Long Bro Poems
Long Bro Poems. Below are the most popular long Bro by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bro poems by poem length and keyword.
I bet it's lonely
Dark and cold
I can imagine in your mind
You fighting to stay alive
On the outside, you look different
Some are scared. I hate when people stare
Because I know my brother is in there somewhere
I'm still protective, even more
And you are just a kind tortured soul
Saying hi to all the passersby's
To silent the voices that are screaming inside
Your filter went away when schizophrenia
Started borrowing your time
I still see you through jokes and songs
I count on the bright inside of you
To keep you glowing and your faith strong
You may say things may never know what they mean
But you are still kind, generous and loving
No matter how much time that disturbed tenant steals from you
You seem to hold onto whatever
You feel is real. I see the pain in your eyes
It's like you're exhausted but you know you can't stop the fight
I wish I could enter your mind
With boxing gloves
Find that bastard
And tear him up
Fight fear with Love
I would reclaim your entire being
If I could put on gloves and
Go endless rounds with
That thing I'd beat that sob up
until the grip from your soul he lets up and
unhands your mind setting your spirit free, from the cell your true self has been imprisoned in
BROS BEBETO'S BET
Betting can tie you down like a sitting belt.
And I can bet Betty's boyfriend's bet
Mirrors how most of you beters felt.
Betty's boyfriend bets, but the ticket bursts.
"I'm getting this money o," he'll always boost.
Betty's boyfriend is known as bros Bebeto
But now, bros has learnt hitherto.
Bet9ja, what have you done to this young man?
Bros Bebeto's bet on Bet9ja shattered a plan.
Now he's Stan despite being nobody's fan.
Oga learn...learn ooooo and wise up.
Know when to proceed or press stop!
Else, pressure will pile up on your head.
Meanwhile, Bros Bebeto's bestie said:
"I trust myself, I for don cash out since,
Even before the last 3/5 games, miss.
Now ticket don cut, betting no bi your equal,
Greediness don comot your body, leave score,
With foolishness, dem go drink liquor.7"
Betting is injecting yourself with high temperature,
Because you believe you're a rare creature.
Betting is creating an environment of high tension
And using the urge to blur your life's vision.
Why allow a slip ignites forlorn thoughts,
Accumulating fixtures or games of all sorts?
Anxiety of a bet slip will almost make you slum.
After a long day awaiting a long slip's outcome,
The list is almost endless, but the slip
Brought bros Bebeto's bet down the deep.²?
VICK MANUEL POETRY {VMP}
FORM: Rhymes
Copyright ©? 3rd December 2023.
I love the way you cleverly
pontificate and think you know it all ~
so quick to dole out your advice.
I close my eyes,
take a deep breath
'cause here we go again.
Under the guise of altruism,
you rank right up there with other pests ~
wish there was a prize for 'most annoying'.
I close my eyes,
take a deep breath
'cause here we go again.
You don't need any details
the solution's already in your head ~
who wants any of the facts?!
I close my eyes,
take a deep breath
'cause here we go again.
Do you even hear yourself ~
your words and tone are laughable
but there's no stopping you.
I close my eyes,
take a deep breath
'cause here we go again.
