"boastful" poems
A steady cadence
pulsing in a heart beat
like rhythm, voices
and strummed instruments
all in harmonized concert,
An orchestral multitude,
of frogs and crickets,
never tiring or ceasing,
How many must there be,
to render such a cacophony?
Sustained and loud enough
to keep city folk wide awake.
Nature's Music of the night,
should you but choose to listen.
How do they do that, all night
with absolutely no intermission?
A crescendo finale triggered
only by the coming dawn's
first light, and the boastful
crowing calls of our cocky
persistent red rooster chicken.
Where these musicians go in
daylight is anybody's guess.
To sleep I suspect, deserved
resting up for yet another
night of endless music.
Aug 10, 2018
Aug 10, 2018 at 4:45 AM UTC
You're not a mirror
You're not a books
Even not a songs
And not a portrait
Yet you inspired me
Set a fire inside
Lost but now found
My soul strengthen
Awaken and alive
Through, the words to ponder
Seen myself again
Boastful ends
So, when you stand
I give an ears again.
May 5, 2014
May 5, 2014 at 12:11 AM UTC
can you see Pride’s face?
can you see the pride in Pride’s face?
boastful & frivolous.
Pride’s intentions are not of good will.
Pride just destroyed a home.
Pride just stabbed a friend in the back.
Pride ended a life-long friendship.
Pride just ended a simple argument.
he is a disease. humans are afraid of him.
can you see the pride in pride’s face? can you see the bad he creates?
can you see all the lives he took?
Pride is a crook. he breaks into the windows of your spirit and steals all the gold. that gold is your happiness.
Pride is a weapon. anything in his way is destroyed. Pride doesn’t have emotions. Pride can make you insane.
but Pride has an enemy. Pride has a cure. Humility.
Humility is Pride’s balance.
Humility can heal wounds. he is spirited & can bring people together. Humility is a weapon, a weapon of peace.
he is a conqueror. Humility is Pride’s balance.
can you see Humility’s face?
can you feel Humility’s embrace?
when are we starting to be humble?
when are gon’ respect each other?
can you see the pride in Pride’s face?
Pride cares about no one but himself. Humility cares for everyone & himself.
Teddy Bear Tribe.
Oct 29, 2013
Oct 29, 2013 at 12:17 PM UTC
Day by day I fritter away
Observing decorum as best I may
Meet me as you meet — reserved somebody
Leave me as you leave — dull nobody
Dreary, weary, listless, spiritless
A resting spirit clamours to emerge
Unguided, wild, free and seeking
Boldly defying reserved somebody
But how, just how do I unleash this defiant spirit
For it is to cross all conceivable limits
Oh but a mask, of course a mask!
The perfect accessory for this task!
Careless of propriety
Boastful of daring
Acting against my will
Or in tandem with it?
This mask — just now I can't discern
Ponder I do with great concern
Does it shield my identity
Or render truth to it?
So now just what fun in masks
One may ponderously ask
Masks, bring to life fantasy
Fantasy, a realm of our reality
Reality, wherein lies multiplicity
Multiplicity, within each individuality
Oct 23, 2018
Oct 23, 2018 at 11:04 AM UTC
Oh Jamaican girl,where is your patois?
where is your long dreads of natural hair?
your culture?
Jamaican girl,sing your country's national anthem
How do you not like reggae?
what kind of Jamaican are you?
You see the ackee and codfish I stuffed down my throat on a Saturday morning would never be enough for them.
My extinctive use of the English language made them sick at their guts
The fact that my waistline won't move in such a manner to alarm others.
Born in the Yard
Grew up in the suburbs
Never boastful;always grateful
So Jamaican girl you try to act white on purpose?
Wear 'American clothes'
And perm your hair?
My nationality will coexist throughout my veins
Will never hit sunlight unless my tongue decides to move in that direction.
Will never be ashamed of my heritage as I am proud of it,yet also modified to not be defined by it.
