there is a woodland fox on your swing outside
He is boldly brazen, with no attempt to hide
I ran to the window and saw him out there in the frost.
That poor baby, I said, I think he is lost.
You cannot go out there, my husband said.
The windchill is twenty below, you would quickly be dead.
I put on a mask, boots, snowsuit and other stuff that day.
By the time I got to the door, the fox was far far away.
Ought bold words and brazen phrases
‘scape our bursting hearts
Magic mirrors of our minds
shared with our own kind
Or should we hold them hostage
fasten them to knives
Let them threat the denouement
of our swirling, spinning lies
With brazen might and courage strong
A sword is raised the widow’s song
What right has man to undermine
The artists gift’s still standing strong
A lover’s song in midnight oil
Abuse my mind begins to coil
Great Picasso tameless strong
Why must thoughts be sometimes wrong
The storm of undermining dreams
The pain of less defining screams
A broken heart takes time to mend
Our words can be a weapons friend
Green fingernails
She stares into the night
A thinker thinking in her plight
They fought instead of having fun
He broke his lovers loving sun
And now she stares the thinker see’s
The statues of the times gone past
The thinker thinks and so does she
Then locked in pain
She was not free.
Picasso played the torment song
Dora Maars was hurt by words
Picasso’s lady fingers green
Now stares with thoughts we cannot see
Brilliant bright brazen Brazilian Brutus brokered brave
Broomsticks bragging beyond bellowing birch branches
Bypassing bitty bites brought on by bystanders.
We used to have a wonderful crew at work.
Sixteen, men who thought alike.
Then someone upstairs decided to hire two female engineers.
They hired the wrong two.
These interlopers are not demure, dainty or feminine.
They are brazen vixens.
With their bobbed hair and their wanton ways.
They read the financial pages, as if they understand them.
More like men than women, they are manly women.
Independent thinkers.
Way too brassy.
Too bold, too confident, too vocal.
We make fun of them from the window.
Because we dare not do it in person.
We used to have a wonderful crew at work.
Sixteen, men who thought alike.
Then someone upstairs decided to hire two female engineers.
They hired the wrong two.
These interlopers are not demure, dainty or feminine.
They are brazen vixens.
With their bobbed hair and their wanton ways.
They read the financial pages, as if they understand them.
More like men than women, they are manly women.
Independent thinkers.
Way too brassy.
Too bold, too confident, too vocal.
We make fun of them from the window.
Because we dare not do it in person.
The child I could never be- but I was still adored.
The lost milestones will never be restored.
The hope for normalcy will never be revived.
The normalcy that I thought was worth being strived.
Those habits that I used to treasure.
That now haunt me and take away my pleasure.
Those odd ways of mine, are becoming unwoven.
As has my silence, from now on I am brazen!
in violet dawn
he screeches a world awake
barnyard bugler struts
the sun is coming
and he's the first one to know
blooms and butterflies
red rooster so bold
like desert cactus flowers
and amber at noon
Indian cats do a cha cha cha
Four cartoons which were easy to draw
One breaks rank and yells rah rah rah!
They are as brazen as I ever saw!
I should like to take Bitter Rattles
As in their own right Brazen battles …
Intensely, The Speaker is flowing,
Whether or not with eyes glowing;
Also riotously, he is thinking
And as riotously blinking,
A nearby child to start yellowing
And into its shell burrowing;
Panicked sows not farrowing,
For as long as he isn’t mellowing
And down issues narrowing,
His forehead oddly furrowing …
Visibly, it is one drying up,
The Badly Thirsty with a glass cup.
The spirit whispers,
fall upon deaf ears.
They wonder greatly,
our unfounded fears.
Raise up your courage,
there is ground to stand.
You may not conquer,
but may shake their hand.
The difficult things,
that make who we are.
The enlightenment,
that makes up a star.
Old men live the past,
remember the day.
When they saved the world,
then went out to play!
date:3/30/22
If the sin of pride is my condign curse;
then I own it, and I can do no worse.
If the world disdains me, not saying why;
then I can stand it, though I want to die.
Outcast for good, alone for evermore,
as souls recoil, ne'er to enter my door.
Because of pride, I'm kept from the Lord's light;
lost, I curse Heaven with all of my might!
(Too bad if some don't recognize my genius;
but know, great souls believe in their greatness.
So spite this world if I'm damned any longer,
for the burden of brilliance makes me stronger!)
There has to be a space between the train and the platform. Otherwise, there would be a lot of grinding and friction. But not surprisingly, there are plenty of folk that don’t grasp basic physics. You need to step on solid matter rather than air. That is, at least, if you want to avoid falling down. They now have to post signs warning us of this imminent, obvious danger. They implore us to watch the gap between the train and the platform. Apparently, many of us still believe we can fly. Disney flicks aside, I generally encourage fools to dream and provide my entertainment.
I watch the folly
the careless, disdain for science
trying to land on air
Ah, such brazen disregard
It always inspires me
His name was Charlie and he had an itch.
To bed a woman with a glass eyed twitch.
She was handy.
They were randy.
Nine months later they had a little snitch.
Written 12-29-2018 contest: Bawdy Poem
Sponsor: Tania Kitchin
Bee
Buzzing
Dive Bombing
Big Bothersome
Daring, Bullying
Brazenly, Bold
Bumble
Bee
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