Long Brandishing Poems
Long Brandishing Poems. Below are the most popular long Brandishing by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Brandishing poems by poem length and keyword.
5.
is it true love
or i do take it granted
that i’m in love
or i do love to think
that i’m loving
and there is
neither any welcome address
nor any opening song
in my love
my experience with heat of fire
and with burning pain
in the flames of water
is nothing less
6.
in course of burning
i look around
the chilly-plant in the tob
planted in my won-hand
producing green-chillies
oh-ho how sweet they are
it is no chilled-body
that has earned
my life or death
no remarkable mark
is endorsed
on the lotus-leaf
now easily some words
can be written
on you
i don’t know whether
those would be at all
some lines of a poem
7
someone falls in loves
someone makes love
love comes to some another
there is the far-off
whispering
at first she constructs me
then destroys rightly
i notice her
for the first time in six weeks
the love
that writes
in the footnote of the tennis-ball
a desperate struggle for existence
within our skull
there is the love
or the midnight of the orion
the little squirrel asked now
are you in your seventies
or eighties
those houses with the coating of
the sky the air the light-and-shade
provide me with the presentation of
a wig and
a set of artificial teeth
8.
the love
that touches the hand
in drizzling
the love
that gets lost in the brandishing
grasses
would they want to inform
that the flowers don’t have any skyscraper
in the layers of the flesh and blood
of the detergents
as if a whole human civilisation has been suffering
from suppressed pain
within it with the dry spell of
anger and cough
the time
had there been no feeding from the love
does the human civilisation stagger
9.
do you think those words
or it’s myself
whatever may you say now
i’ll travel within a great death
to die
rather after my demise i may tell
i’ve informed everyone …look
beneath the large evergreen flower tree
the game of light and shadow continues
beside those simple households
besides a high-head mobile-tower
what else would you like to be
is it a bath in the ganga-river is it a leaf
of the water-lily or it’s a king-cobra
tell me
i would now make love
with that idea from you
With all my movie friends, and tv too, vanishing,
I turn my attention to the brat pack. Brandishing life.
Ally, Molly, Judd, Spader, Cusack, Gray and more.
Out of Bounds on my screen, terrifying, a thrill ride.
Or I could loopity-loop The Breakfast Club, burns
sizzling, redefining the bad boy, who pierces his ear
with a precious diamond from the popular girl.
Sutherland scared us, Sheen made us feel unclean.
One killed us with fangs, fear and freedom.
Charlie fooled around. My husband didn’t want to meet him.
My sisters met Andrew after I left, what?!
I had just watched Weekend at Bernies…again.
Just like in Capra’s It’s a Wonderful Life
“I want to live again…” so I’m drawn
to the shows where the actors are still alive.
I can watch delightful and happy classics
that bring me down, I’m not as far behind.
Those old people are not the same old people
from my youth! Like my granddaughter, once said,
“You’ve got to be kidding me!”
I think I’ll settle back and get Pretty in Pink
or deadpan Grosse Pointe Blank.
Back in the Blockbuster day could have thrown
the Brat Pack in my backpack and zoned
out!
contrary to
conformity
finding com
fort in in divi
duality she's
the redhead
in canada
that uses
her words
carefully
and her
pen as
an anvil
knowing
which word
even before
writing it down
what shape it will
take maybe a
razor sharp
blade of
a haiku
katana
or simply
to wait for
the weight
of a twist of
her wrist and
end a poem while
brandishing in hand
a Scots broad sword
but haven't you heard
that a sculptor can
size a marble
stone no
matter
the size
by touch
knowing if
this is where
an arm will be
then all falls into
place proportionately
placing an arm
at arm's length
and the waist not
to waste a single
chip of chisel to take
away the balance of what
figure that is figured out to
be even to the tiniest detail
so as Michelangelo
lay on top of the
stone that he
knew would
become
David
he runs
and rubs
his hands
over what will be
come a young
man's ribs
and down
lower his
mind al
ready
sees
what
people
will talk
about for
centuries
of mankind
and manhood
Form:
Nonagenarian father afflicted,
his body electric awry
with congenital heart failure,
before long twill bid existence bye
whose physical well being -
corporeal essence inevitably will die
unavoidable manifest destiny...
