"brags" poems
How tenuous this grip we have, how slight our hold remains
When all around loud braggards boast that power now pertains,
We see the banner headlines splashed across our daily rags
And redneck demonstrations cleans the streets of Spics and ****
When blood runs in the gutter as the battons rise and fall
And whilst taking tea in style the filthy rich ignore it all.
The blonde leader of our nation struts, postulates and brags
While the rest of us skive off around the corner smoking ****
Our kids ingest confusion as they loiter on the street
Unknowing our delusions make illusions held, replete.
How tenuous the grip we have, how slight our hold remains
As our allies shower cold distrust convinced our fault inflames.
What chance of clear redemption, what remedies revive
When truth is lost to darkness can our honesty survive?
Reputation cut to shards, confidences ******
That leaders of community no longer hold our trust
When white is caste as black and then to green and then to grey
And sanity refuses pontification one more day.
How tenuous the grip we have, how slight our holds remain
As twilight turns to darkness caste against a larks’ refrain.
M.
The White House
HAMILTON, New Zealand
25 July 2018
Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 1:36 AM UTC
I am anti-social,
I choke at social gatherings,
My breath feels nothing more than lies ,
The lies when people's words,
Sublime into air.
While everyone brags about,
The last time the Sapiens
Had a good time,
I comfortablly drift off,
Into my little Pluto,
Of words, poetry and music.
I am there,
Yet I am not there.
People think I'm a snob,
The Sapiens think I'm lazy,
But what do they know,
The happiness in solitude.
I am anti social,
And the last thing,
I could care about,
Is You.
Aug 25, 2016
Aug 25, 2016 at 4:03 PM UTC
Love is patient
Love is gentle and kind
True Love is never near-sighted or blind
It never boasts
It never brags
It doesn't matter
If your in riches or rags
Love is not rude
It does not say, "Me!, Me!, Me!"
When two become one its, "We!, We!, We!"
Love is not easily angered
It keeps no records of ugly words & wrongs
It only cries out, "How Can We Make It Strong!"
It does not dance with darkness
But serenades the light
To grow stronger is its only appetite
Love always protects
Always hopes and trust
True Love, will never rot or rust
It always perseveres
Through life's storms of thorns & nails
Because, True Love Never Fails.
By Buddy Williams
Sep 28, 2010
Sep 28, 2010 at 10:21 PM UTC
Five years ago
I knew an 8th grader
who felt ashamed for who he was
who felt constantly out of place
who tossed and turned at night
with deep enough despairs
with ideas of throwing it all away
with plans for those actions
with no dreams, and only one long nightmare
Three years ago
I knew a sophomore
who finally just started to accept it
who reached out and tried
who thought everyone felt the same
with only blank stares for replies
with only confused "friends"
with no family backing
with no true "inner circle"
Last year
I knew a senior
who carried the burden alone
who perfected his mask
who finally learned how to hide
with perceived success
with sarcasm and quick jokes
with pushing everyone away
with justified fear of opening up
This year
I know a college freshmen
who is struggling for acceptance of himself
who brags of the physical scars
who is afraid to reveal the deeper ones
with walls as big as he could muster
with iron bars to conceal what is beneath
with pandora's box within
with that same scared kid locked inside.
Apr 13, 2014
Apr 13, 2014 at 12:31 AM UTC
Hormones raging...for what I'm told not to engage in, even if we're engaged, if it's not official than its still revealed as...fornication. There's a disturbing underestimation of the result given for this particular sinful demonstration, society has taught us that we test the car before we drive it, but the 1st issue with this analogy told is that we're comparing human sin to...driving a vehicle? But if we're going to establish analogies on this subject , then, well, why don’t we also consider these: do we begin eating Thanksgiving dinner before were done saying grace? Do they hand out diplomas and degrees for classes you haven't passed yet? Do they give Super Bowl trophies to teams expected to win? So how do we justify receiving the prize of an unmet process? Far too many have allowed marriage to become an afterthought or not even a passing idea our better judgment caught because man had rather receive a temporary pleasure that sin conceives birthed in disobedience, deceptive grip around your conscience until your choked by the demands of a lustful flesh that wants to be fed in continual expedience. Or...Maybe, I’m just being a hater, fighting not to be twistedly envious and curious of a world that I’m forbidden to embrace. Or Maybe I’m fighting...the temptation and frustration of being a single man patiently searching for that good thing and the favor my Father blesses along with her. Maybe I’m fighting...not to nosedive into the bottomless trap laid for human souls, lured in by lack, of self-control. It troubles me in just how simple... he brags and boasts then plots and plans his next victim in the desecration of his and her Creator’s Temple. But It’s not all his fault, because it was up to her to give him the key to this priceless location better known as her body.
