Long Browbeat Poems

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


Growing Up

abominate, abhor, abuse, admonish, adumbrate, afflict, advance,
agitate, agonize, alcohol, announce, approach, awaken, bait, bark,
bawl, bedamn, bedevil, berate, betoken, bluster, bode, bother, break,
brew, browbeat, bully, caution, censure, chide, clutter, comminate,
complain, complicate, confuse, cow, crucify, DAD, damage, daughter,
deplore, detest, devil, disarray, disorder, disparage, distress, divine,
embroil, enforce, enmesh, ensnarl, entangle, entwine, exacerbate,
excruciate, execrate, expiate, family, feel, fist, flex, forebode,
forecast, forerun, foresee, foreshadow, foreshow, foretell, foretoken,
forewarn, frighten, fulminate, gnarl, gnash, grieve, growl, hammer,
hang, harass, harbinger, harmonize, harrow, heckle, herald, hound,
injure, intimidate, impend, imperil, imprecate, inflict, intuit, involve,
irk, jam, jeopardize, joy, knot, laughter, loom, love, maze, menace,
mistreat, molest, Mom, muck, muddle, mumble, murmur, mutter,
nag, normalize, omen, overhang, overshadow, perplex, persecute,
pester, plague, portend, preindicate, provoke, punish, push, presage,
pressurize, prognosticate, promise, prophesy, provoke, punish,
quarrel, quiz, rack, ravel, rebuke, reprimand, risk, scare, scold,
scourge, scowl, sense, shake, shame, signify, smite, snap, snarl, son,
soothsay, spook, strike, tangle, tease, terrorize, threaten, thunder,
torment, torture, trouble, upset, usurp, vaticinate, vex, vilify,
vociferate, walk, warn, worry, wound, wring, yell, yelp, zero, zip, zone.


I Seek the Uncensored Inside Scoop

Akin to a journalist (hoofing
NOT huffing on the beat)
heedful, mindful, and pain fully aware, bleat
me, asper caveats help me set sights
tacking within parameters of lawfulness,

when questing without sparking browbeat
upon my person, or worse...proceeding toward
said abstract destination until...
impossible mission complete
for verity from figurative horse's

mouth without defeat
dogging this astute brute, destitute, flute glute
hirste human institute irresolute
kickstarting little feet
essentially persevering acquiring,

amassing, and adducing
for instance enlightening 
fierce interest how greet
American foreign policy 
provokes bristling heat

particularly sinking cerebral teeth
into tomes written by Jeffrey Sachs
(one of the world's leading experts on
economic development,
and the fight against poverty) racks

up with unassuming dignity, grace, integrity,
and prestige in my book - 
for birds that quacks
without question, his expertise packs
a punch (Judy be careful),

he earns accolade to the max
factor, and rightly so, asper one of the world's
leading experts on economic development, and lax
global fight against poverty,
yet also in mine reading material canon includes:

TIME Magazine, The Nation, and now imagine klax
on (trumpeting) for Mother Jones, a six month
subscription bringing to alight me to do jumping jacks
(no doubt you remember those vigorous movements),
but tactics to expand learning I put in Italics

if only to maintain alternate rhyming pattern,
which tenebrous, superfluous,
and ridiculous poetic hacks
meant add a little playfulness,
solely intending to bloom forth

with illusory "NOT FAKE) flax
seeding, an ongoing inquisitiveness maybe last
ting influence to ferret out
off the beaten track less broadcast
revelations, since this apt cast

off firmly believes the educated people denied
knowing how government (namely
military industrial complex) past
(and of course present) involvement blast
ting away innocent lives, and/or funding

subversive activity most likely fast
intervening across the real world wide web
to coerce, force, and source vast
suppression jeopardizing United States economy.

Premium Member Chattering Voices

I pick up their idle chatter five days of the week.
Conversation with other passengers, I never seek
to learn of a secret one of them might privately leak.
But try as I might, I cannot help but overhear
a new recipe she tried, or the reason for his fear.
Sometimes, I wish I was deaf, at least in one ear!

