Long Brigades Poems

Long Brigades Poems. Below are the most popular long Brigades by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Brigades poems by poem length and keyword.


Premium Member A Season of Smiles - Updated x2

In January, the kaboom of fireworks
Redefining glitter above us: What if
The sky was pink, should purple rain besmirch us
Yet, don a cheer for New Year.

In February, the appearance of bouquets, cordate chocolates
Many secret loves trespassing sticky notes
Lovely nothings hang mid-air. 

In March, the hope of summer
springing like anxious fledglings pushed off their perch
Rain becomes wet again, and slinky vines climb, and the clandestine shed their lairs. 

In April, the ascendancy of kites, compassionate Christ, innocent rose
enfeebling the Tempter's snare.

In May, the juggernaut of time: mother's five-foot smile
displays Amazing Grace's incarnate view. 

In June, the wonder of rivers, warm dews, a Padre's hard hands, and ears
Perhaps, a hidden hero you never knew. 

In July, the rhythm & blues of summer moods
fiestas, rowdy follicles flow from idling youth
siestas, catching dreams, catching dust-lust-rust
cane harvests, when fireflies flew. 

In August, the brigades of picnickers, lemonade pitchers, watermelon 
Days just go by you. 

In September, the persistence of our memories
Time mows on.
Some things stay. 

In October, the signs of leaves in the copse
and June plums plumping.
Newness shortly falls away. 

In November, the reign of pumpkin and cinnamon
With stew dumplings wrapped in singed banana sleeves. 
Giving thanks, table heads bowed, raised prayer palms
Discount deals. It's Black Friday!

In December, the thrill of his Christmas kiss
glows my nose a carrot-red
blowing winter back
                             ... till May


Transporting Thought

Entire brigades of verses
traipse back and forth, word by word
in the theater of my mind.
They wait this captain’s orders
to pass the roll call of muster.

Each lettered soldier carries
weighty weapons of great strength.
I choose my warriors cautiously
and grapple with revisions
required before the final draft.

Comes the posting of my piece
on the reader’s battleground
where winning means transporting thought.
Oh to translate for my troops
but my campaign's not on that field.

                      # # #

Consider those grave captains
who recorded God’s own words.
Holy, treasured inspiration
flowed from His Spirit to theirs
shielding, steering His message home.

When I read King David’s psalms
or epistles from St. Paul
that same Spirit guides my thinking
an epiphany occurs –
I hear the very voice of God.



January 3, 2011
Form: Verse

Premium Member To the chief Justice of Australia

Dear Steven Gageler mate.? Maybe that address to you offends.? If thats is so?
Then we' both know the course you'll take'
Yet here I will indulge a little bit.' In this notion.? (That you've not been hit ) by those who would screw Australia down lock up its Spirit, tarnish its re-known.' Its
Golden promise born un-tamed, the land of
Mining; cattle, sheep and endless plains.' Where hope strikes up despite great floods.' Where bush brigades battle massive fires untill
They get them into hubs.' Where roos and
Emus shadows cast.' Along a ridge as hard
As brass, that sets off well our bodies bronze.' Australia how i love you long, and so Steve? What about a fair go for all.' In a varied Nation whats your call.? Will we beneifit; from an educated youth.? In a land thats its own continent..Come on now bloody;strewth.' We have a world here thats our own..No need to leave its shores to roam, and I speak here of my own know! For should I
Return I'll never go.' Who of us is the greater man.? I have no care..And truly no plan' I'd much rather,
 indeed i'd love to see' so many hero's; for i know there be.' In my rugged land down under...Steve take your place.'
And roll out thunder.! PROCLAIM OUR ETHOS TO THE WORLD.! don't deny full web access to ( our boys and girls !)
Form: Rhyme

No One Gets Out Alive

Though (supposedly) only
     the good die young, urn holding
     cremated ashes a mere cup
full, every last man standing falls,
     cuz nobody else
     escapes un pup
yule lore blitzkrieg, 
     or aging gracefully,

     the unavoidable eventual fate,
     (mortal fateful demise),
     sans the remaining unsung
anonymous peoples meet up
with the grim reaper,
     who will ineluctably disrupt
the carryings on
     with each and every individual