Apr 23, 2017
Apr 23, 2017 at 2:36 AM UTC
When brothers go to war there are no captives/
When brothers go to war we find only casualties/
The in explicable war between Palestine and Israel,/
In this poem i hope that peace would prevail/
Countries at the crossroads of heaven and hell/
Their war has lasted for ages/
Pain and revenge bitterness and hate/
When brothers go to war who dares to mediate/
Who knows of their fate who knows whose right/
Its bee like this for so many years/
Who will be there to wipe their tears/
Who will be there to give hope to those in fear/
Who will dare to go and interfere/
When brothers go to war know that the end is near/
Hold on and sanctify your soul in prayer/
When brothers go to war who is the villain who is the saint/
The war of Israel and Palestine stained in red paint/
A revelation to the faint hearted/
A lesson to the boastful and egocentric/
Innocent lives lost when brothers go to war/
A gentle answer turns away wrath/
But a harsh word stirs up anger/
A hot tempered man stirs up dissension/
But a patient man calms a quarrel/
When brothers go to war who dares mediate
(c) ISSAI
Jul 22, 2014
Jul 22, 2014 at 2:50 AM UTC
for Alyssa Underwood
~~~
my poems do not trend, go viral,
Fast and Furious!
yet, they do not die
they lay in plain sight pebbles scattered,
smoothed by time,
upon the surface of the
green earth waiting patient, virtuous,
purposed for itinerants bards
to trip over one
one some someday
somehow they accrete a readership,
slow stepping and steady from,
|the seekers and the stumblers,
the droplet drinkers,
meanderers of the tomes and tombs of prior years,
miners for nuggets in the poem pools that form
beneath the alluvial streaming
of the waterfall crescendo
of words
I like this
when another traveler sends me a like,
a petite amuse-bouche bite of appreciation,
for a long ago, barely recalled, writ,
allowing them to carve their initials upon the
external, visible roots of my tree trunk,
invading me, by darkening a prior tree internal ring,
forcing me to look down,
look back,
take measure of myself,
accepting myself as not wanting,
nor lacking in other's acceptance
these statements are neither boastful or illusory,
*yet still joyous, like caramel pleasures,
slow to chew, fast to the taste,*
reminding me of old friendships,
well valued,
though no longer fully employed,
their uncovering is my own refreshed exposure,
their discovery is my own re-discovery,
exposing flaws and fallacies,
even fallow,
mostly shallow facts
about me
all of them,
a sundae of truths and lies, sharing a happy laugh
with and at
me,
when I think to myself,
Holy Crap! did I write that?
copyright 2015 by Nat Lipstadt
Oct 8, 2015
Oct 8, 2015 at 3:35 PM UTC
My Father gave me wisdom
and scriptures for my heart.
My Mother put in practice
the love that God imparts.
By watching how she lives her love
and How Gods light so shines,
and seeing the peace within her heart,
I wanted that for mine.
Never boastful nor judgemental
I have never heard her yell
She will quote a verse to ease your pain,
She knows them all so well.
No problem overtakes her
His promises she trusts
She lives to do his will because
she loves Him oh so much
She's a quiet overcomer
An example for us all
When I need an inspiration,
I know just who to call.
My Mother may not ever know
The seeds of faith she sows
How many souls she wins for God
as through her life she goes
She's a living testimony
And when her time on Earth is gone
I, for one, will be there
To hear God say "Well Done"
2/19/95 mln
My Father gave me wisdom
and scriptures for my heart.
My Mother put in practice
the love that God imparts.
By watching how she lives her love
and How Gods light so shines,
and seeing the peace within her heart,
I wanted that for mine.
Never boastful nor judgemental
I have never heard her yell
She will quote a verse to ease your pain,
She knows them all so well.
No problem overtakes her
His promises she trusts
She lives to do his will because
she loves Him oh so much
She's a quiet overcomer
An example for us all
When I need an inspiration,
I know just who to call.
My Mother may not ever know
The seeds of faith she sows
How many souls she wins for God
as through her life she goes
She's a living testimony
And when her time on Earth is gone
I, for one, will be there
To hear God say "Well Done"
2/19/95 mln
My Father gave me wisdom
and scriptures for my heart.
My Mother put in practice
the love that God imparts.
By watching how she lives her love
and How Gods light so shines,
and seeing the peace within her heart,
I wanted that for mine.
