Poetry

restraining order blues

/ mbrazfieldm / 3 Comments

vicious gunfire you look older she said

i thought i’d never see you again

you look beautiful he said

coughing looking leftward

i’ve been here and there she said

roaming the streets counting the birds

magnolia trees sure bloom a lot he said

yeah their scent intoxicates me she said

can i get a cuddle he said

she smiles and looks westward

sliding hair behind her ears

your gray streak is bomb ass she said

my ex-wife likes it he said

i gotta go i’m late for church she said

balls! gimme something better than that he said

they both laughed out loud

biting her lips heart in her head

i wish i could kiss you she said

that was the past

the clove under her worn white converse

stuck to the sole and toes still wiggling

as the clouds formed from the south

he folds in his lips and gives her a smile

i wanted to be your husband he said

she lights up another

you were always so wild he said

i don’t like cages or negotiations she said

life is not like that he said

let me give you my number

she feels the droplets on her lashes first

honey don’t waste it she said

your time on me

i’m older and wiser

some truths i can see

i had to walk away for the sake of us both

looking at the lake he nods in agreement

have a nice life he gnarls as he scampers away

she holds her head higher after today

cicatriz de estrella

/ mbrazfieldm / 5 Comments

triste Celedonia

alma de ave

flor que deslumbra al sol

guardiana de tus dioses

tus remedios tu dolor

cuando llegaste a este mundo

tu alma marcada con cicatriz de estrellas

tener que dejar a tus valles ríos y montanas

tus lumbres tus plantas tus mañas

toda la magia heredara no te la puedes llevar

al cruzar al este mundo mecánico y vacio

todos tus retoños siguieron en fila

menos el más tierno bello y delicado

con el tiempo se marchito

los venenos extranjeros no aguanto

promesas antiguas rotas en ira

de que sería la más bella flor

en el altar de la diosa

Celedonia no hay caso en continuar

de regar el pequeño retoño con tus lagrimas

se fue no está ni hoy ni siempre

has tu vida con tus otros retoños

pero en tu alma herida

mantén en asilo al retoño perdido

cicatriz estrela

celedonia triste

alma de pássaro

flor que ofusca o sol

guardião dos seus deuses

seus remédios

sua dor

quando você veio para este mundo

sua alma marcada com cicatriz estrela

tem que deixar seus vales rios e montanhas

suas luzes suas plantas suas truques

toda a magia de herança que você não pode levar

ao atravessar este mundo mecânico e vazio

todos os seus otários permaneceram alinhados

menos o mais terno lindo e delicado

eventualmente definhado venenos estrangeiros eu não suporto

velhas promessas quebradas em raiva

Essa seria a flor mais bonita no altar da deusa

Celedonia não há nenhum caso em continuar

regar a pequena prole com suas lágrimas

ele deixou não é nem hoje nem sempre

faça sua vida com seus outros filhos

mas na sua alma ferida

manter o broto perdido no asilo

star tissue

sad Celedonia

bird soul

flower that dazzles the sun

guardian of your gods

your remedies your pain

when you came to this world

your soul marked with star tissue

you had to leave your valleys rivers and mountains

your lights your plants your tricks

all the inherited magic you can’t take when crossing

into this mechanical and empty world

all your saplings remained in line

least the most tender beautiful and delicate one

eventually it withered

it couldn’t stand those foreign poisons

old promises broken in anger

that she would be the most beautiful flower on the goddess altar

Celedonia there is no case

in continuing to water the little offspring with your tears

he left and won’t return neither today nor always

make your life with your other offspring

but in your wounded soul

keep the lost sapling in asylum

the crying game

/ mbrazfieldm / 16 Comments

i guess i have to go now

it was a pleasure meeting you if

only through letters and gigabytes

warm eyes warm smile and so much gratitude

i would have been honored to call you mother

Poetess you were a friend in spirit

you go join your loved ones and rest

write along the angels can you hear

the music of the celestial orbs

when i close my eyes shut tight

on a high rise rooftop in the fancy

part of my city i can hear it

and i dream of holding Shakespeare’s quill

perhaps Helene you can get his autograph for me

and send it on the feather of a swan

i guess i have to go now

and as you soar through the beautiful skies

you will now know all mystery

beautiful artist sweet kind friend

you leave us here where life is sometimes a game

we laugh or we cry but we are just human

be it not for souls full of light like you

who’ve touched my heart

one could say life would be intolerable

flagelación cerebral

/ mbrazfieldm / 13 Comments

me gusta caminar de noche

preferible sin la luna

esconderme en mis pensamientos

reír como niña como nunca pude

pensar en dulces y juegos

y olvidar todo lo que fui

flagelação cerebral

eu gosto de andar a noite

preferível sem a lua

esconda-se em meus pensamentos

ria como uma garota como eu nunca pude

pense em doces e jogos

e esquecer tudo o que eu era

cerebral flagellation

i like to walk at night

preferably without the moon

hide in my thoughts

laugh like a little girl like i never could

think of candy and games

and forget everything i was

splinter

/ mbrazfieldm / 13 Comments

i hope you look at me

from across this blue bed

immersed in your man business

i immersed in a primal hot urge

turn around i command you

i laugh in my head

i crouch quietly like a tigress

licking my lips fantasizing

of your thirst quenching sweets

raw essence on my pulsating tongue

waiting for you to turn off

the computer lights

and turn on my gyrator circuitry board

i’m bathed

i’m slicked in the patchouli you love

my t-shirt the loose one with LA Kings GO!

