"brawny" poems
There are people who
Love to participate in meeting
And make storm and dream
in their deliberation;
But vacillate
For coming down to ground
And execute;
They are called as meeting brawny!
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 4:13 PM UTC
Under a spreading chestnut-tree
The village smithy stands;
The smith, a mighty man is he,
With large and sinewy hands;
And the muscles of his brawny arms
Are strong as iron bands.
His hair is crisp, and black, and long,
His face is like the tan;
His brow is wet with honest sweat,
He earns whate’er he can,
And looks the whole world in the face,
For he owes not any man.
Week in, week out, from morn till night,
You can hear his bellows blow;
You can hear him swing his heavy sledge,
With measured beat and slow,
Like a sexton ringing the village bell,
When the evening sun is low.
And children coming home from school
Look in at the open door;
They love to see the flaming forge,
And hear the bellows roar,
And catch the burning sparks that fly
Like chaff from a threshing-floor.
He goes on Sunday to the church,
And sits among his boys;
He hears the parson pray and preach,
He hears his daughter’s voice,
Singing in the village choir,
And it makes his heart rejoice.
It sounds to him like her mother’s voice,
Singing in Paradise!
He needs must think of her once more,
How in the grave she lies;
And with his hard, rough hand he wipes
A tear out of his eyes.
Toiling,—rejoicing,—sorrowing,
Onward through life he goes;
Each morning sees some task begin,
Each evening sees it close;
Something attempted, something done,
Has earned a night’s repose.
Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend,
For the lesson thou hast taught!
Thus at the flaming forge of life
Our fortunes must be wrought;
Thus on its sounding anvil shaped
Each burning deed and thought.
5.6k
It is a tell of
two adored in historic past
“Their life was bumpy
No one allowed them to tie the knot!
They were lucky
Times permit them to get nearer!
In the fullness of time,
They are happy
Since
Their new life is starts up!
They are starry
As
crops in their field are growing up!
They are brawny
Seeing
Her haulage to a new hope!
Their hopes are turns to gusty
Draught spread out
Crops ruined up
and in the bolt from the blue
He breathes his last!
She is becoming leggy
Tears and torn encircled
People started to blame!
All of a sudden
A magic brings Mosey
A birds comes in and
tell ‘I am here now,
Going sing everyday for you
and our up bring!’"
Then onwards
People in the hills
label birds calls are
the songs of their dearest one !
Now, birds are becoming honey
to everyone!!
Nov 29, 2014
Nov 29, 2014 at 2:24 PM UTC
People often refer to me
as a total Jack Ace.
I just tell them that, in fact,
I’m more like a rabid K-9.
Don’t mind the foam in my mouth.
When the king goes a floppin’
don’t even bother knockin’
Numbah nine.
Numbah nine.
Your tens just lost their
perfect shine, I’ll
soak you up just like
Brawny
cleaning wine.
Jul 26, 2014
Jul 26, 2014 at 4:40 PM UTC
It cannot put pen to paper
But all a flower has to do
Is open up its delicate petals
Unfolding like a noble lady's fan
Broadening to blossom into a lovely jewel
Poetry without any word
A spider weaves its web
Like an author spins tales
It's intentions upon its survival, but
Its intricate home of threads and strings
Like a gossamer harp
Is enchanting to perceive
A make and design of fragile strength
The oceans and seas
Mighty and commanding
They roar and display their majesty
With crashing waves and splashy bravado
They spare few prisoners
And graveyards of sunken ships
Whisper of stories untold
Birds chirp and warble
With songs that humans long to know
For they travel through the air
In simplistic freedom
Their chorus of communication
Is a poetic symphony just as entertaining
As any band of musicians or artists
The winds blow and whistle
Though they have no mouths
If you listen close enough
You can hear their secrets
Their breath of life in the
Ever flowing
Breezes that enfold us
You'd swear the mountains
Were painted that way
Brawny and broad, peaked high above
Against the grand canvas we call the sky
Yes, paintings are poems, too
For a picture speaks a thousand words
But no mere man can make a mountain
You see
We are merely students
Taught by God's natural, creative genius
We are merely imitators
Of what nature displays
We are not originals