Never boastful nor judgemental
I have never heard her yell
She will quote a verse to ease your pain,
She knows them all so well.
No problem overtakes her
His promises she trusts
She lives to do his will because
she loves Him oh so much
She's a quiet overcomer
An example for us all
When I need an inspiration,
I know just who to call.
My Mother may not ever know
The seeds of faith she sows
How many souls she wins for God
as through her life she goes
She's a living testimony
And when her time on Earth is gone
I, for one, will be there
To hear God say "Well Done"
2/19/95 mln
My Father gave me wisdom
and scriptures for my heart.
My Mother put in practice
the love that God imparts.
By watching how she lives her love
and How Gods light so shines,
and seeing the peace within her heart,
I wanted that for mine.
Never boastful nor judgemental
I have never heard her yell
She will quote a verse to ease your pain,
She knows them all so well.
No problem overtakes her
His promises she trusts
She lives to do his will because
she loves Him oh so much
She's a quiet overcomer
An example for us all
When I need an inspiration,
I know just who to call.
My Mother may not ever know
The seeds of faith she sows
How many souls she wins for God
as through her life she goes
She's a living testimony
And when her time on Earth is gone
I, for one, will be there
To hear God say "Well Done"
Jan 3, 2013
Jan 3, 2013 at 12:30 AM UTC
We are all animals of a baser kind
elementary creatures, reveling in our complexity
an assembly of simple machines, each playing part
in an inseparable chorus of flesh and ego
Boastful beings, claiming we are contrived by gods
fashioned from particles, or the dust of dead giants
though truly, we are merely creations of vanity and chance
the eyes of a universe looking back upon itself in awe
How grand and vain, this cosmic mirror!
****** upon eyes that only stare in wonder*
Sep 21, 2014
Sep 21, 2014 at 8:52 PM UTC
The arrival of the night on distant shores,
completes the cycle of relentless waning hours;
In circular repeat of day's end glories,
we softly whisper life's reflective stories.
With moonlit skies as constant company,
our feelings caught in wondrous reverie;
And love is but a boastful source of care,
when suddenly the sky grows dark and bare.
But in the swirling essence of the night,
we set about to make our memories right;
In tossing sway the rumbles of the waves,
allow us to submit to what we've craved.
Approaching dawn with sunlight from above,
finally satiated by passion's whirlwind love;
Our shadows fall like twins upon the beach,
as knowing smiles creep gently 'cross our cheeks.
Nov 11, 2016
Nov 11, 2016 at 1:55 PM UTC
My teacher once asked
a short simple question.
She had asked,
"What do you want to be?"
Raised arms answered her query.
Open palms each belonging to excitable children.
Wide little eyes looked up at her.
Hands began to flail in the air...
Ever so hopeful of being chosen.
So that they could voice their aspirations.
So that they could begin to share.
One by one,
they each was given the opportunity.
Turn by turn,
boastful were some
while others spoke quiet and shyly.
Then the teacher stopped short.
Not before expressing her delight.
She was in awe of such young minds...
Having had such great wings
to eventually take flight.
Then she explained...
What she had initially meant.
Confused looks all around including me.
She rephrased the question,
*"What kind of person...
Do you want to be?"*
There was silence.
No arms shot up to meet the subject.
I don't recall having raised mine,
but I remember telling the teacher...
An answer (I was confident), she wouldn't expect.
I stood at my desk,
proud and tall...
And told the teacher
that I wished to be a person...
Well loved by all.
She smiled and I did too.
I felt it was a good answer.
She nodded to signal for me to take my seat again.
She paused before speaking,
and not a moment later.
She said,
*"That would be nice.
To be loved by all.
But that's close to impossible.
A big wish for someone so small."*
I had heard her words clearly...
However I didn't understand.
My brows furrowed...
And I was deep in thought...
Still I couldn't comprehend.
28 years later...
Here I sit,
looking back to that time in the past.
How time flies...
It simply ticked away...
All too fast.
Till just then I was still that boy...
Who tried hard to please.
I wanted to prove that it wasn't impossible.
You can be loved by everyone,
and you can do it with ease.
