Long Brownie Poems
Long Brownie Poems. Below are the most popular long Brownie by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Brownie poems by poem length and keyword.
Roommate is on my plate
Dropping herself into my grits
Little flecks of warm porridge splash into my eyes
It is one of Trixie’s assistant muses
She has a killer smile and rainbow hair
Hi she greets me with telepathy
Lump of eggs rises
I see two glowing green eyes
Getting higher and taller.
Fascinated I smile
Wondering what will happen next
Grape jelly jar falls over with a clink next to plate.
“She is comin!” A tiny red brownie driving gem encrusted chariot hisses.
Rainbow muse and mini-dragon jump aboard the chariot
Trixie my main muse is riding black puma with stars chasing them now
Her head turns toward me. She glares and sticks out her tongue.
The perils of having a hopped up overly territorial muse
I cringe wondering what diabolical fate will next befall me.
I saw blue memoirs fell from momma's eyes, as she looked into my brown retinas. Swiftly she removed my medicated glasses, a dominant gene I carved out from papa's bottled eyes. "Oh! sorry D!," She whispered! "Its just a matter of time new sores become old sores and grow to mature into scars" she cried as she looked into my eyes. Eventide dawned upon us like golden mist as I was flown into the nurses moonlit; in a bird with twinkling red optical, double paired rubber legs, iron facials. The nurses at stand dished us mother care attention. Ice dangled in her eyes. Momma is smiling joy painfully at me. As I stole
a look at her brown embattled face, I pictured her retinas glued to drenches. The ice now fell from her eyes. With my octopus years, my feet has trod this egg shaped earth.
And the world seemed to pass so swiftly on me like a shutter's speed. I could see the skyline walking on the tightropes of my memories, like flashbacks in a cinema film, laying on
this medic bed. My belly could only be facing down while my electrified toasted back kissed the wind escaping in through the casement.---yak!!!!
And the only mirror I could have afforded to reflect my per boiled back is my momma's pair of brown camera eyes, but here they are ice dank. I thought. It could be fun and warmly, laying on the pressing iron, left on the bed in our unisex room, after long being used by aunt Lydia. I couldn't tell its degrees with my brownie eyes. But my steamed back did, so it kissed it metal surface---and here we are, " In a toast of roastful love,' underneath nurses moonlit with
my mauve skin.
And the needles! o no! I hated needles. Two prickles a day!, yahhhk! my bum bum like Evans rickety bike. I heard Evans my best pal crying along in the neighborhood, while I was being rushed into the medic bird. With his grey coloured panties, hung on his waist like tarzan.
He did be jerking bitterly. I and Evans jolly good mates had known each other since the neighborhood old. His curly dark hair, and owl eyes tells you he is indian...
An excerpt from my book " momma's camera eyes"
29/4/2022
I feel numb beneath this skin…
This skin from deep within…
I’m thin and then…
I’m fat with loath again…
Greed I feed on
Envy and so on…
I’m a shining sun…
A dusked dawn…
I don’t feel pity
I know I look shitty
I might look funny…
Expressions lost due to exposure of shame and calamity
Let the crowd feed the fire
I silently scream aloud in my desire
In the recesses of my brain,
I see you catch the I-Don’t-Care train
Fine, just leave…
I’ll sit here and grieve
But, I will man up to what I believe –
You will reap what you sow
God’s wisdom was hard to receive,
But, I’m not hard of hearing
I find His word endearing
To my eager ears…
That want to hear more…
When more was nothing more than a whisper away
It’s like the night, taking a bow to yesterday
What was I waiting for?
Impatience had been in my blood for so long
Patience was like re-learning a song
From childhood…
But, I’m good…
Maybe a tad misunderstood…
But I’m a good blood…a stick in the mud or a splinter on a wood
Let the trees and the breeze entwine in my ears of tears and fears
Let them feed on what’s left of me
Like a hippo in the water, swimming in the lake of Lonely
Greek and Roman mythology ate me up like a brownie in the hand of a child
Reborn and born in this moral world…
Immortal in the Holy Spirit…
Truly, sincerely, and in all kindliness…
I’m still reduced to this belittling distress
This morning
So cold , I feel I don't
want a wash O gush! from
my oxblood painted balcony
I stood and heard three red cocks
trumpeting like she come with a luggage
of ice? Yeeh! I could fill my skin fuming cold
as my palm's degrees lower i guess to 20°c like
rickety, bicycle I creak screeching I will wait, put the
sunlit my brownie icy skin to bath it golden in noon flakes, when
ice is gone to roast
In the kitchen, felt the smiles of
my pot, but it caresses my palms frozen
It slept so frozen wake, my metals seem burning in
It cold lit. waded downstairs, blaze my retinas the almond
tree, seated to the eastern earth blooming ray flashes of greens,
as the rains
let down from the
heavens. prodigally it
bathed the earth. between
the greens swam a brownie nightingale
flapping its fluffy wings as the wet tasted of
her dry skin she complained and fought so hard to
flap away it icy fangs, cos in between sat her lonely Nest,
Sheltering her nestlings to frozen by the morning icy fist. I prayed
she feeds On other mornings for survival, from this icy baked day, as
I watched the sky runs swiftly in the pace of a brownie spotted Deer scurry
leaving this frozen morning, the dank street, her nestlings and me Behind.
Only three of us now who knew
both sets of our grandparents.
The three of us, 96, 94 and 88,
how much time have we left?
There are sepia photos from the
old, first Brownie cameras, a few
portraits of some from a bit later,
all still, silent, as they were not in life.
Being the oldest, I recall two great-
grandmothers, albeit vaguely,
one only in a darkened bedroom,
the other short, chubby, with the
horn she put to her ear to listen.
