Long Brusque Poems
Long Brusque Poems. Below are the most popular long Brusque by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Brusque poems by poem length and keyword.
Queen in our eyes!
Goddess in our hearts.
Alleviated fears, shaped behaviors,
Built careers, educated a nation,
Sang hymnals through the moments slowly.
She learned to live and love,
Unperturbed by failure, unruffled by haste,
Rising in the midnight glory,
Unbounded by time, undimmed by hope.
She sang dirges in ceremonies,
Boxed by pain, razed with tears,
Called on God in heaven,
Pushed by problems unleashed by dreams.
To wipe our tears and mend our fails,
Charred by life’s harsh realities,
Unbroken by woes, strengthened in invocations,
Into our stubborn adolescent years,
Through hectic times and sickbed comforts.
I reminisce her brief scolding,
Refusing to go to school for no reason,
And all the exquisite wares I broke —
Can’t fathom the pain I caused her.
But she never gave up on me,
Not he, not her, not us.
Even those who laid upon her lap,
A neighborhood mum circumventing the hemisphere
With her selfless deeds.
Spreading euphoria here and there,
With little that she had, her love unrelenting,
For the ones she nurtured beneath her feet,
With a partner she adored since day one.
She smiles, and there is hope,
Of small beginnings and grand endings.
In her voice, comfort and peace,
I will forever be grateful for a mother like you.
So thank you for words uttered,
For actions and inactions,
For love unconditional,
Even in anger, even in pain.
Thank you for souls well nurtured,
The spanks so brusque, the food, the gifts,
Thank you for care unending,
May God bless you always.
Thank you for a life well lived;
In your footsteps we follow suit.
I walk along the streets as darkness falls
Bundled deep within layers
Of sweaters and scarves, hands deep within my pockets
Smiling as the frigid air caresses my face.
I breathe deeply, absorbing the scent of pine,
Brusque air and dried leaves
Mingled with the scent of logs
Burning, escaping into the night.
An owl in the distance hails the deepening dusk.
The wind blows off the last of summers survivors.
Turning up the collar of my weathered pea coat,
I find myself gazing into the face of a full harvest moon.
How I treasure these solitary walks.
The peace of a gentle evening deep into fall.
Crisp pine needles crunch beneath our feet,
My dog Blue and I out for our daily evening jaunt.
.
October blossomed in the nautical dusk
Where my sight felt a beauteous pearl less brusque
Bright blue eyes, lips of rose and curls so long
The deft soul of tulips had a scent so strong
I adored the sound of her breath of smoke
I revered the words of fine wine she spoke
Her heart echoed the stuffed bear at the porch
Her mind echoed the shrewd nun in the church
That weather eye made my brisk steps brush by
Now my thoughts’ a child aiming for the sky
This long-legged lady is no lover,
Yet she’s a faithful friend like no other
Nonetheless, am I worth her precious time,
Or is my friendship a cent or a dime?
The will of tender’s a gift from above
Is it a token of God’s endless love?
I hope these verses will embrace her ways.
She’ll fly away from the flaws of today
Whenever those tears fall, she’ll have this verse
To nourish that giggle which breaks her curse
I am a writer of a bull fighter
Yet I feel those eyes will become brighter.
Graceful sun brightening the day
Whispering shadows where it may
Growing green pastures for the hay
Coloring the heart with light they say
Soft amber moon vibrates through the night
Turning the shadowy earth hazy with delight
Beckoning to the animal’s intuitive insight
Filling the dark with stars that have no fright
The glow of the sun welcomes us with morning
Tantalizing joys clear the way for the adorning
Rays of warmth, clever and creative, warning
Without these joyous rays, we would be mourning
Touches of pale dreams falling through the dusk
Creating ochre waves of shadows that are brusque
Leaving behind the mellow wishes like a vivid husk
Murmuring to the heart whimsical feelings in musk
Falling through the trees, creating soothing shadows
The sun flickers to the earth like peaceful primrose
Designing impressions of beautiful silhouettes to expose
All that brings ecstasy to the spirit that seeks to impose
Melancholy hints of twilight glimmer across the plains
Hesitating only for the moment to see what it gains
Miracles unfold with the starlight twinkling feigns
Small joys smiling through the night, healing pains
Lights dancing through the blackest night sky
Playing with darkness and wondering just why
All that grasp their friendly radiance is never shy
Simply pray, thanking God with an appreciative sigh
The Sun and the Moon Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Chantelle Anne Cooke
May 28, 2020
The piano tuner
there used to be a greengrocer on the ground floor
except for potatoes, there was not much call for
another vegetable, the shop closed a piano tuner rented
the space and partly white-washed the windows
he didn't like to be seen by passers-by
I sat on the gate into our yard pretending to be a cowboy
when he asked me to help him in the shop, yes, I was glad
to help got boring being a cowboy
He sat me on a piano stool, opened up my fly, began
playing with my innocent , with his right hand he
wanked himself, I was too petrified in fear I didn't
run away; when he ejaculated, he dried himself with a hanky
in his pocket and, in a brusque manner, told me to leave
Outside, it took me a while to realize this man was a pig
but I was too ashamed to tell anyone and instead went
up to our flat opened a book by Robert Louis Stevenson
and began reading about islands and bright light
Occasionally I dream.
Black ominous spots as my eyes close.
A dream I never remember,
A dream I don't want to remember.