But now I have learnt.
Now I have found meaning
and understanding in my teacher's wisdom.
It took me a while but...
I know now...
That wishes and reality don't work in tandem.
You can choose to care and love,
everyone you see.
But to expect everyone to love you the same...
Is sheer
impossibility.
Aug 26, 2016
Aug 26, 2016 at 9:12 AM UTC
Like the ancient Greek gods and goddesses
It is a boastful caricature of qualities
To some it is heaven, nirvana, swarga loka
A promise of better days to come
If they can once (just once) be good enough
Its a pure soul, a blissful life
A polished floor, the colors of space
Perfection is everything
Perfection is nothing
Like the ancient Greek gods and goddesses
It is too full of itself, pretentious and vain
To some it looks like heaven, nirvana, swarga loka
Far away but they want to touch
If only they could wash the stains from their souls
But those stains are necessary
They are the stars in the sky
The universe is composed of inkstains blended together
Accidents exist but if we look
We can see the imprints the leave
The cosmos, the stars
Hurricanes and fires
Newborn babies, hope and love
Lost limbs and burnt eyes
Death and cruel lies
Are not perfection
But they help us see the strength in us
They help us find real love
By embracing imperfection we learn to live
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 12:42 PM UTC
I've always felt
mirrors worked two ways
standing naked gleaming
dreamily gazing
unknowingly staring
in God's hidden eyes
either boastful or ashamed.
Jan 5, 2016
Jan 5, 2016 at 1:24 AM UTC
My quest began, before Inquisitive questionnaires, questioned my solicitude.
I traveled round the globe, In search of a Gold, to meet my goal.
In frnt of me, stood a beautiful angel, with a beautiful body.
,nothing wil hold me baq,
the way she walked was so dramatic, which made her attractive, by love I became assertive, but her vioce was fantastic, So I grew attentive, In other to be romantic, which made me sarcastic.
her smile waz beautiful, Which made me Boastful, but yet doubtful, I became Playful, I Never knew she was powerful
her luscious gigantic figure, was Perfectly executed to perfection, Suddenly I became frantic, Now I have to be more strategic.
i only grew anxious, which made her precarious. i turned perplexed, while she remained unagitated, her behavior waz sassy. i grew crazy,
the meaning of loneliness, was created frm her lovely eyes, i wish you could see the angel I see when you stand in front of me, i fell in love with someone, Who separated me frm everyone,
i adore how u make me smile, even from so many miles away, you energize me in standing up tall, Love me again like you did the first day You are pretty, you are sweet, but im still a bit naïve with my heart"
If d sea were to be a burning fire under d sun, and the blustery wind were to blow it, profusely like a stormy rain f volcano, upon d land, i will never leave.
i will always be there for you, i am your little friend, i will always be in love with you, all the way till the end, My eyes blinked twice, Fully opened in tears
Tonite my heart seems in pieces, My eyes drop tears that itches, Now I am here making wishes , Trying to picture u near me within inches.
It was only a dream!
Jul 16, 2013
Jul 16, 2013 at 8:12 PM UTC
Betrayed
Belittled
Baking, burning between battles.
Blundering, blustering
Begging by bribing.
Bribing by begging.
Best?
Bottom.
Boastful, bragging baboon.
Bye.
Jun 17, 2010
Jun 17, 2010 at 9:15 AM UTC
swim until you can’t see land
until names etched deep in cardiac tissue blur
and fade, scored over with seasalt and creases of a million maps,
a secret stash of maps. absurd and hoarded and crumpled under carseats and
rolled neat
and boastful in umbrella holders or worse, framed and hung
Maps jotted freehand on napkins stained with tea and mustard and left
to be bused with the crusts and pocketful of change.
swim until you can’t read the maps.
the lines to here from there are arteries
on your fresh, clean heart.
Nov 4, 2012
Nov 4, 2012 at 12:15 AM UTC
Girl, put down the pocket knife fist and pick up that pen of yours.
stop...
They aren't worth the status updates or the 140 character #hashtag
They are worth books. Trilogy novels of witty 'should have' banter and Good wins over Evil plot themes.
Rake in the millions.
