Long Brassy Poems
Long Brassy Poems. Below are the most popular long Brassy by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Brassy poems by poem length and keyword.
Unorthodox nonestablismentarian epitome
Describes celibate bent aegis.
Mein kampf illustrates gravitas.
Underdog muted lest intimidation
think bully brandishing fist in my face
threatening to buzzfeed me
a brassy knuckle sandwich.
While breezily reading Judy Bloom,
(whose material geared
toward young adult)
book titled Blubber - published in 1974,
(which year found yours truly - me
undergoing amazing transition
classified as puberty)
bemoaned childhood's end - id est mine
interestingly enough romanticized boyhood
livingsocial within Lake Woebegone
(way before Garrison Keillor
named said fictitious town),
purely swiftly tailored
harried styled fabrication,
although that first decade
found torturous growing up years
more so courtesy
self exclusion from reindeer games,
thus during lunch or recess
(two most favorite classes)
bullies turned me into minced meat
taunted and teased
a severely socially withdrawn boy,
who never shared emotional agony,
he internalized verbal slings and arrows
eventually physically succumbed
from brickbats indiscriminately
lobbed at painfully shy
once upon a time happy go lucky lad,
(with a button nose),
when he whiled away days of his life
as the world turned
first at Lantern Lane
for about a half dozen plus years,
then at 324 Level Road
for approximately
one third of present existence
unbeknownst to him
that psychologically dark shadows
lurked within the outer limits
of the twilight zone
haunting corporeal essence
attached to those lovely bones,
now saddled with excess adipose tissue,
especially around belly of the beast
housing hunger artist
starving for knowledge,
and peopling his overactive imagination
with exemplary protagonists
blithely thwarting incendiary threats,
cuz of natural born defense against
gunning character assassination
courtesy fearsome imbeciles
hell bent on nasty, short and brutish fiends,
who did their collective bidding
vis-à-vis cut throat leviathan,
who overshadowed and locked in
propensity to live free and clear
analogous to unfettered noble savage
cannibalizing yours truly (me) as fancy feast.
Soul asylum salvation sought
as if survivor of mental health challenges
akin to foreigner trying
to sidestep gingerly self annihilation.
Manifestation of métier write
As an indie alt rock'n
tribe beck ha rolling stone dishabille poet,
who views challenge of writing analogous
to begetting an heir or heiress,
which former includes
gestation of an emotion,
idea, sentiment,...unbeknownst
if outcome birthed to be fabulous
then however the whimsical notion spins
within thine cerebral centrifuge,
the imagination pregnant with fetus
of a fledgling concept feeling
with byte size sea legs,
not quite ready for prime time
and beak combs devious, industrious,
overconscientious (hopefully), victorious...
though, as swollen womb dar full expansive
lettered girth manifests and coalesces
into miniature Confucius
versatile Buddha baby
(unless unexpected contusions
render exertion aborted effort), the proud
pro-creator bounteous, glorious, riotous
which unexpected success inspires
brassy, ironic, steely wordsmith
to tackle another and fleeting thought
and sire by product with audacity.
Oft times the sacred seconds silenced
by stillness louder than "Big Ben"
ear splitting only to me - squirreled away
in this makeshift manorial man cave
the grateful dead foo fighters quiet, a riot
with audio logical sonic boom decibel -
asper water nymph sprung from fen
or when the quick brown
(sneaky, leery, and fiery) fox
jumps over the lazy dog
slips into the house,
where the yolk cull doth roost
long fostering mass squawking
of manifold egg on eyes zing hen.
the end result metamorphoses into
a totally tubular unforeseen jumble
of gibberish senseless wordy clump
aspiring to convey some essence of logic,
though best to take a furlough than persist
to interpret dump
of discordantly strung English bits,
which intractable insistence
might spell f-o-r-c-e-d g-r-u-m-p
as the mood one may find them-self,
unless he/she can call
the literary mod squad to resolve harrumph
and with any lucky the once amorphous lump
pen pro lit tarry hit might undergo
an amazing transformation a mugwump,
a cherished poem plump
with juicy fruit weighing down the boughs
as if limbs ready to slump.
