Long Firebrand Poems
Long Firebrand Poems. Below are the most popular long Firebrand by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Firebrand poems by poem length and keyword.
“the fate of winter moths”
sitting on the stoop, concrete sodden with
the chill of late winter. the air
acquires a coolness like your first breath
after confessional. the Christmas lights
illuminate the porch in a motley of whites
and oranges. the tangerine glow casting
warmth while the sun is taking his smoke
break. Two sounds permeate the crisp air
rising up to my ears like a swan through
inky lake water: the languid boughs
sighing in the wind, scraping their emaciated
limbs together in contemplation and the
fatal buzz of my neighbor’s bug zapper.
It stands watch like a plum King’s Guard,
never resting in his duty; an amethyst firebrand.
The absence of the mosquito’s persistent drone
is chilling, and its deafening vacancy amplifies the
cruel cut of the bug zapper.
In this quiet cacophony
I think that letting moths fall prey to an
undeserved, mauve, electric death is the cruelest
thing I’ve ever known.
I creep back up the
steps and cast a wary
look into my neighbor’s
grimey window and am
shocked to see them
sleeping peacefully.
Meir Kahane, a visionary, warned us all
Yet far too few heeded his call
Labeled a ‘firebrand’ by all the elites
His message understood by his enemies in the street
He told the West, calmly, what it didn’t want to hear
that Jew-haters' terror would soon have it quaking with fear
And Kahane warned Israel, to have a viable Jewish state
its Arab populace could not be allowed to spew terror and hate
But Israeli liberals said Kahane was ‘racist,’ exiled him to New York city
where a Jew-hater gunned him down in ‘90, a shame and a pity
For now most Israelis see that Kahane was right
terror unchecked has turned the world’s day into night
He is a kind soul and lends a helping hand
He is always my hero; He is everyone’s hero
He puts himself to good cause and is grand
He is a kind soul and lends a helping hand
He is quick to be there on the ground zero
He is a friend of all the children; a firebrand
He is a kind soul and lends a helping hand
He is always my hero; He is everyone’s hero
Superheroes love action and are always a winner
They inspire confidence in us and we feel secure
They are so generous; chance gets even a sinner
Superheroes love action and are always a winner
Superman, Batman, Spider-man, gather for dinner
Work out plans that let peace prevail and endure
Superheroes love action and are always a winner
They inspire confidence in us and we feel secure
Moral:
The moral of the story is that we be kind and brave
help the weak, the poor, the infirm and the naive
Date: 10.8.2014
Attorney General William
Barr black marker in hand
kept promise to censor vital
details of Mueller Report
swift as Usain Bolt candidly,
grandly, lustrously, roundly
youthfully blocked out more
rapid than an elegant eland
vibrantly, regally, magically,
and gracefully skirts borderland
which favored topography
constitutes grassland or woodland,
far more pleasing to observe,
than reading adulterated brand
of aforementioned compilation,
distillation, edification, fortification
zeroing questionable activity
upon head of trumpeting brigand,
whose arrivistic, bombastic, caustic,
demonic, electric broadband
outsize ego still convinces
me, thee commander in chief
delegated one or more chargehand
perhaps while delighting as
gourmand savoring chateaubriand,
where his best buddies imagined
themselves in seventh heaven cloudland
every so often taking siesta sans repast
or golfing with grisly handicapped clubhand
non verbally communicating,
in viz sub bully taking a peas zing
cues from presidential high command,
which coterie (i.e. den of thieves)
manipulated social media with nefarious,
insidious, deleterious, et cetera
analogous to "FAKE" contraband,
maybe even milking innocent cowhand
unwittingly planting GMO electronic
bugs amidst future bovine fodder cropland
to allow, enable, and jackknife demand
that moost every eligible voter tricked
induced by virtual reality dreamland
with sinister motive for thee "Apprentice"
rule his kingdom, and expand,
realm asper Medieval days
declaring himself chieftain of fatherland
and/ or North American motherland
where naysayers guillotined
by uncontested firebrand,
who without provocation
very likely bomb into Stone Age
formerly edenic, lush, verdant
geography into flatland
rendered hostile, poisonous and uninhabitable
nonetheless radiating for miles with gangland
forced labor tilling barren, desolate, fissured
landscape erecting unsightly grand
standing room only (cause he know Shylock)
terrain (reign) vast highland
manor as poobah, and husband
to his only heiress, the former
a kooky monster from foggy bottom marshland.
