Long Brutes Poems

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


Claim the Skies Back

Claim the Skies Back
Eastern Alleppo, weighed down like a ghetto
Destroyed like Navaho 
By the unfathomably destructive deeds
of a single generation
Distorted venerations based on misinterpretations
Perpetuate these continuingly heinous altercations
Contriving unjustifiable infiltrations
Forcing unnecessary segregations of nation upon nation
While so many of us sit stationed for the crossing
Watching only through the Looking Glass
Preferring to allow farce to form the basis 
Of this invonceivable truth
Providing it suits the brutes with enough power
To silence anyone who refutes them
Intrusive sights hover, 
Among infusions of inimitable horror,
As though love itself had lost it’s lover
Trialled by the error 
Of these broken Universal Laws
Like festering sores that take the form
Of an infection that can only be born by war
And yet we continue to ignore them
The grand in their grandiose dellusions,
Growing madder, climbing their ladders of greed and corruption
Laughing at Luncheons
While the artillery breaks the bones of the innocent in the background
A perilous sound is emerging from the earth
A merciless grumbling from the depths, 
Like a curse
That we have placed upon ourselves
The Iron-clad shelves of humanity are beginning to crumble
Rare and perfect life-forms are dying in the jungles
While the forests and the mountains weep pristine tears
Collective existence now quivers in monumental fear
The sound of this harrowing show
Is a continuous unsyncopated stroke
Of the lowest of all possible notes
Upon the bow of a weeping cello
Gallilleo would bellow,
Crying for the folley and the futile misfortunes of man
As we stand now as a race
With pitchforks in our hands
Form: Rhyme


Personal Vicissitudes Pronounced Irrepressible Self Loathing Part Ii

Invisible to the naked eye
traumatization (courtesy
chastising and reproaching -
by fellow classmates
and later in life
birth parents and inlaws 
dealt hefty figurative jab)
tremendously impacted yours truly
analogous to him moving bajillion miles away
compounded by his withdrawn demeanor

diagnosed when he reached middle adulthood
as schizoid personality disorder,
thus exhibiting obvious developmental delay
bullied courtesy nasty brutes,
who scapegoated and rejoiced
with hip hip hurray,
meanwhile I experienced
terrible psychological melee
escaping to safe confines of bedroom,
where I wanted to stay
for mine remaining years of life.

Retrospective review
now approaching my doddering old age
constituted more'n one cruel (cheap) trick
played on super tramping urchin,
who traipes across virtual global stage
ensnared within whorled webbed wide 
spending his hard earned itty bitty wage
spinning one strand after another.

Behind the Sole

Days ago, in the realm of sleep
I stepped into another man's shoes.
When I walked out of them,
from the dream I woke weeping.

These shoes were on the feet
of a black youth of sixteen years.
I saw through his eyes,
and Jim Crow still ruled the day.

I saw color through his eyes,
not the black and white of the screens.
I saw a restaurant filled with laughter,
a family of smiles and of love.

I saw a boy with not much schooling,
trying to learn how to write a sign.
I saw the mood shift through his eyes,
when brutes walked in with hate in theirs.

I saw, through his eyes now tearing,
black and white - yelling and screaming.
I saw the struggle to keep writing,
as slurs fell like the blows that followed.

I saw not what his hands were weaving,
while focused on pale beasts posing as men.
Not 'til he shakingly held up his work,
and I saw his eyes land on his words.

"Those men won't let me speak,
because my words might heal."

I stepped into another man's shoes
days ago, in the realm of sleep.
I know not the cobbler, nor the sender,
but from the message I woke weeping.