     (non plus ultra all other
     life forms as well)
     gradually or with abrupt,
and unannounced debut
     scythe lent lee appearing
     to whisk away the
     honest and/or corrupt
whether taking their

     first meal of the day,
     and/or last sup
per, perhaps sitting quietly,
     when body electric
     amp pare rent lee
     receives ohm 
     my word fatal invite,
     whereat permanent shocking

     quiescence doth, sans
     stealth maneuver erupt
tragically, indiscriminately, 
     and blithely
     mowing down innocent civilians,
     and/or training fate squarely
     upon heads of soldiers
     life during wartime,

where opposing armies regale
     while marching men go hup...
to three fore (akin
     to a story field day),
     winning booby prize, viz
counting on qua,
     asper winning lottery
     and/or Stanley Cup

major blood bath rendered
     significant counting coup
whereat each opposing fighting
     force figuratively doth slew
the other, analogously dost defeat
making mince meat
re: as uniformed brigades in heat
of wanton killing

     fields sliced minced,
     chopped nada so vary neat,
via stealth unable dupe, nor cheat
death be not proud,
     et cetera, nonetheless,
     grimly forced to greet
     a bonanza coup won,
     only tubby beat

tin to pulp by adept
     skull and excellent fleet
of foot (top
     notch crafted) sweet
(albeit) temporary victory
     tasting said treat
assailing, bruiting , and/or
     weathering stance versus

     alternating between defensive
     and/or offensive
     use of cross bones,
     in a hail of bullets
     instantaneously didst greet
fast and furious i.e. suffering

     deadly raking har row
ring slaughter, an entire
     phalanx gone, where
     (metaphorical terrible swift sword)
no uniformed fighter
     can never call retreat.

Condo Commando Landings

Condo Commando Landings

They came in shiny silver saucer shaped air ships
With cylindrical flashing red lights in the night
From Planet New Jersey
Alien space crafts…. I mean .… weather balloons, (according to NASA)
From many light years…. I mean… traffic lights away
Landing in Miami first with a thirst for power
They slithered from the… ‘Weather balloons” in zombie brigades
Heads tilted, drooling, snorting and looking for trouble
Your condominium community is their new headquarters
Condo commandos are here to stay
A cruel fiduciary species without any borders 
Going from door to door
Giving owners & tenants lists of rules with magnitudinal orders
Millions of regulations, line item expenses, and assessments
You must fulfill….You will fulfill…you will comply or die!
“Resistance is futile!”  They cry…. Or mumble…or moan
Or whatever it is the walking dead do
If you walk on pavements you will be fined
If you have babies they must return to the womb
No plants…. No flowers… No signs on your condos
And keep your doors closed at all times
Don’t think about crime.  Don’t ask any questions
And pay your condo dues or be sequestered
Form: Didactic


Former Subjects of the Crown

Close on three hundred fifty years ago
American independence
not foregone conclusion,
British soldiers in league with Hessians
witnessed successful campaign battles
admirably groomed unbridled

staunch defenders, viz King of England
fought pitched battles
within keystone state i.e. Pennsylvania
particularly tri county area
Montgomery, Delaware, and Chester
routed Continental Army,

within thick wooded forested lands
interspersed amidst open fields
during closing twelve month period
(seventeen seventy seven)
following drafting
Declaration of Independence

bloody campaigns challenged
general George Washington
eminent Virginia homeboy
(born February 22, 1732
Westmoreland County),
he throve spectacularly,

when his metal (albeit military)
severely contested throughout
successful battles and/or defeats
acquiring near legendary
(rock star status)
even among sympathizers

for English rule
some ordinary everyday
quotidian country folk
inclined to side with the enemy,
unlike unfettered, unquestioned,
untrammeled...patriotism

trumpeted today (yeah right),
approximately (my benchmark)
twelve generations removed
(hypothetically asserting
twenty five orbitz
around sun equals cohorts

during Colonial America era),
said lauded first founding father
possessed inherent instinct
to rouse enthusiasm
ragtag army initially displayed
attendant with birth pangs

oven inchoate nation, whose
patriotism starkly divided
and easily bled
toward royal dominion
many occasions turning rogue
surrendering secret information

renegade subsequently
fought alongside Redcoats
thus, twas a fluke of circumstances
outstanding English brigades
topped off with
dollop of allied troopers

experienced starved resources
literally costing motherland
arm and leg
to sustain outnumbered,
less skilled colonial rebels.

A Total Monster, Part Ii

...He and a girl had gotten drunk,
and sure enough did slip outside,
both of them had been caught f-cking
in the stairs on a dorm’s north side.

The outrage brigades went crazy,
the snowflakes all just lost their sh-t,
claimed this woman couldn’t consent,
it was ‘rape,’ and he had done it!
That he himself was quite drunk too
didn’t matter that much you see,
that this woman raised no outcry
did not mean they should show mercy.
They ginned up their two-minute hate,
called him ‘sexist,’ ‘rapist’ and ‘scum,
demanded that he be fired
before he could 'hurt anyone.'
Harassed the fire department
with protests that dragged on for weeks,
spammed the city’s internet sites,
even interrupted a mayor’s speech.
And the media latched on it,
lied boldly, like they always do,
got a survivor to declared
she would not have gone if she knew.
Ed, obviously, was surprised,
but knew his team would stand by him,
yet when the politicians called
saw things were looking rather grim.
And when the mayor explained to him
that the city must protect itself,
he resigned to keep his pension,
cursing public servants to hell.
And now he can no longer save
good people when they might be hurt,
but the SJWs don’t care,
they cheered taking down ‘a monster.’
Form: Narrative

The Game Never Changes

The Game remains the same,
 blame the law enforcers for acting on impulse, 
or blame the law abiding citizens for reacting only when destiny's overflowing cup of disdain reaches Mozeltov! 
Still I remain unchanged!

