Poetry

Aaron

/ mbrazfieldm / 1 Comment

when our palms met

that balmy Chinatown night

a little lost canary

from the corner pet shop

sang a melancholic cord

switching his little face

from right to left

he looked at me

and flew away

i had fallen in love

the kind of love

that makes you scrutinize

your breath your weight and even your thoughts

the kind where

you leave your beloved

friends pets and dishes

behind just to think about him

the kind of love

that makes you check your phone

fifty times at two in the morning

you know the kind you lose

your soul to in the encasing darkness

and nothing feels the same

distilled death and i churn my spirit

but you danced with me

for a few years

you are no longer Aaron

i am no longer me

i don’t recognize my smile

its erased forever in your cusp

my heart has melted away in your hypocrisy

my common sense buried under your peach tree

and Aaron he no longer lives here

and i don’t recognize

the song of the canary anymore

soy la pesadilla

/ mbrazfieldm / 2 Comments

nos guste o no

así soy

así naci

así me he desarrollado

salvaje en la ciudad

una mona sin fronteras

peleando con cualquiera

pero con mucho corazón

te invito a que me juzgues

sin pena

que me odies

y mi insultes

no me cambiara

y cuando los que más amaba

me entrenaron como un huracán

lo que ustedes me puedan lanzar es inútil

mis ojos son ciegos

no miro color nación tipo de sangre

no miro religión nivel de educación

ni con quien te acuestas

no miro si eres cruel ignorante narcisista

y claro para que mentir todos juzgamos

pero la diferencia entre yo y tu es que

yo proceso con mi corazón te dejo o te tomo

si tienes sed te ofrezco agua

si estas desalojado aquí está mi tierra

si tienes hambre te doy todo mi pan

si tienes frio te doy mi ropa

si estas sufriendo yo sufro contigo

si me golpeas me muero de risa

si me humillas te doy mi sonrisa

si me traicionas te extiendo mi alma

pero hermano con excepción

si quieres lastimar a un niño o al anciano

al que no puede defenderse o regresar la punada

con mi ira te vas a encontrar

no tengo opinión sobre política

las leyes existen

el orden existe

libertad condicional

pero nunca me pudiste

controlar y menos amargar

así soy yo

te dedico con amor y franqueza

todo lo que soy

a tus pies nunca me esperes

pero mi mano aquí esta

yo sé lo que soy

soy menos que nada

y el día en que necesites

aquí estaré lista para amar o luchar 






eu sou o pesadelo





goste ou não





sou assim





então eu nasci





foi assim que eu desenvolvi





selvagem na cidade





um macaco sem fronteiras





lutando com qualquer um





mas com muito coração





eu convido você a me julgar





sim pena





que você me odeia





e meus insultos





eu não vou mudar





e quando ele amou o mais





eles me treinaram como um furacão





o que você pode jogar em mim é inútil





meus olhos estão cegos





eu não olho tipo nação cor de sangue





eu não olho religião nível de educação





nem com quem você dorme





eu não olho se você é um narcisista cruel ignorante





e, claro, para nós mentirmos todos nós julgamos





mas a diferença entre eu e você é que





eu procuro com meu coração eu te deixo ou te levo





se você está com sede eu te ofereço água





se você é despejado aqui é minha terra





se você está com fome eu te dou todo o meu pão





se você está com frio eu te dou minhas roupas





se você está sofrendo eu sofro com você





se você me bater eu vou morrer de rir





se você me humilhar eu te dou meu sorriso





se você me trair eu estendo minha alma





mas irmão com exceção





se você quer machucar uma criança ou os idosos





quem não pode se defender ou devolver a punada





com a minha raiva você vai encontrar





eu não tenho opinião sobre política





as leis existem





a ordem existe





liberdade condicional





mas você nunca conseguiu





controle e menos amargo





eu sou assim





eu te dedico com amor e franqueza





tudo que eu sou





nunca espere por mim a seus pés





mas minha mão aqui é





eu sei o que sou





eu sou menos que nada





e o dia que você precisa





aqui estarei





pronto para amar ou lutar





i am the nightmare





like it or not





so i was born





here i am





this is how i developed





wild in the city





a monkey without borders





fighting with anyone





but with a lot of heart





i invite you to judge me





without shame





i know that you hate me





and insults





will not change me





and when those who i loved the most





trained me like a hurricane





so what you throw at me is useless





my eyes are blind





i do not see color nation or type of blood





i do not see religion or level of education





nor with whom you sleep





i do not see if you’re cruel ignorant or narcissist





and of course we all judge





but the difference between me and you is that





i process with my heart i leave you or i take you





if you are thirsty i offer you water





if you are evicted here is my land





if you are hungry i give you my bread





if you are cold i give you my clothes





if you are suffering i suffer with you





if you hit me i’ll die of laughter





if you humiliate me i’ll give you my smile





if you betray me i’ll extend my soul to you





but brother the exception





if you want to hurt a child or the aged





who can’t defend themselves or return the punch





to my anger you’ll respond 





i have no opinion on politics





the laws exist





the order exists





conditional freedom





but you never could





control me or make me bitter





that’s how i am





i dedicate to you with love and honesty





everything i am





never wait for me 





to fall at your feet





but here is my hand





i know what i am





i am less than nothing





and the day you need





i’ll be here





ready to love or fight





			