For we are not the first poets
Nor the first storytellers
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 1:31 AM UTC
four ****** sisters born in the frozen woods;
emerging from the mind of their older sister,
who is also mother
of the universe;
as the fair sun sets & darkness
comes w/ winds
down from mountains; mother running mad [ ]
out to the field,
shouting kinfolk running from everywhere;
the oldest sister Philosophia wondering aloud
about her sister's things
|
scanning the sky w/ her magical eight-eyes; [ ],
Beautia, watching her slyly; sits
beside her w/ two heads, [ ] one in her arm;
it's no wonder [her lover] has [ ]
gone but
appears at her [ ] cracked window
where she ponders snakes & her faint starlit
father's statues of the
monumental men
of old as he imagined them to be;
brawny & vague; -
[that race of giants]
baby sister nature trots down
the mountainside bringing the music;
she-goats following | her dusty trail's
trail [from below the earth - as from above]
trailing their tails & running ahead; mother,
possessed long into the night; [shipbuilding,
sailing & navigating was not accomplished
by trial & error; some higher being had to instruct
[generations have to pass for
mankind to learn one thing] until electricity
men gunned each other down
in the streets & parks
| & used swords [ ]
| the garrulous collection of
hairy morons, | if only
to get them [since the Bomb humanity
hasn't learned a thing; now,
in a new era, [we have yet to learn]
wiping out the race
through **** starvation & ******
in the wide field [ ] of the wide plateau, [ ]
arms spread, | flat on her back where the
genius sky echoes
ring out from the barbarous throat of
the fourth sister
Fortuna, who has seen it all w/ the sun's eyes;
Jul 19, 2018
Jul 19, 2018 at 10:25 AM UTC
along the red marble hall in the east wing
on either side, hung from the talons of granite stones
resting on their brother's shoulders in the bitter load baring
framed in golden oak and cherry wood, gilded arcane; several paintings
in the style of the Old Masters. And a long rug from foreign fjords
like a flat dune of spice, the length of a mile. pinched to a vantage point
in a spider's web. and a draft.
a draft through the twelve senses. your song un-gongs the gamelan
and the bells remain. pecked by crows of a different summer.
beads of honey making war
on paraplegic bees. we keep these in styrofoam cups to just enough; seal our wounds.
we encounter the lost rooms with the odd keys
on either side, the full length of the east hall. stout, brawny portals to discord and fable.
perhaps even windows of a different winter.
perhaps we know.
Mar 26, 2013
Mar 26, 2013 at 4:36 AM UTC
I remember the first time I laid eyes on him, that
emotive whirlwind within at the sight of him
I swooned inwardly, blinking...
overtaken by the moment, a radiance connected us;
his visage emanated strength beyond his brawny
physique and his handsomeness
our dawning...
love awakened at the sight of him; keeping bedroom eyes
mentally closed, but, longing to feel him against me
became a resting place in my heart
his eyes were so, tender, I wanted to finger trace his lips,
slowly, allowing him to taste the first breath of our moment
one moonlit night...
he approached, another swoon moment, I melted in his
arms as he whispered in the arch of sultry heat uncovering
the fabric of my being
love aroused...
and our essence melded; one breath...ours mingled,
became precious as wet stained kisses rained
upon upturned pout
taste of him left me adorned, in naked shadows of midnight,
love found; bound by blushed sighs, in demureness I lean
into manliness breathing shades of his love
lost...
in syllabic whispers, drenched in poetry of us, where want
dawdles at the door of need as desire entwines igniting our
flame and I melt between the folds of Him and I
evolving...
in the archway of love at first sight
Jul 18, 2013
Jul 18, 2013 at 8:15 PM UTC
I am like that passerby
Who sees a drowning man,
Thrashing in the water.
Yet completely unable to swim.
I am like that passerby
Who sees a man getting mugged
Clamped in those brawny arms.
Yet not strong enough to defend.
I am like that passerby
Who sees a child crossing a dangerous road
Walking as the car zooms by.
Yet too scared to save.
I am like that passerby
And I will always only be a passerby.
I see but I do not do.
Helpless
But always forced to
Watch.
