Poetry

i do find home

/ mbrazfieldm / 4 Comments
mbrazfieldm ©2025


at last home she is extraordinary
she is invisible yet love is wormhole dense
i slivered enough in the threads of horror
i do find home while i curl up in tainted blanket woven from fractures harbored in lie anger shame and pain
it wasn’t long ago he said i don’t know where home is but it’s there in the crook of her arm
in a peanut butter jar after one summons the elation of the first bite there is home and in the spoonful there are pearls of warmth created from His breathe exasperated when the draw is taken never to comeback for some lucky devils home has always stayed betwixt the cut salved over by tomorrow’s troubles home is also in an urban clover a city dog a drug den park pigeon 5 thousand broken visions in a burnt down van yet he stands home not necessarily needs foundation you see scars are bricks of testament to the home that lives in us as we die of the fat of the land
©mbrazfieldm 2025

american man

/ mbrazfieldm / 1 Comment
mbrazfieldm ©2024

soldier is it enough to chain children take old women beat working men?
soldier is it enough to kill your brother sister father mother in their birth land?
soldier is it enough to wear a blindfold rancid with the shit of a man who wipes his ass with what is sacred?
soldier is it enough to allow your self determination to be sodomized by simple minds?
soldier is it enough to foist your fists upon those born beaten down and unrepresented?
soldier what is your pain that you willingly trespass righteousness?
soldier why are you angry in desperation to defend a country for a man who will decide you will be next to the slaughter block?
soldier why have you given up your mother’s kind teachings on how to be a real American man?

𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚊 𝚋𝚕𝚞𝚎 𝚋𝚒𝚛𝚍

/ mbrazfieldm / 3 Comments
𝚖𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚣𝚏𝚒𝚎𝚕𝚍©𝟸𝟶𝟸𝟺

there is a blue bird vagabond
some say bad motherfucker
stepping strong
others have yet to hear
how he chirps to those songs
of old Lou Reed
soft spoken when he chews on the worm
self imposed exile
in the cage forged from fleeting truths
decoy soul within the vulture kettle
there is a blue bird wanderer
hopping from dream to dream
pecking at the hollow of his heart
in hopes of softening the cruel stare
of abandoned turtledoves

painted arms poem for Joey

/ mbrazfieldm / 4 Comments

i was led to believe that angels became extinct
that i a wretched sinner would not ever look into their eyes silver slate reflecting the color of God
i was informed that i did not deserve to ascend a rocky road unless the stones beneath my feet trip me to watch me bleed
but out of electricity and behind a curtain of anonymity the angel was and he appeared to comfort the devilish fear of climbing that mountain chosen for me
none the less along our way thorns and thoughts of human scorn did plague me
but this angel with Porciuncula’s history painted on his skin sat with me in the time of my atonement
still so i could hear the rushing of my blood for the first time in my life
then as only angels do effortlessly ushered me into his arms when the gates of heaven broke apart and explained to me that it wasn’t my time now but to follow him back down where real life would unfold once more and that the gods judged fit to send him with me to save me from myself

prints of silence

/ mbrazfieldm / 7 Comments

there is no peace
but just the
same i welcome such beautiful pain
beneath the twilight across the house where hope died
my essence lingers rootless derelict fool
my soul
the prints of silence tread the horizon where your muted light lives
from one thought to the next
if only i could take the ache away
snatch it from you
hide it from your face
if only i could soak up your tears
soothe the fear
that worlds collapse only in you
those monsters too akin to my mind
restless i wait knowing you’ll never arrive and still i look
strain the very nature of my sight
optimism passing like the fragile snow flake
you, hurt
you, hurt so succinctly
just hurt

at 346pm

/ mbrazfieldm / 4 Comments
mbrazfieldm (c) 2024

inside worlds move simultaneously
politics heresy peace nihilism
ides no longer just
in March but forever
thoughts on being men
women on lay over
we think too late
archaic rebellion manifesto now
sold at local retailers
the revolution will be
AI shrapnel lands on
where he needs to
make amends neutral we
quiver as we’re lead
convenience in our head
riffs asunder in a
past that grappled with
the rights of gods
we the people found
in loss but ego
40 year engagement strong
the greatness of our
thoughts freedom at what
cost let us ponder
grief at the shift
of our great age
nothing certain short of
death tearing down the
walls of hate running
circles talking heads lowered
anarchies repossessed mid loan
hope in the periphery

on failure

/ mbrazfieldm / 1 Comment
mbrazfieldm (c) 2024

anger your way of loving me
creviced are my wounds
silent they exist like a tomb
waiting patiently for messiah
scold me you a fury pummel me
with orders decide for me how to be
when i gift you my soul blood
with silk petal finger tips
yet
as my own hands turn to nurture me
paralysis afflicts them
they fall to my sides like fading ash
so i move on through the night alleys
my youth my age displayed on the shadows
where i grew and still the stains of uncertainty
taint my compass where now to?
i yearned for truth in my heart clear like
Buddha’s breath and still you were not the one
to encase me in loving arms