real thing
But as luck would have it
Up jumped the devil when they began living together
Their personalities clashed fiercely
Soon, they realized it would come to no good
She was intransigent in her views
And his ego could not stand her arrogance
Of course, his ego was no child that could be tamed
Nor his brusque manner tolerated
They said that if their union was made in heaven
It could very well have been forged in hell too
They didn’t yell too much at each other
But the animosity was there
It had reached the point of no return
After a short while they stopped touching
Separation was the only solution
A sweet apple turned sour, an expectation rancid
Love comes seldom
Hatreds become frequent
After a while, affection became difficult
Love needs affection not discord
It behooves the lovelorn to think maturely
Is there is compatibility, sincerity, honesty
and understanding of each others' feelings?
Are you ready to let it all die
in one giant scream of silence?
Love consists of many intrinsic small things
Like comprehending that obstinacy unnerves even the sacred,
Tolerance is next to saintliness
And true love is not so easy to achieve
Categories:
brusque, lost love,
Form:
Free verse