Even with the whips and chains,
 that have only leveled to flashbangs and fire brigades .. 
Life only seems to repeat itself and the game still remains unchanged.

How can you claim that you need to see change, 
when your entire mindset still remains the same.
 How do you even begin to deconstruct systematic oppressive logic, 
even though the entire system still remains so toxic. 

When will we all be able to acknowledge that 'when the foundation of a log cabin rots, 
it's only a matter of time before the entire structure crumbles' .  
 In order to to finally deal with a problem like Systematic Racism we need to begin from the root of the problem. 

I wish to see the day that human beings actually stand together and unite under one race, 
that day that my children's children happily embrace the fact that, 
for the first time it didn't take a mutual sorrow to cause distant brothers and sisters to unite. 

Then that day the cries of joy will sing, "The Game Has Finally Changed!"
Form: Rhyme

Premium Member It Is What It Is

the personification hurts the reasoning of an untrained apophenic

cacography ensues as the computer throws a spell check wobbly

the poet scribes on because everything is not what it seems to be

clouds become animals spirits aspirations and nebulous signs

and I am the object and subject of mind altering misperceptions


sometimes ‘a cigar’ is just a cigar and ‘this is not a pipe’ dream

subconscious delusion offer a palatable way out of shackles

an unmade bed becomes an expensive desirable piece of crap art

the urinal in the museum flushes waste and reality down the drain

and yet one has to craft understanding and narrate viable stories


paraedolia is such an enchanting word as are paradox connections

apophenia rules when the truth is too painful to face in real time

the scribe employs license and unlicensed paradigms for his work

Exupery’s elephant swallowed by a boa constrictor rightly refuses

to become a hat which is such a bigoted symbol of bourgeoisie


emotions flow swiftly and guide mere rational thoughts into retreat

harmonize what will so often remain unbalanced and superfluous

when depression dances with mania around a moldy berry bush

a solution presents itself in acceptance surrender and growth

just as useful is to see the world through an innocent child’s lens


a kaleidoscope needs no interpretation and mirages are divine

witches zoom on broomsticks under guise of cleaning brigades

clairvoyants offer an unadulterated future becoming of mature age

if only the wars of all nations were fireworks only praising the night

yet in trial error and tribulations a skillful magician soothes my soul


26th July 2020

The Seals of Ragnarok, Part Ii

Odin looked confused, and Thor did too,
But none of us bothered to wait
Ten thousands years of warrior souls,
Charged the dark foe right out of the gate.
My boys they shot out Fenris’s eyes,
And the old 7th cav, they rode in
Slashing hard with drawn, curving sabers,
They cut off the monster’s four shins.

The wolf he roared, and his great mouth flared
Blood-read teeth set in wide-open jaws…
But a slew of TOW missiles leapt from the lines
And streaked into the beast’s gaping maw.
The wolf he collapsed, trailing gray smoke,
But Fenris’s life had yet to be spent
So the samurai charged, long katanas drawn
And his flesh they chopped up and rent.

Up came Jorumgandre, the world serpent
Expecting a loud chorus of screams.
Instead he went up in a fiery rage,
Bombed by a hundred B-17s.
A breaching charge set against his flank,
Tore a great, gaping hole in his side
And the Boys of Dunkirk rushed in headlong,
Shooting up his guts ‘till he died.

Then Surtr drew near, his big sword aflame
Ready to bash, to burn, to lay waist
But along came the treads of Patton’s brigades,
And shelled his ankles to make them break.
Surtr fell back and was lost to a swarm
Of plaid Highlanders dense, in a charge.
And when they sheathed swords, all that remained
Was a corpse, quite unusually large!

Finally came dread Loki, marching along
At his back the great host of Muspell.
But from the rear came Puller and US marines,
And to that dark horde, they brought hell!
As they fought, the Berserkers, they charged
Norsemen delivering the last blow,
The horde crumbled quick, turning to flight.
Leave Loki standing alone in the snow.

He turned to run but I shot out his knee
And then dragged him to the gods in chains.
Thor just shrugged, and Mjolnir he swung
And dashed out the deceiver’s brains.
It was the only blow the gods did land,
Most were too stunned to lift an arm.
The Einherjar had slaughtered all before them,
Not a single god had come to harm!

CONCLUDES IN PART III.
Form: Epic

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