Long Browned Poems
Long Browned Poems. Below are the most popular long Browned by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Browned poems by poem length and keyword.
They taught us what to do if there's a bomb.
A big bomb.
A bomb they removed in a biopsy on a God
A big God
Scooped it out in armfuls from the body of a God
My God the blood hanging on the tresses where the speshes operated they
Taught us what to do if there's a bomb.
No point working out who it came from;
Cus wherever it came from is gone.
They taught us what to do if there's a bomb:
A big bomb:
Get the rubber round your face.
Then you radio the base.
Lie down on the ground
While your pants get browned
Are you closer to the cloud
Or the sound that pounds like a house shutting down
My god who lives, who lives to see me live a life as terrible as this my God!
Get drenched in the fear
Too thirsty to tear
Up your ears disappear
And the skies won't be clear for a long time
Peek up through your goggles for the last time
That's it soldier step up and take your prize,
And pray that you don't get vaporized My Eyes!?
My Eyes!?
Can't remember if my mom had me baptized!?
I swore I'd rather die, the great evac-in-the-sky but
Would I!?
I want to live but not like that with my tissue-pissing body like a sieve
To live is terrible
It's terrible man to survive
And you feel like you did when you were five
Tummy hurts, full of earth, where the hell is the earth
I'm rising from the ash like an afterbirth
In the mist missing what used-to-be
The mist is made of my mother and its killing me -
What was it they told us, told us, soldiers
What was it they told us, sold us, soldiers:
They said survive to fight.
My lungs are always tight!
They said survive to fight.
There's never any light!
Survive to fight.
Before I wasn't brave enough but now I just might!
Survive to fight.
Give her arm a bite!
Survive to fight.
Keep the squad white!
They started this mess it's what's best it's what's
Survive to fight.
Not for what you need
Not for what is right
Not for what your dad said when you woke him late at night but what's left!
In the unlikely event that there's a bomb;
We fight for what little is left, not right!
And left right left!
Right left right!
In the unlikely event that there's a bomb;
In the unlikely event that there's a bomb;
In the unlikely event that there's a bomb;
...
I
Between Juliet and me
Devotion thrived . . .
We stayed all day and all night
In dark, hidden places, picking watercress for the moon
Together we lived, Juliet and I,
Among worm woods
Friendly gardens
Doing silly things,
Avoiding the city’s hastiness,
Befriending rural life,
Hiding behind palisade fences
Among stunted grass,
Waiting for sunset’s glow to light up
The dark paths of our stolen love.
I remember us running talks with
Anne of Green Gables
On the greenishness of a stable summer.
And when the church bell tolled
For the vespers,
We ran across the external nave,
Our faces frowned with shyness,
Thinking? we are full of ourselves. . .
And I loved her
And I loved her name
And still love it.
Fret not, O’ Juliet
But read to me
Like you read, that memorable Friday night
You and I sighted frescoes on the rapier-thin
Rim of dusk’s azimuth.
II
I sang your songs, O’ Maria,
In the days grandfather lived and smiled on
With his broken front tooth stained by age and sageness
Your narrow, sweet face paled and showed signs of the
Dim past
I do not know who you were, dear Maria
I did not know you deeply,
But with strings straightened across hard-bending bow,
Earthen pots,
Grass-flutes,
And ivory samba,
I have discerned all that happened to you
Through ancestral lyrics laced with drops of love.
In those days,
There lived Maria,
Mother of sons and daughters,
And she had dark eyes and dark lips
And teeth whiter than clouds . . .
In those days
There was confusion and strife
But Maria made the best out of them
Because she had love so fragrant
And her soul bled with devotion
And every word she puked had love in it.
Trenches, valleys, gullies
And images of blissful youth
Blended carefully, forming imposing pictures
Before her charming eyes.
Her name pokes my ribs gently
And she knew well how to write love-letters
Some of which have been reserved in the museum of
Memory where they eternally reside,
The cellar of the soul
Rolls of parchment, browned by time,
Season the words of love in them stronger.
Here, my vigil candles
Have ceased blinking
And have glowed the more —like the
Curved ends of the crescent moon —
Just for your name, O’ Maria.
I walked down the alleyways of London
Early one edgy Friday evening.
I am a touring, curious resident, mind you.
The sun was shy and was sinking breathlessly and
With the hushed melody of frazzled fog.
I headed towards a snaky road, cobbled to fractured
Heels and hills, and stumbled upon
Oxford Street, famous for all manner of glitz
And devoted heartbreaks.
It was nearing winter, but not yet wintertime.
Autumn, hoar with age, and damp,
Was about to swallow her pride and go away —
And go the way of all flesh—
Leaving nothing behind but her gathered and swept-up
Wreaths of browned, aged, haggard leaves.
