Long Brigand Poems
Long Brigand Poems. Below are the most popular long Brigand by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Brigand poems by poem length and keyword.
Darkness imbues sunlight,
Stars adorn pitch of night.
Pristine as north winds blow,
Huddled in loam, primroses grow.
Razor clouds streak across sky,
Starkly bleeding is dawn to eye.
Sangria balm touches azure skin,
Contrast like yang and yin.
Shadows shrink, ignoble retreat,
Selene, curtsey, obliges defeat.
Emblazes arise, heat carries,
Tip to root blushing varies.
Dawn serenades coming day,
Phoenix arose from ashes of grey.
Pigments leak from wounded sky,
Serene, expanse gone awry.
Restless in sound of silence,
Darkness stalks with defiance.
Bated pounce as sun depletes,
Across waned skies, color secretes.
Bloom resigns, surrenders,
Bows to infinite splendors.
Brigand moon ‘neath covert night
Abscond again, posies light.
A silent stillness swaddles the night
A restless wind addled floor doth spite
From rim's spout vaporous cloak descends; prescience to slight
Above melancholy mist, hoot owl resounds with doleful delight
In the distance, a billowy plume rises; darkness to blight
A shrill whistle echoes from wall to wall distilling fright
Chilling requiem announces approach of mechanized spright
Two AM shadow creeps across canyon with stealthy might
In desolate channel, pulsating waves a bleary storm doth ignite
With thunderous chorus, the clanging rails a tremor doth incite
Vibrations reverberating through rocky redoubt; airy palpitations excite
A squeaky tenor underpinned by clamorous bass doth medley recite
Unbridled steel caisson through pristine stone columns doth alight
Slithering snake in undulating pattern over matted groves doth kite
Steaming furnace propelling armored mail on brigand flight
Fortified invader with contraband o'er corrosive terrain doth fight
In bridled hovel on denuded strand
Tanned damsel loiters on barter stand
Waiting for purloined fealty her title to brand
Festooned in ritual garb, decked with lavish garland
As noble peacock, her fecund colors are fanned
Waiting eligible suitors her utility, virility to scan
Her father a lofty price doth rightly command
To root out pilfering charlatan, worthless brigand
A reputable family with aspirations noble, grand
Bids for the honor of reticent, sheltered hand
Her elder for propriety doth initial offers withstand
Until the esteemed value of his ward family doth understand
A suitable piece of fertile lowland he indignantly demands
In order his tribal status and perpetuity to expand
With gratuitous stipend in token parlance panned
In customary deference, contrite bride accepts husband
Hauteur brigand bound for gratuitous strand
Knows not he is country's chattel, enemy's contraband
As gallant marauders o'er ages spanned
His quest for glory fate will countermand
Gleeful lad starting out on quick, definitive errand
Becoming grizzled veteran in war that will opportunistically expand
Raw recruit ready to fight for: family, honor, land
Feted for trivial pursuits, political ends; on mission clandestined
Tailored uniform, coiffed hat, shiny ordinand
Destined to be sullied by the designs of ruthless marksman
In ritual parade of arms on regal, stately stand
Unaware of his wistful foe's unremitting hand
With loyal comrades bivouacked in tidy
band
Soon to be in raucous tumult marked with a beastly brand
Dutiful, diligent soldier always firing on demand
In the heat of battle, only self preservation will command
Pre-war sprawling tenements; deprivations can withstand
Later, in squalid camp morphing into looting, pillaging firebrand
Vital piece in war game carefully mapped, planned
Innocuous pawn anonymously falling in unmarked, lowland.
Truth burns at the center of all occurrance,
it is a heat that motivates appettites to enlarge,
truth is a multiplier of quests,
satisfaction always arrives at the porch of a new path,
truth does not reveal endings, only beginings that behave
like currents pushing towards a shore,
truth demands stamina from the finder as well from the seeker,
it dashes in delight from the tired,
indolence receives no invitation from truth because laziness is a debtor,
a fish with no gills,
credit walks not from the bank steps of truth,
one must exchange, transact with it, as wanting is to worth,
Truth holds strength in one hand and suffering in the other,
He gives quarter and meal to surviving artificers who are organizing
their talents for future enterprise,
to the brigand and beggar He puts on a pewter plate
bland beans representing distance,
disillusionment preceeds the knowledge of utility because
new truth means fallacy is an ancestor,
an anthropologist is truth, observing your traits,
orbiting the ability of your judgement,
some of Truth's revelations are more expensive than others,
sometimes He will take your Past and grin like a haughty antique dealer,
truth will invest in your Future as a gambler revisits old glory
speaking fresh fortunes in cold ears,
He is an opportunist incessantly offering information for spirit,
without the ignorant truth becomes a vagabond in a vineyard of sweet rust,
the secret of truth is that it is ours
if we wish to be honest with ourselves,
truth is the inheritence of the strong who know how to make it,
oppossed to those waiting for it -
J.A.B.
Madeline Cole worked over the basin,
Washing clothes for her, and her man,
In the wilds of Kansas, 1878,
Where grass, between horizons, did span.
A pretty young woman, a brand new wife
She’d yet to fall heavy with child,
But she hoped and she prayed, whenever she could
That her dreams would wait only a short while.
When on the ridge three forms appeared,
Mounted proud, riding tall on horseback.
Madeline had seen them before this day,
The whole county had felt their attacks.
The Anderlin brother, that was their name,
The scourge of this part of the west,
Rustlers, thieves, killers, and back-shooters,
No lawman rode that they could not bet.