Dec 18, 2013
Dec 18, 2013 at 4:01 AM UTC
Painted pictures come to life,
Twirling landscapes with subliminal words,
He gestures back and forth with life,
The white canvass transforms into a palette
You stood on the inside,
Wanting to go out,
You watched from the inside,
Wishing you were someone else
He’s driven around in a limousine,
With a stack of green bills to light his cigar,
He’s got it made and does not know you exist,
He dines with pomposity and drinks in gold
You stood on the outside,
Watching him dine and wine,
You watched from the outside,
Wishing you were sitting there.
She was a model, thin and tall,
Brawny and bright with a flair of the fair,
She smiled and danced, gyrating her hips
She partied until she could no more
You stood on the outside,
You wished you had her life,
You watched from the outside,
Wishing someone invited you
To life’s grand celebration
You did not know though,
The model died of drug abuse,
The tycoon was murdered,
And the artist…ahh the Artist!
That was you…that was you first and foremost
You forgot and you deviated!
You re-arranged your priorities
And now…and now
You stand on the outside,
You no longer can watch the world go by,
You no longer can wish,
You in a wooden coffin,
Being laid to rest.
You died yesterday,
Poisoned with affection
By someone who stood by
And watched you from the outside
Vijaya Balan (2009)
Nov 7, 2014
Nov 7, 2014 at 4:12 AM UTC
You sow seeds of your life,
By your own self.
You wish that they survive,
Without others' help.
You put some water of affection,
And desire for a vibrant leaves collection.
You anticipate it show the true inner reflection.
You wish the plant to grow soon,
It peaks out and sees the brutality.
You take care of it in the blazing afternoon,
So that it doesn't adapts to the causality.
You wish it to grow into a sturdy brawny tree,
Which gives fruits and blooms flowers,
Which can be set free,
And is full of vie and power.
Once it's usual to the surroundings,
People come and go.
And say bad words cursily
The tree- it's morals go low.
The imaginations and expectations
All are failed.
Full of scars and suctions
You now sailed.
Back to - from where you came.
No guilt, no regret, no shame.
You think to earn more fame,
Making your life truly lame.
The tree without you died,
Because it had no hope.
Are you still capable to say "it's mine"
It is long gone.
Aug 6, 2021
Aug 6, 2021 at 9:48 AM UTC
*I see piercing rings like light shows in the goldish brown skies of your eyes and when you speak, a beautifully combined string of sounds creates the most charming melody my ears have ever been graced with
Your lips like the greatest comfort of life, smooth and soft like linen sheets enfolding my freckled flesh
Your tongue sugared and wet, like a piece of hard candy, I love the way it tastes as it turns around in my mouth
Your kiss like the most breathtaking of any and all tangible and transcendental pleasures
A never ending dream flowing softly in the counterparts of my introverted mind
The gentle drone of your heavy sighs
Your breath, heavy and humid, like a dense fog covering the ground on a crisp fall morning
Your black hair resembles a dark and silky shroud like it could absorb all light and still be both blinding and appealing
I watch your fervor as it spreads to every particle of air that it can infiltrate
Your heart seemingly evident though tucked away under the enticing surface of your brawny chest, as if I can feel your heartbeat in my very chest, thumping in perfect synchronization with the quiet beating of my own heart*
Dec 18, 2013
Dec 18, 2013 at 8:57 AM UTC
through shattered glass a broken mind
in one lone voice terse and cleansed
speaks unspoken thoughts of rusty will
nestled in spirit's brawny grasp
winged notions lay in wait
on woodless edges of fate's forest
relenting for relent's sake
heart-shaped clouds bleed sorrowed sheets
blanketing a clown of shame
huddled atop nervy stilts
embedded in the muck of mourn
furious fields forge fires of rage
a sweltering stench stands tall
in lockstep a ghosts parade
foggy silhouettes stop and gaze
watching, waiting, wanting
to rob future's grave of treasures past
scratched and bruised and battered lands
tattered bands of dreamscape caravans
timeless sands, spineless hands, heartless clans
among these, fate is planned
a distant city stands to fall
infidels shall cringe and crawl
brotherhood of hate begun
redemption of man undone
©Jason Cole
Apr 1, 2015
Apr 1, 2015 at 4:52 PM UTC
I want a dog who is a big fat coward like me
And barks only behind thick glass television screens
Face to face his tail is between his legs
And he looks away from dogs half his size
He hides under the bed during storms
And licks robbers on the knees
He is a companion that knows what it is to fear
To envy the bravado of the brawny action star
When your only catchphrase is trembling
My dog bounds into the foggy recesses I forgot exist
No longer in sight
I hear him bark and claw at the echoes within
Oct 23, 2011
Oct 23, 2011 at 10:38 PM UTC
Rest in Country
We'd just lobbed into Vungers from the Dat on R & C,
Innocently strolling was **** Knight and me,
Across the Flags to the Some-Such Bar wherein the girls drank 'tea'.
