Long Brayed Poems
Long Brayed Poems. Below are the most popular long Brayed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Brayed poems by poem length and keyword.
They claim that you were ‘outdated,’
old-fashioned and ‘not with the times,’
because you hesitated to
give up traditions of your kind.
They claimed new was always better,
that you weren’t on history’s side.
You noticed their way rarely worked,
“Reactionary!” they all cried.
Your life already had you stressed,
so you just went along with it,
unwed mothers, disturbed children,
more and more it all went to s#@t.
You’d hoped to get them off your back,
that bending the knee would bring luck,
instead they brayed,”You damn white man!”
What you do is never enough.
Then they claimed it was your skin,
it’s ‘privilege,’ you ‘can’t understand,’
despite working since age fifteen
and not being a college man.
Your dad didn’t clear forty K,
and mom barely made half of that,
yet they called you ‘oppressor,’
for the world’s ills you got the rap.
Accused of crimes you didn’t do,
that were done before you were born,
told your skin made would a bad man…
Now where have I heard that before?
You plead to crimes of men long dead,
in hope it would make things less rough,
but then they cried,”You toxic male!”
What you do is never enough.
Next they said that masculine men
are no better than raging rapes,
they called you ‘sex predator,’
said all male-female sex is ‘rape.’
They say male instincts are ‘toxic,’
and somehow will bring the world’s end,
you point out that men built this world,
they just get mad, or won’t listen.
You saw some man get thrown in jail,
only to learn the woman lied,
a life ruined, yet challenge them
and “Believe all women!” they cry.
You know much is hysteria,
but go along to get some love,
yet they still won’t sleep with weak men,
what you do is never enough.
Then they go on TV and ask:
“Why are all our men drifting right?
Why do them meme and laugh at us,
and banish us all from their sight?"
You don’t believe that anyone
is too dumb to figure it out,
but the left thinks they’ve done no wrong,
they’re truly confused and in doubt.
They thought that demonizing you
would somehow make your nature change,
as if you were just some chess piece
that they could simply rearrange.
But you’re sick of the ‘purity’ tests,
and all that cultish lefty stuff,
The right love individuals,
being one is more than enough.
Continued from Part 2
Beyond the suburbs, farmers’ fields (where donkeys often brayed)
inhale gray gusts of barren dust where living seed once laid
and in the haze a scarecrow sways, impaled upon a spade.
Green trees gone dark in palace parks (where kids once paused to play),
watch lifeless things on phantom swings (like statues made of clay)
guard marbled tombs in graveyards groomed for grievers bent to pray.
And castle clocks, unwound, defrock with speechless spinning spokes,
unfurling blight of reigning Night by sweeping off her cloaks,
and flaunting dun oblivion, her Baroness evokes.
The sun-bleached bones of those who'd flown lie scattered down the lanes
while other souls who’d hid in holes left bones with yellow stains
of plaintive tears (shed insincere, for no one felt the pains).
The wraiths that scream in sleepless dreams have ceased to terrify
though terrors wrought by conscience fraught now stalk and lurk nearby
within the shrouds of curtained clouds, frail fabrics on the sky.
And fog no longer seeps beyond the edge of doom’s café,
for when she trails her mourning veils, she fills the cabaret
with sallow smears of misty tears in sheets of shallow gray.
The City’s still, like hollowed quill with ravished feathered vane,
baptized in floods of spattered blood, once flowing through a vein.
The fruits of life, destroyed in strife... ’twas truly all in vain.
No umbras hum with jagged tongues nor sing a silent psalm
nor lade pale lips with languid quips to pierce the deathly calm –
they've seen, you see, life’s brevity, beneath a neutron bomb.
EPILOGUE
Beyond the Silent City’s walls, the victors laugh and play
while celebrating PEACE ON EARTH, the devil’s sobriquet
for neutron radiation death in places far away.
End
When you mounted that lame horse,
I should have said something,
Oh, I forgot I did say something and then....
The horse boo-whooed, nickered and brayed to you ..
Until things became confused, setting you up to be betrayed.
You were not mine to win or lose.
That day you rode away with her...is the same day that
a crippled horse, crippled our relationship!
Yet, it was she who was the bully on the playground.
She set us both up...
She saw I was that blessing in the lives of many.
.
She befriended Me “Only to try and replace me.
She thought I was your lady...not knowing
I am that blessing that God puts in people lives,
when they need a friend,” without strings''.
You could cry to me; I uplift and demand nothing -
That’s what befuddled that devil!
