"brawlers" poems - Hello Poetry

I have always liked, Defiant Africans, Nelson, Patrice, Kenyatta, Martin Luther King, Groovy black men, ******* with attitude, But they intimidate me, Black men. Freedom fighters, Bar room brawlers, And I rise from sleep, Sheened in sweat, Running away, Scribbling my number, On scraps of paper, On foreheads and trousers, On outstretched palms, And I’m breathing heavily, Feeling stained, Because, That one there, The white man in Navy uniform, With hair on his ***** I know him, -conquistador- He smells of garlic and grease, And my black friends call me, ****** ***** ***** Will he take the lion tooth offered, Will he make the tribal dance? -I can teach him to love the earth, Teach him to plant his feet in, deep- I ********** from sleep, supported By thick, colonial, muscle. I am forging steel, Industrial iron, I am engineering a white lover Beneath the sheets, whilst Apologising to freedom fighters, Who call me ****** ***** *****

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Jul 20, 2012

Jul 20, 2012 at 4:55 PM UTC

ipoet

****** ***** *****

I have always liked, Defiant Africans, Nelson, Patrice, Kenyatta, Martin Luther King, Groovy black men, ******* with attitude, But they intimidate me, Black men. Freedom fighters, Bar room brawlers, And I rise from sleep, Sheened in sweat, Running away, Scribbling my number, On scraps of paper, On foreheads and trousers, On outstretched palms, And I’m breathing heavily, Feeling stained, Because, That one there, The white man in Navy uniform, With hair on his ***** I know him, -conquistador- He smells of garlic and grease, And my black friends call me, ****** ***** ***** Will he take the lion tooth offered, Will he make the tribal dance? -I can teach him to love the earth, Teach him to plant his feet in, deep- I ********** from sleep, supported By thick, colonial, muscle. I am forging steel, Industrial iron, I am engineering a white lover Beneath the sheets, whilst Apologising to freedom fighters, Who call me ****** ***** *****

40

We, the people of this country, in your eyes are: babblers, bachelors, bafflers, baiters, barkers, beakers, beaters, brawlers, blamers, beggars, bloaters, bloopers, bombers, boozers, blunders, bruisers, bafflers, bluffers, burglars and burners. That's why you feel compelled to keep your foot on our heads keep us down, put us down, push us down subjugate us, belittle us, berate us. We, the people of this country, in our eyes are: butlers, bouncers, bakers, buyers, barbers, cake-makers, delivery-takers, cocktail-shakers, taxi drivers, cancer survivors, employers and hirers, music makers, entertainers, window washers, foster takers, plasterers, carpenters, scaffolders, sparks and builders, boxers, carers, coaches, tailors, shoe makers, designers, illustrators, multi-language facilitators, dog walkers, dog trainers, bikers and cycle couriers, doctors and nurses and all the emergency services. We are the People, the reason you are where you are now you sometimes forget that we exist as people, somehow locked in your ivory towers with gold plated showers and MP expenses and investment banker pretenses this is not theater, its real life drama, its not just a bluff its time to stand up and say enough is enough.

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Jun 27, 2014

Jun 27, 2014 at 9:54 AM UTC

DBeard

Another Angry Voice

We, the people of this country, in your eyes are: babblers, bachelors, bafflers, baiters, barkers, beakers, beaters, brawlers, blamers, beggars, bloaters, bloopers, bombers, boozers, blunders, bruisers, bafflers, bluffers, burglars and burners. That's why you feel compelled to keep your foot on our heads keep us down, put us down, push us down subjugate us, belittle us, berate us. We, the people of this country, in our eyes are: butlers, bouncers, bakers, buyers, barbers, cake-makers, delivery-takers, cocktail-shakers, taxi drivers, cancer survivors, employers and hirers, music makers, entertainers, window washers, foster takers, plasterers, carpenters, scaffolders, sparks and builders, boxers, carers, coaches, tailors, shoe makers, designers, illustrators, multi-language facilitators, dog walkers, dog trainers, bikers and cycle couriers, doctors and nurses and all the emergency services. We are the People, the reason you are where you are now you sometimes forget that we exist as people, somehow locked in your ivory towers with gold plated showers and MP expenses and investment banker pretenses this is not theater, its real life drama, its not just a bluff its time to stand up and say enough is enough.

25

These are the letters which Endymion wrote To one he loved in secret, and apart. And now the brawlers of the auction mart Bargain and bid for each poor blotted note, Ay! for each separate pulse of passion quote The merchant’s price. I think they love not art Who break the crystal of a poet’s heart That small and sickly eyes may glare and gloat. Is it not said that many years ago, In a far Eastern town, some soldiers ran With torches through the midnight, and began To wrangle for mean raiment, and to throw Dice for the garments of a wretched man, Not knowing the God’s wonder, or His woe?