Jan 1, 2018
Jan 1, 2018 at 12:59 PM UTC
Don't be like those ladies that's insecure women.
Who stay silent?
When they man tell them too.
Who move according to his rules?
Who brags about treating her like a slave?
A woman barely able to go here and there.
Who's ordered to make his bath water?
And bring him his food when demanded too.
There's a great chance he's abusive.
And that she cover for him.
Even when he hurting her.
Cause he has mold her to his rules.
A rule reserved only for fools.
Yes, she insecure.
Maybe not really sure.
And afraid to leave.
Because he has forced her to stay.
This is the only way insecure men feel strength.
Cause many are afraid of a woman with power.
So the insecure woman feels important.
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 2:55 PM UTC
it's all occupied with dark fumes of flatulence
the bus hanger
it's teething and earning a low ceilinged thrive
regularly cleaned the roof portal
with a large drooping eye
brags of blue sky
the coaches are idling
fretful to be burdened and go
elsewhere
the public urinals
there's a strong smell of iron
are the morning users dehydrated
malnourished or ill ?
i feel a little flated
elsewhere
in the waiting area
a neatly turned out teen
wants to give their seat to the infirm
does not and hurts inside averting
(a public act of courtesy
would after all be an embarrassing one)
attention back to the importance
my friend has ungreeted me
i have wished him ease
and he has passed between the cordons
amongst amiable cattle
he pauses at the authorities verification
who in turn
tails them to load up their luggage
and become their driver
- goodbye my friend
Feb 7, 2024
Feb 7, 2024 at 5:57 PM UTC
it's unnerving how easily a pair of eyes strip me down
and take away every layer of defense
I have built up over the years.
hey sweetie, why don't you come over here?
because I don't want to, because you're repulsive
and your voice is scary and I felt your eyes on me
from the instant I crossed the street and I was hoping
you wouldn't speak.
want me to show you a good time?
but I was having the best time before I knew you existed,
when I was still just a person walking home
and the silent threats you make hadn't made it to
the horizon of my mind
**** what you doing walking around with hips like those?*
hips like these belong to my mother and
her mother and all of the women that have come
before me. in my body I possess history and blood
so strong it was only ever spilled during times of war.
how dare you. attempt to take that strength and power and pride
away from me. don't you know that I am magic,
that my body exists as art only
I should be allowed to admire
who gave you permission to steal from god's temple?
[I still see the dark look in your eyes
when you said that to me, the emptiness of
your pupils haunt me. they say that you see
me as nothing more than a body, a corpse.
someone to walk over.
someone to conquer.
you licked your lips and winked, the
wrinkles in your skin were clear even in the dark
and I could see that your two front teeth were
missing, so now I can't stop having nightmares
you grabbing me and tearing me apart, using
the same legs you whistled at as toothpicks]
*why are you walking so ******* fast?*
because you are terrifying. because I know
despite how brittle your bones may appear
there is a large chance if you catch me I won't
escape. because the risk of not escaping is an
automatic death to me in every sense of
the word. because I have friends, and they have
told me how their bodies were pillaged at the
hands of men like you.
*who the **** do you think you are?*
I think I am an island and I wish you
wouldn't insist on being so intrusive.
**** you too, *****
I just want to go home. I just want to go home.
why can't you let me do that?
you're not even that pretty anyway
when I met up with my best friend
she hugged me
and said I smelled like vanilla,
that I got more beautiful over the summer,
and that boys are going to lose their minds
when they see me.
my mother shows me off
boastfully, brags about my small waist like it
is a trophy, tells all my family that I am
peligrosamente hermosa,
dangerously beautiful.
and I believed them until I met you.
Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 3:21 PM UTC
The chase is on.
Have been since you saw her.
Now you must reel her in.
She's the bait.
And you're the fisherman.
Once a woman sparks a man interest.
She be chased and hopefully hooked.
Words of her beauty will be tossed her way.
And she will blush.
And feel warmth from all the charm.
