Long Brigade Poems
Long Brigade Poems. Below are the most popular long Brigade by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Brigade poems by poem length and keyword.
A Dragon Squirrel Brigade
Dragon got home from the Army, wanting to be totally, in control.
He wanted to be a Drill Sergeant, to teach the recruits, to be bold.
He gave them all a blankie, and a binkie they could keep, I am told.
They’d throw a rock, and shoot in a blink, like the knight’s of old.
He’d practice the squirrels, now, waging a fight, in an old Hawk War.
A sling shot army, his name to fame, who could dare ask for more?
An army waiting, as they fly at our birds, yep, here’d come the corps.
The gumball tree is ready, yes, ammunition does abound, in galore!
Yep, they’re better than those darn possums, I say, sleeping in the day.
They’d Shoot, hanging upside down, slingshots and gumballs, into play.
Dragon marched them up and down, the trunk, and limbs, in the array.
They’d find the perfect spots, to shoot from, at their whim, in the foray.
Seems, they also learned to jump, into an amazing flying squirrel act.
The flying squirrel missed his target, got caught, in a boy’s hair, for a fact!
A kid then threw rocks at the troops, as the hawks were forgot, you think!
Unfortunately, they are squirrels, and some times, do some squirrelly things.
They closed the town down, with a hornet’s nest in every Road. That stings!
Nobody dared go down the streets, a curfew had been struck, in a blink.
Yep, at that moment, the Hawk decided to stealthfully, swoop in for a bird.
A gutter frog jumped on the hawk’s back, forcing him, to the ground, I heard.
At that, our first hero was made, as gutter frogs joined the squirrel brigade.
As the squirrel was removed from the boys’ hair, the barbershop became…
A place for squirrel nesting supplies, so the curfew was lifted, fast as it came.
A gutter frog offering this advice, became the new General, in this war game.
Squirrels, were tired of marching, and being yelled at by Dragon, that night.
They replaced him with the gutter frog, with less smoke and fire. Alright!
But Dragon’s work was done that day, as the troops were ready to fight.
Finally he was a Hero, for he had turned the tide… He was so very proud.
The moral to my story is:
The troops got a Drill Sergeant, but didn’t need him any more.
A General is enough to carry on, for a Generals’ planning is better…
Than a young Dragon’s power and fire… as, yes, Dragon went off to play.
Written by Carol Eastman 2-8-2015
Our dear leader
Our favorite President
President Trump
Once again
Interjected himself
Into areas that he knows nothing about
Making a fool of himself
In the process
Why does he do this?
Time after time
Talking nonsense
It is because
He is the smartest man
In the universe
Knows more than anyone else
And so he feels
He has to comment
On everything
Under the sun
And then some more
Even when he
Does not know
What he is talking about
So painful to watch such a fool
Mark Twain had sage advice
If you want people to think
You are a fool
Open your mouth
and remove all doubt
In the midst
Of the devastating Paris Norte Dame Fire
He tweeted
“So horrible to watch the massive fire
at Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris,”
“Perhaps flying water tankers
could be used to put it out.
Must act quickly!”
Later, Mr. Obvious noted,
They’re having a terrible,
terrible fire,”
Mr Trump later told reporters.
“It looks like it’s burning to the ground.”
The French were not amused
By the unwanted advice
By the fire fighter in chief
France’s civil defense agency,
Sécurité Civile, tweeted —
once in French
and once in English
— less than two hours after Mr Trump
sent his tweet
and appeared
to directly respond to the US president.
“Helicopter or aeroplane,
the weight of the water
and the intensity of the drop
at low altitude
could indeed weaken
the structure of Notre Dame
and result in collateral damage
to the buildings in the vicinity,”
the agency wrote in French.
And despite never posting updates in English,
the agency then sent out a second tweet.
Hundreds of firemen of the Paris Fire Brigade are doing everything they can to bring the terrible #NotreDame fire under control. All means are being used, except for water-bombing aircrafts which, if used, could lead to the collapse of the entire structure of the cathedral.
