The Poet by Day Wednesday Writing Prompt

Zorya

/ mbrazfieldm / 7 Comments

there she is

bright bold with golden arms

the lady who comes to purify my blood

just 2 hours and 34 minutes in the past

did the he moon with his mariachi suit

cry with me because he is a gentleman

we had clinked tequila glasses

while he kissed my hands

but with each step Zorya takes toward my window

i’ve come to prefer the strong espresso roast

dark heavy smoldering like your heart

you prefer to sleep

after quaking and quivering through my mounds

and when your eyes come open wide your armor

will cover you again

as i remain the faithful wench

in the china cup where the gold has chipped off

filled with mud and some manipulative tears

my cigarette will drown in sorrow

so i walk into the bathroom

to wash your sheep’s odor

off my she wolf fur

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

rsvp

/ mbrazfieldm / 4 Comments

hi

Rabbi

i’m that girl

this Eden is

very beautiful

i’ve crawled on my belly

since the time of the Pharaohs

and i’m feeling deeply tired

today i make the case that gifting

me free will does not compare to heaven

when i close my eyes the cries of Mary

still echo in my ears while Martha’s

brother slumbers wrapped in linens

and the taste of chocolate

melting joy on my tongue

careless angels send

Your blessed signs

however

i am

done

peregrine

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desert you look very pretty in your tender green veil

it’s been a while since i was here visiting you

inner struggle and rebirth brought me to your boulder bosom

i see my brothers the Joshua Trees have gotten taller

therefore waving more lost children toward your safety dear friend

oh and the hares and wood peckers they still look

me over with caution and pity they sense my spirit

is still shackled in some ways but they are right

i’m just a human mother Joshua but how are you

i’ve brought you great news there will be rain later

this evening that rock you say yes that will be

good shelter the tiny lizard queen is a great hostess

the breath of your slate tinged skies is beginning to

smell like wet earth just like my grandmother’s hair when

as a babe i’d grab fistfuls and put it in

my mouth yet i don’t know how i can remember

her we were both too young when she had to

go up to the silver stars above my head oh

mother Joshua did you tell Oma to come and visit

there you see she’s the one next to Venus smiling

at me hey little ants get off my cake here

i’ll place it by your hill take it to your

queen my regards to her and now my eyes focus

to see the splendor of the ocotillo fire red blossoms

held up to the peacock sky and i breathe deeply

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

where did Opa go

/ mbrazfieldm / 17 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

a genesis with a Dada twist

/ 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

nocturna

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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

solo ella

/ mbrazfieldm / 6 Comments

me puedes cerrar llenarme de bardas

encarcelar a mis hijos

los trópicos de virtud

me puedes prohibir libertad

robarme el aire

puedes envenenar mis lagos

asesinar mis volcanes

destruir mis montanas

derramar todos mis mares

aprisionar mis nubes y las estrellas también

negarme a los dioses y santos

quemar mis veredas negarme el campo

podrás apagar mi sol y la luna

abortar a mis milagros y todas mis flores

cierta mente puedes herirme y terminar

con mis hijos enyerbar mis ojos

cortar mis venas y explotar mis riquezas

podrás negarme los secretos celestiales

y un simple trago de agua

pero nunca vencerás el amor de una madre

só ela

você pode me fechar me encher de cercas

aprisionar meus filhos

os trópicos da virtude

você pode me banir da liberdade

roubar minha respiração

você pode envenenar meus lagos

mate meus vulcões

destruir minhas montanhas

derrame todos os meus mares

aprisionar minhas nuvens

e as estrelas também

negar-me aos deuses e santos

queima minhas trilhas me negam

o campo você pode desligar meu sol

o lua abortar meus milagres

e todas as minhas flores

certamente você pode me machucar

e terminar com meus filhos

meus olhos cortar minhas veias

e explorar minhas riquezas

você pode me negar os segredos celestiais

e uma simples bebida de água

mas você nunca vai conquistar

o amor de uma mãe

only her

you can close me off with fences

imprison my children

the tropics of virtue

you can ban me from freedom

steal my breath

you can poison my lakes

kill my volcanoes

destroy my mountains

spill all of my seas

imprison my clouds and the stars too

deny me the gods and saints

burn my trails

deny me the field

you can turn off my sun and the moon

abort my miracles and all of my flowers

certainly you can hurt me

and finish off my children

cut my eyes cut my veins and exploit my riches

you can deny me the heavenly secrets

and a simple drink of water

but you will never conquer the love of a mother

the price of peanut butter

/ mbrazfieldm / 3 Comments

of course i remember the old Safeway, Hank. in closing my eyes i can see the Mahatma Rice Genie on the little rice bags and Jiffy cost less than a dollar. i was not taller than a yard stick, yet i knew my lime green pastel knit dresses were an infamy. Hank, i recall the prime parties on Berendo street, the last of the beehive hairdo elegant women in turquoise bell-bottoms, i a barefooted brat. and on alternate Saturdays the biker parties in the Silver Lake Hills. the Harleys looked like stallions. in the middle of the week, i can’t remember where i’d sleep, but AC/DC dueled with Tom Jones in my dreams. now, Hank, we have non-GMO juice stands and designer coffee drinks. i’m about a yard stick and a quarter tall now and i dress in black. i still enjoy Tom and Brian, but Nirvana and Cornell own my heart. i finally read the Torah too. but the fears, doubts, agonies and uncertainties are still within my universe. Safeway is now Vons. House of Pies is still there too, i feed on their Western Spaghetti. i’m going at it in a round-about way. Volkswagons’ and Mustangs aren’t what they used to be, but they’ve cut down on bad emissions. Hank, you wouldn’t believe, there’s almond, cashew, sunflower, pistachio and Brazil Nut butter. i don’t talk much, i type on the phone, even on dates, sitting right across the table from them all. i suppose i’ll never see a good bra burning anymore, i giggled at it as a child. but, they have apps for that now. i never really fit in any particular time in LA. from 8 tracks to Alexa and frozen peas to organic produce delivery. i don’t know, Hank. peanut butter today is quite expensive.