Depression

cyber Monday

/ mbrazfieldm / Leave a comment

cyber Monday tired long drive
random Target children crying wanting
mothers sighing fathers walking behind
cops strolling looking for something
not in particular looking plain
inside partly broken hard times
we all stare out far
our thoughts hidden polite smiles
riddled with worries this that
crimes in our head saddened
skies blue clouds fluffy right
still deepening in the heart
a desire to be upright
while looking inside of grief
snow is fake elves shelved
Palestine hurts Israel bleeds here
America sinks as she steps
on heads backs shoulders hands
the people we hang dangling
Betty Crocker’s ads cannot repair
the damage of those here
walking shopping pretending most wonderfully
to be free to do
to love to speak openly
but we’re not just drowning
underneath raging mad correspondents with
all the lies that linger
here at a random Target
on cyber Monday we are

Isaiah 2:4

/ mbrazfieldm / 2 Comments

an offering to my fellow human beings. i typically do not make public comments about politics religion or world events. like many i was born in a time of war and i can’t remember peace. but this particular war between Palestine and Israel has truly hurt my soul for private and moral reasons. i stand with the innocents and i hope that we all find peace health love understanding and blessings


“And He will judge between the nations, And will render decisions for many peoples; And they will hammer their swords into plowshares and their spears into pruning hooks. Nation will not lift up sword against nation, And never again will they learn war.”

buk,

/ mbrazfieldm / 10 Comments

i
think of
you today
it was tough
her screams
biting at my ears
meant for him
and her
and them
the whole lot
maybe Jesus too
buk,
the women around here
but who knew
i’m a woman too
born and bruised
and i don’t have a clue
but then again i was her
a long time ago
her hands jingling
her bling about
like falling feathers
from the boxing ducks
at MacArthur park
little waist
banded by Calvin Ks
why do us tough girls always dress like thugs?
mother issues grab her tissues
here come the waterworks
you’d say
buk, dude
work was hard today
the LA streets
me at her teat
this grimy Goddamned city
as she shared
about the girls she had
and the guys she fucked
all in a litany of blows and scars
her brothers left on her
mother called it teaching her the ropes
buk, i pray to you
were women like this
back when?
or has politics and Hollywood
fooled us?
broken afraid her fists she raised
fragile steel jaw
little girl unspoken
tender where she should be strong
she weeps over her barrettes
her brother broke when she was four
not about the busted lip
her lover gave her
or the county checks that can’t support her and her only child
buk, how can i counsel
when i haven’t been
consoled myself?

transformation

/ mbrazfieldm / 6 Comments
mbrazfield (c) 2023

i miss you
the smirk when you’d teased me
the boyish giggle
the curls on your forehead
i miss your hands
constantly incessantly writing smithing your tales
i miss the weather your shoes and hunters coat
the Italian deli and posing on Kerouac’s road
i miss following you into those portals of City Lights you and i there
when Allen died
i think he became a butterfly
i miss your passions for beauty the people and their pain
i miss Sunday morning sipping coffee at La Boheme thinking of ways to make you love me the way that you loved them
my heart my soul in silent pain it was so much so that i couldn’t see where my place in the world was
i’d like to think it was in all the flowers that you lay your eyes on

for the Parrot