accompanied into afterlife courtesy death
envision caricature immortal grim reaper
moost ofttimes (normally leering)
brandishing trademark scythe,
impossible mission to skirt dark shadow
creeping closer along edge of night, not shy,
eclipsing former robust native son Brooklyn
once upon time aforementioned sturdy strong guy
metamorphosed gallantly,
gangly, and gawky youth
courtesy blood, sweat and tears
conditioned into muscular trim physique
with equal fervor did apply
figurative nose to grindstone, and well nigh
academically succeeded (think flying colors)
attending City College (back then free - no lie)
deservedly acquiring mechanical engineering degree
furthering advanced studies at Columbia University
General Electric career employee
opting early retirement at age sixty
subsequently clocking thirty plus orbits around sun,
a widower past fifteen plus years, he
steadfastly remained married approximately
half century, and twas... understandably
grievously, honestly, and inconsolably sad
when terminal illness stole key
once dirt poor wife i.e. bride (never bartered)
who bore him three offspring - me
including an older and younger sister
acutely aware I (nsync with siblings)
may learn (ex post facto), our father
though art(fully) adept with smarts already told
tragically could succumb (think demise - see
above) regarding pandemic
indiscriminately claiming thee
storied Zayda as linkedin with progeny
thyself begat (deux) from yours truly,
and biological kith brought forth
their precious kin, whose limp body
born aloft without survivors
without filial piety
bequeathed as Boyce Brandon Harris'
soul into realm of dead souls eternity.
Ever since we were young, we wondered what it really meant to be American.
This is what we have found out.
America is freedom.
America is civility.
America is liberty.
America is justice.
America is allegiance to a flag.
America is forcing religion.
America is dying.
America is going to end because humanity would rather have a mixture of
Linen
Cotton
And dyes
Than save millions of innocent lives
America is going to a protest brandishing a knife
Because Americans don't know how to live happy when things are fine
America is following after hitler
Because human colors might make a strange mixture
America is leaving small children home alone to cry
Because America wants us to work a nine-to-five.
And remember.
America is doing nothing because “Other people are already doing something”
Well guess what
America doesn't have to die
So we ask you, mind to mind
Could you at least try to open your eyes?
Annette Arnold had recently left college
And was thrust into flimsy dating realms;
She grabbed pen and paper to describe
Top-choice dude of her fanciest dreams.
Dashingly handsome and of complexion nice,
And gallant gait akin to quaint legends' knight;
Sainted for inventive hare's monstrous brains,
Whose vast wit tales eternalize in folios white.
Certainly wielding humongous fiscal sway
At glance to dwarf mythology’s Midas' turn;
Brandishing glitzy wads as any moguls may,
Ever copiously donating all yet lacking none.
Life tenant within fame's flashiest abodes
Where prince and duke sure habitat have,
And king and princess choicest liquids sip;
Where queen and gods fine victuals serve.
Never must such his hallowed mistress
With betrayal's faithless mischiefs afflict,
Defiling indelible vows in his loyal troths,
He’ll steadily love whatever woes persist.
And so first to hit her with resistless lines
Was one William Watts imbiber of wines;
Neither that dashing handsome nor wise;
Faring far from afore-hinted pigment nice.
After wee-witted Williams’ charming vibes
Popped Ronald Riveter from politest tribes,
Known for most arresting manly physique;
Sorry stranger to Midas’ coin-clinking trick.
When Bernard Belmont's pics were seen
He looked plain and of disposition mean;
Unacquainted with idolized royalty’s fame,
Unadorned with duke's resplendent name.
And last Jason Jay did his mistresses vex
If records past might reveal lovers' specks;
His faint affections as whims rose and fell;
Sundering divinest troths as irate exes tell.
Searing decades of pen-and-paper wait
Nabbed no Knight of heaven-hewn trait;
And so did choice-wiser Annette Arnold
Award meek Martin Monks her aisle nod.
