"boasting" poems
It's beginning...
As my day matured into the tangerine sun.
Familiar feelings effortlessly conjured as the same old tales were spun.
Some came in hues of marmalade
Traces of citrus that left in haste.
Initial sweetness on the palate that would fade
Only making way for a bitter aftertaste.
A few were wrapped in tints of ginger.
A jolt-like sensation that spoke...
Intense and unmistakable in nature.
Like glowing embers engulfed in latent flames and smoke.
Several bore the colours and scent of marigold
Boasting of orange petals whimsically waving to the clouds...
Whispering hints of rumours from days of old,
Days of when mine was the only silent face in a boisterous crowd.
The ones forged in bronze were few and hardly said.
Like the only compelling excerpt embedded within infinite chapters.
Hidden words in plain sight strung together boldly in red.
Rubies cast carelessly in the swiftest of rivers...
It is beginning...
The end of today as the sun grew redder...
I'd bide the sands of time as it slips away into forever...
Apr 26, 2015
Apr 26, 2015 at 11:33 AM UTC
porch talk, simmering in a Bud light sauce
everyone chair-rocking, even the boxer dog,
in his self-propelled 360 degree swiveling chair
eavesdropping and spy eyeballing the farm for
strangers and any creatures as of yet, unsmelled
get done with weather, the crops,
the neighbors,
the weird, and the truly neighborly,
grandkids escapades, hopes and desires, comparative literature and regional dialects and philosophical dialecticals tickling,
bs’ing and tall tale telling, breathing the windy geography of the air over the land that dictates the how we live,
open another Bud for the buds,
did I forget to mention
farm equipment?
skirt politics cause nobody wants any
nothing-to-be-done-damn-aggravation,
leaves nothing mo’ to ramble on about ‘cept the
absent women
no worries all above board no secrets uncouthed,
but the mood softens as the pale daylight wisps come rarer
as now
nearer to nine pm, obvious saved the best for last,
a very manly-way of ordering things,
big silent pauses in the converso conversation,
guy-sighs many,
as the last essay of the day is being jointly authored,
denotating the generalized listings of
how they drive us crazy,
listing the repetition of ever changing instructions,
which doesn't recognize bi-coastal mannerisms, non-differentiating
just humanism-isms
and the peculiarities of each (a list kept)
in a compare and contrast,
an end of the day summation,
and the boasting-outbesting,
of each of their
specialisms
which is sadly now forgotten and which haven’t been
brain-recorded so cannot be disclosed
other than it’s now ten
and all that’s left is
to sleep, perchance, to dream,
of private things
and bigger and better
John Deere tractors
Jun 9, 2018
Jun 9, 2018 at 2:13 PM UTC
Welcome the new day
As night lifted her screen
The sun had brought its palette
Boasting of colours never before I've seen
Rays like paintbrushes
As they dove into the water
Light explosively burst into emeralds
Ripple and eddies would sparkle and shimmer
Bolts from the orange orb
Speared the tops of trees and sprawling ground
Tinting their leaves with green of olives
And grass with freshness abound
Its wand touched the tip of the distant lighthouse
Turning it the brightest green
It brought life back to my surrounding
Layered my eyes with the greenest of sheens
Such beauty laid bare
The difference was literally night and day
But my heart is also green
To readily accept what my mind has to say
As if a child
Or yet still a greenhorn
I should ignore the stains of yellow
And enjoy this new day that had just been born
Apr 5, 2015
Apr 5, 2015 at 11:35 AM UTC
I don't need no compliments.
Altho' I do accept them.
Know this.
I love myself.
I'm not conceited.
Really far from it.
I just love myself.
If you don't.
Then expect nobody else will.
I wake up to loving myself.
I walk through life loving myself.
I look in the mirror.
And adore myself.
I'm not boasting.
Or even bragging.
That would be too much.
But I know this.
I love myself.
As a mother's loves a new born.
I love this one.
Which is myself.
Like the rising of the morning sun.
There's always a smile upon my face.
Cause, I love myself.
Enjoy you.
And you'll be enjoyed.
Oct 10, 2012
Oct 10, 2012 at 9:26 AM UTC
I could run away to you, world.
drink in your every scent, the dust
the hurt.
backpedal through Venetian streets,
high-five Buddhist monks,
paddle softly through the Dead Sea,
eat Vietnamese fish with blind children,
pound out piles of dough in back-alley German bakeries,
kiss the single root of an aspen tree
and post it all online.
grinning like a devil, silently screaming
*my life is better than yours
my life is better than yours*
Nov 25, 2013
Nov 25, 2013 at 12:14 PM UTC
I dreamt about you last night,
it was truly surreal.
you hugged me from behind on that very road,
and as I woke up, I told myself that it was just a dream,
yet I smelled your scent on my shirt.
then my dream continue as I fall deeper and deeper into my sleep,
I saw you again; smiling at the sight of me,
I asked your friend and she said "He have been boasting about you and him hugging you all day long!"
and that scorching blush I felt on my cheeks and chest was surreal too.
us holding each others hands in front of the reddish orange sunset on the beach,
us hugging in front of my hotel room.
all of that is just one of my stupid dream.