Then put down the skinny jeans and wear the Tutu.
stop...
They aren't worth the clone bulimic fashion trends.
They are worth ballets. Extravagant classical shows where millions come to see. Each one hanging on you like fish hooks.
Because you got that audience hook, line, and sinker.
Then, go home.
stop...
They aren't worth the boastful air you inhale.
Exhale humility and stories about best sellers and the view from a ballet hall in Germany.
You are worth it.
You are worth the pens,
and tutus,
and a home.
Oct 22, 2012
Oct 22, 2012 at 3:21 PM UTC
LEARN FROM THE OWL!
Many of us think of the owl
As a foolish, ugly fowl:
It can neither strut like a peacock,
Flaunting colourful plumes,
Nor, like the shy nightingale,
Sweetly sing, every spring:
But the sages of ancient Greece,
Seeing the night bird's virtues rare,
Said nothing foul about the owl,
Admired its bright round eyes,
Sharp and keen, able to see its way
And fly in the darkness of night:
Eyes, quite strange, looking not sideways,
But always straight and always right
And quickly turn its agile neck
And see all things happening
Behind its back as well as front!
In all directions ,the owl can see
But, from different angles do we ever see?
Boastful humans, full of pride,
Who speak ill of the humble owl
Can scarcely match the skilful owl,
And a poet who loved this little bird, wrote -
"A wise old owl sat on an oak,
The more he saw, the less he spoke,
The less he spoke the more he heard,
Why can't we be, like the wise old bird!?"
********* M.G.Narasimha Murthy,
Hyderabad, India.
Oct 8, 2016
Oct 8, 2016 at 10:45 PM UTC
Bulkeley, Hunt, Willard, Hosmer, Meriam, Flint,
Possessed the land which rendered to their toil
Hay, corn, roots, hemp, flax, apples, wool and wood.
Each of these landlords walked amidst his farm,
Saying, "'Tis mine, my children's and my name's.
How sweet the west wind sounds in my own trees!
How graceful climb those shadows on my hill!
I fancy these pure waters and the flags
Know me, as does my dog: we sympathize;
And, I affirm, my actions smack of the soil.'
Where are these men? Asleep beneath their grounds:
And strangers, fond as they, their furrows plough.
Earth laughs in flowers, to see her boastful boys
Earth-proud, proud of the earth which is not theirs;
Who steer the plough, but cannot steer their feet
Clear of the grave.
They added ridge to valley, brook to pond,
And sighed for all that bounded their domain;
'This suits me for a pasture; that's my park;
We must have clay, lime, gravel, granite-ledge,
And misty lowland, where to go for peat.
The land is well,--lies fairly to the south.
'Tis good, when you have crossed the sea and back,
To find the sitfast acres where you left them.'
Ah! the hot owner sees not Death, who adds
Him to his land, a lump of mould the more.
Hear what the Earth says:--
Earth-Song
'Mine and yours;
Mine, not yours, Earth endures;
Stars abide--
Shine down in the old sea;
Old are the shores;
But where are old men?
I who have seen much,
Such have I never seen.
'The lawyer's deed
Ran sure,
In tail,
To them, and to their heirs
Who shall succeed,
Without fail,
Forevermore.
'Here is the land,
Shaggy with wood,
With its old valley,
Mound and flood.
"But the heritors?--
Fled like the flood's foam.
The lawyer, and the laws,
And the kingdom,
Clean swept herefrom.
'They called me theirs,
Who so controlled me;
Yet every one
Wished to stay, and is gone,
How am I theirs,
If they cannot hold me,
But I hold them?'
When I heard the Earth-song,
I was no longer brave;
My avarice cooled
Like lust in the chill of the grave.
2.1k
The way I love you is the way you laugh,
You have different laughs.
One for when something is out right funny,
A boastful laugh
That tells the whole world that you're happy
Another when you laugh out of politeness,
Almost sarcastic,
That tells me you enjoy people's company
A different laugh when I do something stupid,
Quiet,
And just between the two of us
Oct 13, 2013
Oct 13, 2013 at 8:28 PM UTC
I'm not sure I was meant for this.