What the Butler Heard
Extract from a memoir
Lord Illustrious Penge of Lampwicker Hall,
Welcomed local Toffs, to his Name-Dropper ball.
Noses upturned with a touch of conceit,
Hob-Knobbing with gentry and gentleman elite.
Colonel recalled, his luncheon with Churchill,
Discussing backbenchers and a new Commons bill.
Shooting down Stukas, Captains claim to fame
“We had no choice Sir, Hitler started the game”
Lady Bell and I, champion ballroom dance,
After meeting Fred Astaire, purely by chance.
I worked with Crosby, taught him to Croon,
Just as well really, he couldn’t sing in tune.
Rupert went to school with Dame Vera Lynn,
and starred in a war film with Anthony Quinn.
Mortenson served, in old Atlee’s Cabinet,
Roberta was a Barrister when they first met.
Bradman hit this Six, into the members stand,
Luckily, I caught it, stretching out one hand.
I got a hole in one, on the sixth at Upper Plumb,
Sir Monty looked aghast, utterly struck dumb.
Sent my son to Eton, toughen him up a tad,
Hopefully play at Flanker, just like my old Dad.
Got myself a Cadi’, drives like a dream,
Shiny sleek and black, trim of vintage cream.
Gielgud and Guinness, met me at the Royal,
A script for their new play, Rich Man & Toil.
Later with QE2, after receiving my MBE,
She asked my opinion, of the shows on BBC.
I stayed at base camp, nursing a busted leg,
Hilary splinted it up, with rope and spare tent peg.
Spent some time in Burma, till the Japs came in,
Came home to Blighty, temper wearing thin.
I was at the Oval when Hutton hit 364,
England posted 903, a record breaking score.
In service with his lordship, so many stories,
Serving champagne to upper class Tories.
Tales might be true, just a little overstated,
Like the one that got away, typically inflated.
They were rather pompous, but often kind,
Especially the ones, left with half a mind.
Get me a stiff one Walters, Champers is gassy,
Just Lords way, sounding snob and brassy.
Then I won the football pools,
Bought my wife a gem,
So now I am a gentleman,
Just like the rest of them.
Lisa was carefully pulling a strand of cotton candy off a paper-coned “barbe à papa” - winding it around her finger while absentmindedly gazing at a carousel. She seemed hypnotized by its white horses, trimmed in gold, with their brassy red and blond manes, as they hopped, like slow-motion rabbits, in circles beneath wreaths and garlands of colored lights.
My watch jiggled me awake, mid-dream. I was bemused. It took me a moment to orient myself. I groggily pushed the sheets off and performed a big stretch. It's Monday morning, I think. “Alexa, what’s today?” I ask, to be sure. “It’s Monday, April 25th,” she says.
A beautiful, if cloudy spring morning was going to bloom on the other side of my jacobian glass windows - any minute now. At least according to my weather app. “Alexa, good morning,” I say, to start my rattling, sputtering, steampunk sounding coffee maker.
College time is warped, measured more in deadlines than minutes. There’s no plan other than your class or test schedule and let me refresh you on the rules – there are no rules, I’m free to do whatever I want. I actually chuckle at that thought.
College is transformative but there’s a hoary sameness to it. Read, discuss, review and test - wash, rinse and repeat. This morning is reserved for test review. I have a final this morning - well, sort of.
Some classes have a quintet of tests instead of a big midterm and nerve-racking final. It smooths out the stress, but you still have an almost forensic exploration of ideas, and you want the answers queued-up, ready for easy access.
I quickly washed and donned my workout-wear. A glance at my watch told me I was right on time. I’d loaded my shoulder bag last night, with my book, highlighters, my phone, Air-Pods and a water bottle. I grab it as I head out. I’ll do my review on the treadmill.
Anna opens her door just as I do mine - perfect. We’re off to the gym.