And I can still see Max beside me striding to the Some-Such Bar,
With the baby-sans about him going just that bit too far,
With their practiced tugs and pleadings going just that bit too far.
And of course among the baby-sans the cowboys moved in too,
Which didn't worry me too much my cash was in my shoe,
But Max was Max and in those days, not like me and you.
‘Watch your wallet, mate,’ says I, ‘in case it comes to harm.’
‘No fear of that’ says mighty Max with patriotic charm,
Then he tucked a cowboy baby-san beneath one brawny arm.
Well! 'You silly ****** put him down’ but Max went like a rocket;
'I'm off to find the White Mice 'cos this bastard's picked me pocket.’
And I groaned aloud because I knew that me and him would cop it.
Sure enough, there gathered round an angry, shouting throng,
In Asia you don't maltreat kids, no matter right or wrong;
Believe you me our lives that day depended on that throng.
And I got hit with an iron bar (the hat protected my head),
Whilst Max had a pistol ****** into his belly and really should be dead,
And across the Flags M.P's I saw, turned white in craven dread.
Australians too, those coppers but no good to Max and me;
The gutless ******** turned about just so they might not see
The riot raging fiercely now about my mate and me.
I'd say forty upright citizens we met that Vung Tau day.
Policemen, soldiers, rascals, all with us two in affray;
Those Aussie ****** save our lives? They'd turned themselves away.
Thank Christ the mob stayed leaderless, our riot's end surprise;
And the cowardly action of those two? 'twas blessing in disguise,
For a Yankee Jeep barged through the mob and drawled 'in here, you guys'.
It barged back out then drove full speed to the end of R&C
Where the Major spoke severely to **** Knight and me.
While quietly back at the Some-Such Bar the girls sat drinking tea.
Saved
Mar 12, 2019
Mar 12, 2019 at 10:08 PM UTC
'Where are all the rough men?'
Said the codger to the son
'For it's time we were home again
And daylight's almost done
For though this park is fair
To look upon in light
The shadows truly fill the air
With goons who long to fight
Where are all the rough men
Who used to walk this park?
For it's time we were home again
Before it grows to dark
They're gone, i tell you lad,
And we'll never get them back
And you should be remorseful
And mournful for our lack
For now we're watched by half-men
They're eunuchs one and all
How can these skinny jeans stand
When the blows begin to fall?
Show me the thugs of yester-year,
Those bold and brawny men
Who'd hear the war drums pounding
And come running glen to glen
Bring me back my brothers,
And these villains one and all
Would run back to their mothers
And seek no other brawl
But my eyesight now forsakes me
And my hand forgets its wrench
And my legs will not allow me
To go far beyond this bench
Were that i was sprier
And still retained my brawn
But now I simply tire
And the last rough man is gone'
Mar 2, 2013
Mar 2, 2013 at 1:54 PM UTC
SUNDAY, OCTOBER 02, 2005
I am quiet, walking between the rows of shoulder high...
there is learning catching up to me, racing towards my heels.
its pace crushes my lungs;
My head hangs, the earth's aroma lifts towards me so I can smell.
Huffing with the strength of an intelligent woman,
My ******* are firm,
my brawny hair ringlets down my sides,
my solitude attracts attention for one moment,
then the love moves on.
the cold freezes my breath.