I'm sure I existed far too late.
It seems I came to be in the wrong time era,
and I assure you the wrongest wrong place.
I can hold my head high wherever,
but records and dusty movies are my friends,
they make me feel like I'm home at last;
make me wish the time never ends,
but it did and so forth,
I was not meant for here.
The people, too boastful,
with so much less to fear.
The relationships are wasteful,
and different by the day.
The love and optimism is fading out to grey.
I almost pity the people,
and I find their time more tragic,
while the era I love was suppressed by casual bombs,
the era I'm in has lost all their magic...
Apr 12, 2015
Apr 12, 2015 at 9:22 AM UTC
#Have you ever been madly in love?
The old man broke my reverie.
On the long faded green bench white with bird droppings
he was peering at me through his silver grey beard
looking oddly out of place in that college squire park
where only the dreamers at the prime of youth
would sit between classes to exchange love notes
and steal a kiss when the passion couldn't be reined in.
Have you ever been madly in love? he repeated,
and then as if growing impatient by my silence
mumbled, pausing between words,
like they stung him like thorns
*it extracts a price been paying all my life
living with a void no other woman could fill
a commitment that breeds only pain
yet makes me insanely boastful
of being madly in love.*
It was recess hour and the benches were being filled up.
How many, I wondered, would still hold hands
when the classes are over.
Nov 7, 2016
Nov 7, 2016 at 9:58 AM UTC
I'm sick
I'm sick of every filter
I'm sick of fake photographers
I'm sick of fake philosophers
and Instagram pornographers
I'm sick of the fake feminists
who don't understand the movement
I'm sick of fake politicians
who make no ******* improvements
I'm sick of all the favorites
I'm sick of all the likes
I'm sick of ******* tinder
causing cheating every night
I'm sick of ******* eyebrows
like who ******* cares
when did we become so obsessed
with ******* forehead hair
I'm sick of religion
I'm sorry but it's true
it's caused so much division
in our red white and blue
I'm sick of trump supporters
who never read the news
they want to close our borders
but don't understand the ruse
I'm sick of fake people
who pretend for us all
cover their old selves in diesel
didn't hesitate or stall
I'm sick of Caitlin Jenner
she/he whatever isn't noble
committed ******* manslaughter
yet still remains boastful
I'm sick of post it note relationships
that last for three weeks
it's not a ******* battleship
just make the proper tweaks
I'm sick of all these hookups
it's become a culture
all of these pickups
initiated by the vultures
I'm sick of everyone caring
about what celebrities wear
I'm sick of overbearing hate
that never ever spares
I'm sick of all the judgment
of how a person looks
I'm sick of everyone watching YouTube
trading it for books
I'm sick of all this money
that we will never see
I'm sick of never knowing
what I'm supposed to do
I'm sick of schooling never showing
how to live our lives through
I'm sick of all this debt
that I'll be paying until my death
Im sick of feeling like our society is *******
but most of all I'm really sick
that this list has applied to me too.
Feb 17, 2016
Feb 17, 2016 at 11:11 AM UTC
We pour out our hearts in our work
We ask for corective critic
Not a boastful ****
We give so much information
about who we are
Sometimes the subjects are
too sensitive by far
The writer may have
a hard time being objective
yet we want the reader to be subjected
Can you see through
the poet Eyes
the reason for the vivid
imagery wise
I benefit from knowing
your age
it assists
my thought proces,
as a gauge
Every ten years
a person changes 100%
Birth to ten, it is easy to see
Ten to twenty,
the mindset invincibility
I am six years
into my fifth life
lived, loved,
am a mother and wife,
happiness, anger, and Strife
The more we know
about the poet
Helps us understands
the poem as we know it
As we get older
we realize
how little we know
understanding
there's so much more
room to grow
So please fill out your bio age
and all the information you want to share
so we can review your poem with competent care
Oct 15, 2017
Oct 15, 2017 at 4:42 AM UTC
The rust-colored rooster
Hemmed in by rusted mesh wire
The white crane
Looking down on a floor of white clouds
One is boastful
The other humble
Jan 10, 2013
Jan 10, 2013 at 10:37 AM UTC