"brooder" poems - Hello Poetry

The Pigeon Gent, He woos and coos around the river bent. Pursues his muse with artful dance and skillful prance, With inflated neck and ruffled plumage, until his energy or luck is spent. He then resides by ebbing tides to ponder on his next advance. "Now Now", "Whats This" the gent exclaims, A shadow looming from the skies. With ***** and claps he glides and lands with full surprise, He spies the intruder, "A fellow Brooder". Pigeon gent cant believe his eyes. Pigeon Gent cannot believe the sauce, The scurge seems intent on taking his prize by force. At once he knows he must respond, And force this illbread vagabond to abscond. At once chest puffed and muscles flexed, With wild eyes he jabs and pecks. To teach this ruffian respect, So on his actions he may later reflect. He stands his ground both large and proud, To make example of this foul winged burglar from the clouds. "You insult me sir" he shouts aloud, To make his intentions clear for all the crowd. For several rounds they fight and scuffle. With intruder retreating, feathers ruffled. Then bested suiter fairly parted, The quarrel ends as fast as started. The vanquished victor displays and grooms, As peace and honour now resumes. Soon the ripples upset the green, An armada of ducks come on the scene. Alerted by the heightend coos, They race to see what act insues. The mighty mallards, Kings of the river, None contest their right of way. Their ways of conduct such generous givers. Majestic river royalty, the law is always what they say. On bank or shallow pebbled river they have always been, They love to feed and breed amongst the river scene. There royal cape made up of browny reds and shimmering greens, reflects and intejects on mirrored water skies and evergreens. To their mates for life and lady lovers, The mallard gent is like no others. Such loyalties are seldom seen, In modern times and different dreams. Fine and lean with striking features, Best examples of river teachers. But at any moment no matter how abrubt, A river duel may easily erupt. Battle can ensue and rage, As both apponents approach and engage. For they mate for life as duck and wife, A rarity in any age or life.

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Sep 2, 2018

Sep 2, 2018 at 1:38 PM UTC

mark-penfold

The Pigeon Gent

The Pigeon Gent, He woos and coos around the river bent. Pursues his muse with artful dance and skillful prance, With inflated neck and ruffled plumage, until his energy or luck is spent. He then resides by ebbing tides to ponder on his next advance. "Now Now", "Whats This" the gent exclaims, A shadow looming from the skies. With ***** and claps he glides and lands with full surprise, He spies the intruder, "A fellow Brooder". Pigeon gent cant believe his eyes. Pigeon Gent cannot believe the sauce, The scurge seems intent on taking his prize by force. At once he knows he must respond, And force this illbread vagabond to abscond. At once chest puffed and muscles flexed, With wild eyes he jabs and pecks. To teach this ruffian respect, So on his actions he may later reflect. He stands his ground both large and proud, To make example of this foul winged burglar from the clouds. "You insult me sir" he shouts aloud, To make his intentions clear for all the crowd. For several rounds they fight and scuffle. With intruder retreating, feathers ruffled. Then bested suiter fairly parted, The quarrel ends as fast as started. The vanquished victor displays and grooms, As peace and honour now resumes. Soon the ripples upset the green, An armada of ducks come on the scene. Alerted by the heightend coos, They race to see what act insues. The mighty mallards, Kings of the river, None contest their right of way. Their ways of conduct such generous givers. Majestic river royalty, the law is always what they say. On bank or shallow pebbled river they have always been, They love to feed and breed amongst the river scene. There royal cape made up of browny reds and shimmering greens, reflects and intejects on mirrored water skies and evergreens. To their mates for life and lady lovers, The mallard gent is like no others. Such loyalties are seldom seen, In modern times and different dreams. Fine and lean with striking features, Best examples of river teachers. But at any moment no matter how abrubt, A river duel may easily erupt. Battle can ensue and rage, As both apponents approach and engage. For they mate for life as duck and wife, A rarity in any age or life.