A Nation's Threat

Tis' but a scratch.
Oceans and lands may separate us
But who do you think will fear you?
Not us!
United shall we stand to crush you.
Just because you are bigger and got oceans
Doesn't mean we can't do anything.
Our comrades death doesn't mean our loss,
If something has happened,then that's your loss!
Because we have learned,
The ways of the checkers.
If the mother doesn't want us to set foot on her,
Then we will swarm the skies,tear the breathes!
You may have gotten the protection of the mother's tears,the ocean,the common birthplace of us, the fools.
Then we will the lurk in the darkness,and tear the waves to puncture your veins!
You may have gotten the cannons,to surpass us,
And that's the problem.
The beauty of these are quite something to behold.
Forged from the hands of the masters, their barrels are their power,clever they are to ambush us from the darkness,
Not like us brutes who charge mindlessly.
As much as it pains my heart,
To attack these wonders,
But that's a sacrifice I'm willing to make for the so called greater good.
As much as I respect you,
Life's a maze,and i have to unpreparly meet you from the unpredictable gasp of destiny.
To hurt you,that is.
I like dogs 
And you prefer cats on top,
Either way,they are the God's perfect creation to unite us.
So, let's go to pet them,
Once this is over for ever.

Common Thread Second Strand Za

Skull and Crossbones alumni) 
passed along ancestral line when 
cock sure rooster spent 
     however long with a hen
     guaranteed supply grunt workers     
oxymorons helpless to get even.
“Bosses” male ordure 
     trained as prospective 

     male pecking wives, 
     who with Robbie 
     didst rig the game to win 
endemic nepotism deeply entwined 
     from one to the next kith and/or kin,
rode shotgun, viz nemesis 
     resorting to: “silent treatment”
against protesting lumpenproletariat 

     boot gnome hatch 
     against hardy thrive 
     off crene della creme limn
back before thyme 
     bred from for
     gotten slight, min
us school Kudzu, gone
 
     now and agin 
gastronomically ferociously carniverous 
     selected and enveloped 
     postal stamping brutes 
     rampant suffocating nin
come poops figurative 
     thorn in side of aristocracy 
     heavy-duty industrial strength
 
     pesky original pin 
sir blithely festered, 
     nursed, and stewed 
     from unforgotten 
     perceived or actual slight
engendering infinite yawning voids 
     defying aid of Patch Adams 
     or Doctor Quinn.


Seasonal Gifts That Give Me Pleasure

In Winter it's a new laid blanket of snow--
pristine, immaculate, innocent...holy.

Spring brings a softer air, at once
both fecund and perfumed, and
wildflowers leap into life, and trees
are reborn in gradients of green,
and life is temperate, gentle, fragile,
caught dangling between two brutes.

Summer feeds me: passion-hued 
strawberries, fat blueberries, corn-
on-the-cob fit for kings and queens,
while fireflies dance and crickets sing
for our secret and quiet pleasure.

Now Autumn is different-- a season
to glory death and singe our unseen
immortal parts awake. The trees shed
their technicolor tears to lay a carpet
of sadness: by far the bravest season.

Hypocrisy and Mankind

*HYPOCRISY AND  MANKIND*

There are few things I struggle to understand 
Many they are if placed on the stand 
Maybe not as many as beach sands 
But trust me just as many as it sounds 
If fused together can be in bands
Maybe by simply holding hands 
The mystery isn't just on this land 
Same outcry heard across the foreign lands

Want to know what defines truth
Without having to taste brutes 
Still asking what measures trusts 
Without thrusting things down the throats 
How honest is our honesty 
Without having a face stung by hornets 
What really makes us happy
Beyond  parties where the outfits appear classy 

All these I've seen broken 
And all expressed in words unspoken 
The assumed Happy are downtrodden 
Seeking happiness, a special desire from them stolen
Betrayals displayed in the open
For the wife  that let down her underwear  for a token 
To him that broke his vow for meat stolen 
All with dying conscience  left frozen 

If we choose to leave the shackles and spread our wings to fly
The society stares at us and tells us to harder try
Even when left with too much to fry 
Still bottled up, knowing only the weak should cry
These we will do till forever, and our inner joy is left to die and dry.


