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.
It was a summer of indifference
Billionaire Nazis who preach ethnic cleansing
And powerful ladies clad in iron
Play tug of war
With the hearts and souls of the people
While governors deceive the populace and their own parties
And confused men in collars and cassocks
Betray their vows, principles,
And even the people
They are supposed to lead.
It was a summer of blood
Black mothers in black clothes
Attend the funerals
Of their Black sons
Killed by
Their own Black Brothers
Or by Blue Klansmen
With smoking guns and shining shields
While urban brigades
Mourn the loss of true knights
Murdered by
Desperate, exhausted, and enraged men
Who have witnessed more than enough
Of their people being oppressed
By those sworn to protect them
While the suburbanites and gentrifiers
Look the other way
Or applaud the lynchings
While savages plow into school children
Behead Christian babies
Rape Christian women
Slash the throats of priests
And destroy Christian communities
Even though we are supposed to be
People of the Book
While those who peacefully practice Islam
Are being told they are unwelcome.
It was the summer of chaos
People parade the streets
With signs
Shouting
Black Lives Matter
Blue Lives Don't
Men use toilets
Next to little girls
Six years olds
Are being taught about
The birds and the bees
And the ticks and the fleas
Infanticidal Mengelites
Teach girls
confidence and resourcefulness.
We are no longer people
With free wills and open hearts
We are no more than pawns
In a political chess tournament
Of the Sick Left
Against the Cold Right
What is right is wrong
What is wrong is right
Dear Lord
When will you have enough?
When will the
Fall of Jerusalem
Finally arrive?
Maybe that is the only way
This madness will end.
How many more chances
Do we need?
How much longer will you stand there
While the pigs come to
Spit on Your Countenance
And crush Your pearls?
I sigh for Your
City on the Hill
And long to see its gates
Meanwhile, I tarry to the mountains
Before I am tempted to
Join the sultry, drunken orgy
Of lost souls who hang the decent
And silence the morally outspoken
Whilst chanting
Eat, drink, and indulge
For you only live once
Autumn’s story is full of rustic shades
that echo deep from every vale and hill
of splendor and of forest colonnades,
as one by one leaves float and spin and spill
in frosted shadows and in evening’s chill
Dogwoods change,in carmine escapades,
to celebrate old summer’s standing still
Scarlet leaves and shades of marmalades
Shiraz, Claret and Burgundy distill
bright tones of nature for the soul to swill.
Amber, apricot and goldenrod brigades
capturing our gaze and hearts to thrill
Piles of forest treasures spilling in cascades
with dappled browns’ and caramel’s goodwill,
All opulence of Autumn to fulfill
Autumnal English Quintain Contest
Francine Robert’s.
First Place.
Title for contest was Quintessential Autumn
A Strand 1061
First Place
Published in PS It’s Poetry Available on Amazon.
You request him to travel to distant lands
on a quest to conquer the enemy.
A like-minded platoon battles beside him,
helping him achieve an ultimate defeat.
You keep him sheltered from tough weather
with electric lights, a warm balm on stormy nights.
You allow him to rest his work-worn feet,
and lend shade to summer's sweltering heat.
You give him currency in gold, and nourishment
to revive his life with virtual healing.
His energy pours into self-gratification,
chasing flashing lights and curvaceous shapes.
A natural born warrior, his instincts are achieved.
His guys need him, and he seems as Captain.
The adrenaline of the chase is his maiden.
The plot thickens, challenge expands, saga continues.
His self-image is tough, but his muscles atrophy.
His belly swells closer to the screen.
His shoulders point toward their goal.
His carpal tunnel narrows from "shooting."
Various wrappers stack below his chair.
Paper plates replace dirty dishes.
Neglected laundry mops the bathroom floor.
He strives to reach a high level of achievement.
Daily late-night brigades and early morning battles
rattle in his dreams, realistic combat scenes.
The game goes by another name, but by definition,
it may as well be called "Tunnel Vision."
5/25/18
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.
NiGERIA AT 59 A HOME OF A FAILED
MARRIAGE
On this wavy Atlantic sailed a white robe
With his skills in Holy book
Thou bringeth thy self to rob
As they used the book as bait we the fish to hook
The net they filled with us the pest
On which they feed with smiles
Their hearts overwhelmed with greed
As they took us on their wheel they sang the creed of greed.
We weaived and quivered while in shiver
They became weavers and achievers
Basket of rich fruits they found
Treasures of riches they discovered under ground
Pleasure filled their honey mouth as the bee took their flight
As they tested the depth of the river with both feets
A mistake they made without a look in sight.
Now the baskets begin to tear as the fruits rot in great delight
The marriage they celebrated with unpleasant feets
As in mockery they danced as they feasted in peace
Alas they broke their vows as the brigades
Fired their barricades
Uniforms interchange uninformed
As the abortion they failed
Begot the painful miscarriage
Presumed for yesterday.
A happy man marries the woman he loves
A happier man loves the woman he marries
But this marriage is due for divorce
The party is over and desolve
Even the rivers show no love in confluence
Give us the agreement of the conference
The urine has been held for long
So the bladder might burst
What ever will be said went wrong
It must be remember how they broke the trust.
Sergeant Major O'Malley, Seventh Cavalry, had served nigh on three decades.
He rose through the ranks havin' served in squads, companies and brigades.
Second lieutenants were nuisances and he treated them as if they didn't exist!
He took recalcitrant lads behind the barracks to administer discipline with his fist!
You'd better have your horse and tack lookin' keen for Saturday mornin' parades,
Or Sergeant Major O'Malley would sear the ozone with his thunderin' tirades!
He'd escort you to the stables to shovel manure if you ever mistreated a horse!
Sergeant Major O'Malley's colorful lingo left one with a feelin' of remorse!
He had absolutely no patience with the foibles of raw and bumblin' recruits.
Lord have mercy on the hapless lad who failed to shine his saber and his boots!
Should a trooper snooze in the saddle when escortin' the colonel's stage,
Sergeant Major O'Malley would stomp and rave unleashin' a towerin' rage!
At the break of dawn when reveille sounded, he'd burst through the barracks door,
Yellin' "Up and at 'em me lads! Outta them bunks! What am I a-payin' ye for!
Ye sorry excuses fer sojers! Hie to the stables! Them hosses needs oats and hay!
And when that's done, git back here to eat yer grub and scrub this filthy bay!"
Things were different when he dismounted his horse and entered his house!
The one who gave orders and 'wore the stripes' at home was his formidable spouse!
He meekly responded to her constant commands with a resigned, "Yes, my dear."
"Taps" was a welcome sound at close of day in Sergeant Major O'Malley's ear!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
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 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!"
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
Muzzle the people while making billions
unleash a maelstrom of communist virus
into the veins of the harlot media tyrants
into the hat of power magician- politicians
spread fear-mask -divide the people
inoculate a frightened population
with experimental vaccinations
endless mutations-booster brigades
rinse and repeat-new age slaves
frighten-mask-silence-divide-globalize
turn abnormal into normal.
Stalinize the children
brand parents as terrorists...
groom their children not to think
to blindly follow Godless sheep...
where abnormal is normal
godisdevildevilisgod
menarewomenwomenaremen
While in our mental lethargy...
a man tinkling the word "woke"
in the stall next to the little white girl
who's being taught that she is inherently racist.
This is just the beginning, folks:
wake up mamma bear
lock and load pappa bear...
fight for the soul of your children
there's a snake poking holes in the nest
of New Eden
stealing eggs at your expense
fight for the soul of your children
slap the snake with the rake of God..
separate the wheat from the chaff
sprinkle today with the blood of snakes
Amen!