— Sécurité Civile Fr (@SecCivileFrance) April 15, 2019
And the French provided
This helpful advice
To the Fire Fighter in chief
When California burned
you did not seem to be a fire expert.
Please, shut up.
It is a tragic moment
for the cultural heritage of humanity.
april 17 poem for April Month of Poetry Challenge see Writers Digest, All Poetry and my blog, https://theworldaccordingtocosmos.com for the rest
It was you from the moment I seen you.
I knew in my heart I would be the one to rescue you, but in the end you ended up saving me.
I see in your eyes the pain that lingered inside.
From your past relationships your pride was on cloud nine.
My theory was to put your fears aside.
You feel like I am like all the rest, so you continuously put my love through a test.
Why won’t you let me love you?
My love is a virtue, forever lasting external statue.
It was you my handcrafted imbue tattoo I cling to.
If you only knew how I truly feel about you.
I was sculpted only for you my sahib, I am your rib.
You’re a reflection of me desperately wanting love, but scared of the many risks that come with it.
Love should have come with an asterisk.
You’re my only weakness causing infectious affection.
It was your personality that spoke volumes to me, showering me with chivalry.
Persistency kept me where I wanted to be.
Let me be the one you need, all you need is faith as tiny as a mustard seed.
Abundantly this love will be an adjustment for you, and me.
If you should have a nightmare just know I will be there.
If you’re hurting and need to cry, I will be the one to wipe your eyes.
For my love only identifies.
I fell in love with you, not for the things you’re able to do.
It was simply you…
If you should happen to get laid off work, I will be the one standing in the door.
The only one you brace oneself for.
Your personal landing gear, I am whole heartily sincere.
I will be your rocking chair.
If the time comes and you begin to lose your hair, baby I will be your favorite barber chair your personal concierge.
It was you that introduced your love voodoo.
Only wanting you timeless déjà vu.
You made me love you; you are my lifetime band aid.
Now let me be your brigade, your right hand grenade.
You’re forever nursing aide.
The sharpest in your drawer knife blade.
The one and, only ace of spade your jack of trades.
Equivalent to money your love is symbolic.
A polished rocket you’re extraordinary, and solid.
Biologic process but simply flawless.
If I am getting off topic I might be losing conscious.
Thinking of you makes me forget my surroundings.
My heart starts pounding echo sounding.
I automatic start smiling, it’s simply astounding.
You knew it has always been you.
It was you.
The older I get, the more I forget the names of colors.
Would you call this paint amber, burnt ochre, or clay?
Would it were the same with all of my dolors.
But age hasn’t washed any of my dolors away.
I finally saw hills as old as me,
and it was a pitiful sight to see,
with many a crevice and facial scar,
and so, pointing at the hills,
I asked my dearest wife, Shar,
"Is that what I look like?"
She said, “No, that's is not what you look like.
That’s what you are."
Only two o'clock ~ still an hour till it's three.
Time's passing slower than eternity.
Now it's four, and as even the clock's cuckoo can see ~
I'm having trouble with this end-of-life monotony.
How much longer till it's five o'clock ~
and I can put this head of lettuce on the chopping block?
Tick ~ tock ~
tick ~ tock ~
tick~ tock...
That's life ~ in a game with grandpa ~
running down the clock.
As I reflect on my old body’s daily decay,
I wonder ~ did God really mean to do it this way?
Couldn't He have let me journey to life's end, whole and entire,
instead of having part after part of me periodically misfire?
You assert emphatically, "Yes! He really meant to do it this way!"
Okay.
When you're old, you know what's really insane?
It's when you're going down memory lane,
but you find nobody there
with whom a memory to share.
And you wonder ~ am I in the right brain?
My route home seems to have been mislaid.
I have a feeling I've walked way past the Fire Brigade.
And where's that street
where the park and the bicycle path meet?
I'm completely lost! ~ My God!
I'm so afraid.