I sit at a desk,
conjuring up their names without permission.
invading their lives like an uninvited transient.
watching through an open curtain as they make love to other women.
discarding my own life, calm, slow, sleeping,
fighting for nothing.
October 2, 2005
Jul 22, 2013
Jul 22, 2013 at 12:37 PM UTC
They fell in love in June,
When the sun shone rays of gold.
She—
With her flaxen-brown locks of warmth.
He—
With his brawny arms of fire,
They fell in love in June.
They fell in love in June.
The moment their eyes locked to the opposite sides of the same window
Was the scene they would never forget.
She—
With virginal hope hovering her logic,
And he—
With masculine autonomy clouding the last of her clear days,
They fell in love in June.
They fell in love in June.
The window protected her from the fire,
But they pierced the glass together.
Craving the heat from her beloved,
She sank into the smoky fumes.
And the fumes were friendly at first.
She loved inhaling the smoke that arose from under the gentle sheets.
He touched her in ways that didn’t burn her.
And they felt passion at first.
They felt vulnerable fury in the fingers of one
And ardent lust in the palms of the other,
As they fell in love in June.
They fell in love in June,
She
With his nourishing flames.
And he
With the image of her broken hunger longing for them.
They fell in love in June.
Jun 5, 2014
Jun 5, 2014 at 12:35 PM UTC
I miss you.
Your brawny arms,
and the way they'd firmly hold me.
Those honest starry eyes,
and their ability to burn holes through me.
Your flawlessly gentle lips,
and the way they felt like cashmere connecting to my own.
The warmth of your body,
in my bed.
I miss,
the ignorance of being alone.
Our legs
weaved between each others bodies as we slumber.
You,
bogarting the chill of the night.
Using your own toes
to defrost mine.
Appointing your chest the role,
To stand in as my personalized pillow.
And more than anything,
I miss waking up happy.
Your influential mind, your godly presence, and your virtuous company.
Could you please return them back to me.
Feb 21, 2013
Feb 21, 2013 at 4:02 AM UTC
The warmth surges through my body as the water runs down,
Down, down, down it drips.
Through my ***** blonde hair that extends to my sun kissed stomach.
To my thighs,
And lastly to my toes painted in pink.
The water beats from the shower cap with the power people crave for,
Desire for.
I like to play a game, with the water.
I turn the nosel to the hottest it will go,
Then simply stand under it.
I can feel my chest burning,
My body melting under the scalding water.
Before I evaporate completely under the shower cap, I turn the nosel to the coldest it will go.
My breath is taken instantly, my favorite part.
Slowly my head becomes numb.
The numbness travels down to my frozen cheeks,
My burnt shoulders,
My growing *******
My narrow hips,
My brawny legs,
My pink toes.
And this is when I know I am alive.
So I turn off the water,
And know I won the game.
Nov 19, 2012
Nov 19, 2012 at 5:54 PM UTC
The wind grew chill on a summer’s day
And the clouds built up outside,
‘It looks like a storm is coming our way,’
Said the folk of Ezra’s Pride,
The sea rose up in a mighty swirl
And it swamped their coastal town,
‘I think there’s something wrong with the world,’
Said the blacksmith, Helmut Brown.
He left the forge as the fire went out
Under the tidal surge,
And looked to heaven as folk would shout
‘The sea and the sky have merged.’
For the clouds above were purple and gold
The horizon coloured the same,
The ground beneath had rumbled and groaned
As it came, the pelting rain.
He went to look for his Isabelle
In the cottage down by the shore,
The water there was draining away
Then it hit the eaves once more,
And she clung onto the cottage roof
Where it swept her there in fright,
She cried to Helmut, ‘Just get me down,
I fear for my life tonight.’
So he took her down in his brawny arms
And he waded through the flood,
‘I’ll keep you safe from the world’s alarms,’
As he walked through seas of mud,
He walked her up to the higher ground
As the lightning lit the sky,
‘I’ll not let anything happen to you
For in truth, I’d rather die.’
But then the ground had opened up
In a crevice, ten feet deep,
And he was parted from Isabelle,
Who stood on the side more steep,
‘How can I come on back to you,’
The love of his life had cried,
As he stood still as the crevice grew
So wide, on the other side.