	


			
				


	

							
Seth 3: Christina’s rebuke
						

			 / mbrazfieldm						 / 5 Comments
								

			


		

		

Picture courtesy of Sue Vincent

 





the road she is cruel and with little respite





but i made it to Your house 





with the help of Ruach Elohim





i can raise my knuckles to Your door





and knock to be let in





YWHW this is your daughter





the mother of the boy 





who is now in your eternal care





i see his hands and eyes and smile





in the wild flowers waltzing on the ground





i traversed the firmament all this way





for You to look me in the face





and give me a reason 





because i’m only Your daughter





and i don’t know anymore





did You give Abraham his bosom 





from these stones that hold Your strength





my bosom is torn wide apart





forsaken forgotten and in pain





the glimmer in the joy of light





that showers Your front steps





no longer bring me comfort 





YHWH 





You and i know what love can be





we both sent our sons 





unto the world of man





but only Your’s came back

			

	


			
				


	

							
where did Opa go
						

			 / mbrazfieldm						 / 38 Comments
								

			


		

		

accordions were not of import to
me





until you were no longer there





the caramel and gray plaid
La-Z-Boy chair





sat gaping at the ceiling
wondering as i was





where did Opa go





we didn’t really talk no one
taught me how





instinctively you knew though





that i loved your oversized navy
blue trousers





and your red suspenders 





except for the lederhosen not my
style





regret burns hotter at night





while i sit silently on the
kitchen counter





alone in the dark sometimes with
pained wrists





and old cracked ribs dislocated
in my youth





sit along beside me good times





where did Opa go





time rippled down your face





porcelined and freckled





both by illness and by cure





you would stare at mom’s cat





as the din of Lawrence Welk 





seemed to echo from the corners
of the room





where did Opa go





remember when i was 13 





my socks were old and dingy 





five sizes too big 





and as you shook your head





you took out $50 from your wallet





and motioned me to get new socks





i just shrugged and smiled





turning my back on you 





Mutta’s fancy mirror 





stabbed me with 





your puzzled dewey face





at my ignorant rejection 





why did i let go 





Opa

			

	


			
				


	

							
it’s just a phase
						

			 / mbrazfieldm						 / Leave a comment
								

			


		

		

the drops fall warm 





like a resentful first kiss 





placed crookedly on my lips 





two broken children 





dressed in archaic cloaks of
sinful fathers 





embalmed in summer rain 





clasping hands in the park 





you pointed at fancy bricks laid
by FL Wright 





your hero 





we heard laughter from in the
trees 





we filled our heads with fantasy 





of being greater than dirty jeans






booze coke





and motorcycles 





what fools we were 





but happy in our foolery 





we’d stomp round town 





wild haired green eyed queen





to her mohawked crowned king





while in the dampness of the night 





we went our separate ways 





on the dimly lit corner by House of Pies





to harvest broken proper mothers 





up from their latest shag designer carpets 





flown in from Rome 





and as we punched our way through






explosive broken fathers





on Monday morning





we’d all pretend that our lives
were wonderful

			

	


			
				


	

							
arena
						

			 / mbrazfieldm						 / 4 Comments
								

			


		

		

el sol hoy es mujer





con un vestido de arco iris





las bestias de toda especie 





se mezclan en el desierto ajeno





a todo lo que amo mas





los dioses de las estrellas





nacen y mueren en el mismo suspiro





pero lo que no cuentan 





es que un suspiro es una eternidad





los ríos correrán de abajo a arriba





y la civilización esta clavada en
una nube





fuera de mi alcance





pero a lo que veo





es mejor así





enterrarme en la arena





20190609_230829.jpg
Arte cortesia de Kira/art by Kira






areia





o sol hoje é mulher 





com um vestido de arco-íris 





as bestas de todos os tipos eles 





se misturam no deserto alienígena






a tudo que eu amo mais 





os deuses das estrelas 





eles nascem e morrem no mesmo
suspiro 





mas o que não conta é que um
suspiro é uma eternidade 





os rios correrão de baixo para
cima 





e civilização está preso em uma
nuvem 





fora do meu alcance 





mas o que eu vejo 





é melhor assim 





me enterre na areia





sand





the sun is a woman today





with a rainbow dress





the beasts of all kinds





mix in the alien desert





with everything i love the most





the gods of the stars





they are born and die in the same sigh





but what they don’t say 





is that a sigh is an eternity





the rivers will run from bottom to top





and civilization is stuck in a cloud





out of my reach





but how i see it





it’s better that way





bury me in the sand



			

	


			
				


	

							
ornithology
						

			 / mbrazfieldm						 / 2 Comments
								

			


		