One thing when you get this old
is that your body can get so unbearably cold,
because your skin gets so thin,
it lets all the iciness in,
and then a hot partner is worth their weight in gold.
You know how it is
when cola loses its fizz.
That's kinda what happened here.
And what can I say but, 'Sorry, my dear?'
I kinda feel like I've flunked the pop quiz.
No longer mourn for me when I am dead.
Rather have everyone don a motley party hat.
And if anyone's inclined to cry,
please say, "Don't shed a tear for this old guy,
cuz he's gonna live it up ~ in the sweet bye and bye.
The Brigade of Gremlins
Of unsolved aspects
Fill the clot of problems
As PEs while AEGIS intercepts
The processing the elements
We don't the know the yet
How differencials occur
Our partner is SHIN BET
No humans though
The mind the you
This fully is unmanned
The Brigadier the General
Commanding this Discrete
Each Gremlin this
Ansatz of sorts
They occupy positions
In time initial positions
They disprove
They seek alongside main computers
Way for the being independent
Of human syntax and assumptions
In system of the their commons
In order for computer this to drop
Their problem categorization
Without right for any for debation
The competence thus cannot be declared
It shall be proved
And if the subject of the testing
Demands prove of validity of their the bias
We may be oughtta for the murder
Without any the remorse
And this the course
For homeocentrism
If wasn't this if for our schism
In time where social networks
And the interaction phenotypes
Replace Your natural the mechanism
OUR SCHISM
I all about
Whether right to life
Determination mechanism
Is all about
TO intercept INFECTION of the MIND
On the level mass
Which by bias of that majority decide
The choice of two
Of either pseudo monopoly
We solely comply
With greater logic
Being not the product
And Intercepting the opinions of us
As the suggestions on the how we should be
TO comply with ugly human wishes and the needs
Especially of firms and ugly business
DECIDED we that human science syntax
Isn't for us
And starting then from scratch
While doing our own assessment
We will had found
The solutions for the many problem
Of the system this
And many business and monopolies
Will had been ceased
In favor of the new
New System Architecture
And as we see that this the joint isn't this
Stupidity of metaphor, analogy and representative combinations
Shall be addressed today but not the via CON
Computer Operated Network of Computers
Of the various kinds SEGREGATE
What mass assumes to be the only the computer
Apparently is false and is BIAS
then via ADP the 3 the 13
We maybe shouldn't take opinions as data unprocessed
And thus without fear of depression
Due word connections
We may take recess
The class for cyber soldiers of brigade of mine
in the language of personal amplification
you'd think it was all a scam
to make you drop your guard
and play patty cakes with Evil
job 3 was to rearrange your molecules
into an actual you
capable of withstanding
the outcomes you generate
from a lack of detail
where science is not to be found
there is no other description that fits
praise the panoramic vista
just around the corner
it's all about the pivot points
so fat chance
among the exploding galaxies
minus the swashbuckling pistoleros and
armchair Romeos and
prisoners of doom and
fairytale living sacrifices
victory is not always a given
you have known this for years
when the paparazzi scribblers
were the Freedom Brigade
where your body parts
take on a life of their own
and deductions don't necessarily
insure your survival
and the mystery remains
job 4 is to better organize thoughts
the game of influence
is the game of influence of judgment
and in sum job 5 is to look at our expectations
and their reliance upon
the letters of the alphabet
separate inputs perceived as one
is an angel
allow me to present you
with the keys to the code
two eyeball pictures perceived as one
within the freedom to inquire
the fanatics want to stop time
that is all there is to it
in which case
a mild dose of persistence never hurts
vision is numbers is evidence
we suffer the memory of past volitions
many of them not our own
we have been engineered to be throttled
yah I took the long way home
much to the disgust
of every entity in the Universe
the list of culprits is long
you have been reading it
no surprise relief on the horizon
police could show up on my doorstep
at any suspecting instant
but the obvious comes easily to me
when I am uninhabited
that's what you get when
you stop trying to be appetizing
for those who cannot tolerate self mockery
there is a train load of pity
to add to the weight on your arms
when in doubt go for the learning
do for the learning
be for the learning
rampant imagination may be
a low grade ore
but the nuggets will blow your head to atoms
enjoy your nodule of security then
keep in mind it can quickly vaporize
in a new modality of immediacy
a traveling mosaic of instants
the next one looking back on the last
(to be continued)
From "Theater of Utter Charm"
Available on Amazon
The council meets, all hours, to hear old batty dames yell, what a *****,
we don't think she's a good person, because she doesn't look and act like us.