flash you a warning i do hope you know

that when you lay here

i’ll nuzzle your neck

tug at your ear

lick down the center

of your bristly chest

and right when i reach there

the music comes on

you get sentimental

and you pull me on up

to kiss and to hold me

and call me your love

that’s when it’s ruined

and i start to crumble inside

i know that you told her

the same thing last night

grady’s psalm

/ mbrazfieldm / 12 Comments

lost i wandered the dark hills

blind reaching out to nothing solid

cold rejection bitter earth swollen shut

feet buried in mud sucking me down

on one last morning clouds broke

so i could sense soft waves

cleansing the sickness from my sight

washing the Lightness through and over me

my body drifting ashore to ground

two feet gathering strength standing upright

as gentle grains of angel’s tears

did scrub my sins transformed into forgiveness

looking up with new bright vision

there was the green soothing pasture

peace whispered loud on holy ground

through it all now begins my restoration

Picture courtesy of Sue Vincent

moment of clarity

/ mbrazfieldm / Leave a comment

july evening warm humidly noisy

in the city i sit between Spring and Broadway streets

at a mall downtown where i’d like to fantasize Bradbury

could be found drinking coffee

looking to my left there are the kids joshing and cussing

rolling on skateboards zephyrs with iphones

to my right hipsters with credit cards today green means something else

micro chips smart chips designer chips vegan chips

i smile Mona L style and sip my Vietnamese coffee straight up

pigeons coo me out seductively with the waffle sound

of their aged wings dusty with the history of my time

here in this old new modern city

a tiny crack on the wall

by the fire department’s emergency pipe

holds my attention but i knit my brows

dainty lilac flowers

offered up to the most attentive student

the teacher dark green weed shows the little creatures

exquisite tiny intricate jewels luring in the bees

another universe within my urban home

i don’t like hot weather

sweat panting and stickiness

should only be for sex

but if the retiring sun hadn’t drawn me out

for the night i would have missed the buzzing of life

and random thoughts of HST soul madness and did JD really

shoot his ashes out of a canon

crazy kids at times trapped by the freedom of the mind

i’m working on an espresso now looking around

twirling my ankle like a cat’s tail

am i happy today i must be

today i’m not running

as much

periodic emissions

/ mbrazfieldm / 5 Comments

i must’ve needed the pain you gave me

it started like a dream knowing always

that it wasn’t meant to be because of odds

i was so very screwed in the head

my compass smashed by consequential hammers of life

you were what i needed then

but you came not to me without your complications

we didn’t make love

i don’t even think i know what that is today

it’s not been explained in anything i ever read

least of all not there when you’d touched me

we fucked like animals and it was explosively good

and i’m not ashamed i have no regrets and i’d do it again

you cautious i free

all of which was good and partly wholesome  

after my fifth reincarnation

i can now admit i was looking to die

you were the perfect trigger

cruel mean handsome strong smart older

and so very wrong for me

i the perfect foil

in the hunt that men love

gullible vulnerable presentable stupid educated young

i have aged since then yet i haven’t grown

i’m a perpetual socially functioning adult

with the soul of the song of the lone barn owl

in the dead of a rainy frosty northern night

as the minutes pass every now and again

they stab me slash me and run away laughing

with the memories of your bristly mouth

alternately between my lips and my breasts

my neck and my legs

your rough skinned hands clasping my wrists

to keep me from jumping

your honey yellow eyes who wept

with me at our miscarriage

and your graying temples

where the kind lies of indiscretions were confined

if i still smoked i’d light up

after some of the dreams i’ve had of you

i miss our chemistry animalistic

sloppy sleepless rough bitter

with the right amount of intensity and ambrosia

i miss your manly scent woodsy of earth like Adam

the reverberation of your voice

on my navel

number 48

/ mbrazfieldm / 8 Comments

scorched concrete broken bottles

         bus fare not enough rain comes

huddle in the mass of 300 cots cries for help

a man is lost behind himself he now sees

         in front of him are wading genteel lakes

his hands metaphorically cut off at the wrist

                closing his eyes he dreams of hills

opening them again he seeks to seal a reality

            that comes in colors mainly blues and blacks

his mind aloof with a potion of castles in a foreign land

    where the weather is gentle and his feet kiss the sand

in the banks of a river holding the dusking sky

        number 48 is called to sit at the chair

we don’t have room for you try back next week

       he looks down and looks up again

out of the building to sidewalks of pain

    three blocks from Wall street

the birds start to sing     the river is placid

    the hills are rolling    skies are all yawning

      the fire she roars inside of the castle           a new king explores

at the Cecil

/ mbrazfieldm / Leave a comment

any road north at this time of the year is cold and wet

       my neighbor said   coughing out gray-white swirled                                 

                                  menthol smoke

            your journey need not be postponed

if you can live here for more than 23 minutes

                    you’re used to the inclement weather

        i squinted up at Jeannie her pin curls once golden

              lighting up the strip joints along

the weary loosed boulevard  were now dull piss

                 yellow and very very sparse

she couldn’t remember that she walked into my room

                 believing she was home

    as Jeannie orchestrated a plan to cross her shriveled

        go-go booted legs    still i sat silent on the floor

    crushing pills to help me think    i was never one to

          bother reading directions 

by the morning when the birds bathe in the puddles of acid rain

             and snails ever so slowly smear their way

to the dying ficus tree       and in a moment of pre-contemplative clarity     i   look up again at my lady

       her crushed velvet baby blue robe   casketed what time separated from the wheat of life

          then wild cat eyes darted    past her   nodded head to look out of     the  screenless  cracked window

             with Tom  rasping something through the radio about      

                          a downtown train

                     and a torn paperback about Lenny Bruce’s life   on the milk crate  shelf

       i couldn’t help to wonder   if we were also waiting for            

                      Beckett’s

                                  immutable  Godot