Braggarts Poems

The Black Bee Club

The new gentleman’s club is rumored to be exclusive to the braggarts in town.
They have to dress up, and some of these squirrels used to only dress down.
Are their pole dancers? Another teacher asked of all people, unknowing me.
Unsure, I replied. The only thing I know is they have named it The Black Bee.

Black Bee; seems odd, said a few school teachers at our lunch table.
One claimed there were auditions, her name is Miss Merrywinkle Mable.
It is exclusive, I think I said, I heard there are monthly membership dues.
Let’s go over there and find out, said our resident biddy, Sally Boo Hoos.

Some of the men of the club caught wind of our plan and made a secret knock.
They put out a sign also that said this club is closed until nine o’clock.
Is this only a men’s club? Merrywinkle asked, sticking a note to their door.
Those sneaky Black Bee members eventually moved their club to the shore.

Fisherman Song

Fishermen were holding their arms stretched out longer than a Ford F-50.
Braggadocio stories were exuberant, not skimpy but sometimes shifty.
Great grandson of one had been fishing without a single fish all day long.
When he pulled out a guppy the braggarts broke into a fisherman’s song.

“whether catfish or guppy, minnows even, if you cannot get a bigger fish.
Someone run up and give that guy the reward for the tiniest catch dish.”
The great-grandson knew then they were including him in their little song.
He threw the teensy guppy back, knowing he had done nothing wrong.

Bragging On Our Quilters

My gram can make a quilt in a day, the six-year-old said.
My aunt came make one with her eyes shut, standing on her head.
My mother can make two before tomorrow’s grass has wet dew.
You are both crazy! You braggarts, you two!

My gram is a quilt-maker, and hers are the best.
My auntie’s are so beautiful, she edges out the competition, said Crest.
My mother’s are so fantastic, she sells her ideas on line.
Still bragging and boasting, these students of mine!

Abscess

Simple squamous epithelium
That lines the frothing orifice
Of politicians and wine-soaked braggarts

Cytoplasm
That flows equally
In justice and infectious regurge

Genes
That transplant the ghastly
Pale-light abscess of custom-made drivel

God, Ph.D.,  you too?

Effete

My dear Miss Peach how lovely!
Your table boasts so fair
You've chosen the finest bubbly
Best porcelain plates and crystal ware

Your handpicked guests are perfect
They know just what to say
They are prefects without defects
With no real opinions per se

Your parties are full of boasting
With braggarts, blowhards and egos
Pomposity excels in what they are toasting
Meaningless, pointless placebos

So Miss Peach I beg you not be stilted
Or try in your best elegance to change
What manner you provide is boring and gilded
And matters not to bourgeois talk wearisomely deranged

October 20, 2020

Completely Your Choice (30) Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand

The Children of a Lesser God

We are the huddled masses
  yearning to be free
but living in itself lay is often rose-colored glasses,
  and remains quite the mystery.

We ache for freedom transfixed
 some random yet open display
of races, children, braggarts, heroes, and cowards intermixed, 
 with declarations of straight, transgender and gay.

What does it really matter as we align
 when each one of us live separate lives
barely marking time with impacts undefined
 just giving everything in life a try to survive

We rarely know what we want or need,
 buried deep lay the truths of who we are
shouldn't we be grateful that we are free to believe
 that a god, kind and loving created dust from stars?

It doesn't matter if you're white, yellow, black or brown
 or if you're straight or gay or a giant tree or mustard seed
each is creation of an unseen god pulling up when you fall down
 god doesn't answer every prayer, god gives you what you need.

Tale of Rainbow Chick

rainbow chick with attitude
took the branch by storm
stomping the leaves off

the other birds flew away
trilling and cawing their distress
she looks like an angel but she is a devil

rainbow chick loved her instant reputation
the sheer power went to her beak
She strutted and rutted until she fell to her death

moral of this story will have to be given
in chick heaven where she is strutting and trilling
totally ignored by other braggarts who landed on the same level

What We Leave Behind

Too often 
 someone stretches the truth until it becomes the lie
and then defends its falsehood for all to hear and believe in
 but some wiser ones sense the truth that lay hidden
grab it by its fallacies and turn the tide to see reality,
 no denial, no deferment, no deflection, no delusion, no defense, 
only a bastille of truth to be reckoned with.

Which direction do you go
 holding onto untruths, errors, mistakes, missteps, outright lie
of the braggarts and the bullies, the loudest shouters in the room
 or sweep away every lie to see the steps you're taking
to mold and secure the futures for our children, all children
 knowing  historic lessons of time
that what we leave behind - is us and what we believe in,
 truth, justice, the American Way.