I try reading my newspaper and ignore the prattle,
but often it's louder than the train car's rattle.
I'm not interested in the gossip of their tittle tattle.
At least the man with the cigar, smokes it outside,
or I'd take another tram. Cigar stench I can't abide.
I live in the burbs, so it's a long way home I ride.

Today, there's a young lady who wouldn't take a seat.
She looks worried, or at least somewhat browbeat,
like the people I work with down at Dun & Bradstreet.
I often wonder what's on the young conductor's mind.
Does he despise his job because he feels confined?
I'm off at the next stop, where I leave them all behind.
© Lin Lane  Create an image from this poem.
Form: Rhyme

Premium Member Nature's Play

Warning bells had rung before
Nature may not like it anymore
the over exploitation of its store
but human greed did underscore
rules of coexistence as in folklore.

Our experiment with wild meat
transmitted a Corona virus fleet
silently mutating, us it browbeat
spreading one to other in a meet.

Choking lungs, it took away life
with no antidote, world is in strife
locked in homes with family and wife.

Life overscores over economic loss
points at nature to be ultimate boss.

Salute the frontline selfless saviours.

we must mend our value core
Lest nature is forced to repeat 
and bleed us with another knife
and give us a more severe toss
striking at roots of our grandeurs.


14.4.2020
Form: Rhyme

The Keeper of Secrets

The Keeper of Secrets

I sit in a congenial café pulling the morning around me;
sipping a single shot of silked smoothed cappuccino,
two shots would browbeat me!

Different people drift in and out.. differently.
I analyse them…. then wait
for the next biscuit in the packet to arrive.
I’ve learnt that people have secrets 
which they think are secret 
but they leave clues behind;
in my line of work, it helps if you can read them!

The door swings open; a man prowls in.
A big man, no bigger than a runaway fire engine,
red-faced, straining with pitbull tendencies. 
He snarls at me through sharpened shoulders
while his teeth turn sideways and growl.
The arms of my chair tighten around me
while my fortitude hides between my toes
and refuses to come out and play.

He moves towards me in a menacing manner;
experience nestles me, offering a weather warning.
I feel the room shift and shiver
then shrink in size… or perhaps that is me?
I can't speak, I can't even squeak!
My voice appears hospitalized,
recovering from a ……tracheotomy?

But as the man thrusts towards me
a crumbled crumb of an idea cruises by. 
I have knowledge of a secret 
this man is not enamoured about.
However, no need to be such a concerned citizen
after all, I’m known as The Keeper of Secret,
well I would be if I let anyone know!!

Pitbull mistakes me for a cobweb,
swiping me clean out of my chair
while barking at me in a subterranean rumble,
“Now listen carefully to what I say, mate,
then stir it, understand it and drink it down.” 
I was definitely listening, both ears stretched out.
He now offered me a dislocated smile
while continuing in his persuasive manner 

“E’er, sometimes the quietest, nicest day,
holds the darkest, sharkest secret
never to be shared, never to be told
unless you want to take it to the… grave?” 
I thought he’d bounce me on my head, 
spin me round the roundabout
and walk out without even asking me for a dance!
Instead he stomped off brazenly, bristles bristling
in search of another problem to fire fight.

Now, at this point, I could sense
my fortitude was rebel rousing
as I vowed that next time we met 
I’d frighten him with a funny look
perhaps even a kick up the pants
…when he wasn’t looking! 
But that’s another secret 
and yet another poem. 

Ian Souter
© Ian Souter  Create an image from this poem.


To Their Fellow Man

You can see their breath upon the air
As people bustle by without a care
 
The homeless don’t even get a single  glance
No care for thier circumstance

your small change it means alot 
to you the cost of a bottle of pop

to a person on the street
it will mean they will be able to eat 
 
A simple greeting  does not cost
 some peoples souls need a good defrost

A roof above my head to sleep
A bed where i can fall asleep
 
and some food upon my plate to eat
and a friend  who will not browbeat
 
A friendly face a little smile
and people who  don’t judge my lifestyle
 
Being homeless is not a crime
yet people judge you all the time
 
my place of birth, the way I speak
does not make me some sort of freak
 
a helping hand and being kind
should define all mankind
 
designer suits don’t define a man
but the kindness shown in their lifespan

To their fellow man

It Is What It Is

It is What it is – weasel words for our times

We live in an age 
Of the weasel words
Orwellian thought police run amuk
Words used as weapons
To limit critical thought
And avoid rational thought

These words are everywhere
Few question them
Most fall in line
Hypnotized lobotomized
 by these weasel words

the president is a master
of using words as political weapons
to demonize his opponents
to browbeat them into submission
throwing up mental traps around them

it is what it is
what does that even mean
what is the it that is
and what is the reason

that it is what it is
no one can answer
no one really knows

it is what it is after all
and who are you to question
the President’s reality?