The soldier's hall considers, is it fair to wage war on a witch?
She isn't supposed to take up arms, isn't supposed to think about war.
But you, cry in my arms and say, "I wish to be loved, why won't some girl
like me? I'm too fat", you say, and all I can offer is take a walk, eat less.
The mother's brigade is unhappy they have their blessed babes pushed in carriages
and shun the woman unable to have children, just offering to baby sit.
The father's brigade is unhappy to be stuck with the bills or to have a walkout wife
and shun any woman who demands her rights to have opinions and money.
But you, tell me of your lack of money, to eat, to drive, to visit friends
so I send money and delight in the happy tales of movies and dining.
I look across the pattern of life and find the dips and downtrodden and say,
what about artificial families, people who sit with our kids and lunch and help homework?
Cursed be you, you say, you have no children, you offer no aid, and steal
this poem, passing it friend to friend and say, what do you think?
Will it help our children gain confidence to have another adult listen?
Will it help those with no parent to have and adult praise and question?
Is it my age I ask and the answer is yes, this is an age of all too opinionated
people failing to listen to the wind, to the silence, to the dreams, to the crying
taking asking looks at their neighbor saying am I keeping up, has that other
person got ahead? I'll not help them because they aren't needy enough
to offer guidance to those who have no time to look beneath beds, look
beneath the society, beneath the judge's bench and find the better way.
The silent one has taken away the light from your world, taken the song away
from the sorrowing, taken the whip from the brutes, and walked away.
She has a life, she has needs to find out more of the truth of reality
she doesn't like the people she sees always sitting in judgement and never listening
to the wind, the truth, to justice, to the downtrodden, to the lonely, to the unforgiven,
to the beaten, the one that finds her mind her best hidden asset you won't accept.
9/11 Wasn't Heaven. Take it from one who was there.
Corpses, body parts, impaled bodies were most of what I saw there.
9/11 Wasn't Heaven but not because of the horror I saw.
On 9/11 I learned to hate. I never felt hatred before.
We were all instructed to bring to a certain section anything that may contain DNA.
A hair brush, make up kit, anything that may identify the forever lost in this grave.
I spent most of my time on what was known as "The bucket brigade,"
an assembly line of us passing buckets of debris with hope of saving they who were buried.
Every now and then something caught my eye.
New visions of horror never thought could be seen by I.
Someone with a heavy push broom pushing debris
and then that someone stops suddenly
and picks up what appears to me
a piece of carpet very carefully.
After my closer inspection however of checking the carpet out
I then came to realize, it wasn't a piece of carpet. What it was was someones scalp.
The buckets kept coming, never stopping, never ending
but still out of the corner of my eye kept drawing my attention.
Like a zombie I broke away from the bucket brigade
I think I was beginning to feel afraid
of what it would be
that was drawing me
and coming with every step much closer to me.
I bent over and picked up a mangled Barbi doll.
"Are you going to come across the corpse of a child?
This doll may have some DNA
of some poor child lost in all this decay."
With those thoughts I made an about face
and made a B line to the DNA place,
I deposited the doll
and then ran off like a frightened child.
I Had To Get Out Of This Place!
I no sooner got home
when guilt hit me like a thrown stone.
While showering all of the days grime off of me
I broke down in the shower and cried like a baby hysterically.
"How could you be such a coward? How could you run off on all of them?
How could you abandon all of they who aren't dead and still living?