Oxford Street, the world's loudest bazaar,
A fattening roofless museum of couture
That runs on a long, broad and sinfully perfumed hall,
Peopled by men and women, ancient and modern,
Fogeys and hipsters,
Held fast to its deafening sound and picture of glossy, sexy lipsticks,
Redder than deer blood,
And assembled pieces of mascara,
So charming, so flimsy, on glass trays and wooden hooks,
Each selling much more than a fragile penny.
I inhaled and exhaled, culture dragging my feet, cloyed by
Sensations strongly adhered to by hissing smells of now and then.
I was shocked by the magic of flitting lights and fleeting senses.
Shoulders rubbed each other with shuffling, dragging gaits,
The rush needless and lacking in manners.
Should there be a fall from the height of Stevie Nicks' platform
Shoes, the grounds would rumble, ankles would dislocate, ‘HELP! '
Would be screamed beyond Beatles' decibels.
On Oxford Street, it's go your own way—beyond Fleetwood Mac.
I followed in the footsteps of only those who walked with caution.
Litters of shredded London Evening Standard smelled differently, rolled and
Spread out, reminding everyone, resident and tourist, of the
Elegance of the English alphabet, the fine fonts of printed almanacs.
The next man I stumbled upon his shoulder, a reserved newspaper
Vendor, the age of an embryo, yelled, Blimey!
Hosting my bent thorax upon his bale of hanging papers,
He asked, pulling me up with his one unfettered hand,
His breath on torture,
‘First time on Oxford Street, mate? '
‘Last, ' I mumbled.
Is Justice blind?
Or
Has the color of a Browned skinned people been so frequently splashed,
that it spills into her eyes as it blood soaks her sash?
Does Browned skin
blind Justice?
Is Justice really blind?
Or
Is this just the ranting of a Black Anti- Police movement
playing tricks on my mind
Does Justice remember the Injustice of a kind?
Has Justice forgotten black slavery?
Men women and children from youngest to oldest
in shackles balls and chains
A whip for the back,
a noose for the neck, a bridle for the big black horse
to plow my fields as I tug forcefully on the reins
A Fugitive Slave-Clause, given effect by, The Fugitive Slave Act of 1793
Namely in part
U.S. Constitution (Article 4, Section 2, Clause 3)
Which proves Sections of the U.S. Constitution were created to keep Blacks from ever being free
By eliminating Cities, States, and countries blacks could run
to Just be
And
Creating a police to serve White Justice
For
the capture of we slaves in case we rise up or flee
Is Justice really blind
or
Can Justice really see
Does Justice know?
The renowned Hangmen
at the ready, backed by genocidal government laws and decree’s
judging scores of black ink structured as names turned to numbers
on dockets at the bottom of the Hangman’s Tree
and
hastefully pulling triggers of deaths trap doors to quickly silence sounds of innocent cries
of not guilty plea’s
eliminating chances of being imprisoned in libraries where chapters in Black Law
Hold freedoms key
shrouding the eyes of Justice with a blood-soaked sash
With this question left to be asked
If I were a Police Officer, a judge, a Prosecuting Attorney, or any Law Enforcement Official of any Law Enforcement Agency,
sworn to protect and serve the people, uphold the laws and their sanctity
would I want to be held responsible for the answering of this question if it were asked of me,
whether alone or publicly?
Is Justice really blind or is she refusing to see
that
death before proven guilty, Sentence to be served immediately
is the judgment being passed on a people
with the same skin as me?
Unbeknownst tummy why, (around
about 2200 hours October 5th, 2018),
a slew of forgotten incidents quasi
lee linkedin, and questionably
nsync, though lightly browned
with Alfred Lord Tennyson's,
"The Charge of the
Light Brigade" - ("found"
via Google search), nonetheless,
said decades old reminiscences
and remembrances, viz
early father forcefully
came barging unstoppably,
and furiously galloping
out of the blue - painfully crowned
ning me noggin like
a crash test dummy
on the prowl akin
to a frenzied blood hound
tearing at light speed - unbound
(defying laws of physics) just now
forgotten instances I feebly
try to expound
inexplicably purportedly
buried in a “mound”
long forgotten everyday details,
when all my (deux than
young restless) children abound
did with limitless energy ground
me with fatigue as the world turned,
two beautiful hearts lovingly pound
ding with oblivious innocent bliss,
ah such ordinariness unwound
recollections roared back resound
ding lee - into my mind
with out a sound
re: collections long since past
suddenly didst rib bound
did (mainly, when thee and the Punim
spent time at playground
as young little girls),
who oft times found,
ye or Shana clamoring
for this dada to push
both of thee simultaneously
on the swing or merry-go-round,
or later on during that evening,
or another occasion found
the three of us
laughing (ho...ho...ho...) as we played
one or another round
of Mancala, Uno, Scrabble,
Sorry, (where this papa clowned
no matter, he got his game pieces round
lee sent homeward bound),
those supposedly forgotten
days of yore suddenly rumbling
within thy inner sanctum all mound
joyless deep under ground
came barreling thru my psyche
analogous to a class 5 hurricane
like gang busters
lashing out and drowned
at my whole being.
