Long Brent Poems
Long Brent Poems. Below are the most popular long Brent by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Brent poems by poem length and keyword.
We know of this disastrous event
As we now know of the spills extent
All these years they had time to invent
A remedy for repairable descent
We allow them drilling consent
To represent our resourceful contents
Our geology is picked up by their scents
Millions of years are turned into cents
In Scotland we have oilfields called the Brent
Where the same companies represent
There is always the element of torment
For nature there is never a lament
All they are interested in is their percent
One day they may be held to account and repent
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/life-8.php
Two-Fifty-Four
©2012 C. Brent Cloyd
I bought a new scale at the Wal-Mart store.
Made it secure and level on the floor.
I took a breath, then stepped on.
The digits I saw made me moan.
Surely, I do not weigh two-fifty-four!
Let’s balance the scale, then I’ll try once more.
Adjusted proper, they’ll give the right score.
This time the scales will behave.
I stepped on, tried to be brave.
But with a grin they said “two-fifty-four”.
I would like to throw these scales out the door.
Wish they were lying, but I can’t ignore.
I’ve gobbled many things sweet
And chewed on too much red meat.
My expanding poundage is “two-fifty-four”.
My belly is huge, my chin is galore.
Need to lose it, but process is a chore.
Need diet low in fat and starch.
So my stomach will not arch.
Hope to be smaller than “two-fifty-four”.
Would a brisk walk cause my health to restore?
Would losing blubber help me not to snore?
Let’s get started. Soon I say!
Well - after the holiday!
Cause my clothes don’t fit at “two-fifty-four”.
BADSEEDPRESS is a fabricated enterprise.
Zoltan Goliath and Otis Trench are invented characters,
as are all the other players identified herein as having
had a role in the sweet soul seduction of this sad luck,
rum-soaked dame of a book.
The entire contents of this volume is the product
of the imagination of M. Kalavik. It was all his idea.
BADSEEDPRESS accepts no responsibility
for anything other than words on a page,
but we would like to thank the many sponsors
whose advertisements have acted as fertilizer
spread among the lyrical furrows of this fictional funny farm.
Without their support, this project might not have been thought possible.
We’re all just in it for the money.
Brent Scorn
Non-attorney Spokesperson
BADSEEDPRESS
The Old House and the New Home
©2011 C. Brent Cloyd
I’ve lived in houses in the country side
There with my family I did abide
By the dust and gravel of a country road
Much pride was taken in our humble abode
I’ve lived in houses perched on a hill
Many of which are not standing still
They provided shelter in their time
Provoked memories that make life rhyme
I’ve lived in a house on a city street
Where the neighbors came out at night to meet
I’ve lived in houses made of wood and stone
On avenues where children could safely roam
I’ve lived in houses of mortar and brick
Where driveways were paved and the grass was thick
I’ve enjoyed houses far better than most
Where friends would come and I could serve as host
But my current house seems like a foreign land
Where everyone wants to lend me a hand
Living in this place is not my desire
Of this arrangement I easily tire
The time has come for me to leave
To this old house I will not cleave
I no longer want a cottage here below
To a fine home in heaven soon I will go.
I long not for a mansion or streets of gold
But just a place where I will never grow old
A place where pain and sadness are never more
Where happiness is found on every shore
I am eager, yes ready, to move out
To possess my new home with a shout!
The promised home Jesus went to prepare
Death please come quickly, I want to be there.
Crystal Lady
Snow-white woman, sparkling, dazzling soul
If you knew how much I love you
I still miss you,
I am yearning for you
For you, only for your beautiful personality and life
You are more than any soul, yes, more and more
I can’t express and describe you; never, never
Who writes you now?
I or the Master?
My fate is written to you,
I'm just sitting in one of my favourite places
Brent Civic Centre
I love it
But who writes? Is it my second soul or me?
The first…
The Devil made me write to you
Satan
To speak to you, to come near you – I wouldn’t dare
Yes, maybe this was the problem, mine are the results
Yes, everything is my fault
But I am happy you are well and right
Crystal soul, saved my life from afar
Crystal woman, please, tell me
How can I say thank you?
You, you are so fantastic, perfect, and a goddess of beauty,
Noble
I would never deserve you. Never
But I am happy that you exist
Your memory and impression will live
With me
Stef, born in New Zealand’s fine country,
Moved to Canada aged 4 with her parents,
Where she had a boating accident aged 9,
Which amputated her right foot for her life.
She’s married to fellow Paralympian fast,
Canadian wheelchair racer Brent Lakatos,
And they both train at Loughborough Uni,
Where there’s a plethora of sports facilities.