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Yo Bro Sound It Out/Tony Adamo
Yo bro, you got to sound it out/ let the spoken words roll/ let yourself go/your words are in and out of the rhythm track/ It’s the downbeat groove/ man, hit that word vibe hard you’re in the jazzo frame of mind/ word speak with high energy kickin’ it to the crowd/let your spirit upload/ I see you be diggin’ on that modern tempo, sync it up tight to punk jazz punchy/ bringing fire to your words that last all night/lo-fi horn breaks that make your spoken words come alive/ you be doin’ it to it on that hipster speak ride/ abstract thinking blows their minds/hey bro, take it to the edge/ neo-soul, hip hop, house, RnB, and jazz/ that’s your backing tracks for the complex word rap arrangements that smokes out the house/ are you hip to the soul train dance line with that vinyl 45-style sound/Don Cornelius was king in the programing of his dance show/ the funky rhythm and soul textured magic made the music sing out loud/ acid jazz lines push the drive in your words/ I feel the pulse, I dig the feel of the break beat delivery popin’ from your spoken wheel of feel/ You even rap speak to the radio along with the 50s and 60s soul music past/ man, you are the real deal/chilled out boppin’ hip hop, you spread your words like butter on toast/ funk music samples dance from the DJ backing you on stage, man he is the most/ beat chops kicks the words flying off the mic in a rage/ spoken word in between dusty breaks filled with jazzy baselines/ your downtempo feel in breakin’ it down/ man, your words have sex appeal/ you have the low riders cruising through time/ car hoppin’ and dancing to your spoken word rhyme/ brother this is your time/ let the world hear your shout/ hey bro, you gots to sound it out/let the triplets of jazz words you speak/ crash against the soul jazz horn section on top of the hip hop instrumental free beat/ Yeah/ now you be MCing/
You scorn the work my chisel made,
Yet you have never held the blade.
You see the flaws, call them mistakes,
But you have no idea what it takes.
It’s easy to point the finger with empty hand,
To stand high ashore and sound so grand.
But the sea never hears from those aground,
Only from those swimming safe and sound.
I won’t explain the things I’ve done.
For you have no idea why it's so fine-spun.
Instead, I'll hand the control over to you,
Hiding the hurt and pain that I'm going through.
Let’s see if you can match your claim.
When no one else will share your blame.
Because flipping the game your way,
Is the only way you'll beg me to stay.
I won’t confront and fight your claims.
Because I know you enjoy those games,
Where you deride my skills and learning,
With phony debates that are so undiscerning.
Don’t judge my journey; you've not trod that way.
Step aside, let me continue; get out of the way.
If you think it’s so simple; I'll let you try and fail.
Don’t mock the captain, 'til you've faced the gale.
sijo with notes
Although , everyone knew what was needed was a “quarter;”
yet all we asked for was a dime,* it would have helped us move on.
My rich bro gave me his two cents worth, which surprised no one.
FYI: Brother, Can You Spare a Dime” — The Anthem of the Great Depression. In 1932, a young New York City lyricist named E.Y. “Yip” Harburg, together with composer Jay Gorney, penned what is considered the anthem of the Great Depression, “Brother, Can You Spare a Dime?” It was part of the 1932 musical Americana.
*FYI 2: The dime referred to meant $10.00 during the depression.
Arising early each morning
I glance toward you.
Asking myself this question
Can this be true?
Am I deserving
of this mess I see?
Can you not just once
be flattering to me?
You stare at me and
though declining to say.
I know you'll return
What I give you this day.
Though I'm complementing seeking
You're truthful with me.
Being painfully honest
as only you could be.
While pointing out flaws
as i shave and dress.
You also let me know
that my hair is a mess.
I just smile and wink
thinking this might work.
But your message to me
brush your teeth, you big jerk.
You're hard and critical
but come what may.
I'm the head of this house
I'll have the final say.
A flip of the switch
and I'm on my way.
Leaving you alone
to face the wall all day.
In reality, if I look so-so
or maybe a mess.
You always see and return
No more or no less.
As all others see me
to myself you will show.
For when facing a mirror
"That's what it be like Bro
Arising early each morning
I glance toward you.
Asking myself this question,
can this be true?
Am I deserving
of the mess I see?
Can you not just once
be flattering to me.
You stare at me and
though declining to say.
I know you'll return
what I give you this day.
Though I'm complement seeking
you're truthful with me.
Being painfully honest
as only you could be.
While pointing out flaws
as I shave and dress.
You also let me know
that my hair is a mess.
I just smile and wink
thinking this might work.
But your message to me
brush your teeth, you big jerk.
You're hard and critical
but come what may.
I'm the head of this house
I'll have the final say.
A flip of the switch
and I'm on my way.
Leaving you alone
to face the wall all day.
In reality, if I look so-so
or maybe a mess.
You always see and return
no more or no less.
As all others see me
to myself you will show.
For when facing a mirror
"That's what it be like Bro."