Of the man known , as the fisherman.
And like a flowing stream.
He will describe all the beautiful sceneries she reminds him of.
Believe it.
Because, a fisherman always brags about their catch.
Jun 7, 2013
Jun 7, 2013 at 9:53 AM UTC
be with someone who starts a fire
brings the kindle
glows when you are near
and brags about your warmth
not someone who retreats
when you crackle
be with someone who wants to sink deeper
than the choppy surface
behind your sarcasm
beyond the distance
and still sees your worth
not someone whose scared
by your preferences
Nov 17, 2018
Nov 17, 2018 at 5:29 PM UTC
With the box lid closed
It's dark inside,
There are no colours
We can't abide.
But a golden sliver of light seeps in,
To expose the colours there within.
We see red when enraged,
And scarlet dancers crowd our stage;
A red-blooded male brags virility
Through rose-coloured glasses of masculinity.
Some grow green with envy,
Reveal they're yellow in enmity,
Are blue when feeling empathy,
Turn blue holding out for sympathy,
Are tickled pink with comedy,
And white as a sheet with tragedy,
Or brown-nosed with syncophany.
If your yellow-bellied you may run,
And green-gilled after Jamaican ***
Write purple prose when versifying,
Ashen coloured when you're dying.
True colours show outside the box,
Use grey cells to colour unorthodox.
Our true colours are harlequin,
That fade to black at our end.
Jul 5, 2015
Jul 5, 2015 at 3:51 PM UTC
My heart is a-breaking, dear Tittie,
Some counsel unto me come ***
To anger them a’ is a pity,
But what will I do wi’ Tam Glen?
I’m thinking, wi’ sic a braw fellow,
In poortith I might mak a fen’:
What care I in riches to wallow,
If I mauna marry Tam Glen?
There’s Lowrie, the laird o’ Dumeller,
“Guid-day to you,”—brute! he comes ben:
He brags and he blaws o’ his siller,
But when will he dance like Tam Glen?
My minnie does constantly deave me,
And bids me beware o’ young men;
They flatter, she says, to deceive me;
But wha can think sae o’ Tam Glen?
My daddie says, gin I’ll forsake him,
He’ll gie me guid hunder marks ten:
But, if it’s ordain’d I maun take him,
O wha will I get but Tam Glen?
Yestreen at the valentines’ dealing,
My heart to my mou gied a sten:
For thrice I drew ane without failing,
And thrice it was written, “Tam Glen”!
The last Halloween I was waukin
My droukit sark-sleeve, as ye ken:
His likeness cam up the house staukin,
And the very gray breeks o’ Tam Glen!
Come counsel, dear Tittie, don’t tarry;
I’ll gie ye my bonie black hen,
Gif ye will advise me to marry
The lad I lo’e dearly, Tam Glen.
2.9k
"I want to be a boxer" he said
Stomping his foot, his face red.
Angry at God for not making it happen
Now! Before his resolve does slacken
"I've got the skills for it." he whines
He neglects his practice half the time
He doesn't realise, it seems,
The difference between a hobby and a dream
"I've won many a fight!" he shouts
Those brawls with friends don't really count.
He did once won the junior championship
And into each conversation, he lets that slip.
"I can make it!" he says, His gloats, incessant
His actions, childish, His views, arrogant.
“Life’s so unfair!” he always cries
Though with all his heart, he never tries
He’s chasing the rush of winning a battle
But at the thought of war, his courage rattles
“If only I could follow my dream…” he muses
One day perhaps he’ll run out of excuses
His wistful eyes gaze at boxing rings,
Lost in the visions of glory they bring.
“It’s my calling.” He brags, unable to see
The clear path leading him to his “destiny”
On self -made hurdles, he always trips.
It seems on reality he’s losing his grip.
In this mind, there is ample confusion
On the difference between a dream and delusion
As time passes, one day it’ll be clear
That all that stopped him was his own fear
But until then, he lets the truth be unheard
For isn’t it easier to keep blaming the world?
Feb 19, 2016
Feb 19, 2016 at 1:38 PM UTC
She knows she's beautiful,
We know she's not lying,
I hate her guts oh god
How she brags bout her beautiful face
Without even trying,
Put a garbage bin on her head
Still looking like a queen
She's really beautiful
No one dares denying.