Oct 11, 2018
Oct 11, 2018 at 8:57 PM UTC
Slowly drowning me
With your negativity.
Bringing me down
With your selfishness.
You sit there and wonder
Why your life has turned out the way it has.
Some things are understandably upsetting,
Others, terribly exaggerated.
You sit there and wonder what your life has become,
Though yet you do nothing to make it better.
Your words burn the hearts of others,
Though you expect forgiveness a moment later.
Boasting about what could have been,
What you have missed out on,
Blaming others for your own mistakes.
You expect all those around you to forgive your piercing murmurs,
That become more than just background noise,
More like spiteful parodies,
As you laugh with yourself
Lost in your negativity.
Breaking those around you,
Losing others along the way,
I won't be able to take it for much longer,
Can't stand your negative ways.
Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 1:38 AM UTC
I'm in love with a fisherman who fears sailing onward to outstretched sea
instead he casts his nets over ponds and shallow streams
I’m in love with a fisherman whose hands are ignorant of forceful currents and giant swells
each graze from his unscathed hands reminds me of his vanity
his boasting never halting -- the fish are endless in his shallow stream
My fisherman is too cowardly to inhale the briny air
so when we make love
the smell of fresh water lingers on my sheets and my salty skin needs a drink
but this estuary is not a haven for ill-fated love
while I yearn for my fisherman, my heart will always yield to the sea
Mar 29, 2013
Mar 29, 2013 at 10:18 AM UTC
It's been said, that a man who finds a good woman?
Finds a good wife.
Same for women, who locates a good man?
They exist.
Even if many claims there are not many of them.
They completely wrong.
Cause I'm one of them.
Oh, I'm not bragging.
Or even boasting.
Just speaking truth.
I've got a lady love as my proof.
Yes, a good man don't mind being called King.
Cause if you look closer to his life.
You'll find him treating his lady like a Queen.
She might not sit upon a throne.
But you will find him lifting her upon a pedestal.
We good men do.
Aug 8, 2014
Aug 8, 2014 at 12:42 AM UTC
Don’t be fooled regarding one’s tongue,
for it has the power of life and death.
Before doubting these words of wisdom,
now pay attention and catch your breath…
before any more idle words touch the ground.
We are accountable for everything we say;
Therefore, remember to think before speaking,
since our reckonings will come on Judgment Day.
Consciously refrain from speaking evil curses,
knowing that God’s presence surrounds each soul.
Undisciplined tongues unwittingly spew their venom
and cause unseen damage with poisonous control.
A perverse tongue easily breaks the human spirit
and keeps evil, generational curses flowing.
Plentiful sins roll off the tongue in the forms of:
Gossiping, Tattle-telling, Slander, Lying and Boasting.
Instead, give praise concerning the good things of God;
speak life into situations, since healing can be attained.
the reliability of The Word can be assured, for…
its promises insure that ours lives can be sustained.
Author Notes:
Loosely based on:
Prov 18:21; 1 Cor 4:20; Deu 32:47; 2 Pet 2:3; 1 Sam 3:19; Psa 12:6
Lev 19:16; Mark 4:14; Prov 15:4, 21:23; Jam 3:1-18; 2 Cor 5:10
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://www.squidoo.com/book-isbn-1419650513/
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2012, All rights reserved.
May 23, 2013
May 23, 2013 at 8:57 AM UTC
Chivalry rests under a lonely soul
No one seems to get where he goes
He doesn't sleep as he dreams
About beauty queens
He's a fire under ice
In search of paradise
When he finds it in the mist
He will always remember this
Nothing breathes here in the cold
He must die before he grows old
He can pull out your chair
And still pull your hair
His boasting comes from you
As he is proud of what you do
And when you smile and sway
It takes his breath away
Jan 5, 2016
Jan 5, 2016 at 11:32 PM UTC
"The thought of the future we will never have was pollinating foul fuzzy particles in the air, slowly following the wake of all those tasseled dreams I had held onto for all those years but had to let go."
The most intimate revelations can often expose plagiaristic suppressions that we've most likely tried to already forget. Suggesting to anyone on the outside looking in, that there is a rancid cowardice secreting from the pores of all those who would deny the most basic of fundamental decencies to their fellow man.
All the while, boasting a loud tolerance that would be found on the very last Autumn-the very last colorful arrangements of watering oranges and smothered reds our world was ever going to be privileged to witness again.
