Poetry

tears in the spirit

/ mbrazfieldm / 5 Comments
mbrazfieldm ©2025

there is no hope you’ve broken it
the heart can only take so much
it seems
tears well but never leap over anymore
tears in the spirit of the soul continue
to follow jagged reality that they won’t be ever repaired
my hands shaking slightly more each night
infected by your deceitful stripes
blue white red from toe to head my lady
you’ve betrayed me
luring me with poisonous tongue
rusing me with my own guile
until i bleed my own blood from me
America you hurt me
America my vengeful mother
America you spit on me
you don’t want the People to be
stare me in my face
curse me when i needed you
to tell me i must carry out
the execution of my own
freedom by suicide of my
spirit’s conscience
there are no waves of warmth
or golden fields of life sustaining grain
only green mile slabs of shitted on concrete
for you to watch us dying
off the fat of the land
America the root of our starvation
America high on meth and ignorance
America call off your pharisees
that govern what should become of me
just shoot me at the foot of dawn
at least then Anubis would be there to greet me
America who do you love?
America i know who you hate
America we are both lost
and i could not let you go down alone
since my first American flag enamel pin
at Disneyland such a long time ago (was it just a dream)
my devotion to you and none other
the pledging every morning began
as i followed you like a pack of wolves
my Doris Day Huxtables Elvis America
ever so closely  America
you had me
then you let me go
America you beat me
you let my people shit on me
America you brainwashed me
through my nanny Hollywood
now i a dissenter infidel rogue
gypsy in my own land
your homicidal womb America
don’t forget
i your rotten fruit
has yet to be composted
by your deceitful self righteous hands
America, this a good bye
save your rehearsed tears
in spite, i will always love you

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