Raise the white flag of defiance,
surrender to the hate
Offer no concession or compliance,
a vote count short
is the winning debate
Cry ballot thievery trace:
Urban poll pickpockets, of color suspect voices,
stole the presidential race
Let that dark anger drive you loss loco,
allow this crazy Philly notion
spur lawyer-up snort motion:
Rebel kick start your swastika sue mojo
American furor
says peaceful transition
of power
will not be solemnly given
Hear that new Teutonic tongue
speak with an old Prussian accent
Indignant ears love how the
uncivil voice of their native son
Sioux for war reservations —
Elector path
has been illegally taken
Reject all olive branch negotiations,
defective math
is the algorithm cause forsaken
Summon the Aryan spirit of
your American furor
Let the blackness of this seethe
make melanin hearts tear bleed
Show them the raw power
of Minority rule
Bugle blows at rallying hour —
Fear time to
pirate play the
parakeet fool
Rush into litigious battle,
stand by
your sour ground
Let not your American furor
stand idle
Unleash the rage bound
Rise uncaged angrily,
and curse that Assimilation mirror
Visigoth tout your American furor
Vandals of the rear guard,
foreswear White exhaust noise
is cloudy grey smoke purer
Hear the brassy blown, belligerent blast
Crimson wavy call to raise the white flag
Ivory enamel refute of popular votes cast
Black reboot of an era thought long past
Stylus diamond-tip studded ears
shouting beer garden terror
Given marching orders
to revive the blitzkrieg error
Force the world to hear the
ugly spin echoes of
Depression vinyl Führer
11-17-20
Thirty years as an actor have shown
That it takes more than talent to make a star,
Though I tried very hard, I didn't get very far.
When auditions were past
And I didn't get cast,
Here are some of the reasons I've known:
I was either too young or too old,
A little too ripe or else much too green,
Too over the line or too in between,
Too long in the tooth,
And they were casting for youth,
That's what my agent said she'd been told.
I was either too short or too tall,
My navel an "outie" when they needed "in",
My hair was too thick and the script called for thin,
My skin tone would do
But my eyes were too blue,
And my dimples too large or too small.
I was either too shy or too bold,
Too over the top or too underplayed,
Too limber and loose or too stolid and staid,
My voice was too brassy
Or too upper classy,
And my love scenes too hot or too cold.
I had plenty of talent and heart.
With each failed audition I upped my game,
And though often rejected, some remembered my name.
But I never stopped trying,
I kept on applying,
And now and then I'd get the part.
That life seems a lifetime ago.
Three decades and longer I trod the boards,
No Tonys or Emmys or other awards,
But I can say without guile
For me what made it worthwhile
Was the applause at the end of a show.
Now my acting career is on hold,
As a poet I'm making a brand new start,
Didn't have to audition to land the part.
I still can be entertaining,
And no agent's explaining
That I'm either too young or too old
Entered in Jaymee Thomas'
Expertise In Verse Poetry Contest
March 27, 2023
Placed #2...thanks, Jaymee!
Down under continent
Down low is Australia
Australia the big island
Australia sixth largest continent
Country whose desert known as outback
Country who has the largest reef
Reef called the Great Barrier
Reef found off northeastern coast
Coast 35,877 kilometer of shoreline
Coast provides fun in the sun
Sun beats down on the desert
Sun is brightest in our winter
Winter offers some snow
Winter's are mild
Mild hop, hop of Kangaroos
Mild climbing of Koala
Koala live high in trees
Koala eat eucalypt leaves
Leaves favored blue, mansa, and swamp gum
Leaves are Koala's daily diet
Diet of Australian influenced by world
Diet consist of variety of foods
Food introduced from Ireland, Europe
Food from Italy, Greece and Asian new spices
Spices used in stir fry
Spices changed meat's taste
Taste of foods like rice, oranges, bananas
Taste of foods from all over the world
World influences shaped continent
World and Britian settled
Settled by Aborigines
Settled also by Britian
Britain sent convicts
Britian sent soldiers to New South Wales
Wales brassy, bold, stately and old
Wales sandy beaches, Jenolan Caves
Caves above ground
Caves in sea waters for adventure
Adventures in Abercrombie cave
Adventures in Tasmania
Tasmania mecca for adventure
Tasmania's mountainous terrain
Terrain for wild river raft
Terrain of sheer cliffs to climb
Climb the Great Dividing Range
Climb to new heights down under
Under sunny skies
Under skies so blue
Blue
Skies
Written: August 14, 2015
Influenced by Debbie Guzzie's contest..