They call me “ FIREBRAND”
Everywhere I go there is a demand
I slay giants and creatures
I possess distinct features,
Golden hair as thick as a mane
Eyes that set fires causing my enemies great pain
I swirl in the wind, leaving my healing dust
I devour those who abuse other peoples trust
I leave my imprint in weeping willow tress
I pity the lions that try to deceive me
When I laugh musical notes stumble out of my lips
I have a leather strap, buckled tightly, around my hips
My sword rest soundly until it’s time to be used
I enjoy demolishing monsters that like to abuse
Smoke whirls into messages from beneath my feet
They know when I am coming, I make a noticeable beat.
By: Sabina Nicole
Hauteur brigand bound for gratuitous strand
Knows not he is country's chattel, enemy's contraband
As gallant marauders o'er ages spanned
His quest for glory fate will countermand
Gleeful lad starting out on quick, definitive errand
Becoming grizzled veteran in war that will opportunistically expand
Raw recruit ready to fight for: family, honor, land
Feted for trivial pursuits, political ends; on mission clandestined
Tailored uniform, coiffed hat, shiny ordinand
Destined to be sullied by the designs of ruthless marksman
In ritual parade of arms on regal, stately stand
Unaware of his wistful foe's unremitting hand
With loyal comrades bivouacked in tidy
band
Soon to be in raucous tumult marked with a beastly brand
Dutiful, diligent soldier always firing on demand
In the heat of battle, only self preservation will command
Pre-war sprawling tenements; deprivations can withstand
Later, in squalid camp morphing into looting, pillaging firebrand
Vital piece in war game carefully mapped, planned
Innocuous pawn anonymously falling in unmarked, lowland.
Oh for pity's sake put some clothes on,
the bracing air will steal your breath..
and I need you to stand and stay strong.
Cold comfort thrills from your chill touch
help me recall why I adore you so...
A chin of the ages rests on my shoulder in sweet affection,
two arms encircle my world in every direction.
Redtail hawk riding a thermal looks down..
what caught its gaze I wonder..
Will the day lend a hand through a pestering cloud,
or roll its eyes in thunder?
Such a fine firebrand you've stoked,
as I shave my face and call your bluff.,
Wishing the once would last forever..
though once was more than enough.
Nestled deep in the tawny, drab woodland
Sedate cottage neither haughty nor grand
Sparse hovel of unassuming, itinerant brigand
Martial decor of detached highwayman starkly bland
The etched path sculpted by intemperate hand
No manicured garden on the scrubby strand
Briers and brambles errant straggler must withstand
Thatched clapboards stable his stallion firebrand
Unruly swine garnish acorns from scraggly wasteland
Buried deep in his cellar pilfered contraband
Per chance drifter did the terrain assay
And chose that toilsome, forsaken way
A spartan welcome hauteur did convey
No lodgings, accoutrements could sway
If for grace, mercy they did pray
Only a cold shoulder he did relay
If they tested his temperance and sued for trite parley
He reconnoitered their belongings through wordplay
If no net value they were beguiled to betray
Their worthless lives he did indignantly slay
Rhymes -normally I love them-
But tonight they seem like sweet-tongued harlots.
Cheap.
Cliche.
Predictable.
More concerned with sounding right
than capturing the truth.
A poet would use them to empower his words,
but, instead, they rob him of his dignity,
chaining him down,
clipping his wings,
building walls around his baffled imagination.
Tonight, oh rhymes, I would chase you with a firebrand
as did my spiritual namesake.
You stir me with anger,
make me wish to grab a gladius,
leap into the trenches,
and cut away all pretenses until I free her-
the true love of all true poets:
Truth herself.
11-12 December 2023
Oh, my dear honorable poet!
Words recess when I write about you
For, they start loving you
You were a sincere lover,
when you wrote about love;
You were a lovable mother,
when you wrote about a child;
You were a faithful leaf,
when you wrote about trees;
You were the struggling last breath,
when you praised the air;
You were the righteous river,
when you sang about the falls;
You were the boundless sky,
when you sang for the birds;
you were the yearning bare land,
when you wrote about the rain;
You were the trustworthy soldier,
when you wrote about patriotism;
You were the jubilant mother nature,
when you wrote about nature;
You were the powerful priest,
when you praised the lord
Through your worthy words,
you gave life to the abandoned swaying rope;
Your notable notes,
persuaded songs to the singing koels;
Your incredible imageries,
granted countless ideas for the poets;
Your romantic rhythms,
enriched soulful meaning to the ragas;
Your powerful patriotic songs
obliterated the superfluous fears
and your proud personal life
taught us self-respect
Note: September 11 marks the death anniversary of India’s firebrand poet and a revolutionary thinker from Tamil Nadu, Subramania Bharati. In a relatively short life span of 39 years, Bharati left an indelible mark in India’s history as not only a Tamil poet but also as a national icon.