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Best Poems Written by Brian Bronson

Below are the all-time best Brian Bronson poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Brian Bronson Poem

Lust

Words will sour
in your lust
for power,
it is these
deeds
that come.

Prayer is lush,
it makes
one cower
but pure
is the cure
that scours.

I fend off
these baleful insults
which tumult
through my brave
innocence.


The flower 
of the flesh 
is stretched
into power.


I oft come
here
and smell
the daisies
by the lake,
where bones so
fresh
waste away
in your wake.

Details | Brian Bronson Poem

The Beasts

Trammel through the halls
with war on your mind.
The army must forestall
the enemy in the night.

Fever grips the wizard
as hallow comes the ball.
Ladies dance, and boys now prance
up and down the hall.

We see them in the balcony
configuring a call.
When last he heard the symphony
he trembled by the wall.

What have you taken now
inside the crystal stairs?
The men will come, and beasts will plow
without a warning there.

You howl into the night
like a wolf without a call.
The next day you have left the site,
to think now how it galls.

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Courage

Into the core
they bring the sword
with fire and fury
and baleful words.

The causeway,
it is left in sway
to others who
won’t find a way.

I tell you
I have words to say
that bring death
a thousand ways.

Incorporeal
we never feel
and sunder to
the dire wheel.

When all is lost
we never feel
that courage
we can never steal.

Details | Brian Bronson Poem

A Kiss Is Wet

A Kiss
is wet
and
wonderful
in the sober
night
of witches
and 
lovers
divine.

If I find
more
in
the lever
that you
hold,
will you come
to me
with
love to behold?

I wonder.
I am aimless.
Let the true
whisper of love
reign over
all.

Details | Brian Bronson Poem

The Fall of Gondolin

Here now told the cry within.
The elven city of Gondolin.
Inside the gate the enemy got in,
whispering of deadly sin.

What horrors in the black of night
that they could not dispel.
The people rang the temple bell
when out came orcs—the gates of hell.

Why do we tell our children lies
about their ancient elven kin?
When night was black the city fell
And orcs then raised a raucous din.

Some time we’ll see the future lights
and our people will gather nigh,
then build a city that won’t fall
like Gondolin’s forgotten halls.

Details | Brian Bronson Poem

The Blue River

The blue river
sits in
time
and recollects
the founding
of existence.
In palatial 
stars 
the majesty
of knowing
rips through the
sundry,
pale dawn.

You come to
me
at once,
laconic
and disconsolate.
The fever purrs 
like 
a wry machine
in
the
cavern of your
birthing.

I am never
surprised
at what I
see,
your naked form
working in
the wonder
of waters
fair and divine.

Details | Brian Bronson Poem

Shape the Words

We shape the
words 
with gentle
care
as someone
does with
time
to spare.
Although we’re
crass 
we often 
dare
to venture
in
misfortune’s
lair.

What do you
see inside
the cave
at
dawn?
Will it be
a
stutter of songs?
Or perhaps
a
malicious tune,
that speaks
of light
high
on the moon?

Details | Brian Bronson Poem

Legion

In Doriath they could not forestall
the lonely warriors answering the call.
To speak is naught for world’s end.
The fever pitch and rumor sent.

The pale faces of maidens fair
left the answer with a dare.
We remember how they took the foe.
For legion are the lies of ghosts.

Down by the river the King he came
and dallied in the opium den.
The Sage was last to see the fate
surrendering to the mark of men.

We came to see the honored dead
filled with hearts still feeling dread.
When last we heard the darkling call,
we trammeled forth above the hall.

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The Crypt

When time has dropped down low
and all the sullen warriors gaze,
the subjects will hear the sound
of a war in a new phase.

The tiny dwarf swallows
more than he can say.
Illustrious are the courts of joy
that bring a holiday.

She enters slowly into the crypt
and signals to her men.
The fever that has made them sick
will now come once again.

Surrender to the goblin horde
down in the castle gate
something that will bring us more
than a severed fate.

Details | Brian Bronson Poem

Storm in Force

Summer troopers storm in force.
The fire they breath
is rotten to the source.
Can’t you see the hidden door
that leads you to
the mystic core.

My mind plays tricks
with less it seems.
The dream you feed
is death to me.

Pour in your gold
the whores and more
who never think
of any lord.

What find you in
your winter’s den,
the fever grips,
the rumor meant.