My mother’s father, Grandpa Jones,
studied his Bible lessons every day, but
he died when Dan and I were little.
Who but we three now remember the
stern but kindly mother of my dad?
Grandma Pope had endless patience
teaching my small hands to make jam,
can tomatoes, make pie crust and bread.
She had an infectious laugh which sent
tears rolling down her cheeks.
She let me go alone to
the bakery to buy penny rolls.
Grandpa Pope first showed me a keyboard
and named the keys. An accomplished
pianist and organist, who had worked
for Chickering Pianos, he didn’t play
often any more, as he had toughened his hands
in the factory where he worked during
the Depression, but when he played
everyone was completely entranced.
My mother’s mother, Grandma Jones,
was Boston proper, a wonderful seamstress
and seemingly stern, but very loving.
I often would crawl into her bed at night.
When I had mumps she made me hot chocolate.
She would be sure I had hat and gloves
and take me to lunch at Jordan Marsh.
We did endless puzzles in her sitting room.
So much more to these people than
ever can be seen in a photograph.
Even this poem only scratches the surface.
The love, quirks, personalities are missing.
I suppose, some day, my descendants
will look at pictures of Doug and me
and wonder what kind of people WE were
and what WE really were like.
Disarray? Me? My house? My family?
Thank you! Yes, we certainly have earned the title, the crown and the sash.
You apparently were let in by one of the carpet chewers?
The watch dog is pretty much a come-in-and-open-the-frig-dog
Furious barking ceases the second a stranger, robber, or lunatic enters the premises.
Disarray? My writing? My painting? My leatherwork?
Thank you! Did you look under the couch too while you were incessantly snooping?
You would have found varmints, toys, a hot glue gun, pot holder, and last year’s Christmas brownie.
Oh, you did not get that far?
Disarray? You have not seen anything.
Let me show you the attic, the basement, the shed, the garage, and my mind.
That is where the real disarray happens.
Insanity runs in my family,
I am proud to admit. Not everyone
can claim this but it would be futile for
us to deny it. The man with the axe?
Grandpa Zeke. He wants the refrigerator
opened too. He and the watch dog are watching
your every move now.
Choose wisely.
Title: Disarray
Written: 11-21-2019
Sponsor: Nina Parmenter
This is a story, I'm not fond to recall
One decade ago, when my daughter was small
She was too young for Girl Scouts,..so instead, joined a troop
Of young "Brownie" fledglings...there were ten in her group
They needed a leader, ...so I stepped up in command !
Like a proud mother soldier, I would lend them a hand !!
They would come to our house, and we'd do arts and crafts
I'd serve milk and cookies, as each afternoon passed...
Part of my plan, so they'd be fit and strong...
Was to learn about nature...but things went sooo wrong!!
We had gone for a hike...to wander the woods...
Finding interesting leaves, and whatever we could..
They ran a few races. We played hide-and-seek
A few roasted hot dogs, near the rush of a creek
By late afternoon,....we called it a day
I gathered the girls....and to my terrible dismay!!.....
The girls had been hiding, in red poison oak!!
What a dummy I was......and that is NO JOKE !!
When I took the girls home....expecting insults....
The parents were kind. But here are results.....
From ten little girls....there were rashes on nine...
We emptied the drug stores of all Calomine!!!
Because of that day, I lost my good name....
But I did earn a badge, in the new hall of shame
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------My Most Embarrassing Moment Contest
Sponsored by Cindi Rockwell
They told me I was pretty for a black girl
But if that is the case
You want me to interpret that as being special
That out of every black girl
Im the exception
To your pre conceived perception
To how you view a black woman
The only way to take it
Is as an insult
Black women are beautiful
But your attitude isn't
And when you say I'm different
That's not a compliment
All it does is make me view you as the scum of the earth
I am not your curiosity
Your new flavour of the month
We are not toys
We won't play into your weird fetishism
We are human beings
Not dolls you can unclothe
Brownie points will not be given
By belittling other black women
Your curiosity will not be cured
We will not be your experiment
We know our worth
And we know what we deserve
We are not desperate enough
To the point where we allow you to be cruel to another black girl
We support each other
And we won't fight for your unwelcomed affection
You think because we are hated
By a majority of the world
That we would be insecure enough
To accept your empty gestures
Buy why would we be insecure
When the people who claim to hate and think that we are uglier
Seem to be obsessed with our culture
The ones who buy their looks to replicate us
The ones who wear the skin they claim to hate as a costume
So yeah we are the most hated
But our looks seem to be your favourite thing to wear
Pan’s Pip was fluttering close to the rose.
We saw her tiptoe on it, then twirling her toes.
She’s a ballerina said the hedgehog, totally smitten.
“I don’t agree,” said the brownie crawling out of a mitten.
Where did that come from? Asked a light damselfly.
Not sure, the brownie said, but it will make you cry.
There are dreams in there that will keep you up all night.
With your eyes all googly, full of terrified fright.
I wish you would find a new place to sleep, his cousin said.
That mitten has dreams that have messed up your head.
Pan’s Pip heard and came by to give an adjustment to the bed.
Great dreams came now, fed into the mitten’s yard head.
The sun burned so bright
This morning, it was merely exposing
Its beauty
The clouds drifted away like white, puffy balloons
This afternoon, it was coming back together
Unveiling its extraordinary grace
Suddenly, the clouds turn black…
…
It was growing black as night
And it made me ponder:
Is change important?
And I shudder…
The rain showers might
This twilight, it was truly enthralling
To simply…
Glance at it and its sparkling delight burns on
Seeing this in person
Is like earning a brownie or a sugar cookie!
This evening, it was arriving faster than
A cool cheetah running
Super fast in gracious fields…
Of golden grain and grass
…
It was glowing white as light
And it made me jump!
Is everything alright?
And I melt like butter
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