Short Bruce Poems
Short Bruce Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Bruce by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Bruce by length and keyword.
Bruce Willis the actor
Always plays a character
Who makes the world less dangerous
In an average of two hours or less.
Michael Bruce was poet so free
dying too soon with TB
Best known for ' Ode to the Cuckoo'
perhaps 'Lochleven' the best in view
Poet& hymnist Michael Bruce
whose verse was rarely obtuse
In many ways a 'Keats in padallel'
dying too yoing of consumption a well
Bruce was a hard taskmaster
Who ordered his staff to work faster
The faster they went
Bruce would not relent
Causing a major disaster
What reality has done to Bruce Jenner,
once on top, an Olympic gold winner.
Although he still has his gold,
he’s now on the bottom doing as told!
There once was a man named Bruce Jender.
Decided that he'd change his gender.
He grew out his hair.
And then he used nair.
She's tired of being a pretender.
There was an old lady from Shallot
T'was good with a driver and mallot
She worked with a hammer
She spoke with a stammer
That old she's a HE from from shallot!
lenny
lenny
would
would
have
died
sooner
than
than
dig
dig
he
did
if
if
he
played
played
played it by
these these these
rules
of
today
yesterday
hoping
he
did
that
that that that
we
could
see
we
could
hear
the
un
un
fet
terd
word
*The goose of Bruce is finally cooked, for the cook got a look
at the fool that snuck up from behind *to goose the beautiful cook.
*For non-native English speakers:
If your goose is cooked it means you are in trouble.
To goose someone is to pinch his or her butt!
There was a fellow named Bruce
Who always had an excuse
When his wife caught him cheating
She gave him a beating
And threw him out on his caboose
So he went to his mistress
in desperation and distress
But he got under her skin
as his excuses grew thin
So she threw him out, she wasn't impressed
his nose was distracting
but so was mine
i listened to it ; in the car on the way
there
the bass was in my brain
what if he'd never heard it?
the questions kept coming
questions about
stuff
thinking about the book of judges
i saw paintings
i followed him home
hid beneath the window pane
but heard nothing
i didn't get the job
I am waiting
For the colonists’ offspring
To see.
See what’s already there.
Been there decades,
hundreds and thousands of years.
Brewarrina. Birrngi-Bream.
Condah. Tuupuurn-Galaxis.
Bolac. Smoked eels.
Curly Mitchell Grass.
Nodding Greenhoods.
Yam Daisy-Murnong.
Budj Bim.
World Heritage.
Right here!
Dark Emu.
Read it.
Grasp the future.
Don’t wait.
Act.
Thrive.
Beneath this green sod, lies
my Cousin Bruce.
It's true, his mother called him
'Silly Goose.'
Oh, that Nordic DNA, those
gorgeous blue eyes, and sense
of humor.
A skier and a Porsche race car
driver, he grew up to be.
Always filled with humor and
a genuine love for humanity.
Leukemia took his life at forty.
He serves God now, in grateful
and glowing, angelic glory.
July 10, 2019
11: 20am PST
How can I say
the truth, no way!
Suffering and smiling,
Mentality is what i milling
and the help hand heralds rumor
Let someone ask me why i murmur
Ben Bruce tell me this, is it hypocrisy?
Why not tell the house this is not democracy.
Why donate you this prank, this peg for a plate,
Why can’t it be upon a time in this our slave slate?
They say Harry d’Bull is a God’s good man, let him
know that it is still dusk is still dark, dusty and more dim
Form:
Of John Bruce, the poet, and Grayson Perry's exhibition, 'The Vanity of Small Differences'...
Outside looking in
From John’s pocket moths appear
As violins weep
Beggars from the pavement see
Art through a glass darkly
Grayson’s woven tales
Of social mobility
Inaccessible
Myths of the tapestries lost
To legend and irony
Illicit colours
Seep through windows to the street
Teasing, beautiful
Sweet tale of the poet’s life
John Bruce; tantalised by light
by Gail