For when I do I cringe with fear,
Sit in a corner of my darkened room,
Trying unsuccessfully to forget.
Fitful recurring dream,
That leaves the palate dry,
Devoid of savored zest,
Flat as unleavened bread.
Murky shadows in a dark room,
Swirling, gasping, mutely roaring,
Ugly, brusque, dyspeptic, and morose.
It gyrates meaninglessly in the void,
A menacing, unpleasant stench
That eventually dissolves into nothingness.
A dream orchestrated to confuse,
Meant to gradually unhinge the mind.
So fatigued, I sleep and dream.
The rest I am awake to face
The terrors of the night.
Surrounded by four impenetrable walls.
Louis Watson loved well made, toy ships, and had a fine collection,
Since father was a sailor himself. Like aged wind's novel directions.
Louis loved sailing toy ships on Crystal Pond, like gaiety filled youth.
He'd pretend they sailed on open seas, laden with candies and fruit!
His family lived on the edge of town, beneath pink-beige starlight,
Looming as evening warblers began singing, to scarlet Mars' delight.
Louis had fun with best friend, Fred. They had boat races, ofttimes.
Ships flew to the pond's far side and back, overseen by green pines.
Rain's tinkling footsteps had faded, into gold sunset's famed flames;
When family, of heart's familiarity came, like blossoms uncontained!
Louis lived in the house of endless motion, like eternal, teal waves,
Full of plans, murmurs, creeping and dashes, in butterscotch days.
Scandalous thunder left scarlet skies appalled, amidst fragrant dusk;
Over their street of songbird sonatas, and of lemon breezes, brusque.
Nights nuanced by northern lights, had neighbors arriving for visits;
Bypassing bittersweet nightshade, or scents riding gusts, like spirits!
'Silver vases' held their own flowers. The thirsty poured 'snake gourds.'
'Elephant apples' fed large appetites, as 'cannonball' blooms, warred.
'Zinderella' lilac got dressed for the ball, but 'Billy Button' was ready;
When 'starflowers lit up nights, and 'voyage champange,' felt heady.
Louis dreamt of owning a unique ship, for his birthday was coming;
Like colorful birds dream of nectar, when they are sweetly humming.
As his birthday dawned, pink and golden, his hopes were surpassed,
When he saw his dream ship, and its rhyme written by Father, at last!
Father had entered a toy shop, after seeing a rare ship in a faux pond;
And soon bought that pretty ship, like many marvels, du vaste monde!
I saw a ship a-sailing,
A-sailing on the sea.
And, oh, but it was laden
With pretty things for thee!
There were comfits in the cabin,
And apples in the hold,
The sails were made of silk,
And the masts were all of gold.
The four-and-twenty sailors,
That stood between the decks,
Were four-and-twenty white mice,
With chains about their necks.
The captain was a duck,
With a packet on his back,
And when the ship began to move,
The captain said, "Quack! Quack!"
"September, beautiful month of my birth, is nigh, but I cannot feel glad."
September, drifting in with glow of moon,
you stifle Summer’s ardor. . . and she grieves.
In guise of fire, the Fall comes all too soon.
Your breath grows cool. You’ll blow and loosen leaves.
The hills and woodlands will reflect new hues.
You stifle Summer’s ardor. . . and she grieves.
In Autumn’s chill, the colors are a ruse!
You're passing on, and trees are set ablaze.
The hills and woodlands then reflect new hues.
Though warmth may linger through your final days,
old Sun is waning, yet he still seems strong!
You're passing on, and trees are set ablaze.
September, you’re a melancholy song.
Though time be short, you paint a brilliant dusk!
Old sun is waning, yet he still seems strong.
October looms. . . Your ending will be brusque.
September, drifting in with glow of moon,
though time be short, you paint a brilliant dusk.
In guise of fire, the Fall comes all too soon.
8/29/11
for the '2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 7' Poetry Contest of Mark Toney
Mind beyond bits the mandate blur,
Adjust sad gaze on faces blank;
Dead meat now fits that weary slur.
Grief flavours craze in broken ranks,
Aware too late of beastly charm;
Meet then the stakes where sharp cracks cut,
Echoes fling date as fate alarms.
Oblige odd make where foibles jut,
Frame discord here in violent clash.
Trouble marks well the grim groundswell,
Hurl language clear in lies that slash;
Rush brittle spell in taunting tell,
One by one see the hurting end;
Niche of harsh fire with pungent plans
Escape in spree of caustic blend;
Stack straight brusque pyre in fatal spend.
Leon Enriquez
09 November 2016
Singapore
SANTA IN CHRISTMAS GLOBE
Scarlet dress, stressed face, Santa stuck in Christmas globe.
Red robe hanging loose
Diffused confused looks.
His yearly global visit is already scheduled,
Christmas celebration ahead.
Afraid! How to be out?
Stout Santa though old, getting anxious for the delay.
Sleigh to be pulled, Reindeer ready, becoming brusque.
Jingle bells in queue nm about to ring,
Spangles and stars to sparkle on Christmas Tree.
Bundle of candles to kindle and carol to be sung by all.
Christmas cake in oven to bake
Reckless populace in festive mood.
Should it be nice to confine Santa more,
making him morose!
Mere statue inside globe.
Santa is venturing adventure with lots of gift.
Don’t worry. Be Merry.
Santa Claus with us: Happy Christmas.
Third Place
'Stuck in A Christmas Globe' Contest by Bobby May.