Who Speaks Now

The educational forest has thickened
 I can't see the forest from the trees,
are they Republican or Democrat?
 voices once spoke out without a doubt
a lost message loud and clear for change,
 those voices have since been silenced
by the onslaught of time and age, untempered truths.

Who speaks now?
Is it only the loudest voices
 shouting bullies and the braggarts
who wave and aggrandized their failures as achievements,
 the gray men staunch in their self-centered ways
unwinding progress and holding time hostage
 to the dreams and successes of yesterday,
the future of possibilities.

These are the times that try men's souls
 looking back and tossing out the compromise
of a warring world seeking peace and conjoined hands
 where power-hungry individuals take charge not to lead
but to satisfy, enrich and praise themselves above all others;
 one giant step for the political bureaucracy
no small steps for the average man.
America is better than this.

Lisa

I love the way she writes, 

and walks, 

with all the confidence and strength

that comes her way so naturally.

Not for her the forced bravado

of braggarts 

or the simpering shyness 

of pretenders.

All she does and writes is bold,

certain, 

and immodest. 

She makes men’s blood run stronger

and offers no apologies 

for the woman in her poetry,

and in her walk.

Rise Above It

the world can be a   - s c a r y-    place-  full of "nasty" people
braggarts   I N S T I G A T O R S   and fair weather friends (that hurts the most)
oh the lies  GOSSIP  insults   and judgement  and  m e a n  words spoken
the hate falls on the soul like a thousand  DAGGERS  and the heart "bleeds"
w e e p i n g   with doubt  and insecurity  like  w a v e s  on the ocean sweeping over
oh the pain-  then from deep within a mighty STRENGTH is rising and a  p o w e r
and I remember . .  . I've been to the bottom    from a pit of "NOTHINGNESS"
I have CRAWLED on my hands and knees it seems   how  "many" times     I forget
so these   n e g a t i v e    CRUEL people can "never" touch me with their evil
inside me dwells a strength   t h e y  could never FATHOM or imagine
and I brush them off  and RISE above and their daggers  F A L L  away pointless
so-   d e a r   reader   do "not" listen   do "not" bother   i g n o r e   all nasty people- 

___________________________________
June 11, 2016

Poetry/Free Verse/Rise Above It
Copyright Protected, ID 799-474-0
All Rights Reserved.  Written under Pseudonym.

A Poetess

Her spirit longs to chase away the fools
Whose stilted words turn harvests into chaff,
And be alone than prize the empty rules
Which guide their lives and prompt the wise to laugh. 

Though Shakespeare, Byron, Shelley, Coleridge, Keats,
Longfellow, Pope and Dryden are long dead,
She’d sooner delve into their metric feats
Than into minds whose dullness weighs like lead.

High praises are a kingly gift, but when
Her mind is numbed by frivolous display,
She leaves the sheep to their ordeal, and then
Ignores what clowns or braggarts care to say. 



Find my poems and published poetry volumes at www.eton-langford.com

Bullies

BULLIES




Cockroaches think they are so cool . . . .
Scurrying around in corners scaring women
Mosquitoes strut around the class in school. . . . 
Biting the teachers and the children

And they seem to not realize that their existence. . . . 
Is entirely transient and with very little meaning to last
And that with the passage of time and distance. . . . 
No one will even remember them from the past

Bullies and braggarts think they are so cool. . . .

Nail Me To the Cross Again

Lay down rules to follow
isolation of sins and tears
the plan known only to God
find power in the innocence of fear 

Dominion betraying duty
quoting verse, chapter and creed
pompous braggarts revere
dictate the path of greed

Defects of man raised by devine intervention 
the cost in souls to feed the need
patterns and rules to which I must bend
to claim success,  the lies to breed

How I may strive to live a life devine
your darkened soul perverse in vice
how you tell me to surrender
to your faith I should give my life 

What you tell me God is, should I believe?
should I lay down and die?
common sense tells me otherwise
no longer can I follow your lies

Whence True Love

A white haired lady sits front of mirror
She tears somewhat in the eye
She picks up a handle to brush the hair
That fate has thinned and vilified

She cries thinking just this thing,
He will not find me now.
No, I have waited too long in years
My true love will not find me now.

I've wasted my love and these tears
On braggarts and rascals and wastels.
No, not now, he would not love me now;
If he could find me, if somehow but how?

I married the wrong man in my youth
Then corrected it but then,
Do you want the truth?
She whispered, the next one was the same.

No, my true love will never come
No, not now, he will never come to tame
The heart that still yearns for him
At every turn, and I am to blame.

Tired, and so tired, I say, everyday,
It comes closer to me, so that sometimes
I just pray to get it over with, 
As my true love has gone away.

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