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2.8k

Oscar Wilde

On The Sale By Auction Of Keats’ Love Letters

These are the letters which Endymion wrote To one he loved in secret, and apart. And now the brawlers of the auction mart Bargain and bid for each poor blotted note, Ay! for each separate pulse of passion quote The merchant’s price. I think they love not art Who break the crystal of a poet’s heart That small and sickly eyes may glare and gloat. Is it not said that many years ago, In a far Eastern town, some soldiers ran With torches through the midnight, and began To wrangle for mean raiment, and to throw Dice for the garments of a wretched man, Not knowing the God’s wonder, or His woe?

14

I hunt antelope in human hordes. I haul three brooms on one shoulder. I don't clean up. I dance with specters and minuscule magenta men. I am the precocious girl in fuchsia heels and charcoal dress. I am the humble man with stark white tails. I pull drops of food from the ether. I pinch seeds from flower's eyes. I touch like feathers and embrace like mountains. I take leave when I want to. I am the shaggy oak watching his youth flash past. I am the alabaster orb and the effervescent waves. I eat the wind with a dash of cinnamon. I exude thunderstorms from every pore. I sleep with stingrays and the smell of wet hay. I spend blood-soaked bills without a second thought. I am the sinless murderer. I am the woman with eyes that mend bones. I fly with eagles in the cerulean. I fight Irish brawlers with my eyes closed. I capture hearts in nets of lavender and silk. I climb towering opal obelisks. I am the painter's muse and the singer's breath. I am the hoary frost on ancient limbs.

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May 12, 2010

May 12, 2010 at 11:07 AM UTC

max-matheson

Lavender and silk

I hunt antelope in human hordes. I haul three brooms on one shoulder. I don't clean up. I dance with specters and minuscule magenta men. I am the precocious girl in fuchsia heels and charcoal dress. I am the humble man with stark white tails. I pull drops of food from the ether. I pinch seeds from flower's eyes. I touch like feathers and embrace like mountains. I take leave when I want to. I am the shaggy oak watching his youth flash past. I am the alabaster orb and the effervescent waves. I eat the wind with a dash of cinnamon. I exude thunderstorms from every pore. I sleep with stingrays and the smell of wet hay. I spend blood-soaked bills without a second thought. I am the sinless murderer. I am the woman with eyes that mend bones. I fly with eagles in the cerulean. I fight Irish brawlers with my eyes closed. I capture hearts in nets of lavender and silk. I climb towering opal obelisks. I am the painter's muse and the singer's breath. I am the hoary frost on ancient limbs.

24

Ashes pushed in tight against the pressure of us; Our loose breath and words. We are purveyors, headcutters, jazzists, brawlers, writers and killers. We meet here to live. We scream and bang instruments. We come here to die. Cutting our hair and writing on the walls, dressing immaculately. Trying to keep our chins above our sweat, rising an inch a minute. We come here to be baptized in this river of sin, made unholy before the weekday pulls us out of tantrum, to mediocrity.

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Sep 12, 2016

Sep 12, 2016 at 1:34 AM UTC

austin-heath

"Tantrum."

Ashes pushed in tight against the pressure of us; Our loose breath and words. We are purveyors, headcutters, jazzists, brawlers, writers and killers. We meet here to live. We scream and bang instruments. We come here to die. Cutting our hair and writing on the walls, dressing immaculately. Trying to keep our chins above our sweat, rising an inch a minute. We come here to be baptized in this river of sin, made unholy before the weekday pulls us out of tantrum, to mediocrity.

21

It's ok, go ahead and be a hater hate on me, i'll see you later lately i have been a debater debating with the one creator creating a brand new being be aware of what you're seeing see me as your mind freeing free me from the disagreeing disagreements of failure falling fall away and hear your calling call to you to stop brawling brawlers always continue crawling

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Nov 19, 2013

Nov 19, 2013 at 1:26 PM UTC

GaryL

Brawlers Crawling - Quantum Loop

It's ok, go ahead and be a hater hate on me, i'll see you later lately i have been a debater debating with the one creator creating a brand new being be aware of what you're seeing see me as your mind freeing free me from the disagreeing disagreements of failure falling fall away and hear your calling call to you to stop brawling brawlers always continue crawling

12

These brawlers becoming celebrities and the weekend warriors and harlots being consumed by the limelight suffocated in the attention they draw over themselves they steal the heat while the artists shiver in the cold and dark we are the forgotten plagued by the talentless given little more than a nod of appreciation