First Blitz..Whoa!!
On the main floor of the bus station in the windy city, I was being fooled, and my deceiver was going for the gold.
He was a con artist straight from the heartless streets of Chicago.
He spotted me long before I saw him, but I never saw him or ‘it’ coming.
I was an innocent naïve 17-year-old, straight from the Delta of Mississippi.
Where I was from, no one lurked, stalked, or skimmed to take advantage of me.
Like Eve in the Garden, I was alone, and an easy prey for anyone set an on evil deeds.
Like Eve, I was told what to do, but the deceiver was much more clever, and twisted things around.
Also like Eve, I listened to the lie of another, and before I knew it, I was believing his words and handing him a five dollar bill.
He was a pretender, but I learned the hard way to discern the difference between the reality and make believe.
Fast forward nearly 30 years, and the picture looks very different.
By then, I had learned about a brassy yellow material that looked like gold.
On a hot summer’s day, on my delivery route, I took a break on a river bank.
I stood on the banks of The North Folk of The American River in California. The clever deceiver was not human, but it sparkled and looked like the real deal.
I picked it up, and in a way I said, “You can’t fool me. You are ‘fool’s gold.”
11162016 PS Contest, But It Was Not Real, Lewis Raynes. Pl 8th
(Here, Clark Gable is speaking.
Gaylord Langland was the character
he played in the just-completed
movie. "Trotsky" is his nickname
for Arthur Miller and the "little
girl" is Marilyn Monroe. Gable did
not attend the wrap party and died
of a hreat attack the following day.)
Gaylord
Everything just happened wrong.
It'll do that, sometimes.
A movie set is like a ship, I guess.
Some are happy, some not.
I'll skip the party.
I've seen enough,
and I'm feeling kind of rough.
Trotsky? I won't bad-mouth the guy.
He knows so many things,
but he doesn't know women.
It was sad to watch him try.
When a woman decides, inside,
to pass on you, you're screwed.
Not even dynamite will do.
I told him, "Don't cling.
Stop thinking you can change things."
His intellect is all he had,
and he certainly deployed it.
But pain is part of the deal.
Can't none of us avoid it.
The little girl? We had a fling.
She's not like anybody thinks.
The brassy, buxom *****
is some ad-man's creation.
She's a brittle little child.
Her skin is too thin.
You cut your hand, she feels it.
In my philosophy,
it's a simple equation:
they pay me, I show,
ready to go. I don't know
why they need these
analysts and therapists.
Business before show.
She asked a bunch of stuff,
couldn't get enough.
Wanted my suggestions.
Hungry to hear about Harlow,
got me over a barrel
on Yvonne De Carlo.
Even asked about Carole.
I said, "Easy, Harietta.
You'll never know a man better
by asking him questions.
There is a pronounced ugliness there, brassy, irritable attitudes found nowhere else.
Anger and rage is rampant. Desperation, disease, strife, rape, and murder happen daily.
I shudder at the thought; these concepts are well beyond my sensibilities.
One of the guides flips a button, and the viewing screen starts. I am shown desperate people who are willing to perform unspeakable acts for a meal or a place to sleep.
“Some are deluded not realizing the person they called friend could plunge a knife
Into their heart in an instant of rage, without caring.”
The stories are harsh, stark, frightening, and surreal. I back away from the screen and look
At the leader of the masters. He is glaring at me, awaiting my decision. I can choose to stay in
Heaven to learn my next five lessons, or to go to Earth.
If I choose Earth, it’ll be a lot faster, but Heaven is safe.
“But surely there is some good there,” I argue. My voice cracks, as if I am pleading.
A soft hood nods. “Newborn babies,” she says softly.
The other hoods join in, “Puppies,” “rainbows,” “gentle rain,” “flowers,” “hope,” “faith.”
“I choose to learn my lessons on Earth,” I tell them.
My voice sounds stronger now. “I’ll watch for the good,” I tell them.
I am thinking I’ll nurture it too, so I say that.
Because in Heaven to think a thought is to say it.
I am impregnated within minutes.
By the time I can walk without a toddle, this memory is but a wisp in my hair.
Luckily, my spirit guides will remember.
They remind me in my sleep.