		

timid





green





eyed child





limp wheat hair





falls wet in the cold





rain tucked safe outside while the fire of 





hate rages inside the walls of your land tenderly wilting all
hopes away





a woman red hair blue suit white badge warped picture no passion
picks you up silently both walk down the pebbled





path by the time Wilshire Blvd. is reached the bird nest is out
of sight and you mature again manila files County words where are the crayons
and Raggedy Anns pink Buster Browns forgotten 





the clouds bright against tan butcher paper sad faces for the
judge of the cages in my heart smile we must





fire suffocated unhappiness averted for a night or two little
bird strains away





to reach those pink pebbles and pumpernickel bread





Canter’s chicken soup mummy’s black





eye gone for





now both





conditionally





freed





photo courtesy of Kristiana

			

	


			
				


	

							
Morrissey en tricolor
						

			 / mbrazfieldm						 / 3 Comments
								

			


		

		

durante Agosto a las 8 de
la noche





hace mucho calor





compramos helados y
cantamos





con nuestros Walkmans





los melancólicos himnos 





de Morrissey y Los Smiths





somos la juventud con
tristeza fina





emoción delicada 





que ya no se puede expresar






con los métodos de los White
Fence Boys





en El Este también hay neblina
pobreza y destitución





pero también hay cultura
costumbres y tradición





también tomamos té y café y
hay playa 





al fin del tren





entendemos ironías como
nuestro ídolo





y aunque se enoje la
abuela ya no comemos su cocido





que no sabe que la carne
es muerte





los domingos en el
cementerio 





tratamos de besar a las
muchachas





pero solamente en nuestros
pensamientos





nuestros lentes grandes
nos separan





somos la juventud nueva y
media rara





soñamos en cosas que nadie
entiende





queremos más de la vida 





en la madrugada en
nuestras camas literas





nuestro héroe Morrissey nos canta a dormir










Morissey em tricolor





durante agosto às 8 horas da noite 





faz muito calor 





nós compramos sorvete e cantamos 





com nossos walkmans 





os hinos melancólicos 





de Morrissey e The Smiths 





nós somos a juventude 





com muita tristeza 





emoção delicada 





que não pode mais ser expresso 





com os métodos dos White Fence Boys 





em El Este também há neblina pobreza e miséria 





mas também há costumes e tradições culturais





 nós também temos chá e café 





e há uma praia no final do trem 





nós entendemos ironias 





como o nosso ídolo 





e mesmo que a avó esteja zangada, não a comemos 





quem não sabe que carne é morte 





Domingos no cemitério 





nós tentamos beijar as garotas 





mas apenas em nossos pensamentos





 nossos grandes óculos nos separam 





nós somos a juventude nova e meio rara 





nós sonhamos com coisas que ninguém entende





 nós queremos mais da vida 





no início da manhã em nossos beliches 





nosso herói Morrissey nos canta para dormir










Morrissey in tricolor





during August at 8 o’clock at night 





it is very hot 





we buy ice cream 





and we sing with our Walkmans 





the melancholic hymns of Morrissey and The Smiths 





we are the youth with fine sadness 





delicate emotion 





that can no longer be expressed 





with the methods of the White Fence Boys 





in El Este there is also fog, poverty and destitution 





but there are also culture customs and tradition 





we also have tea and coffee 





and there’s a beach at the end of the train 





we understand ironies like our idol 





and even if the grandmother is angry we do not eat her cooked stews 





doesnt she know that meat is death 





Sundays in the cemetery we try to kiss the girls 





but only in our thoughts 





our big glasses separate us 





we are the new and strange youth 





we dream of things that nobody understands 





we want more of life 





in the early morning in our bunk beds 





our hero Morrissey sings us to sleep

			

	


			
				


	

							
coy
						

			 / mbrazfieldm						 / 4 Comments
								

			


		

		

paint





pavement





sacred there





in the pond





on the daily traveled sidewalks





in motion forever being touched with no feeling





i see how beautiful you are comfort for the
industrial spawn city child





your orange backs stop my steps from going too far
without smiling in the bleakness of the day waving docile fins





your jewel backs charming treasure afterthought of the
straggler in the mood of the times scientology across the street while the bed bugs
do battle cry by the patisserie of my distant sullied youth





in the pavement my eyes the news of the day beguiles
to think that in your face there might be happiness





around you go with the brothers in the dark pool of my
mind





i walk against a tide of lukewarm panic





no Buddha’s cloak can hide





the past that





keeps me





forced





inside





Photo m brazfield street stencil artist unknown

			

	


			
				


	

							
nocturna
						

			 / mbrazfieldm						 / Leave a comment
								

			


		

		

shame nestled in my throat





as night’s soft charcoal gray skin





was wrapped with a lofty nimbostratus shroud





upon her moonlit shoulders





emitting sweet earthy odor





not sure of what i did 





uncertainty about my heart





were my deeds the cause of it 





like bullets from an ancient time 





to kill the peace upon the paths





her tears fell down from heaven





now through the teachings of that lady night





and her dusky priestesses along with a few hard knocks





i’ve come to understand that it wasn’t me who made her
cry





but that Nocturna was the mirror of my sorrows










Picture courtesy of The Poet By Day site