Long Brawn Poems
Long Brawn Poems. Below are the most popular long Brawn by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Brawn poems by poem length and keyword.
Two opposing warring factions, meet upon the AstroTurf
Battlefield, in the sporting arena of Victory or agony’s defeated,
Warriors of the pigs skinned javelin, tackle each other at the
White lines of collisions honor, marked by the numbered banners
Of the fifty yard kick off point, yielding unto the pillars of the
Goal post of champions!
In the heat of battle these heroes of gladiatorial games, called
The NFL, thrill and chill their fans to the inner bones of the
True sportsman living within all us, born in this great nation,
Known as the U.S.A.
In this victorious field of dreams, no illusionary visions exist,
For these powerhouse gentlemen, gain each footings sacred
Ground by athletic skill and sheer raw brawn!
To the meek goes the booing of the fumble, to the strong
The million dollar playoff championship, cheered on by their
Ever loyal crowds of adoring fans, whom are enthroned by
This sport of endurance and strength of will!
In this modern coliseum of champions, no touch down goes
Without a standing ovation, or Styrofoam’s thumps up signal
Of approval, in these concrete surroundings this is truly a time
Honored sport of traditions, to be remembered in the
Historical records of the future as a classical game,
To challenge the strongest of athletes!
Golden are the rings given as victory’s insignias,
But in the hearts of the players and their loyal fans,
The price of the championship game is worth the cost
Of every single ounce of sweat and exaggeration, shown
On this epic field of battle!
As the crowds roar, with excitements thrilling kick offs
Point of the triumphant, field goal point scoring, their
Human wave of appreciation, is set at the release level
Of thousands!
In the homes of America the volume levels of the cheering
Is off the ratio scales charts, as chairs go flying backwards,
And Bowls of snacks explode everywhere, for the winning
Play has just been committed, and the championship team
Takes the final center field of the victorious!
Hurray for the great sport known as football,
The American sport of champions has again earned
Another season of splendor in the turf war of victories,
Behold our favorite pastime, may this pigskin colors never fade,
As our flag shall forever wave, for this is truly the great
American sport of athletic skill personified!
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
When the wolf applied nicely
If he could come in,
The pigs replied thricely he shouldn't.
Then they scratched at the hairs
On their chinny chin chins,
And tightly bolted the door so he wouldn't.
But wolves, when out shopping,
Are not easily put off,
Even faced with the risks they are takin'.
This one ignored the wheezing,
And the nagging, rasping cough,
In his lust for ham, pork chops, and bacon.
First, he blew down the straw house,
Then the one made of sticks,
But by the third he was straining and grasping.
It was a veritable fortress
Of well-mortared bricks,
And emphysema left him panting and gasping.
With one last mournful howl,
The wolf knew he was done
And lay down in the driveway, embarrassed.
The pigs regained their composure
And called 911,
But when the cops came, the wolf claimed he was harassed.
The argument raged
For an hour or more
'til the cops gave them all a citation.
Still gasping for breath
As he slunk from the door,
The wolf was stopped by a squealed invitation.
"Wolfie, oh, Wolfie, please won't you come in?
We'd so like to have you for lunch."
And he would have gone on and ignored the appeal,
If he only knew that "ragout de loup" (pr. rah-goo duh loo)
Was the entrée, but he had no hunch,
And he was not one to pass up a free meal.
When a wolf's sick and hungry,
He might let down his guard
And do dumb things a wolf shouldn't ought to.
But for pigs, it's expedient
To get the final ingredient
Required for a tasty "wolf stew".
The wolf's huffing and puffing
Couldn't even come close
To the pigs' stratagems and devices.
After seven martinis,
It still hadn't dawned on the dope
That intelligence wasn't one of his vices.
If he'd had more brains than brawn,
This poor wolf might have known
That the pigs never meant to surrender.
They'd no more need to fear or hate him,
They knew the booze would marinate him,
So when they served him up and ate him,
He'd be quite succulent and tender.
If this tale has a moral, I'd like to propose
That "three heads are better than one" be selected.
In this case, not the one who worked the hardest,
But the ones who worked the smartest,
And as the little piggies guessed,
The wolf was the perfect luncheon guest.
Of course, their table manners weren't the best,
So they still made pigs of themselves, as expected.
In the bitterest of the cold polar north shadows of illusions dwell,
Reflections of light on ice, maybe so or is there more to these
Optical delusions, the natives say creatures hide amongst these
Rocky snow covered hills, and they call forth the power of the
Alpine peaks for protection!
These mountainous summits of elevation known as the
Thundering mountains, many men have gone missing here,
Without explanation or reason, without any evidences trace
Ever being found, as if just vaporizing within the alpine mists?
But legends say by the tribal chieftains, they were taken by the
Snow beasts the Yeti’s, the abominable demons for
Trespassing on their sacred icy lands!