Lito, a boy of twelve was walking along
An old, broken street of the sun browned,
Dusts attached, smoke emitting town
Lonely, long way he was passing
Through heat waves, bad odor,
Horn blaring, noisy, charmless morning,
At noon leaves were falling around
Environment turned into dry, harsh
In the shadowless just new desert
Rubbishes gathered here and there
Old vehicles splashed dirty water to him
He was bored, tired, exhausted but silent;
He halted under a tall building
In a five feet tall paper roofed square hut
An old woman was there lying on the soil
Mother, the only alive person in his world
He began taking care of her carefully
But she closed her eyes for last
At that loving and caring face he stared
Then the vacant world in front of him,
Some people from nearby orphanage came
For funeral and praying salvation for the soul
By the evening all of them went away
Nobody was to care of the boy;
Night fell on, deep darkness in and out
His eyes went wet for the whole night,
Heart shed blood,
But two leaps bit each other tightly;
A storm rose at early dawn
He was alarmed, scared
Dirty water from the roof of the tall building
Drenched him, storm damaged his hut
And flew him away at a mill gate,
And entangled him with a wheel there,
The inborn work managed his luck,
Now he is a mill man like other men
Toiling whole day with a small break
In a risky environment,
Enjoying healthy diet is rare in nasty slum,
Happiness, sadness, solvency, poverty
Are unknown to him
He is indifferent or attentive is not perceived
He does not know how fun in life
No dear or fair one, he is all alone
No scope to find the meaning of life
In self sacrificing, obedient to owners' mind;
You, the owners and the employers
Are enjoying all the facilities
And neglecting them
For whom you are lucky today they are wretched,
Take the vows with mercy for them
To pay them properly in time,
Behave them well and feed them what you eat,
Ensure their rights and safety environment.
Whether Evolution or the Spoken Word,
From time immemorial, seasons revolve
And cosmetic changes take place.
The Creator in an awesome way,
Fashioned this universe of air, land and sea.
From season to season all creation knows,
When it's the right time for everything
under the sun.
We're certain that winter's not far off,
As we hear ferocious howling winds, shaking
Huge trees and massive structures so tall!
When we feel their cold freezing gusty blasts against
our faces.
Then look! Rain with sleet!
Upon the ground are white, sandy crusts
Of freezing, sometimes icy, slippery sleaze!
But soon, spring with its welcomed greenery
And flowering plants' itinerary all season;
Begins nature's call for all of life's expectations!
Beautiful scenery - floral accents, mountain ranges,
villages below.
During this particular season,
Nature's refreshed with continuous rain showers.
Come summer, a rainbow of colors seen everywhere!
God made all things for his glory and our pleasure,
enjoyment and fun.
Venturing out into this garden-like habitat, we behold
Meandering tree lined paths along the way in forested parks.
And, as we stroll into the early morning mist, we experience
His awesomeness in dew-dripping leaves, the aromatic scents
Of blossoms and nostalgic budding floral designs!
These greet us in a heavenly way.
Many like basking in this radiant summer's sun.
Sunscreen and skin care products in hand, we're enticed
to lay on our backs, sunglasses in place.
In this brilliant sunshine of luminous light,
Kids play gleefully flying funny-shaped kites.
Of all the seasons, many prefer this time of year.
Fall is truly its name, for cascading to the ground,
Are myriads of leaves scattering everywhere!
There lie mounds of leaves to rustle at one's feet;
No longer shimmering in shine glossy sheaves,
Are now yellowed, golden, browned and mushy.
At this point await the first frost and snow,
The cycle begins all over again
A little back story -
I DREAMED OF THIS YESTERDAY AND WOKE UP TO THIS MORNING. THIS IS A FRESH REAL LIFE DREAM
I had a dream
I wonder if I should call it a nightmore
My world's your parallel universe
In your world, you're a star
And you appeared to mine
Not a single clue known by you, that you're a star
and we hosted a show together in this small town;
You were tall, dark-browned curly haired, clothed to a white-stained dress, your face had a little charcoal painted in them like a child, your eyes seemed green, the darker pallette... and the toes? barefooted
I woke up to this dream
And I feel like something in me's imprinted
my friends from afar wondered
I remember your face when I asked you a query
"You're an actress, right? plus - you sing, dances, directs because your talent is beyond." I said loudly with fascination
She looked at me and wondered
looking like a person trying to hold up laughter
you have no idea
told "I'm not an actress" then smirked
At all sudden,
your nose bleed and your body feebled
Almost fainted - I lifted your heavy body
to a nearest clinic, only to find nothing and nobody
I panicked, sweated a lot
because I can see the pain in your eyes begging for mercy
Too bad I'm not a medic
I then decided to put you in an open sunny place
to get some sunlight
as I sat there and watched over you
there I magically saw your eyes shone,
your puny lips discovered reddish color
your pale skin appeared like a porcelain
you smiled widely with a teardrop on your left eye
and gave your gratitude
the nose stopped bleeding...
