do black holes exist or are they something i read about in a comic book? are those beautiful pictures of nebulas shaped like crabs and other creatures that i see in the science magazines real? how can i know for sure that this very night i am walking home? how can i know for sure that i am walking back to a home and that i will get there? can a black hole, if it is real snatch me up? would it think i am important? does it matter what religion scientists are? does it matter what i believe? does God want me? do i want God to want me? if i give and give and give will it make a difference? is it better to take and take and take? is my smile enough to save a dying life? my own? if i am sad is it bad? am i broken in an unfixable way? can i benefit from anything modern? am i too late for anything old? did i ever make love? do i have control over any war? do i have control over any deficit? do i reward bad and punish good? if i reward bad on earth and punish good on earth, will the bad go to hell and the good to heaven? why can i not explain what i know? is that bad? is dreaming bad? did Gabriel pinch my lips together? or did i just get punched on the mouth? should i talk? should i judge? would that make me a better person? am i compassionate? is there a time and a place for everything? what did my mother raise? did she have a hand at molding me? why do i like what i like? why do i like what i don’t like anyway? do i contribute to my perdition? am i good? does anyone think of me? do you?
Author: mbrazfieldm
Haiku for Nina
Priestess of the notes
the strongest Goddess i know
voice delivered truth
to William S Burroughs
in the cosmos
there’s always a math.
one vein to feel it all.
at the Bowery something started,
a nest for a vulture’s egg
that saved a world.
beloved that you are to many
more who can receive.
pain can come to anyone
i know you and you know me.
time at the tip of a barrel.
time at the tip of a pen.
can you see through the
fog of eternity and the sands
in the raw?
so vulnerable and delicate
to love of no despair.
one more tonic for the body
at last my love can rest.
coming of age
gravel crunches underfoot
trees wave their lofty branches
a quiet rainy morning
winds talk through wild baby hairs
fingers reach to grasp the hand
of the teacher pall bearer
noting silence in the throat
lightning swiftness in the gait
knuckles bursting from the skin
betwixt right now and ever
the breeze states through woman locks
sorely peering through the glass
explicit emotions exploding through the tongue
knowing she is scarcely done
in walking through her wreckage
Tuesday Writing Prompt Challenge: February 19, 2019
Devereaux Frazier and Beth Amanda are currently hosting the Tuesday Writing Prompt Challenge which was started by our star writer Christine Ray. We hope to offer all of you something that will spark your creativity and willingness to participate.
The prompts are designed to be quick challengesthat can be written in 10 to 15minutes,inspire you creatively, are fun, and get everyone interacting. Please post your response to the prompt in the comments below and show your fellow posters some love and support. All members of the Go Dog Go community, including Baristas, are welcome to participate. Feel free to share this post on yourown blogs and/or Facebook.
Today’s Prompt: Write a piece using the phrase explicit emotion
i am mad at God
i am mad at God
for making me a fool
for using my stupidity
and evil deeds against
myself
i am mad at God
because He loves me
in a way that i can never
love all these creatures
around me
i am mad at God
for He laughs at me
in a loving way as He
kicks my ass when i
fuck up
i am mad at God
for keeping score
to a game that i will never
win
i am mad at God
and in spite of my
silly lip quivering
and monkey manipulations
He waits with hand
extended for me to
climb
scars
i want to kiss your scars
but because i am not a siren
with shapely hips and meaty mouth
to give you drink of goddess wine
i cannot have your lips
i want to kiss the scars
left in your eyes as she robbed you of your light
let my tiny spark as weak as it may be
polish the lens of your outlook
of better days to come
i want to kiss your scars
savor one second of your misery
turning my back on a million days of paradise
so long as you are with me
beloved, i want to wash her painful
judgments from your ears
and pray the angels speak to you
from God’s own soothing verse
i want to kiss your scars
the ones thickly padded on your knees
and with my dreadful feeble arms lift you from yourself
to watch you walk away so as you travel
i can see the scars that i may kiss
Oh! your tired back
and gift you with my humble blood
to enrich your waxing path
i want to kiss your scars
and stop the hemorrhaging of your heart’s capacity
to hope
and with my graceless ugly hands nurse it back
birth a brave new rhythm
knowing that this heart of yours
will never sing for me
i want to kiss your scars
and make you king
while my tired trembling mind will unravel them
one after the other
and let the Moon
in her magic and love
dress you in her finest garb
i want to feel you soar
my love
with wings of gods ascended to Heaven
and as my temple fades away into the caverns of the lost
in your cloak of scars i’ll lay
knowing that you are whole again
morning ritual
gold rush on broadway
sipping my coffee watching
we lock eyes and smile
steam rises from grids
reach into the garbage can
and you look upward
again we lock eyes
rays of light pierce the shadows
you leave and i sip
a broadway revival
crawling, burnt with Holy Spirit at the foot
of the great Hall.
hot, no finger pointing
at the crossroad of the Elysian Dam
and that dusty quenchless sea.
fire, light unbearable
to those two brown eyes that hunger for voice.
an only champion
of beggar’s bowl and head lice cause.
circumstance only for
her lungs.
let the air flow in
as liberty swings too low to launch our mystic to truth.
He has told you,
now you listen.
inherit the earth underneath your nails,
and feed on recycled prayers,
while the horses gallop with broken hoof past the curfew of the silent night.
birth and death in august
when time collects the bag
it has to be in august.
b and i came into it,
w and j left out of it.
the Sanskrit glows on sacred
bricks. the faces, the silence;
crystalized into three ages.
chainlink thorns on sides made
of pain.
black heads blue eyes
to the east lays paradise.
to the west blue dreams
dunked into the black ocean.
mother crowned you prince with bone splints,
but father did not sup with you.
courtly sun king alone out loud;
in a dream that no one’s seen.
once you went to sleep
your soul did not recover.
no blood dies at 700,
early in the new world.
oh heart of hearts,
your star hangs above the floor.
third age in youth you left,
the somber august came in haste.
to Jean-Michel Basquiat
words less spoken 