These outlander's whom should have known better,
Warned were they not, to climb at this inaccessible remote
Elevations for this is the forbidden territory belonging to
The creatures of the rocks!
Many men go there and are swallowed whole by the mighty
Avalanches, called forth by the screaming howling of the
Mountain guardians, weaving through these ice and spray
Waves as if they were made of winter wisps’ of air, the creatures
Take these hikers, or skiers unware, than devour
Them later at their leisure’s pleasure afterwards!
These avalanche waves have another name given to
Them eons ago, the claws of the tiger, sweeping
Within their mighty claws, everything living or none,
Beneath their talons of devastation!
But what if there were more to this myths story,
What if these two legends were working together?
In a tandems precisions epic motion, beast and
Mountains, both struggling to survive, against
The onslaught of humanities approach!
Endurances basic instinct of survival, natural law
Prevails, that only the strongest of the species is allowed
To continue, but what if these two natural raw forces
Combine, to do whatever it takes to achieve
This final climatic extraction, brawn concurring
Intelligence, or maybe it’s the other way
Around!
In this wilderness only the whispering winds
Knows the answers to these questions of inquiry,
And there left unheard by the deafening ears of
Progress and mankind until it is too late!
But the native people know, and warn them
To stay away for this land belongs to the Yeti’s
And the mountain protect them beneath the
Claws of the white tiger, the mighty avalanche!
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
A Winner in 2017 OHANA Woman Div 1
There I was, on a rollercoaster of anxiety with many an anxious moment...
Each time my player dropped a set against each of her squash opponents...
In the Qfinals she suffered a 3rdset hiccup to a player junior in her years....
Dashing the high hopes that player could wrap up the game in 3 quick sets....
This rival is a fast improving hard hitting junior player, tricky as they all come...
With a superior fitness and combative attitude, she was a constant danger until the game was done...
Next in the semis was another junior, another fast and furious player...
Who won the 1st set easily to set the pace, upped the ante to pressure my squash player....
Somehow my favored one prevailed to counter her opponent's energetic play...
Refusing to be drawn into a chessplay with muscle and brawn and power play...
So she made it to the final, there awaits top seeded player, a former international...
Last year she easily outfoxed and outplayed my player 3-0 in that final...
But for this repeat final, my player started off well and lead by 2sets initially....
Before a 3rd set loss, it was obvious the top seed was exerting control gradually....
My player hopeful was flustered, faulting someone for advising her to vary her game..
I was busy recording, wise enough to let the cookies crumble as it may....
Just managed to warn her that her rival was picking up the pace....
And that a real winner of any squash player should play a thinking varied game...
Luckily she played decisively for a quick lead in the 4th game, raced to 4-0.....
There were some anxious moments as she easily lost a couple of points....
Anxiety was all mine even as my player managed to lead comfortably on points...
She had to do some desperate retrieving and gave away some stroke points...
But long story short, it was one big joyous relief when the game was finally over...
The 4th set was won over, the mission accomplished, what a great feeling all over....
When favored player emerged triumphantly as the winner when all was over...
http://www.tournamentsoftware.com/sport/tournament.aspx?id=5E4ABBEB-3744-4BAB-940C-598E71343CB6
Your name is a great thing,
It gives my heart wings.
The letters give such inspiration,
The following are their creation.
Lets begin with the first letter,
That will be far better.
B is for Beauty,
Because you truly are a cutie.
B is for Brain,
From falling I will try to refrain.
B is for Brawn,
One look at your muscles and I was gone.
B is for Bashful,
For you are always tactful.
B is for Better,
You have turned me into a real go-getter.
B is for Baby,
Your smile always drives me crazy.
On to the R,
A greater letter by far.
R is for Rare,
Because we are a one of a kind pair.
R is for Race,
Which is what my heart does everytime I see your face.
R is for Rainbow,
When you are around the world seems to glow.
R is for Rush,
Everytime you look my way I start to blush.
R is for Reason and Rhyme,
When I am with you I understand the word sublime.
Now on to the A,
Which will help us on our way.
A is for Awesome,
Say good-bye to Miss Lonesome.
A is for Artistic,
Your beauty is so mystic.
A is for Amore,
You shake me to my very core.
A is for Allure,
When I found you I found my heart's cure.
A is for Ache,
Because you fill me with a passion I can never slake.
A is for Attractive,
When you touch me I light up like I am radioactive.
On to the first N,
Which makes me grin.
N is for New,
You planted the seed of love which quickly grew.
N is for Nice,
You're so great I wish I could live twice.
N is for Nurture,
If I loved you any more I'm sure my heart would rupture.
Now on to the D,
Which does wonderful things for me.
D is for Doll,
I didn't know how fast I could fall.