The thundering drumming of my own beating heart gave my freshly dead and bland reaction a neon personality, with a few extra ********* lingering, successful gestures that reflected a sparkly prism of tracers.
Tracers that were birthed from the most brilliant of lasers, as I was radiating something that was blindingly gorgeous, something that was heightened with more sensitivity as it shadowed over the complexity of every kiss that I had ever been given in my life..
Spinning a silk and gold web around me that was almost as intricate as an alarm sounding earth quake.
This flaccidly tight response came at a price, leaving nothing but whispers and the wrong kind of impressions at the sight of it's unwanted face..
The time of dignity and grace felt decades away as your tiny little temperaments began to attempt to soothe me into a very still silence.
"Wooing" me and "seducing" me with such a strong touch of romantic readiness, I knew it would never be matched or found again causing me to feel a stroke of sadness at the single sentiment.
This dramatic departure killed any interest that might have supported the abortive sorrows and short winded elation’s of men, but instead the idea of a possibly new tasseled dream, sparked me into a shimmering prism bouncing glittering, glimmering, glowing rays off my skin, as I put the shine in the sun.
Oct 26, 2015
Oct 26, 2015 at 3:30 PM UTC
I pride myself on differences,
but know at heart we're all one
I tried to do the dishes,
but only two knives made the cut.
Now I wonder if I can
accomplish more than thought possible
judging dull wounds in grunting cans;
feeling pistol grooves and wrist slitters,
I am at home again.
Lying, mining, dying figure heads
make their way to the foot of my bed,
and ask if they may lull me to sleep
with dreams of pneumonia and epilepsy.
I ask them to politely leave,
but they perch on boasting names of society,
reciting to me, too condescendingly,
"surely, we know better than you."
Now all of their heads fit askew.
Save the money and excuse for material attachment.
Keep running through your doll houses.
I pull on my hair to make it grow.
You pull on heart strings to teach a lesson, I suppose
we're in the same sinking boat.
But you are my vital poison.
My body collapses- a muted a noise and-
each time I awake perfectly poised
at your feet and frozen mouth.
How will I ever make you love me now?
Life's a Hawaii postcard
pleading, "go experience the vibrant colors."
There's more to see beyond the rainbow trees,
but they'll still satisfy most cravings.
Every threaded fiber of my being
keeps me pondering
if cells are just too shy to speak,
or if they've always spoken through me,
whispering, "scratch to win the lottery."
I want to write children's books,
and release doves from hidden cages;
watch awe wipe over next generation;
use my candies as their safe haven.
Away this world that have caused them pain-
I Am its new name.
Affection is a mistress of mine.
I still crave her like sunlight.
stare into her eye until I am blind
She's addicting even after she harms you.
I'll keep my heals neck deep
in anxiously wading water.
til I sing it into deep sleep,
its current pulls me under.
and I am at home again.
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 9:05 AM UTC
Not all men insecure because their spouse makes more money.
The man just happy to have a loving partner.
It's those males with sensitive egos.
Who complains about his lady bringing home more bread?
Who let the old role of a man dictates to them?
While many males isn't lumped together with them.
Take those ladies at the top.
They don't brag about it.
Because they earned the position to be there.
And don't need anything or anyone to uplift them.
They solely believes action speaks louder than words.
Yes, many males comfortable with a working spouse.
That's just more percentage of money to assist in helping the finances of the house.
You might read an article of two.
Boasting of a woman in a man's field.
Or, what it use to be?
And look closely at the writer.
It's mostly written probably by a woman.
Who first brought up the subject of making more than most men.
Except , many aren't upset.
If they know she has the experience.
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 9:00 AM UTC
When sweet Sara gets to
Heaven to St. Peter
she will say,
not a **** thing,
only run her
tongue along her
full, glossy, *********** lips,
and snare his eyes
with her low-cut, cleavage
boasting blouse.
She'll get it.
*** always sells.
Sep 11, 2010
Sep 11, 2010 at 8:49 AM UTC
From way up high the world looked so small
From way up high he felt he was above it all
So there way up high he hung looking down all beneath
From up there he felt no one could touch him
Nothing could bring him down
So from up there he enjoyed his view of the world
Unconcerned about anything but himself
But one fateful day something changed
And as he playing in the wind he noticed a change
There on the tip of his leaf the colour began to change
Slowly but surely he began to turn red
At first he was terrified what did this mean
But the redder he got the more proud he got
He was the only red in a sea of green
So there he danced in the wind
Boasting to all that could hear of his new colour change
But then another change began to take place
Where once he felt secure and safe on his branch
He now began to feel like he was somehow slipping
He tried desperately to hold onto that which he knew
But fate had other plans
As the sun rose the next morning a playful gust of wind blew in
The wind blew through the tree that fateful morning
Rustling the leaves all around
The red leaf tried to hold on for dear life
But alas the wind was just too strong
Tugging and pulling at the leaf
Till off he blew with the wind
The leaf cried out in fear
But as he opened his eyes a new world he saw
Through the rollercoaster ride upon the wind
The leaf began to see the world he never knew
He saw a world he never took the time to know
Flying up and down, round and round
He began to see those he had always looked down upon
And as the wind began to die down
The leaf slowly descended back to the ground
From way down there he looked up and longed for his old home
He longed to be playing in the wind again
But there he lay on the ground
His once red colour now gone
He put down his head to rest
Jun 10, 2013
Jun 10, 2013 at 6:34 AM UTC
I was once a shape...