Oct 4, 2016
Oct 4, 2016 at 1:13 PM UTC
Stop ******* crying you piece of **** why are you so ******* dependent? Of course he's ignoring you, it's because you're such a huge burden on his life. Everything is a problem and you can't just be content for five ******* seconds. Consider it a miracle that you've lasted this long together. Maybe if you had some friends to distract you, you'd feel better. Too bad you don't have any, because you're a burden to them too. All you are is a sack of attention-seeking self-pitying bullshit. It's pathetic how weak you are, you can't even pretend to be a normal person? What the **** is wrong with you? Are you trying to be a disappointment? It's working. You make your mom cry. Your dad only brags about your brother. Your relatives find you awkward and uncomfortable. God, why are you such a ******
Jun 19, 2014
Jun 19, 2014 at 9:18 PM UTC
If older women seeking youthful men are cougars according to some.
Then older men are hunters seeking youthful women to energize them.
Which isn't to be confused with a predator.
One seeking physical emotional comfort.
While the other seeking intimate needs before taking ******
You know the little blue pill that males of age brags upon.
The man like a lion seeking his next meal.
Notice the money many older males uses to attract them.
Buying them gifts of various kinds to please them.
But the cougar seekers that want male candy upon their arm.
Fall for many with endurance to satisfy them.
Bringing out that late nature of desires that been held back for many years.
Strange to say, many of us probably know people like them.
Who we could name in a moment notice?
The Hunter.
The Cougar.
Really, there's no differences between them.
They both seeking various things to keep them pleased.
The Cougar.
The Hunter.
Who only searching for thrills?
While we go only just a judging them.
Nov 29, 2013
Nov 29, 2013 at 12:34 AM UTC
And now I have another lad!
No longer need you tell
How all my nights are slow and sad
For loving you too well.
His ways are not your wicked ways,
He's not the like of you.
He treads his path of reckoned days,
A sober man, and true.
They'll never see him in the town,
Another on his knee.
He'd cut his laden orchards down,
If that would pleasure me.
He'd give his blood to paint my lips
If I should wish them red.
He prays to touch my finger-tips
Or stroke my prideful head.
He never weaves a glinting lie,
Or brags the hearts he'll keep.
I have forgotten how to sigh--
Remembered how to sleep.
He's none to kiss away my mind--
A slower way is his.
Oh, Lord! On reading this, I find
A silly lot he is.
1.8k
They tell her, it’s not their place.
Say, he’s always been good to me.
Say, she should have left sooner.
They say a lot of things,
but never the ones that matter.
Her black eye is a private matter.
Her broken ribs, just a lover’s spat.
Her ****** A tragedy—
but never a crime until her name
is trending in the headlines.
When she packed her bags,
they called her selfish for breaking the family.
When she stayed,
they called her weak for not leaving.
But where was she supposed to go?
Shelters with no room?
A courtroom where his lies outweigh her bruises?
A graveyard where they’d whisper,
She should have known better?
They say, not all men.
Say, he was under stress.
Say, he’s a good dad,
as if a man who leaves his children hungry,
their mother in pieces,
is anything but a walking threat.
And you—
the man who doesn’t hit,
but laughs at the ones who do.
The one who turns away when your friend grabs her wrist too hard.
The one who stays silent when your coworker brags,
"I keep my woman in line."
You are part of this.
You are why she doesn’t call for help.
Why she learns to stitch her own wounds in silence.
Why she dies and they ask what she did to deserve it.
The system says, report him.
Then calls her bitter.
Then hands him weekends with the children—
the same children he left cowering behind locked doors.
And when she’s gone, they’ll ask:
Why didn’t she say something?
But all she ever did was scream
into a void of indifferent men,
silent women,
and a world that let her be hunted.
So hear this now:
If you know, speak.
If you see, stop him.
If you call yourself an ally, act.
Because the only men who fear consequences
are the ones who know they deserve them.
Jan 29, 2025
Jan 29, 2025 at 10:01 AM UTC
shaving dry to set a spark
rub in soap and ride it out
the fingers are so clumsy but
talent brags foam up the mouth
is it the youthful face, or dress
that clings like foil around the waist?
not self-awareness, but contempt
the true enlightened prophet makes
morality like marbles,
shining silly and misguided;
never falling out of love, but
finding better ways to hide it
Jun 3, 2021
Jun 3, 2021 at 9:28 AM UTC
My friend’s name is Complacent
She’s really just okay
Her voice is monotone
When we go out, she stays
She never gets wound up
She never gets stressed out
I’ve never heard her grumble
I’ve never seen her pout
Complacent likes to sit
Complacent likes to chat
She brags on why she’s better
I’m not buying that.