Stef graduated from good Queens University,
In Biochemistry with honours and at times,
Is a professional speaker, a fashion model,
And lay preacher of the gospel and the way.
Before the accident Stephanie played rugby,
But afterwards she could not do this because,
Her prosthetic was at risk of detaching itself,
Mid-game and injuring near placed players.
So she went into track and field athletics,
Practised until she became sick and tired,
Which saw her make the 2008 Paralympics,
In Beijing when she won gold for the sprint.
She graced the podium often at small meets,
In Manchester and in London. Christchurch
Saw her flourish when she won two bronzes:
One for the long jump and one for the 200m.
In Swansea at the European games in 2014,
Stef took home for the T44 long jump a gold,
And in the London Paras which introduced,
So many to disability sport, she won a silver.
In Rio she won another silver, on the mark
For TeamGB. She hasn’t always represented,
Britain because when she was much younger,
She competed for Canada’s rocky territory.
New Hampshire Has Spoken
©2012 C. Brent Cloyd
Romney is choice of the republican elite
With thirty-nine percent he’ll be hard to delete.
Paul’s crowd is excited and nipping at his heels
They’ve made monetary policy issues real.
Huntsman says third place gives him a ticket to ride
So on down to South Carolina he will slide.
Gingrich has fallen and he is madder than heck
His story is about the cards in Romney’s deck.
Santorum is still smiling and is headed south
Will his message relate or is he just a mouth?
Perry did not know he was even in the race
Betting on the Palmetto state to save his face
Allison scrunched up her nose and oinked like a pig.
Joey stuck out his tongue and opened his eyes so big.
The other children in the classroom laughed out loud
when silly little Willie made his funny face then bowed.
Erin rubbed her little cheeks red with lots of finger paint.
Jack patted his face with chalk dust and pretended to faint.
Rachel pulled her eyebrows up and her chin way down
while Brent spiked his hair and wore a bad boy frown.
Each kid had a turn to try to win the honor and prize.
The shyest child of all was the winner. What a surprise!
It was the quiet little girl who was funniest of them all.
Jenna pursed her lips and cried, "Mama," like a real doll.
Then the teacher said, "It's time to return to your places,
but I promise we'll have another day of making funny faces."
April 21st, 2016
Urals Crude
Don’t ever think they’re civilised, like us.
Their oil is coarse, not like our smoother Brent.
Their prices? Now augmenting, ten percent.
And sanctions have been lifted. What’s the fuss?
Well, once you squeeze the zit, you get the pus.
They’ll flood the market with their excrement.
Why can’t you see it, lapping round our tent?
Ukraine is done. Zelenskyy’s missed the bus.
The Orange Baby trashes everyone.
They’re all abused by Disrespectful Don.
And yet, there’s something uglier and bigger.
We’ve missed, alas, his most atrocious con.
He could, but wouldn’t dare, opine upon
how Moscow helps the Shi’ite cause. Go figure.
You’re All Screwed
That empires come and go, we’re all aware.
Where is the Pharaoh now? The Hoplite? Hun?
They all supposed that dominance is fun,
and once you’ve got it, once you’re really there,
it’s yours for ever. Never will you share
the goodies. Since you have the biggest gun,
you’ve certified your station in the sun.
(There is no sun – there’s only solar flare).
What makes us think we’re special? Folks, we’re not.
Our mighty here-and-now is just a dot:
our Mister Ballroom, more like Mister Bean.
Barbarity is where we’re from, and what
awaits us will be terminal and hot,
without a jot of culture in between!
The Secret Revealed to Joseph
©2011 C. Brent Cloyd
About the birth of Christ men have much to say,
But the Bible says it came about this way.
Joseph proposed and to Mary was engaged,
But then he received news that left him enraged.
She was pregnant, Joseph, surprised discovered.
A cloud of fear and shame around her hovered.
Joseph knew that to him it did not belong.
His natural response was she had done wrong.
Embarrassed, Joseph needed to save some face,
Yet wanted to spare Mary public disgrace.
It was decided they would quietly divorce,
Live separate lives on a different course.
Considering this option, he had a dream,
An angel revealed “things were not as they seem”.
The child she carries was not seeded by man.
The life planted in her was by divine plan.
That conceived in her is by the Holy Ghost,
A gift from on high, wrapped by the Lord of host
Now take her as your wife and be not afraid.
The prophets foretold that this plan had been made
A son will be born; Jesus will be His name,
A much needed savior who will merit fame.
Misunderstood, earth’s favor He will not win,
But He will save man from penalty of sin.
His true identity known only by few,
His childhood well-being I entrust to you,
His worth and character men will much discuss.
They will call Him Immanuel, “God with us”.