I, being the most loved on the playground of your life
upset her plans as she wanted no outside influences;
Her goal and aim were to destroy my watchful eye,
so she could devour you.
Now with me out of the picture you are once again,
sadly without a true friend!
She has many more loved ones for you to turn against.
She will knock them off one by one until you are with none:
She has you at her command.
She’ll destroy you and...
Then she’ll run and hide behind whatever
guilt -shield is available.!
I still feel sad because I should have acted a fool,
and never allowed you to ride off into the sunset
mounted on that lame demented horse.
Somehow, now I see you using your new
found substance to write emphatically
so be strong or be broken substantially.
Our love was not sexual and man’s weakness is lust...
But in the end Love Wins.
This is a message to a good friend.
About a lame horse.
Skagway, Alaska in the late 1890s was sure a rowdy place alright!
It was seethin' with humanity a-raisin' hell all through the day and night!
'Twas the gateway to Chilkoot Pass beyond which lay Klondike gold!
Why! You could scoop up nuggets by the bushel, or so it was told!
Jefferson Randolph 'Soapy' Smith 'owned' the town and was so very brash.
He came up with nefarious schemes to relieve newcomers of their cash!
Madame Gertie arrived with her soiled doves and set up houses of ill repute.
Among the ladies were Ethel the Moose, Mollie Fewclothes and Maude the Mute!
Tinklin' pianos and screechin' fiddles played in saloons invitin' boozers in.
Hordes of horses whinnied, dogs howled and mules brayed addin' to the din!
The Home of Hooch, Red Onion and Mangy Dog saloons flung open their doors,
To sate the thirsty sots before they tried their luck at diggin' by the scores!
Hawkeye Blevins, notorious gambler, grabbed a table at the Hungry Pub Saloon,
And with slight of hand relieved many gullible rubes of their moolah all too soon!
Even preachers tossed aside Bibles and grabbed shovels to join the endless queue,
To foolishly struggle up Chilkoot Pass in the dead of winter with that motley crew!
A few hardy stampeders found their Eldorado but many more came to naught!
Death, disillusionment and starvation stymied the quest for which they sought.
Many a hapless feller lies beneath that frigid land never more to roam.
Infamous Soapy Smith lies at rest in Skagway Cemetery, there, his final home!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) All Rights Reserved
HOMOPHONE RHYME STYLE TRIAL
In shining armor I am here, YES, your hero knight
Rushing to your rescue anon, day or night
With my mighty steed, Henry, I’ll come crash down the gate
Watch it when you mount him, he’s got a funny gait
I’ll save you from the tower living on a tiny little cot
Jump into my arms and I by my troth you will be caught
I know last time I tried to catch you I may have missed
But alas, it was so foggy, I could not see past the mist
I’ll do better next time, or mayhaps I’ll bring a ladder
You can trust the former, even if you choose the latter
You needn’t be so offended to make me and Henry wait
I only asked for his sake if you’d gained a little weight
I snuck past enemy lines to find you, slid down the castle chute
Sorry if I got a little nervous when the guards began to shoot
It was only a potato gun, I still should not have ducked
Or pushed you backwards onto Henry waiting underneath the duct
I’ll free you always, whether from monsters or an evil reign
As long as it’s nice weather, Henry doesn’t like the rain
That dragon doesn’t stand a chance, through the air I flew
Well, I was going to… but I threw up, I had the flu
I was going to bellow, “Beshrew thee!” but my voice was a bit hoarse
I really am Prince Charming, just with a temperamental horse
My apologies he ate your hair, he thought it was hay in your braid
It’s possible he’s an ass, as nay, he doesn’t neigh, but hey, he brayed?
We are the victims of sour love;
Love that never return love,
Love that brings more hatred,
Love that tells us our heart troubles
Rather than the future of our tomorrow.
We are victims of false religions;
Religions that seek for its refuge
Rather than the refuge of its followers.
We only hide under its umbrella pretending
All is well when all is not white and blue.
We are victims of bad leaders that loots
Our pride in the name of leadership.
We are only made to remain silent and dumb,
Feast in our own pains and drink our tears
Like those that are thirsty of water but, we aren't thirsty of water as they assumed we are.
We are victims of dark educational system,
None is seen as a graduate unless from a university,
The other institutions of learning are discriminated upon by the so called university graduates and, the firms in the country kick us as nobody; I have been one of their victims, have you experience that?
We are victims of copywrite and plagiarism;
You labour with no food in your stomach to write,
Then another copy your words without acknowledgement and appreciation by the thieves..
We have seen the sun barked behind in fear,
We seen the rain brayed in the outcast of the land,
The thunder sounded more and more fierce than ever.