Death and Time holdeth onto eerie and most frightening shadows
Whilst pervading deeply within that infernal region where the dark
Evil and uncanny mists occlude the terrifying presence of a great
Dark Doomsday cult of vicious and horrifying beasts that are now
Perpetuated from a putrid Hellspawn by Lucifer’s own command!
Corrupted with the presence of sacrilegious beasts of true violence
Who hate all aspects of humankind with their spirit of maleficence,
And wince not whilst decapitating the heads of those who disagree
With them, and creating a mindless havoc of unparalleled tragedy
That’s become an expected, sad occurrence of Mankind writ large!
Brandishing a razor-sharp, coal-black-blade is their evil incarnation,
Of a time, that’s totally indicative of their chaotic rampage of bloody
Burning attacks as battlegrounds are drawn into an eternal darkness,
From whence there may be no return since there’s a dark, blood-red
Poison, from the dark afterlife, in which every drop of blood is toxic!
Every drop of this spilt blood-red poison has a deadly demonic aroma,
That produces nasty swarms of ravenous locusts to torment all innocent
Victims caught between the machinations of Almighty God and Lucifer.
In this reality, these evil spirits cast their malevolent spells without any
Scruple, wishing for Mankind’s swift destruction by Lucifer himself!
Gary Bateman and Liam McDaid – A Collaborated Poem,
Copyright © All Rights Reserved – November 24, 2017
(Quintain)
Poor soldier Andrew Jackson who
Attacked the British after peace
Was signed three weeks before at Ghent.
Unnecessary bravery
Is no less admirable for that.
He waves to patrons eating their
Beignets at the Café Du Monde.
Astride a horse, saluting with
His bicorn hat, and stern of face,
He looks less menacing than if
They cast him brandishing a sword.
But who can blame his victory
(Redundant though his conquest was),
The English might have occupied
The Crescent City, New Orleans.
Between Lake Ponchatrain and Gulf
Of Mexico the land is boggy here.
Once rains would pelt Orleans and make
A flood enough for fetid pools.
Pine coffins bobbed and knocked aloud
Discouraging the patronage
Of all the working girls for weeks.
But that was long before the war.
And British and Americans
Were mostly buried on high ground.
So no unnecessary dead
Were ever disinterred by rains
And washed some parishes away
Without their names on coffin lids
To now or ever be reclaimed.
Fauning hairy sprite
Convene woodland diet
Passion and fervor ignite
From forest thickets alight
Guided by Luna's veil so bright
Gird your loins with all your might
Reins and halter held tight
Wend your way thru the dark night
Brandishing sword, your birthright
Scour lowlands scourge, blight
All that haunt and afright
Search lowest dale, mountain height
Nymphs uproot, demons fight
Forage your pastures stealthy, quiet
Keep fleeing dwarves in your sight
Sequester unicorns, leprechauns that spite
Mollify wizards that charm then slight
Into babbling brooks foamy white
Caress truant mermaids until first light
Then to your sylvan lair take flight
I’m noticing the seeds I like to buy
are running out in flavor “Nacho Cheese.”
They’ve got sunflower seeds in Ranch, but I
require my nacho cheese ones. Geeez Louise!!
I look it up on Google and I find
they’re selling out. I run to every store!
They’ve got that dang “Dill” flavor, but my kind
is not in stock and won’t be any more.
I know a service station that’s still got
those seeds I love. I’m off! The hunt is on!
I’ll buy up every bag in every spot
where I can locate them before they’re gone.
Some other stations carry them. I dash
from Pleasant Grove to Provo, brandishing
my credit card. I buy them. In a flash,
all seeds in Nacho Cheese are vanishing!
I’m driving south as far as Mapleton!
The chance of finding bags of them is dire
for fellow addicts. I’ve found sixty-one
to last a year before they all expire!
A true story that happened to me about five years ago
See "About Poem" above. When I love something, I try very hard to get it!!
For the Obsession Contest of Silent One