a genesis with a Dada twist

June 7, 2019June 7, 2019 / mbrazfieldm / 8 Comments

in the beginning when She did pick oxygen carbon hydrogen and nitrogen and He did stir the clay with hot holy essence all the words in the world were at a finger’s length beyond my reach

so close they were that i then leapt out of the nest of my pink blue galaxy and into the pavement of down town LA the words they did follow in time i’d pluck tiny words for tiny worries and the Nephilim smiled for they knew i was falling

in love with the charge of turning the misery hatred pain starvation violence and rape of it all into the beauty found on the hem of the robe of the Goddess and the wing of a humming bird

that’s reaching for the higher hanging words drenched in the nectar from the Tree of Knowledge i strung them up to detail the anatomy of a broken heart with its crystal shards wrapped in Cleopatra’s linens sanctimoniously tucked away in a Payless shoe box atop an urban closet shelf

of the condemned building in the bosom of desperation and the pool in eyes of children stack did i those words like bricks made of powder to bring the kingdoms down and with the rabble of defeat as i burnt down i built up a nation of wordsmiths

who with their quills pens papyrus key boards tablets and marketing firms wait gingerly drinking lattes on the Stratford Upon Avon wicker chairs

that my English teacher said she dusted for the scribes who mused the signs letter symbols into the dendrites of my mind but not before Allen Will Bill Jack Hank Dylan Langston Lou Bowie Leonard and Ms. Angelou were anointed and leaving me with words less spoken

parting the sea

June 5, 2019 / mbrazfieldm / 3 Comments

holy roller wave

loving spirit on the way

piercing through the sun

abreagieren

June 5, 2019 / mbrazfieldm / 15 Comments

my mother and my father would fight about the air around them or about Jimmy Carter and about their marital problems tired old words leadless bullets that i took for them a meek child called to be King Solomon at 4 the trees and blocks and baby dolls were not enough to free me from the painful heavy feeling in my post toddler soul an orphan in the house of everything meaningless clean sanitary and paid for but not love i had 30 pieces of silver 7 times more and i kissed no one and no one kissed me when i bruised my knees or when the Armenian kids beat me up after school or when i cut the rope and wandered off into the womb of my city the yellow brick road didn’t exist but there were miles and miles of pavement where gentle hands and toothless grins had my best interest at times and at times i grew up the hard way but between stolen 4^th of July Fireworks shows OD visits to the ER home cooked waffles at Astrid’s house boys with rainbows in their eyes and a few good angels i learned how to love

Morrissey en tricolor

June 4, 2019June 4, 2019 / 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

HAMP, unplugged

June 4, 2019 / mbrazfieldm / Leave a comment

last night hope shone once

her dreams of home laid to waste

unlucky salt dash

*HAMP= The Home Affordable Modification Program (HAMP) is a government program introduced in 2009 to respond to the subprime mortgage crisis. (Wikipedia)

auxiliary guardian angels

June 3, 2019September 27, 2019 / mbrazfieldm / 4 Comments

Willie and Big Daddy sat in front of the Seven Eleven from noon till about 4 in the morning except on Sundays when they went to church at the MM Willie had a four dollar a day sun flower seed habit with his Colt 45 Big Daddy liked to comment on women’s asses and cat call on the flaming tight boys who dressed like Duran Duran Willie had gone to Howard in the 70’s and when he wasn’t in psychosis we’d talk about Nijinsky Big Daddy would tell me about the bed bugs at his SRO on 7^th and how the Good Lord had saved his life and when the drug dealers and pimps would try to entice me into their cars they would both roll their wheel chairs in front of me and dared them to fight and as time went by and i grew older Willie and Big Daddy faded into the brick walls with graffiti and no posted bills the three of us together were never like anyone thought we should be we just were and they both gifted me with alternate ways of understanding the world and breaking the chains

Snail Poem, Ninth Anniversary of Peter Orlovsky’s Death

June 2, 2019 / mbrazfieldm / Leave a comment

thank you Jamie for this awesome post!

Jamie Dedes' THE POET BY DAY Webzine

Allen Ginsberg and Peter Orlovsky

A rainbow comes pouring into my window, I am electrified.
Songs burst from my breast, all my crying stops, mistory fills
the air.
I look for my shues under my bed.

Peter Orlovsky, excerpt from Frist Poem

I was going through notes and realized that Peter Orlovsky died nine years ago this Thursday past. Born in the East Side of New York on July 8, 1933, he was probably best known as poet Allen Ginsberg’s companion. However, Orlovsky was a poet himself. You’ll note, if you’ve not been introduced to him before, that he is playful and his spelling eccentric…..

Snail Poem

Make my grave shape of heart so like a flower
…..be free aired
…..& handsome felt,
Grave root pillow, tung up from grave and
…..wiggle at
…..blown up clowd
Ear turns close to underlayer of green felt moss &…

View original post 270 more words

waif

June 2, 2019 / mbrazfieldm / Leave a comment

death

cover

me no rest

blind darkness thrive

in the garden hidden past the mountain

fold my arms atop my chest and walk off

temperature

cold and dry

country

mine

where have

you gone from

your wild child free

but lost to fences that strike my soul shut

i don’t see the stars any longer light

anyone’s way

before night

one last

kiss

rumination

June 1, 2019 / mbrazfieldm / 3 Comments

although Baker beach rasped with waves swatting at the flat shore my mind was silent thinking of not being able to think shattered shells the broken bones of tiny creatures descendants of primordial royalty from Neptune’s kingdom some pelicans patrolled the bay sky looking for a bite to eat perhaps the hot dogs in the fists of the screeching kids with the loud mother my soul silenced by the wind with his whisper lilting in and out of my hair like a desperate lover i could not think my head was silent the stark white gulls and the gray elongated clouds tacked up randomly against the black sky felt like being in space or an early 80’s video game then as i turned my glance toward the harking sea lions on the jagged rocks frosted over by salty sea foam i thought about Holden Caulfield and this disturbed me the silence then brought on my transgressions in Cinemascope and i wept into the sand