Long Bravery Poems
Long Bravery Poems. Below are the most popular long Bravery by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bravery poems by poem length and keyword.
Upon the wind feasted hillside
The jagged edges of used rocks swell
With the fatless skin of babes and wenches
Below a field of blood, no less a Flanders Field
A continuous swell of rape roll like waves
In the pallid squalor of leaking huts wooden tales tell
The scars ironed in the backs and inner thighs
The voices crying with no listening ear
Blood shines bright in moon's glow sons birth upon the fields
For eons it seems men stack rape like barley and wheat
Small ones soft ones and inexperienced virgins too
Daughters bled away dignity men their respect
Born work and ravished in the fields
Where is their medal of bravery
Today the summer sun washes over the fields
Each rays eclipses the dark memories of sin
As the sons and daughters rise
This poem was written for Joann Grisetti's Copycat contest through inspiration of Debbie Guzzi's The Sowing, one of the Greatest writers here on the Soup
Joan was a girl who has the appearance of a boy. She was born in Domrecy of France into the peasant family of Jacques
d' Arc and Isabelle. She lived her life as a saint and saw a vision
to drive out the English who are gradually taking over the France territory and to get Charles the rightful owner of the throne be crowned.
However, she was an uneducated plebeian who lived her life with
dignity and honor. She declared her vision to Charles
but did not gain
his trust. She joined the army and became their
leader due to her
bravery and successes during her missions. She was ingenious and skillful despite, she never laid hands to kill yet her
vision was fulfilled; through this she got the king's trust.
Upon a campaign was sent by the king she was
captured by the Burgundian Faction who was allied with the English.
However, whilenegotiation of Burgundian with the English she made attempts to
escape, one of which she jumped from a high tower but her efforts was futile.
The King could not rescue her because he was bewildered and did not had enough trust in her. Joan was turned over to England at the cost of 10,000 francs. She was announced as heretic and
died a shameful death It lodged like stone within French army's heart
and her people but there was nothing they can do.
Some years after her case was raised by the king, they did thorough
investigation. She was finally declared as a saint and martyr. She was
embraced with love as infant within and outside her country including
the English countries and her roles in France can
never be forgotten.
17/9/2015
For contest Joan of Arc
Note: She was born in 1412 and died on May 30, 1431
She died at the age of eighteen approximately
nineteen years. She was
also known as "The Maid of Orleans"
Whanging Willow's lighting wand
He is, the legend Imran Khan
The world has known him since long
His charisma and bravery are strong
From cricketer to a philanthropist he evolved
His free cancer hospital is an inspiration to all
He steps into politics to help more the poor
And challenges the world for being so hypocrite
He talks of God, freedom, equality and love
Plants 10 billion trees to fight climate change
Did much to improve the lives of unprivileged class
And call for justice and peace on different world forums
His sole reward is 30 years jail
A national and international conspiracy in place
Life As A Highway Robber
Escape from captivity pulled off
when I came of age
boyhood begrudged,
and bested by brigandage,
but willpower sans declaration
of independence begot bravery
against British brutes
bridging caper (involving collusion)
to bust loose from cage,
and trappings forcibly to plunder artworks
and sculpted treasures
by classical masters
without causing damage
taught by professional thieves
requiring minimal equipage
whereat over time footage
sordid memory constantly replayed
plunder and pillage unwittingly
fostering getaway
from hell raising gambits
planting seed to gauge
optimal instance
to feign criminal shenanigans
running rampant with militant spunky gangs
"FAKING" das spies zing
trumpeting hostage killing
and taking, nonetheless
swallowing bitter pill
reeking havoc as honorable image
in order to survive
within world wide
web of criminals (especially
an unwelcome foreigner),
where skills as buccaneer
really put to test, and tried
maximum lawlessness partaken
in (dolled up) guise suppressing shied
pitifull looking indigent vagabond
self away by donning
"FAKE" whippersnapper
benefiting getting to sally and ride
always exuding patriotic pride
pleasing ghosts of founding fathers
against their autonomy from
crown weathering woe be chide
recrimination impossible
to enforce as bride
of Lady Liberty opened arms for those,
who made dangerous journey
across avast ocean
only to confront (whodunit) thuggery
this lifestyle raping, looting,
and burning WITHOUT choice,
but guilt aye didst abide.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Retrospective many generations since
marking birth of a nation
(The United States of America),
now mecca, sans land of milk and honey
current president imposed antithetical ration!
When I met the tall and amiable Vietnam War veteran,
my shyness showed,
yet, my throat dried and tightened when he softly
spoke the words, "The war never goes away."
All these humanity destroying wars never cease,
soldier's names, faces, their eyes so well-worn.
Their love letters sent home never faded in their
immortality.
The soldiers who made it home alive weren't
given a hero's welcome.
Their nightmares flashing as they wake up
sweating in their sheets in the dark,
yelling for respite from still hearing and
being in the firefight, still seeing the VC,
and witnessing the life breaths leaving
mortally wounded brothers.
Descending into the night's loneliness,
the blue-gray of the t.v. on low volume,
the sobbing of a loyal wife.
Some marriages, families split apart
with crushing sadness,
many veterans homeless on U.S. streets,
such a heartbreaking shame shadowing
over the face of America the beauty.
Surviving veteran's hair becomes snow-white,
war wounds achingly arthritic,
memories of their war buddies still sweetly
preserved in their mind's images.