D is for Dear,
When you are around I have nothing to fear.
D is for Dashing,
one glance from you and my heart starts crashing.
On to the O,
Which could never cause me woe.
O is for Overload,
When I see you my heart overflows.
O is for Optimism,
Because you never look at me with skepticism.
O is for One,
One night with you and my soul came undone.
And last but not least is the other N,
And what a way to end.
N is for Never,
Because You are my forever.
For My Most Beloved:BRANDON
“MY STUDENTS AND I”
In the cool dawn of each new day,
My heart swells with a joyful array,
As I greet the group of eager minds,
Who await, with vigour, new knowledge to find.
To lead a class with intent and care—
With listening ears and silent air,
—is the pride of a teacher true;
A gift that few are gifted to.
The modern students, with youthful brawn—
Break the teacher's heart, steeled and worn,
As they ignore the wisdom shared;
And dreams of excellence are impaired.
The teacher, with a heart of gold,
Gives all, the students to mould;
But the students, unkeen to embrace,
Leave the teacher's heart a lifeless place.
Silence!" I roared, fierce as a lion,
But as I did, a serene spirit shone,
—like a whisper of peace, calm and true,
And so, I held my voice, and my fury too.
With heart open, and words of gold,
I spoke to the restless students bold,
Seeking to reach within their souls,
—the wisdom and knowledge I wanted to unfold.
I uttered, with passion and truth—
"Face your studies, knowledge is youth,"
But the students, unmoved, replied—
"Money is the key, sir, with no lie."
In shock, I stood, as my lesson fell,
Like petals plucked from a broken bell,
And understanding then did strike,
—the source of their disinterest, now in sight.
I posed, with fervour in my voice,
A question of truth, to make them rejoice—
"Why do the wealthy seek knowledge so?
If money is all, as you all seem to know?"
Their gazes, they shifted, their minds perplexed,
As the truth I gave them, their views corrected,
And I held their attention, like a web,
—spun with words of truth, no longer led.
My voice, it soared, resounding strong—
"If knowledge you lack, you will go wrong,
For those with it will eat the fruit of your toil,
And leave you with nothing, but a bitter coil."
"Money can purchase certificates true,
But wisdom and learning, it cannot do,
And as for standard, it's knowledge's friend,
Together they stand, till the end."
My words, they did penetrate their souls,
The truth, like a light, began to unfold.
His granite form against blue skies
Rippling on the bulging eye, wild waves
Of muscles the netting cloud defies
Reason in concrete, his pride raves
In self glory of athleticism, what a gem
Hard and shadowed without a diadem.
I know that man, I lived inside him
Long ago, slurping applause like a child
Incomplete in potrait, morally dim
About the treasures I often defiled.
That man is just a screen of muscled skin
A pampered fear that won't give in.
He will not cry, because he was taught
It's wrong for boys to show emotions
His destiny by a web of lies once caught
Leaves him lonely, old aspirations
Become wrinkled raisins in the callous sun
Manhood and wood subterfuge the pun.
Tired of being told he cannot become
From school to dull signs of no vacancy
I hears the sirens penning his freedom
He looked for himself, found no legacy
In history or family achievement that will
Stand up to the praise of gatekeepers ill.
He feeds his hungry urges into children
Fatherless because his woman must think
She cannot balance her budget with heaven
And for welfare cheque he's o'er the brink
Thrown, used, demonized, discarded, weak
Now, no virile glory left in love to seek.
He turns to her helpless in his helplessness
Angry with the impotence of history
Mute before her need to have forgiveness
The saddled statue slouches into misery.
You know him too, the black man, proned
Against pale paperbag of evening, stoned.
In Africa he was redeemed by mother, queen
When things fall apart, in America his old
Structures uprooted, he cannot be weaned
Of the nurture that never existed. The mold
Upon his life is history, and only the lover
Carrying the cross can be another redeemer.
Look at him like a child asleep after his spawn
Of delapidated family and garrots of dream
Only ego keeps muscle bulging under the brawn
The heart is mute, and pride wil not scream
For pain though like a white cataract it drowns
Him. How still the victim 'fore the victor frowns!
A TAXPAYER SPEAKS
Years ago when filing tax forms reared its proliferating death’s head
I cursed, perspired, and thought about moving to a foreign homestead
As a low-income taxpayer I felt too unimportant to hire an accountant
So I filed and filed for years, at all times a very incompetent combatant
Penalties-plus-interest plagued me and I could not raise a skilled defense
Prolonged tax failures destroyed my sense of self-confidence
It was past time to explore options to end to all this tax nonsense
Waking to a new day I jumped out of bed at the crack of dawn
And scoured the yellow pages for a tax advocate to call upon
After detailing my sad tax history they agreed to take my case head-on
My tax life was now covered by tax experts with knowledge and brawn
My “Tax-Saviors” wasted no time plunging into battle early-on
Past tax filings were messy, chaotic, confusing and jumbled
Yet they contended, defended, persevered and never crumbled.