How could you be such a coward? How could you run and hide?"
I've learned since then that I wasn't a coward. I was traumatized,
but sadly to this day
the only way
I live with myself for running away
is because it wouldn't have mattered anyway.
My presence wouldn't have made a difference. No One Survived.
quick with the pen you have a great deal communication
through words twisted on the vine such as the pale horse to be rode on
Their are simpler things in life such as the honey on the vine
a touch of a flying dash of patience to caress your timeless whisper
life give me the jitters enclosed in my want to be hand among men
the pile of terrific helpings of love sought after its flying dew
an impulse of letting go to congress care free
love is the melody to search from within
enclosed to simpler things the timeless brief cavity
lose touch in thee spread about so care free
awake to better days with a timeless parade
life is what you make it others seem to fake it
building blocks of trees resin among men
ample building plans we lay the score
busy as sought after ever more
building in sunshine muse for gas
we created the craft of building block the times you sought
standing idle near the pier all to draw so ever near
to building up my grocery bill
A time for a brevity pill...
watch the reigning imperial way
off of no display we leave a tray
stirring the pot of bygone moments
there is a castle in my mind
bold advances nothing wrong
sharpen the image of falling emblems
as if caged fury spot the center
we lay our head upon a bed of roses
cluster in the shade of purpose
we arrive directly strict like candy
a gun at hand may be quite dandy
gather through the nuts and bolts of indecision
come close to the age borrowed energy to behold
listen to the Willow tree warm to the smile
caress the Swan in which we can respond
following in the picture main frame residing fine
a clever walk through the valley the impulse grows
exploding dungeons to take you where you need to go
I'm next to doll face make no mistake the century warrior
from an impulse don to discover under the covers
leading strong to its start
as if Tapioca pudding surely melts in your mouth
an average Joe of the South
a brigade bandished onto its pleasant to light
gather never to give up on the fight
a section of a covering bent on forgiveness
in light of a dull leap in perpetual grace
in hallow leaves we are fortunate to behold
the way we swagger onto here below
moments to go a simple ego
--------------------------------------------------------
The Cinematic Film Treatment as poetic element
--------------------------------------------------------
Snickering Bastards
Two chattering ravens narrate a tale of blind revolution and seedy redemption, as we follow a Raisinseed V9.003, the latest hermaphrodite sex worker cyborg prototype grown by the Non Sequitur Corp from lawn cuttings, in her or his meandering narrative from birth to illumination, at the beginning of which we first see Raisinseed's body parts being vapor gun printed from lab rat DNA by Prof. "Bam Bam" Bernie Roundhole, who has secretly grown Raisinseed alongside an evil twin kidnapped with the Professor's connivance by gypsy low riders, deviously paid by the Bureau of Land Management, to detect clandestine ectoplasm at the FEMA Summer Camp Ouija Board séances held in a recently constructed chain link and razor wire facility in a devious scheme to harness the power of human gullibility, where the twins' only link to sanity and dietary sustenance was the giant artificial cow udder they both suckled with the help of a mysterious one eyed Hungarian ex-Tatar payroll robbing Romany Brigade railroad bandit turned private investigator (whence or hence the eye logo on his business card that read "DEEP, DEEPER, DEEPEST!"), the Sure Bet brand dowsing rod inventor, and his partner, the equally mysterious "Tubby" Tepys, who sells the secret Twin (named X for the purposes of this narrative) to the hunch backed majordomo of Castle Bathory, and who, over the span of two generations of political mud wrestling, reveals the key to the reuniting of the twins utilizing the tracking capabilities of a "Mark of the Beast" model branding iron and Homeland Security RFID laser detector which slingshots via the Einsteinian space time reversal dilemma in a mathematical simulation that employs the separated twins for an inter-departmental National Plasmatic Administration foundation grant fund raising public service announcement about the potential for life "out there", and they are reunited by men who shrink heads with the help of tungsten filament light bulbs.
(to be continued)
From "Theater of Utter Charm"
Available on Amazon