Long Brandishes Poems
Long Brandishes Poems. Below are the most popular long Brandishes by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Brandishes poems by poem length and keyword.
I think that I shall never see
A lovely poem written in defense of the bumblebee!
The ponderous and not so glamorous humble bee -
Obviously dreamed up by a senatorial sub committee!
An old stump that in summer becomes its deadly lair,
It flits about chasing little kids, settling in their hair!
It brandishes its fearsome stinger- its well-known bane,
And when stabbed in the fanny causes a heap o' pain!
It bumbles about with gossamer wings so delicately thin,
And upon its loutish face, notice that fiendish grin!
Such silly poems as this are composed only by fools like me,
But 'tis for certain that only God could love a bumblebee!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
With sincere apologies to one of my favorite poets, Joyce Kilmer,
for my parody of his beautiful poem "Trees"!
Too long spent in deep shadows
prevented my eyes from seeing
why the lights were so dimmed
why I had the need for freeing
Verses written by candle light
but not signed with my name
with one step out of the shadow
my first poem went up in flame
No lack of inspiration to fuel
a captive poet's sensitive ire
he reached for my written words
I torched their corners with fire
A ray of light through a small crack
the dungeon door he didn't close tight
stimulus kept me awake and writing
penning until darkness of the night
Words of anguish and freedom I wrote
morning shadows danced on my face
he came once more to taunt my soul
he who buried me in this tomb-like place.
He reached for my writings on the table
I stubbornly shook my head, turned away
clutching my night's work to my breast
I bravely said, "I must see the light of day."
Carried from the cavern's earthen ground
I looked at him near the edge of the river
he reached again for my treasured verses
into the rushing water, my writings deliver.
Hands covered my face in fear of reprisal
his strength brandishes strikes with clout
eyes shielded from the sun's blinding rays
I waited for him to take his thrashing rout
No clobbering fists or slaps given in anger
no harsh threats to bring forth my cries
no monstrous shadows looming over me
freed from my shadow by opening my eyes.
Stephen Edwin King
Horror writer, this novelist supreme
Supernatural fiction, his theme for 50 years
“The Shining” of light on evil, can quell our unknown fears.
Here comes that writer from Maine
Since the accident he's not quite the same
He writes ‘bout Good an’ Evil,
And Now that he's kind of feeble,
They'll have a reason to say he's lame.
King's wife, Tabitha, and his famous son, Joe Hill.
The whole family brandishes that elusive quill.
Scary stories of supernatural or depraved human beings,
But a regard for goodness and light can be seen.
Giorgio rode his red Ducati to climb a mountain
without a helmet to protect the fragile brain
from damage, then all sirens started wailing
as if an earthquake or a hurricane were coming!
" They won't catch me because cars
can't ride mountains or steep hills,
they get stuck in between rocks."
A large crowd gathered below, they yelled,
" Don't crash into big trees and break your neck like Bill did;
your dad is furious about the terrifying news and brandishes
a leather belt. Cops get out of patrol cars but soon realize,
climbing will give them a heart attack and called it quits!
Riding without a helmet may cost a precious life anytime,
use your noodle: motorcycles are more dangerous than cars;
I've seen dead bodies across highways to be replaced by crosses,
don't be the next victim and be listed in the obituary of the Enquire.
Giorgio found his hiding place in a small cave,
where fat, chittering rats roamed and snakes chased them for food;
he shivered and called his mom, she never came
to rescue him: his fear was worse than wrestling an enemy in a feud!
No one knows his name…
He is a villain though his back looks pitiful
because he walks with a limp; nevertheless, to hide his complex—one leg is shorter than the other, he bathes with innocent blood and quenches his thirst with the breath a malignant spirit exhaled.
He dethroned his father to gain power.
He devoured his own offspring to satisfy his insatiable appetite.
He chopped ‘Present’ off with an axe sharpened with a stone
named ‘Past,’ and stamped on it with his limping leg, to make sure
that uncertain ‘Future’ would never be able to germinate.
You who survived today somehow,
should go to bed with the prayer for tomorrow as the sun goes down.
People step out from their homes with hope because the sun rises.
They get to their work place to earn a day’s living. They step into the manmade order, the gears, and after all the day’s skidding and crushing in the gears with missing teeth
they stop by a tavern, on the way home to relieve the day’s stresses,
where the glasses of booze are filled with drifting ripples.
It may be a blessed moment.
For ‘Present’ is granted in a light-headed haziness
from a few shots of whiskey; they see distorted yesterdays
and twisted tomorrows, and as the happy mood deepens
the comets with long tails crossing the skies fall into the little universe;
the glasses they hold in their hand.
As stars fall,
the limping Cronus hurriedly enters the tavern
and brandishes the axe to chop the happy drunkards’ heads off,
because he was left out in cold by the drunkards, who were in a happy mood.
Note: 1. Titan Cronus and personified chronos-time, are used as synonym 2. Cf: Goya. Saturn [Cronus] devouring one of his children
In the bleakness of disparity, the opaque of the darkness shrouds the frailty of life, however the power of a stealth heart and a nimble mind now commands the preverbial stage
As this grotesque form of ugliness dances in the shadows as to have its will with ones own self , such fowlness doesn’t deter the bruan and steadfast wielding of the soult that quickly turns the page
It plays a rancid game as it cowereds in the black abyss of contemp , iron will falters it’s play and conquers it ever so swift and ease
The stain of disparity lingers and tries to confiscate the dignity with in , protected with a coat of arms of immaculate design, with this the day is now ceased
Cold and adbrubt it calculates its next move to release its stench of vulgarity, in turn a stout spirit brandishes total valiance of tremendous certainty to noch yet another victory
In the backdoor it try’s to slither it’s repulsive polluted essence, reaching deep in absolution brings forth a the truth of inner peace from this day til the end of history
Cosmic Consciousness
Within immense universe
Human is a desert mirage
Ancient being in search of
His veiled mysterious past
Brandishes worthless gold
As wisdom opens the path
To enlightenment that last
Penned: 1/15/2022
3:20 a.m.
Lake Worth
Florida USA
Come to the train of death
Where poor Iryna cried
Her warm blood drenched the railcar floor
Before she fell and died.
Come to the train of death
Where Iryna sat alone
Resting from a hard day’s work
Fiddling with her phone
Come to the train of death
Where Iryna thought she was safe
She sought refuge from her war-torn country
To escape the bombs and the grave
Come to the train of death
That tragic summer night
When a savage mophead came aboard
Wreaking misery and fright
Come to the train of death
Where he brandishes a knife
In hatred, he slashed Iryna’s neck
To take away her life
Come to the train of death
His intentions plain as day
He attacked an innocent refugee
Then calmly walked away
The car was full that fateful night
But the passengers only stared
They wouldn’t help; they walked away
Nary of them cared
Until some heroes approached
Attempted to reverse fate
But Iryna was too bereft of lifeblood
And help had come too late
Iryna, you died in loneliness
No doubt you felt betrayed
When those cowardly witnesses had no heart
Withholding succor and aid
The justice system failed you
With its slick, self-righteous balk
Ignored his crimes, chased phantoms of oppression
And let that animal walk.
But please don’t hate my people
To your family I implore
Most of us are not like him;
Hate and indifference we deplore
I would have helped you, Iryna
Through every ragged breath
I’d drain myself to save your life
On that sorrowful train of death.
In memory of Iryna Zarutska