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Apr 8, 2017

Apr 8, 2017 at 9:47 AM UTC

CarsonHurley

Plague of the talentless

These brawlers becoming celebrities and the weekend warriors and harlots being consumed by the limelight suffocated in the attention they draw over themselves they steal the heat while the artists shiver in the cold and dark we are the forgotten plagued by the talentless given little more than a nod of appreciation

12

I have words good words all the best words they come out of me in fountains cascading waterfall words flushing away doubt over the edge over the precipice I speak falling words splashing words drowning words there are rocks at the bottom broken bones buried treasure known unknowns wrapped in reedy words left here by thrill seekers terrorists, murderers rapists jumping off cliffs swimming over rivers climbing the walls that I built I am a great builder, you see but it's not all about me and my words I have questions too Why do the bubbles breathe when I can't? Is this light refracted a mirror of the dark? Is there such a thing as a grindelow? Can't we stop them? What is this weight pulling me down Can I swim? Will I drown if I don't win? Don't look too closely for I don't know anything I never did Let me back in I always win You'll be sorry You will be sorry all that will be left is a scorched blonde wig a scorched earth a pile of empty emperors clothes and legislated words captured in email, cooked until raw served over the body politic burnt and broken by the fall of ***** grabbing brawlers drowned and forgotten in a furore of water hurtling towards the forgetful sea and it's endless tides will bring the bodies back to shore won't wash away the misdeeds, you don't know that half of it you will never be clean But not me I am very rich you see I will float away on an endless tide of empty promises corporate endorsements and established exploitations leaving only the roaring echo of the flood in which all your words all your worthless worlds were washed away so ask yourself on voting day who do you hate less? who do you hate more? will it always be this way?

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Nov 1, 2016

Nov 1, 2016 at 6:50 PM UTC

peter-roads

You Know Who

I have words good words all the best words they come out of me in fountains cascading waterfall words flushing away doubt over the edge over the precipice I speak falling words splashing words drowning words there are rocks at the bottom broken bones buried treasure known unknowns wrapped in reedy words left here by thrill seekers terrorists, murderers rapists jumping off cliffs swimming over rivers climbing the walls that I built I am a great builder, you see but it's not all about me and my words I have questions too Why do the bubbles breathe when I can't? Is this light refracted a mirror of the dark? Is there such a thing as a grindelow? Can't we stop them? What is this weight pulling me down Can I swim? Will I drown if I don't win? Don't look too closely for I don't know anything I never did Let me back in I always win You'll be sorry You will be sorry all that will be left is a scorched blonde wig a scorched earth a pile of empty emperors clothes and legislated words captured in email, cooked until raw served over the body politic burnt and broken by the fall of ***** grabbing brawlers drowned and forgotten in a furore of water hurtling towards the forgetful sea and it's endless tides will bring the bodies back to shore won't wash away the misdeeds, you don't know that half of it you will never be clean But not me I am very rich you see I will float away on an endless tide of empty promises corporate endorsements and established exploitations leaving only the roaring echo of the flood in which all your words all your worthless worlds were washed away so ask yourself on voting day who do you hate less? who do you hate more? will it always be this way?

73

You coward with your false pride. Choosing words to hurt and smiling smugly. It is not brave to try to fight who you call a friend. It is not wise to divide the room with "you idiot". Drunk minds quickly breed hardened fists. I love you brother but you can't pick a fight with some brawlers. The night didn't call me last night Her whisper fell silent and cold.

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May 19, 2013

May 19, 2013 at 3:19 PM UTC

MoShellShocker

A night is only a drunkard's day.

You coward with your false pride. Choosing words to hurt and smiling smugly. It is not brave to try to fight who you call a friend. It is not wise to divide the room with "you idiot". Drunk minds quickly breed hardened fists. I love you brother but you can't pick a fight with some brawlers. The night didn't call me last night Her whisper fell silent and cold.

9

For eyes of iron Hearts of ice Fingers of lead Children in the trash For kindness Goodwill Goodness Love For bullet holes Burglars Taggers Brawlers For the courageous The peacemakers The volunteers The helpful A rainbow in the sky Beneath it live people Like you and me So alike — or not?

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Aug 23, 2025

Aug 23, 2025 at 7:02 AM UTC

maxneumann

People

For eyes of iron Hearts of ice Fingers of lead Children in the trash For kindness Goodwill Goodness Love For bullet holes Burglars Taggers Brawlers For the courageous The peacemakers The volunteers The helpful A rainbow in the sky Beneath it live people Like you and me So alike — or not?

20