Equally jointed,
at four opposite points.
I was a square...
I never knew the way of the world.
Never open to new experiences,
even when they presented themselves bare...
Even when the shrouds of uncertainty
were wiped away leaving the future unfurled.
I grew up...
Huddled under the roof set above me,
with four walls that kept me safe and sheltered.
That was the entire universe.
That was all I saw...
Views so narrow and uneventful...
A life so bland with the fun bits all sheared.
Never brought up to question...
Never given the time and space to think.
There was always a yardstick upon which I was measured.
The sea of expectations was vast but shallow...
So I could wade forever,
but never sink.
I was once a shape...
No one then expected me to be other than a square.
I had everything I needed,
all within the confines of imposing cordons and tapes.
But the world would constantly rap on the windows.
Peddling its fantastical ware.
It would entice with its secrets and mysteries.
Boasting the wonderful stories it'd like to share.
Jan 18, 2016
Jan 18, 2016 at 4:49 AM UTC
taunting haunting
“ghosts” roaming
boasting
under sweet disguise;
heart
heard
tale-tell
frozen castles
time wept
appear disappear
apparitions rear
waiting abating
storm swept.
Celestial rite
gyrates flows
insight
Breath awaits
spirit’s delight.
May 11, 2010
May 11, 2010 at 12:28 PM UTC
Over the hills,
From mountain to mountain,
He dances and hunts and roams.
Playing his pipes,
And drinking the wine,
He dances and hunts and roams.
Horned God,
***** God,
Dancing God,
Drinking God,
Hooves upon the hills.
A cave in the hills,
The heart of his fair Arcadia,
He dances and hunts and roams.
Demeter he found,
And then he told Zeus,
He dances and hunts and roams.
Horned God,
***** God,
Dancing God,
Drinking God,
Hooves upon the hills.
In fair Arcadia,
He stood feeding his hounds,
He dances and hunts and roams.
Artemis came,
And he gave her ten pairs,
He dances and hunts and roams.
Horned God,
***** God,
Dancing God,
Drinking God,
Hooves upon the hills.
Visions and dreams,
In trances and dances of ecstasy,
He dances and hunts and roams.
Fair Apollo came,
And learned prophecy at his feet,
He dances and hunts and roams.
Horned God,
***** God,
Dancing God,
Drinking God,
Hooves upon the hills.
Bragging and boasting,
He plays his pipes and he dances,
He dances and hunts and roams.
Apollo comes challenging,
And the mountain god liked lyres,
He dances and hunts and roams.
Horned God,
***** God,
Dancing God,
Drinking God,
Hooves upon the hills.
Echo he loved,
He sang and he wooed,
He dances and hunts and roams.
Scorning his love,
His panic tore her to shreds,
He dances and hunts and roams.
Horned God,
***** God,
Dancing God,
Drinking God,
Hooves upon the hills.
Youngest of gods,
But oldest by far,
He dances and hunts and roams.
Father of all,
And forever the Child,
He dances and hunts and roams.
Oct 2, 2011
Oct 2, 2011 at 12:42 AM UTC
Today, I sent out at least another 10 advertisements of myself. It’s not fair. These potential employee seeking companies show me at least a thousand ads boasting about themselves, but I only got the time to send out a fraction of their words, and it’s somehow bad taste to show off my handsomeness. No pictures at all, just boring words, competing against the tacky hordes of plastic signs, overt lies, and labeled every things. I don’t even get any screen time, and if I could even afford it, they’d think I over did it. So I can’t use any ****** tricks to show my fluency in PR devilry? Y’all hypocrites.
Aug 20, 2014
Aug 20, 2014 at 8:05 PM UTC
without a large family,
old age seems like
a futile achievement,
in that boasting about
reaching it seems futile.
Mar 28, 2016
Mar 28, 2016 at 4:13 AM UTC
Always boasting my emotions
On how I'm so ******* broken
Think I'm joking
When I'm talking
About blowing my head open
Till the moment you walk in
And find my body motionless
Wrists slit
Jan 30, 2016
Jan 30, 2016 at 11:03 PM UTC