Vietnam War veteran's reunions as their
bones stiffen, but still salute their brothers
and sisters in arms,
their hats with the name of the war,
the pride of their service.
Many barely out of high school,
with brothers of the same town,
the same state,
so much youth called up,
joining brothers from other regions
of the U.S.
Blessed by God in their fraternity,
their bravery.
The deep red poppies represent their
precious blood.
I remember the 1960's-70's searing
scars in my mind,
weeping for the loss, the hurt in our
hearts over the Vietnam War.
MIA's, POW's,
disappeared as aging families still pray,
still wait.
In the local Veteran's Cemetery,
I met a woman in her eighties,
she was a little confused,
couldn't recall where her Vietnam veteran
son's grave was located.
She told me her daughter-in-law couldn't
bear to visit his grave.
We found his grave,
his name glistening in the dew of
that gentle May morning,
as wrens and sparrows sang on
blossomed boughs.
A chance encounter became such a
gift to honor her son,
and his mother.
To let her know he was not forgotten,
but cherished,
Welcome Home. ~
He will never save the world from alien invasion
Win a medal for outstanding bravery
Play a sport for his nation
Save a child from a burning building.
But what he really wants to be his child’s super hero.
Fly a spitfire in a battle
Climb the highest mountain
Sail the high seas as a pirate
Pull a body from a burning building.
He craves to be his child’s super hero.
Ride a race horse in the grand national
Swim the English channel
Or run the London marathon
Defend your honour in bare knuckle boxing.
If that would make him, is child’s super hero
But he is just a dad who works in a factory
No claim to fame or acts of bravery
No bulging wallet, adoring crowds
No friends who are super stars.
But he will do his best to be his childs super hero
as he is his dad
12/22/14
Props to the original Baggins
And his bravery towards the dragons
While he could've stayed behind with the wagons
Just a hobbit and quite the comic
But he should've watched it
And use all logic
Before trying to put on the ring inside of his pocket
Because another was unfortunate and lost it
This made him scathing mad
As he continued aging and
Inside a cave in the hills, far away from any raging sands
Originally had a name
But overtime he had changed
And was no longer the same
They didn't know what else to call him
Except for Gollum
Because he had fallen
And became solemn
Meanwhile the orcs
Marched with force
After coming into contact with the source
Of all evil from the North
The bell continued to toll
As the trolls
Looked to take all souls
With a heart darker than coal
During the events
The mist was dense
And full of suspense
But the ents that were immense
Put in their sense
And helped their allies get across the fence
Here we go again
Around the bend
It didn't end
In the eyes of children, ladies and men
Who could be considered a trusted friend?
By: Dalton Ogletree
Windy day breezing past pirate queen’s lair.
Lifts dainty curls off her neck on a dare
Sunlight sprinkles reflected in her eyes
She dares the day to bring her a surprise
Brought in full grown mode to the Sanscript Sea
Her beauty surpassed by her bravery
Cowards and kings hide within their ships deep,
Reputation dulls bounty she does reap.
No man can match the courage of this lass.
Best hold your breath until your ship goes past.
The pirate queen, Lu lives a pretty life.
Her pirate army wins with little strife.
Until she meets Baron Barr, big and bold.
Their story is one that never gets old.
Written 11-11-2019
Contest: I want to Fall in Love With a Sonnet
Sponsor: Melani Udaeta
I am not the spectacles on my face
I am the spectacular light that leads my foot forward in the darkest days
I am not the colour of my skin
I am the rainbow on a rainy day that lifts up a child's drooping chin
I am not the pimples on my cheeks
I am the dimple that wipes the waves of tears to soothe you in your weeping weeks
I am not the dark scars on my body
I am the success behind every healed wound that unfolds an untold story
I am not the cracks on my heels
I am the courage that walks me through the desert of dreary dreams.
I am not the bounce of my rounded breasts
I am the bravery beneath the bones of a single woman.
I am not the aridness of my frizzle hair
I am the exuberance of my distinctive flair
I am not the weakness in my nerves
I am the willpower that inspires a million lives.
I am not the name on my in-law's gate
I am the fame born out of my mother's sweat
I am neither the wealth nor the riches I possess
I am the wellness of my family and fortitude of my friends.
I am not just the Sindoor on my forehead
I am the signature on every milestone that I cross while marching ahead
I am not a burden on the man's back
I am the responsibility that holds the nation's flag.
I am ME
I am MY THOUGHTS
I am MY AIM
I am MY MAGNANIMITY
I am MY CHARISMA
I am MY EFFICACY
I am not what you think
Because....
I THINK BIG!!!
Form:
We went to the darkest places to explore our fear, the alleys and the cemeteries where the trees were thickest and the light dwindled to nothing. We did not go alone walking on the cusp of bravery but led each other dare upon dare to breech each chasm. We knew the day and the places that lay in the periphery of our courage. But the night brought us fright served on trays of vulnerability, teasing us with magnifications of sound and dimness of vision, feeding and freeing the spark of imagination into flames of fear. Children have within themselves the greater fires of the dragons mouth and seeds of whispered voices with words of darker deeds. What lies within much worse than what is real. For all the evils ever wrought are children born from the same potential mother. The spark of imagination that creates both Gods and Devils. The place where we are awakened to answer the call of our own memorized voices. With borrowed courage we become the green of newer grasses, grown around empty bronze helmets long fallen to the ground.