I have learned that tax advocate giants who defend vulnerable taxpayers
Give Tax Dictators headaches for they are tougher and tenacious tax players .
A tribute is due these Tax Defenders who aid us so nobly
And recalling the moving inscription on our Statue of Liberty
(An Emma Lazarus 1883 poem composed in New York City)
My tribute follows and is submitted very humbly
(please forgive the “re-phrasing” substituted for clarity):
Give us your tired, your poor, your tax-ignorant masses,
Yearning to breathe free who have no one to file their taxes
Oh, send these huddled and tortured masses,
(Who feel so inept and like derisory asses)
To Tax Saviors who lay waste to all kinds of tax matters
Rescuing taxpayers dwelling in indecision and tax-law tatters
These Tax-Saviors welcome all with an open-door policy
And any taxpayer who makes the journey
Will at last enjoy fear-free tax filing yearly.”
(However, new tax laws are being drafted by devious Tax Dictators
Who derive joy from harassing captive taxpaying participators!)
Pièce De Résistance Lauded...
Ninety years April 9th 1929
after maiden USA début
hoop fully more than a few
remain, a filial connection
I can cultivate and hew
cuz, the ghost o' me late
mother, would be Jew
(red eye with swollen tears),
bull lent beef hoar, aye rue
permanent AWOL of papa,
whose paternal Zayda, I never knew!
He, pulled off a top aerospace
rocket launched secrete tete a tete
impossible mission an ace legendary
sharpshooter, sans Aaron Harris
firearms passion never did abate
spewed spear shaped ammunition
in league with the missus to create,
who no surprise hapt tubby his bedmate
launched payload with joint consent
(plus bonus) re: private effort to satiate
call of the wild hit targeted bullseye
(eggs cell lent lucky shot) did initiate
genesis nine months later begetting
an audacious, industrious, rambunctious
bouncing baby boy with black curls atop pate
christened Boyce Brandon Harris
bright eyed infant bestowed with brilliance,
brawn, and bravado quickly evinced late
tent smarts landed lad admittance schools
geared to those who did accelerate
with mathematics and sciences, which
positive accolades since a lil whippersnapper
family and academicians did accentuate,
thus stellar classroom dedication, diligence
dogged nose to grindstone did accommodate
him being courted by prestigious storied
halls of education kickstarting promising
future and adequate income to accumulate
ample to live comfortably within middle
class economic (March madness) bracket,
and provided basic creature comforts fate
blessed him, and Harriet Harris nee Kuritsky
with this sole son and two daughters, I advocate
as exemplary siblings (despite) contention,
which required lifetime to agglomerate,
and estranged relationship with me father
coalescing into pleasant raport, adolescent
chomped at the bit, and
did fidget, cower, and alienate
experienced palpable tension
as though a "FAKE" wall,
I could not eradicate!
Stanzas One, Two, Three And Growing
There was “She Played the Harp”(1), when I truly was young,
“Ode to Verde Lee Allen”(2), a stop on a rung,
Loving women has always been easy for me,
For their beauty’s not found just in eye of beholder
Even boys with weak eyes don’t need glasses to see
Their humility shining each day they get older.
Where humility’s lacking man struggles with fate,
Overconfidence means that you don’t acclimate
It’s not really a question of “born smarts” or “brawn,”
More that Nature’s corrections are seen as God’s feedback,
That your life is still open, you haven’t withdrawn,
And in love you find warmth that sustains you through setback.
And it’s not just in loving a woman you grow,
Sometimes love’s greatest gift might be letting her go!
Is there dream that she has you can’t see as a goal
Or a burden relationship puts on your nature?
Is it selfishness that you respect your own soul,
Or that you can find value in her new adventure?
Going Beyond Four
Many men find that failure creeps past each new door,
For maturity slows pretty close to age four.
A man’s passion to be right, to win, may not serve!
Must your bad dreams cry “Uncle” or end with a whimper?
Does your stiff upper lip suggest you might lack nerve?
Do you go for a smile or just settle for simper?
Are you faking success when you could have been real,
Maybe better to stay with how you really feel?
Is it possible you’ve become tool of your press,
Being right is a stress that can make a man weaker,
It’s a terrible burden, the need to impress!
And the “KISS”(3) principle might help you be a seeker.
Brian Johnston
October 23, 2016
Poet's Notes:
(1) "She Played the Harp" and
(2) "Ode to Verde Lee Allen" are fun poems in this collection honoring two of my grade school love interests. :-)
(3) The “KISS Principle” suggests that the wise “keep it simple!”