and suddenly,
my heart can't contain my curiosity, fascination and emotions,
I WOKE UP.
I have woken up from this dream
Kept wondering what could have been
And as I shall sleep, I tried to refrain myself from thinking about it this morning
I whispered to myself "I've never seen a soul a lot to unfold."
The water fluttered under the glass boiling in envy of itself
Marching to the sleek inner coating along the candid sphere like a band of drums ready for war
bubbling in heavy camaraderie the steam spoke a final thought and charged on into the night
"why cant I always bubble with such dignity"
Hot chili peppers are so cold to the unknowing, red suit and all buttoned up for the battle to come
Like a solider awaiting his shining moment on the front line
they make their mark by the way they stand so still,
Still like the nutcracker who comes to life only when awoke by the cheffly magician
Like a dream they are waiting for magic to awaken their slumber
As the night rumbles on under the black pot handle
great snowy mountain rests its head it never rests
And then as best it can hot water takes a stand to be noticed
And the cool touch of my mixing bowl greets me
a sprinkling of browned sugar today
A nose of cinnamon to the taste
clear glasses all in a row
tumblers are tumbling across the floor on my toe
My kitchen dances along the symphony's beat
A sugar plum masterpiece of squash, steam, and meat
And my fork waltzes to the tunes it plays like a string instrument to the waltzing flowers floating their way downstream
I spill the spaghetti onto my shoe and the squash laughs a little
I sing to the waters tune and the flowers smile a little
A little more into the water I boil my egg friend and rinse him good
I am interested in what you have to say to me tomorrow
Rambling on to myself I am slightly dripping with sparkle and glee
My ballet of baking completes its final scene
I am scored from the day and seek pillows therapy
Turning down the lights I fear for the moment in my mind when I remember all their might be missed in my kitchen symphony
And all that was, and is, and what might be
As the tile lay still, cold as fallen snowflakes in the night, I rest my head and dream
And I awake again when standing behind the red curtain
-Jess
2 cups of browned ground beef ( or 2 cups of lump crabmeat)
(or 2 cups of shrimp pureed)
1 cup of green onion
4 tablespoons of crushed garlic
1/2 cup of lime juice
1 tablespoon of horseradish ( no horseradish if using crabmeat)
1/4 cup of fresh chopped cilantro
3 tablespoons of cayenne pepper
3/4 cups of sun dried tomatoes
3/4 cups of sautéed green bell peppers
2 egg yolks
(in a food processer: blend until beef is chopped into a smooth paste)
add .......................................................
2 cups of cream cheese
1/3 cup of buttermilk cultures
1 cup of parmesan cheese
1 cup of small-diced (seeded, peeled) cucumber
1/3 feta cheese
mix together and make a creamy smooth paste
using a butter rich pie crust, make turnovers and bake until golden brown
dip for turnovers
1 cup of sour cream
1/4 cup of chopped dill
1/4 sassy ( a reduction of 1/3 cup of lime juice and 3 tablespoons of vodka. Cooked until about reduced to 1/4 cup)
2 tablespoons of onion powder
2 tablespoon of sesame seed oil
2 tablespoons of fish stock
2 tablespoons of browned crushed garlic( or caramelized garlic)
***(dehydrated garlic flakes soaked in the fish stock can be used as a substitute)***
pork tunovers
3 cups of shredded pork
( sautéed pork shredded in a food processer)
2 cups of cream cheese
1 cup of sautéed green onion and 1 cup of diced apples..at the end of sauté, add 2 tablespoons of ,olive oil 2 T of apple cider and 2 T of vodka, reduce until mixed with the olive oil you sautéed with..
mix with 5 tablespoons of crushed red peppers
1/4 cup of honey
1 cup of cucumber
1 cup of diced mushrooms (raw)
1/3 cup of bacon bits
1/4 cup of candied ginger roots sliced
4 T of chopped garlic
make turnovers.....
use same dipping sauce as above and enjoy!
serve with...
1/2 gallon of white grape juice
1 bottle of pink champagne
1 pint of conace
4 cups of orange juice