Sep 4, 2012
Sep 4, 2012 at 4:09 PM UTC
Each afternoon in June,
I loiter-linger on the corner of 37th avenue,
Both eyes asleep,
A summer’s sunset smile on my face,
A flock of fairies in free float round my head.
My habit, a daily pause,
Plant my haunch against the blue barrel mail box,
Old empty drum, anachronism, stubborn antique.
I cringe at the mad jazz of shrieks and horns on cue,
The hatter’s rush at end of day,
There is purpose in this cacophony,
My city boasts and brags with noise,
Intoxicated on aroma,
A frequency with every smell.
Baptiste’s Pizza owns the breeze at 4 p.m.
Inhale this baker’s breath,
An oven-joy in one warm gust,
Blond baked crust,
Tomatoes boil and bubble cheese,
Salt fresh anchovies, red peppers,
A currency of meats.
I salivate and lick the wind,
Hunger is desire.
Sudden harmony in one sweet waft,
A pleasant jet stream,
A toker passes by,
And gifts me with a 60’s contact high.
A small girl’s mouthful voice,
A jam cram of donuts is my guess.
The rattle, clap and black lung cough,
An old school diesel delivery truck,
The air brakes squeal for release,
It’s quitting time and everything wants to be free
A homeboy, my local jive,
I know his dreams,
A lacquered finish,
In love with his axe,
You feel me... tap, bump and go.
Vinegar and toxic spice,
A window washer’s delight,
He squeals a squeaky clean
Fresh roses, oh a hopeful night, bonne chance,
The catastrophe of a cigarette,
The killer joy of a fresh cigar,
An uptown girl's stealth perfume,
She knows her prey,
He knows her ploy,
A mid west girl and a downtown boy
Daylight begs to dim,
The sun will witness just enough, no more,
My corner holds its own,
Each afternoon my part in scenes,
I dream,
And never wish, but often wonder,
About the life that might have been.
Mar 25, 2016
Mar 25, 2016 at 4:08 PM UTC
Her alias was Sunrise
The affable Sky
Brags her entity
In the high latitude
Her voice was heard.
There exists Energy
He puts up the plug
With the invisible outlet
Of the naked Sky
His charged particles
Brought collision
Brought wonder
To the full-sized Universe.
The solar wind
The Earth
Both were crowd-pullers
Every one knelt down
As they see
The Roman Goddess of Dawn
Her melodramatic entrance
Her chameleon-like aptitude
The neon lights
Without Christmas *****
Made her zone broaden.
I am the Seeker
A Dreamer
In this winter breeze
I lied down
With the techy remote
Unearthing
The Goddess of Fantasy.
(12/5/13 @xirlleelang)
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 10:24 PM UTC
To the next girl
To the next girl, I hope you fall in love with his blue eyes and big smile.
I hope you notice everything about him. Notice how his eyes glow when he’s smiling. Cherish his smile, because you don’t see it as often as you should.
I hope you listen to his problems but don’t try to fix them because he insists on doing that himself.
I hope you learn that to him, trust is everything. All it takes is one time, one mistake and it will go away.
I hope you are okay with the fact that one minute he will play a country song and sing his heart out then the next he’ll have on rap and just bob his head occasionally saying the lyrics.
I hope you meet his mom and she loves you. I hope she brags about you to him, about how lucky he is.
But don’t let that fool you, he isn’t the lucky one. You are
I hope you make him happy, because I failed to do so.
I hope you’re okay with his bad habits, because he won’t change for anyone.
I hope you’re okay with hanging out with his friends, because his friends are his brothers and they mean the world to him.
I hope you know that even if he doesn’t tell you he cares, he does.
I hope you know that he’s broken even though he seems so strong. He needs you to build him back up.
I hope you play with his little sister. She doesn’t talk much but if you pick her up and spin her around I guarantee she will scream “Again! Again!”
I hope you introduce him to your family, let him come over, let him meet your dad, your mom, brothers and sisters.
To the next girl
I hope he loves you back.
Nov 21, 2015
Nov 21, 2015 at 10:34 PM UTC