my trip with Azrael

May 10, 2020May 10, 2020 / mbrazfieldm / 4 Comments

you know the time is nigh
you won’t need anything
would you agree

yes i’m prepared
while we travel can i tell you
how i loved the cool walks
the strong espressos and
the smell of fresh baked croissants over at Figaros
and when i was young
i loved the life that was
fast hard strong and brutal

was that when you felt invincible
Azrael asked

i suppose i didnt really feel anything
can i tell you about all of the beautiful people
dressed in all the colors and walk
step by step
and the children
they the true celestial thousand points of light multiply in God’s eyes forever

did you incur any regrets after all you’re just a human Azrael reminded

time lost revelling in my hatred and my pain first of self then of my nature of my sins and my enemies my inability for many years to feel with all of me
and seeing that i was about to cry Azrael lifted me with warmth and ease as my last breath sweet with smells of incense drew from me a soul unique and we clasp hands into the light of eternity

M. Brazfield

May 8, 2020 / mbrazfieldm / 6 Comments

Thanks to Susi and I want to encourage everyone to send Susi your work have a great Friday ❤

I Write Her

afterglow art backlit bokeh Photo by luizclas on Pexels.com

dishonest

beige
irate
hidden well
within myself
smile rejoice believe
reverberate inside
deeply bury sorrow’s babe
float through imagined normal life
ignore the toxic warnings to be
honest with my pain and let it fly free

to kiss me

silent warm spirit
icy wet sweet poison pot
draw those thoughts from me

fulfillment

aging hand unfolds
soft palm up to the skyline
caressing her past

~~~

M. Brazfield is a Gen X’er born and raised in Los Angeles, California. She is an untrained writer and enjoys sharing her work on her blog WORDS LESS SPOKEN on Word Press. Her inspiration comes from life in Los Angeles, particularly Downtown.

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Queen Sun

May 5, 2020 / mbrazfieldm / 17 Comments

gold hot life

resurrection giver

to sleepy weeds soon turned to flowers

spread queenly ample ultra violet thighs across asphalt parking lot

and in betwixt the cracks of crowded city streets

there too there is growth

nurse mother Sun antiseptic in your love

disease and sorrow annihilator

You smile and wrap around my shoulders through my sagging window

and i thank you

for Chester and Chris

May 4, 2020 / mbrazfieldm / 1 Comment

it had been there
just around the corner
behind my left shoulder blade

it stayed through threshold
of the neo natal dawn
new like a kitten’s innocent purr

it was there quiet
like the other side of the edge
of that one last breath

it was there like Los Angeles smoke
silent thick cryptic with danger
then it showed itself to the mirror
of my soul

it moved as a molasses crescendo
choking me
too many door knobs closets
reminders silent distant
but hard hitting cold blade
walk past the hall red couch
sit i do heaved tear monsoons
afraid no more an impossible miracle
chest tight bruised palms
from the terror

vetting contingency plans of how not to let it loose

Ravel

May 2, 2020 / mbrazfieldm / 9 Comments

it rises steady

flows through the air like lightning

symphony

boomerang

April 30, 2020 / mbrazfieldm / 9 Comments

pain
you hang
there like a
hidden stain just underneath
the fragile layer of a
strained mind tormented by you so
help me God if i forget the
alchemical pacifier to keep you satisfied when will
you let me be at times i feel the
joy of any human soul and other times i muster
that stiff upper lip and paddle up the stream with my
own arms on a rice paper raft tied with uncertainty a compass
with no dial and as i look into the arms of setting stars
i drink a breath of victory and pound my chest in good measure but
when my feet sink through the mirage of fortitude of the tenuous craft i see
you flailing back at me and treasure found in my chest of peace engulfed by oppression

Phoebe Ann

April 29, 2020April 29, 2020 / mbrazfieldm / 9 Comments

early cool breeze by the frame she sits

quiet eloquence green windows into mystic grooves

in the presence of the Queen bow i must to pick her up

for morning supper tired she is up all night

catching gnats and only witness to falling stars

entrance through Bixel Street

April 28, 2020 / mbrazfieldm / Leave a comment

time does not exist

walls beige frames colorless

scent not sweet stale

conditioned to 74 degrees

bed metal electric cold

fitted with buttons gauges

noise white with warnings

bleeps bings some hisses

faded aqua marine curtain

surrounds me wrists tied

down the hall polite

whispers then a wail

exploding through antiseptic hall

like Fourth of July

ceiling bland dusty vents

TV monitor spills lies

no music exists here

in and out they

come one after the

conversation bobs up and

down indecision open wide

my eyes now it

begins to lift the

fog how did i

Elizabeth

April 26, 2020 / mbrazfieldm / 10 Comments

hot the concrete is today

plastic black orchid near the front step

of the Gothic house but only in her head

3:30 a.m. writing session to her congressman

about her old folks home going to the dogs

when at breakfast her and her friends call the nurse speed racer

and lament not having money

and love least of all

Banksy art work on the wall across the street they see

the wind runs his fingers through her thinning hair

after stroke and misery took out her common sense

her doctor dresses in jeans and looks like young Lou Reed

she silently riots at the lies that she is told

and falls into depression dreaming of Marilyn Monroe

the shade of the magnolia tree pokes its trunk on through

and gives Elizabeth another day away from sudden death

always is she thankful in her widowed lonely heart

far away from Montana and the nest home of the Crow

green eggs and ham was never read to her

while empty beer bottles at the end of a long day

forced to collect with laughter at the inn

voluntary ignorance all to chase a dream

Hollywood sign was the destination but opened doors are never guaranteed

if Dylan knew

April 25, 2020 / mbrazfieldm / 8 Comments

Zimmy has an old soul

if you look at his eyes

they are other worldly

the color of Earth’s face

from up in space

it means just what is

but when i heard him this morning

while drinking my mud

these words telegraphed

out from Alexa .1

“Oh my name it ain’t nothin’
My age it means less
The country I come from
Is called the Midwest
I was taught and brought up there
The laws to abide
And that land that I live in
Has God on its side”

the shame i felt

rose to waterlines of my

green lined eyes

and the liquid it spilleth over

perhaps it’s the hormones

or the brow beat quarantine

and my cat she ate the dog’s food

but i couldn’t tell her to quit

shaking it off

turning the vacuum on

the dog he shakes his

fluffy white tail