They approached the house, leers on their faces,
The oldest a brigand names Joe.
Madeline grabbed her and rifle and went out the door,
No further would she let the filth go.
Joe he just smiled, and shook his head
Saying ‘Darling, now you listen here!
I mean to have you, one way or the other,
Play nice and there’s no need to fear.’
‘But girl if you push me, I’ll tell your plain
I’ll put six bullets into that chest.
I think you’ll agree, it would be a sin
To put six bloody holes in those breasts.’
But Madeline stood and refused to budge,
Joe’s weathered face grew more ugly and cruel.
He said,’You can’t kill us all, not today.
Be smart here, don’t be a damned fool.’
‘You’ll like what we give you, I guarantee
You’ll be moaning when you are under
The body of a real man, not some green husband
Who likes to play at being a puncher...’
CONTINUES IN PART II.
Dear Diary,
You are my only friend
The only one to bear with my stand
So, do lend me your ears, why even your hand
I wish to confess, of how, in love, I am a total brigand!
Dear Diary,
I do not know what floats all over my body
If it is insanity
Or if it is simply an object of amorality
For I am filled with thrills; and they spark up my feminity!
Dear Diary,
He is a man I see only in my dreams
I am pretty sure, he knows not of my silent screams
He is powerful, respected, strong and bold
Faced with him, bland seems to be the whole world!
Dear Diary,
I keep my hope burning
Maybe, hopefully, someday, we shall have a meeting
Someday, he shall show me romance
Even if we have, in age, a huge difference
It matters not, for the heart remains always young in essence!
Dear Diary,
Am I basking in sin?
Has my head gone on a spin?
His name turns me into a butterfly
A new born one, having just discovered the expanse of the sky!
Muscle-bound goons. The kind that rape the world. Self-satisfied, in no hurry to devote their remarkable faculties to understanding another’s mind. Such wise men. Stares as blank as summer nights, red and black, tricolored, golden star-stung steel: twisted features, leaden, pale, inflamed; hoarse guffaws. A grim onslaught of pretense. To hear what these kids would say about Cherubino in their rough voices and violent ways. They’re heading to town to get it from behind, all decked out in sickening luxury.
A violent Paradise of runaway sneers! But no match for your Fakirs and hackneyed theatrics. In costumes sewn together with all the taste of a nightmare, they strut through assorted laments, tragedies filled with all every brigand and demigod missing from religion and history. Chinese, Hottentots, bohemians, fools, hyenas, Molochs, ancient lunacies, sinister demons—they slip savage slaps and tickles into your mother’s old chestnuts. A little avant-garde here, some three-hankie stuff there. Master jugglers who use riveting comedy to transform players and scenes. Eyes ignite, blood sings, bones stretch, tears and red rivulets run. Their clowning can last minutes, or months.
Only I have the key to this savage sideshow.
:: 07.31.2022 ::
Our suffering merits the celestial, gentle waves bearing the message of love.
I venture not to fall sleep, and keep absorbing nature's enchanting spell, enough mourning in anguish, and revive!
"The old world keep unfolding in your soul, need a new garment." I pay generous attention to abnormalities. In my oceanside inn, nobody inquires about the pandemic, though they prefer to mingle with the seagulls than the crowd. Have we stemmed the tide of the plague at last? The patients go on dying, an obese lady brags she was healed, I sense a quiet uprising against the quarantine here, rich in confidence the hounds of pandemic have lost their tracks. We're thrown in this world for self-concealment. In all the hoaxes we use, paramount is our eternal hope, lost in its boundlessness. But, through my open window, the gentle waves loudly challenge us to new living, at night a meteor nurses the sky with its flame, an errant voyager from alien destinations. Sky remains the untouched domain, like a castle above calmly holding its own.
"A star's gaze, now that would be a sight," I murmur, let the thought boldly snatch the moment like a shrewd brigand.
"Who's profiting from this gruesome horror? And who's the wicked in the guise of benevolence?" Ah the aroma of beachside fire, and a tiny bird floating in the air, obviously pleased to hear the tongue of ocean splattering on the rocks. The moon's sacred dim rays add to the cozy aura, nimbly moving into darkness. I'm expecting to run into a survivor of Poseidon adventure tonight. A timeless flood of images and then the question: What do you make of survival? An irkesome sport, imagining it was worthwhile. Death is at our back, its treacherous stratagem is to frown at its intrusion, has this scent of never approaching too near before its time. But I have built an impregnable bastion, a lion's citadal, that will never succumb. And don't give me the baloney of illusion. A man has the right to deceive himself. Stubbornly besieged by sleep, I surrend to the Queen of Comfort and its stately limitless inner, infernal ocean. "Save yourself in dreams."
In loves harbor moored in the dock of regression
and anchored in the quicksand of incontinence
as briny waves of inconstancy wash over my jaded bough
scouring my white-washed deck over and over
leaving the silty residue of bartered romances
tarnishing the fibers of my brigand hull
peeling back the glossy facade that coated my proud vessel
the drift wood of jilted lovers floats all around
shrouding my leased yacht with the residual chaff
of once fertile fronds that bloomed with romance
then were blighted by the cankering disease of insincerity
tides bring in the brackish seaweed of of salty flings
that never rooted my wandering eye or planted my wavering feet
which were tossed to and fro by a truant wind
constantly moving in a listless, uncharted direction
bandied about by the restless currents of change
barges of opprobrium clamor about in my choppy waters
tugging at my corroded conscience pushing the dross
of my intemperate, impulsive dalliances into my feckless psyche