We are the victims of lost love which weep behind.
In days of old, when nights grew cold,
men told a dreadful tale
of Trapper Jim—how they buried him
on a night the wolves did wail.
It seems at the time, Jim was checking his line,
and stopped to camp for the night—
He heard a sound as wolves gathered round
which gave him an awful fright.
His horse and mule were no one’s fool—
they whinnied and brayed at the moon
for they knew their fate, it was much too late,
they would all be devoured soon.
There was nowhere to run in the midnight sun,
escape was the man’s one desire—
Like ghosts in the night, wolves sprang and took flight
as their shadows danced in the fire.
He pulled up his rifle, but nary a trifle
would be left of him there alone—
His friends would find him, the man they called Jim,
just a hank of hair and a bone.
Now, no one can say what happened that day
as the trapper knelt there in the dark,
but men say today, it happened that way,
and the tale is true—not a lark.
And they tell of wolves with cloven hooves
that prowl and chase in a pack,
of forbidden grounds where devilish sounds
are heard if you turn your back.
The story is clear if you’ll just lend an ear
to the tale of Trapper Jim’s fate—
Don’t tramp on his grave, nor pretend to be brave,
or you’ll find it might be too late.
Tamara Hillman
©2007
Bees are busy buzzing,
Working happily
Rabbits are still nuzzling
Together 'neath a tree
Brook is babbling blissfully.
As it weaves along its way
The Sun is arising
To welcome this new day
A cock is crowing loudly,
It echoes around the farm
A fox is behaving badly
Causing the chickens' alarm
A cat has spied on a mouse
As it went scampering by
The mouse ran into the house
That made that tom cat cry
Rover, the dog, chased Tom up a tree.
The cat jumped into a nest,
Cracking the eggs, all three
The mother bird was furious,
And pecked the cat on the neck,
A sleepy mole
He peeped out of his hole
And said, "What the heck."
What is going on?
He questioned sleepily
I'm not too fond of the sunlight,
Because I cannot see.
I see very well, indeed,
A voice said from up high
As the flapping wings
Of a wise old owl
Was heard as he passed by
Moo, said the cow,
In a mournful way
Where is the farmer
Is he late today?
The horse said, "Neigh."
He is still in bed.
The Donkey brayed
When will we be fed?
The ducks waddled by
Followed by the gander
The latter is nosy
The former to meander.
The goings on this morning
It was almost beyond belief
When opening his mouth and yawning
Appeared the Farmer to their relief.
The Donkey of Destiny
The party was set, the guests were invited,
The adults were happy, the kids all excited.
All going to plan; the hosts were delighted,
Then the Donkey of Destiny brayed – he-haw!
The Donkey of Destiny brayed.
The Board of Directors set forth their campaign,
To conquer their industry, supremely reign,
To guarantee ultimate financial gain,
Til the Donkey of Destiny brayed – he-haw!
The Donkey of Destiny brayed.
Military leaders made their decision,
Troops were deployed with painstaking precision.
Soon they would realise their tactical vision,
Then the Donkey of Destiny brayed – he-haw!
The Donkey of Destiny brayed.
To amuse the young children, a day out was planned,
Buckets and spades and sunshine and sand.
Ice-cream and fish-and-chips; seaside brass band,
But the Donkey of Destiny brayed – he-haw!
The Donkey of Destiny brayed.
There’s nothing as fickle as Destiny’s Donkey,
Capricious as weather, and sly as a monkey,
Be certain that everyone’s hopes will turn funky,
When the Donkey of Destiny brays – he-haw!
When the Donkey of Destiny brays.
The advice of a faithful friend
May save you from torturing end
But this did not happen to the donkey
Who ignored this perfect key
He lived with a farmer in a village
Lean, weak and very old in age
The whole day long he worked for his master
But in the night he let him loose to wander
One night he in the jungle street
He, to a jackal, happened to meet
To follow a friendship Both agreed
And set out to find some feed
Got into a large farm of cucumbers
Gladly filled their empty chambers
Now it was their repeated action every might
And soon the donkey gathered fat and might
One cool night Uncle donkey was too glad
And wished to sing a beautiful ballad
Nephew jackal warned not to sing any song
For it might awaken the farmer for a wrong
But uncle’s musical soul was eager
So the jackal left him there to be singer
Laying in the field, uncle brayed with might
And the harsh notes awakened the night
Farmers with heavy clubs rushed to the thief
And thrashed the donkey without a brief
Anyhow laming and murmuring came out he with price
Repenting not to follow a true friend’s advice