sometimes randomly i ask the light
whisper through me it might help
dear light
have you ever been prayed to
i would assume so
and if not that means i’m the first
finally at last
Author: mbrazfieldm
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3wordpoetpost
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philharmonic
tonight
i will not settle
for chords
electrically or naturally strummed
nor radios or streaming services
i shall not partake
of what you have created
Tesla dear
tonight
i am happy with the cutting of the air
watermelon slicing sounds
of the ceiling fans
or the cricket
dressed in green and brown velvet
chirping at my cat
tonight the city bred howls of coyotes
at 11:43 PM
is what i want to hear
maybe i might decide to cut up pictures and squoosh a paint brush full of podge unto my board
the dowry for the clipping that will marry it before Fall
tonight i want to hear the groans of pleasure and of pain
rise up from sewer pipes and circulate out of the city drain
my curiosity will sustain
an unknown hunger
that causes me to sit
ever so corpse like still
and hear the birds
crackling the dried leaves
of the tree trunk lobby
during their intermission
while attending
their own mourning dove
cooing philharmonic
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wondering haiku
distant smiling eyes
what sad secrets must they hide
i wish they’d me
3wordpoetpost
front porch haiku
night time clouds and skies
crisp breeze California style
tonight look inward
to Eden Ahbez
the lights push their tiny twinkling mighty
fists
through royal orange tinged ozone cloak
where in the northernmost cheek of Lady Angeles
Her court’s Hollywood sign summons the ghost
perhaps to enhance Her downtown hemline
where Her proud feet stomp down with fury
on the last remaining eyes.
on Lady Angeles’ head is the jeweled setting sun
caressing Her hillside fiery hair
to where Her jawline creates a blank mountain ridge
as we dive into Her haughty bosom
where we die and resurrect in divine light
out of nothing.
my Lady’s
balmy metropolitan breath
puppeteers Her southernmost palm trees
as seen in past centuries by Her tawny Nephilim
kept in mad
house storage
along Her
Wilshire Boulevard
the miracle
mile of all illusions
floating down the Vicodin corridors toward Lady’s womb in the Southeast
the mercenary birds of her entrance
strategize in unison on the stage of the moon
circling…
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