‘The world is trying to tell us things,
It’s tearing us all apart,
Perhaps we haven’t been kind to it,
It’s punishing us, sweetheart.’
And she had moaned, his Isabelle,
Stood out in the pouring rain,
‘Well what have I ever done to it?
The planet is going insane.’
Then the thunder growled up overhead,
As if to refute a lie,
‘It’s you who are insane,’ it said,
‘Get ready to say goodbye.’
And a lava flow came down the hill
In a stream, and glowing red,
‘Don’t let it come near you, Isabelle,
Just a touch, and you’ll be dead.’
We’ll leave them there on that distant hill
Where the world keeps them apart,
‘Why should you be untouched,’ it said,
‘When you folk have broken my heart.
You have drilled through me, and spilled on me,
And have fouled my lakes and seas,
Why should I leave your perfect love
When I’m filled with your disease?’
David Lewis Paget
Jan 21, 2017
Jan 21, 2017 at 11:28 PM UTC
My mind says no;
wanes to let go,
but then again,
when have I ever listened to it.
My heart says yes;
unbeknownst to myself.
Washed ashore, brawny yet bruised.
A casualty of love;
Of our own misunderstandings,
purloined around our lover's lungs,
in forlorn hope to find ourselves
in comet tails
and wisps of smoke.
We will pick ourselves up
and break in waves,
again.
May 13, 2017
May 13, 2017 at 1:56 AM UTC
The day is fading once again, the forest stands in silhouette
And I upon my balcony with Bergerac, and cigarette
Survey the Moon that rises to illuminate, with harsh regret
My lost and lonesome memories of then and her, the sad
Annette
She called to me in velvet night, across the brawny moor
I found the moment contrary, resisting not her soft allure
I walked in nightmares sad lament, my heart decreed herein de-jure
I ascend the last few steps and stop.. and softly knock upon the door
I stood but for a moment there, the opening ajar
I sensed soft music on the breeze, originating from afar
Looking up I saw my tears reflected in the evening star
I stepped inside, a haunting scent adrift upon the evening air
I listened as the music played inside my mind, a soft octet
Silently the windows sang, with ornate glass in raised rosette
What happened next my heart denies, although has not forgotten yet
There beheld my eyes the hollow face of her.. the sad Annette
She sat there lost in solitude emotion thus demure
Her sedentary countenance at once was sullen, quite obscure
Attire of one whom long ago had donned her lost haute-couture
Though words cannot describe my feelings, as I sat...
and gazed at her
She looked my way but for a moment, she had sensed my hidden pain
Effaced a tear she’d wished unnoticed, smiled at me and then
She said “I love you”, closed her eyes and spoke these words again
It seemed as if she’d thrown my naked soul…
out in the rain
No other words were spoken as I turned, to take my leave
Annette had given me another reason, so to grieve
To see with crystal clarity, the failures I’ve achieved
To make my heart another lonely wretched refugee
To sit at days demise again with wine, and cigarette
Attempting to relieve my mind of her, although I haven’t yet
I live within the tortured realm of memories I can’t forget
Of years ago and three small words,
offered by the sad Annette.
Dean Evans
4-5-15
Apr 6, 2015
Apr 6, 2015 at 8:57 PM UTC
Someday you’ll find me
Where the sunlight meets the sea,
Waiting patiently for you.
My spirit will be scattered across the surface,
Riding bobbing, bellicose waves,
And gasping for a nostalgic whiff of
Honeyed oxygen.
Know that my soul will be
Immanent in the rising of the tide.
While my wide liquidity hands
Slither across the sand,
Fervently longing
To catch a memory,
I will reach out to you.
Lastly,
When you hear the roar of the waves
Beleaguering brawny rocks on the shore
Know that it is me
Crying out for you,
Yearning to relive
The serene moment when
We watched sunlight kiss ripples
Effusing through tender waters.
For you, I’ll be content to
Languor in transit,
Bound between Heaven and Earth,
Engulfed by sunlight and sea,
Until we may ascend together,
Limitlessly.
May 7, 2016
May 7, 2016 at 10:38 PM UTC