*FM CONCEPTUAL  write ??*

Here's Another One For the Lyricman

Life As A Highway Robber

Escape from captivity pulled off
     when I came of age
boyhood begrudged,
     and bested by brigandage,

but willpower sans declaration
     of independence begot bravery
     against British brutes
     bridging caper (involving collusion)

     to bust loose from cage,
and trappings forcibly to plunder artworks
     and sculpted treasures
     by classical masters

     without causing damage
taught by professional thieves
     requiring minimal equipage
whereat over time footage

sordid memory constantly replayed
     plunder and pillage unwittingly
     fostering getaway 
     from hell raising  gambits

     planting seed to gauge
optimal instance
     to feign criminal shenanigans
running rampant with militant spunky gangs

     "FAKING" das spies zing
     trumpeting hostage killing
and taking, nonetheless
     swallowing bitter pill

     reeking havoc as honorable image
in order to survive
     within world wide
web of criminals (especially

     an unwelcome foreigner),
     where skills as buccaneer
     really put to test, and tried
maximum lawlessness partaken

     in (dolled up) guise suppressing shied
pitifull looking indigent vagabond
     self away by donning
     "FAKE" whippersnapper
     benefiting getting to sally and ride
always exuding patriotic pride

pleasing ghosts of founding fathers
against their autonomy from
     crown weathering woe be chide
recrimination impossible

     to enforce as bride
of Lady Liberty opened arms for those,
     who made dangerous journey
across avast ocean

     only to confront (whodunit) thuggery
this lifestyle raping, looting,
     and burning WITHOUT choice,
     but guilt aye didst abide.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Retrospective many generations since
     marking birth of a nation
(The United States of America),
     now mecca, sans land of milk and honey
     current president imposed antithetical ration!

Process stages and acheivments

I will have to pay if I stay here another hour my lady. He told her whilest he waited for her to tip him . She told hinm the Inn keeper wished to have he and his brother stay as guest might they help bring wood in in the morning. Yes that would be fine he said but what of the exspence of supper dessert and breakfast, he if willing to pay for you to chore, labor for profit mind you he said. Thank you for the arangment. I must thank God and you that we are protected this night from the wilds of the elements and the Brutes who would take advantage of two lonely drifter in the rain. Yes as a woman I do understand, my freind has arrived and I am so glad to see exuse me sir. Yes my Lady. She is as lovely as an onion: and as freindly as a net of honey bee's. I can see she want someone to take her lugage to her room: I will do so kindly for a tip. Oh Doosty, yes my lady he creid to her knowing what she wanted before she had asked. He walked to them with is soaked hat in hand. My luggage please kind sir, she said yes my lady. He bentover to grab the bags and was met with a slp to the ass, "stout are we with a nice ass she said laughing, The tip is for the berry mind you she said laughing the laughed the whole way up the stairs. Her freind paid the tip in the room, a find and healty tip too I might add. She told him if he washed up later on she give him a ball bouncing time in the night if he wished to Rumpy Bumpy. I thought you and she were you know, we are you smirker Clam, you and your brother can can come up here and partner up with me and this Ole agal, they started laughing. Woopie and a roll in the hay. The tip should have told you I really like you, gone and rag that thing clean: i wanna love you later. I like em stout honey! She said. Ostinato the viloen shall play as we kiss and hold one another close. I can't wait my lady, I can't wait! He said. She told him romance is passing a couple pints around and getting hiccied up and when the gas runs out the lanterns are off!
Form: Ballad

Premium Member Unworthy Democracy

We all know 
many innocent people 
They have lost their life's
in that of war crimes 

Those that have been committed 
an act by the nations who claim it justice 
To bare a false flag of peace
The demon of pride is in you 

Accusations without world evidence 
to support such actions 
terrorists exist their great hoax

Fabricating stories 
that since
have been found out to be false
still bombing and killing 
The majority of casualties civilians 
shame and disgrace on you

They should be brought to justice 
facing victims families 
judged by their own poor standards 
only fair

In a just world 
it's people holds the power 
horrid brutes kill unarmed families 
facts speak for themselves 
there is no concern for humanity 
unjustified such evil deeds done

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