And so it goes
The endless parade
Of the weasel words
That have corrupted
Our minds and our very souls

Doing what they are designed to do
Shutting down our critical thinking
As we all submit to the needs 
Of the corporate system
That has taken over the world 
 
And that is the meaning
Of it is what is
© Jake Aller  Create an image from this poem.

Premium Member Would You Hire Me: a Resume

I am applying for the consultant position
of Office Manager for which I will audition.
I am undeniably qualified to deal with nitwits
and idiots I will immediately classify as 'twits.'

My solution to deal with those people is fair
It may not be righteous, but I don't care.
If your company is greedy to make money,
it's ok with me. Just give me my check, honey.

I don't browbeat employees with a big stick
when they come in late or say they're sick
I'll crack the whip on any numbskull at work
and there's one less lazy fool I'll call  a jerk.

If you think my method is severe over kill,
you're right, because I don't show good will
to jackasses who keep making me mutter
words you would only hear in a street gutter.

I'll get control and do what needs to be done
and I promise I'll try not to pull out a real gun.
I'll need some handcuffs and maybe a jail cell.
Give me free rein and everything will be swell.

My resume' experience speaks for itself.
Once, I've even fired an Elf on the Shelf
I did it without a good reason or just cause
so you can waiver that harrassment clause.

You can hire me now for a trial run.
Keep me on or fire me, but I'm the one
you need to give brainless creatures the boot...
not due to my work ethic, cuz I don't give a hoot.
© Lin Lane  Create an image from this poem.
Form: Rhyme

Donald Trump Das Fuehrers Braggadocio

Donald Trump Das Fuehrer's Braggadocio

Wrapped up in the Christmas holiday spirit,
I surmise doth allow
nationally collective obliviousness
     to steer ship of state
     (these United States)
to suffer retaliatory browbeat
ting activates, detonates, generates
     je nais sais quois maliciousness

     upon North American consciousness
from wickedly vehement uproarious tirades
the "FAKE" president doth crow,
whereby every word uttered
     by the misfit mealy mouthed madman
in the Oval Office directly
impacts Lady Liberty, sans dow
wager even when the brash,

     defensive, haughty...commander
in chief doth raised by alternately
by one or both colored eyebrow,
which nonverbal hostile
     body language triggers
     concomitant domino fallout
     to devastating effect,
     whereby analogous nee

     palpable invisible reverberations
trigger thee threat
of global mortal Kombat flow
war moves the dial on
the Doomsday Clock to foreshadow
the stark realization of glow
bull thermonuclear conflict to hoe
var ominously over planet Earth,

which scenario haint Noah Joe
king matter, cuz
more'n juiced *****sapiens know
wingly, would be decimated,
     where from Noel fierce
riding hobby horse, could
weather thee irrevocable low
down, once bombs away loosed,

and poised to strike
every fibrous marrow
with an irreversible tendon cee,
yet some hardy
species might narrow
lee escape radioactive fallout,
     and blithely usurp meaning overthrow
this most menacing creature,

whose opposable thumb didst pro
pell the nasty, short tempered,
and mean minded
to upset status quo
and shred of a fatalistic,
graphic, and horrific roadshow
no Wizard of Oz (zee us born)
     negating, obliterating, and pulverizing

     the uninhabitable landscape
     with burnt offerings
much more frightful than scarecrow,
which worst case scenario,
could explode today or tomorrow
leaving no trace of unlovely bones

     merely mass cremated powder,
hence forsaked salvation
from... say Beto
O'Rourke, whose actively
democratic gumption joisted paradigm
grim fate recklessly
(hypothetically) did veto.

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