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who deserted from other roses sweet smile whether, red, white, orange and infinite are always made in satiation I / black rose no dark mosaic: often drowned nature of struggle sleeping at the time of red roses, white, yellow, blooming wilted due to weak roots i / black rose the brooder stuck like a rock the meaning of the many colors of roses are: broken into one / black because, i / early black rose of colorful roses. Idra, Tuesday, 2/11/13, wrote village, Bantul, Yogyakarta...

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May 6, 2014

May 6, 2014 at 5:46 PM UTC

lelaki-baur-kata-liar

"I / black rose"

who deserted from other roses sweet smile whether, red, white, orange and infinite are always made in satiation I / black rose no dark mosaic: often drowned nature of struggle sleeping at the time of red roses, white, yellow, blooming wilted due to weak roots i / black rose the brooder stuck like a rock the meaning of the many colors of roses are: broken into one / black because, i / early black rose of colorful roses. Idra, Tuesday, 2/11/13, wrote village, Bantul, Yogyakarta...

14

Sober thoughts crowd my mind Happiness I cannot find Gloomy weather, gloomy mind Black bile, one of the archaic humours Rhyming aptly with tumours Cancerous thoughts within my mind Pensively I look for salvation Maybe a cheery salutation But my melancholic mind keeps me as a brooder I vent my spleen, searching for the vaccine Annoyance acting as a screen for the truth That all I want to do is scream and scream and scream.

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Jan 7, 2015

Jan 7, 2015 at 11:20 PM UTC

Camellia-japonica

Melancholy

Sober thoughts crowd my mind Happiness I cannot find Gloomy weather, gloomy mind Black bile, one of the archaic humours Rhyming aptly with tumours Cancerous thoughts within my mind Pensively I look for salvation Maybe a cheery salutation But my melancholic mind keeps me as a brooder I vent my spleen, searching for the vaccine Annoyance acting as a screen for the truth That all I want to do is scream and scream and scream.

12

I wear a canvas over Covering my head Just in case it rains I won’t say what I said At first, I just wore a jacket It saved my pretty face It protected my hair I could not feel or care a storm came rolling through Rain prickled at my skin So then I took a canvas And I laid within its skin I do not peak my head out I do not say hello I do not wish to get rained on So I stay alone at home e.s.

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May 18, 2016

May 18, 2016 at 11:12 AM UTC

estherstafford

Brooder, Brooder, Tent Abuser

I wear a canvas over Covering my head Just in case it rains I won’t say what I said At first, I just wore a jacket It saved my pretty face It protected my hair I could not feel or care a storm came rolling through Rain prickled at my skin So then I took a canvas And I laid within its skin I do not peak my head out I do not say hello I do not wish to get rained on So I stay alone at home e.s.

17

I been born to lack. Self inflicting heart attack. I been born to mourn my death. I'm a plague dressed in disguise A brooder of everything in sight. I been born to mourn my death. Don't bother to please. You'll find I need no sympathy I'm a swamp that takes body heat. When you're in my morass trap, You'll find anxiety tracks. It's a disheartening, Meglo-mockery. Oh, Mephisto please. Why do I do this to you my marsh queen? Oh, I don't take, I steal. Hearts, time and self esteem are a good meal. Don't have any aches for me I was born to mourn my death. I must seem like a mystery With dirt prints I leave behind every scene. Taking you deep into a quagmire of negativity. I been born to lack. It's not my fault you got trapped. But you were warned before, I was born to mourn my death.

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Dec 14, 2017

Dec 14, 2017 at 10:50 AM UTC

Lousyerface

Swampthing Trap Jazz

I been born to lack. Self inflicting heart attack. I been born to mourn my death. I'm a plague dressed in disguise A brooder of everything in sight. I been born to mourn my death. Don't bother to please. You'll find I need no sympathy I'm a swamp that takes body heat. When you're in my morass trap, You'll find anxiety tracks. It's a disheartening, Meglo-mockery. Oh, Mephisto please. Why do I do this to you my marsh queen? Oh, I don't take, I steal. Hearts, time and self esteem are a good meal. Don't have any aches for me I was born to mourn my death. I must seem like a mystery With dirt prints I leave behind every scene. Taking you deep into a quagmire of negativity. I been born to lack. It's not my fault you got trapped. But you were warned before, I was born to mourn my death.

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