Category Archives: Brendon Behlke

Appointment

It’s a long drive through blurred countryside,
              cars shuffling impatiently like high stakes card games.
        The wheels spin blindingly fast,
                reliving hardships,
              joy
          each burst of laughter,

every embrace, every tear.

Whether the days were full
                or wanting;
          the nights serene,
                  or fitful.

                                     We hold hands,
                            the connection between us like a conduit,
                                  relaying all that energy
                                      that couldn’t touch us when we were grounded.

                        We keep the radio off,
                                  listening now to those old thoughts;
                              those historic machines-
                            loud enough to drown out the static sounds of the road.

It’s a long drive,
                      but this kind of silence can be comforting.

Strange

You’re here.
            That’s your first mistake.

You’re not at church.
You’re not at work.

                Not watching the latest marvel movie
                at a bar, a game, the gym
                anywhere else.

                For whatever reason

                                     you are here.

                                     Let me tell you what that
                              means.

You could be in church,

       stale robes screaming!
              about how unworthy YOU are
                                                                  perfection
                                        the only currency
                            of any value other than
                                                          your wallet.

You could be at work,
        for five cents on the dollar;
            some worth there at least…

                  not much though.
      So you’re here.
                                You’re here. Okay,
but you could be at the movies!

Some ubermensch sees the world ending,
      finds himself, his friends and stops it.

All the action! The machismo!
                The heroics!

The good guys… always… winning…

                         Yet
                                you’re here, where they often…
                    just fucking don’t.

I get it,
        but you could be out on the town,

submerged in whatever works
    to blur the world as it is.
          A backwards magic eye painting,
            that makes more sense
                              distorted,
                    digestible even.

Is it too early? Too late?
          Whatever-
                            You’re here.

Not at a game, a jersey on,
        screaming at the top of your lungs
                about how worthy your boys are-
              (not theirs, never theirs)
      You could be there,

But that’s,
                that’s a lot;
        so you’re here.

You’re not at the gym,
          living the nightmare to reach the dream
                of immortality.
      Some absolute unit telling you you’re doing great,
                    you’re almost there,
                        just one more,
                        just one more,
                        just one more,
                        just one more.
You’re here.

                     By choice.

     Vulnerable but celebrated,
              knowing the good guys, ladies
                            and everyone
                                    in between
                                            or beyond;

                      they lose, and lose and lose –
        but they get back up, they show up.
                    Not paid to be here,
                              still
                                                    finding value.

               Staring the world down,
                  seeing it for what it is,
                                  unflinching,
                and finding worth in every corner,
                            every shadowed table
                      every wilted head.

You’re here
and that’s enough.

Being here is a mistake
          a mutation
      an evolution.

But be here.
      Be strange.
          Be loved.

Ocean Breeze

Pulling from somewhere off the coast, where suns set,
the taste of salt, sand, and shadow;
a whispered heartbeat from the ocean floor
beckons me with ancient sounds.
The crest of a furled mystery that awakens
a need in me, aching for those depths.

To be but water made conscious, drowning
but no desire for the surface or sky.
Even before the shore my breath was stolen,
though I would gladly have given my last,
to be the current that moves through you,
yet a part of you in kind.

Exuberance!
Enough to carry me to the unknowing,
but the wanting to know,
to discover peace among the motions,
rise in celebration,
and fall again as rain laughing into the waves.

Laughing until out of breath,
sinking beneath your ocean to swim forever.

Reverie

I am content in the sunlight
a thousand blank pages waiting
but without any cause to fight,
for my attention. Not needing;
necessity is self-defeating;
but there- available all the same.
The time left us is only wanting,
this life having finally been tamed.

The day drifts away but it is still bright,
a lifetime of mournful shadows fading
behind a long legacy of delight;
decades of fruitful creating,
the love of those that are liberating,
curiosity like an open flame
from fire to fire, always leaping.
Never quiet is my soul’s refrain.

The Serpent and the Snake

Eager blades rise like waves,
tightly coiled for the depths below,
where dark waters twist and tumble
fraught to maintain such great heights
until gravity’s anchor drags them back to the undertow

Those fangs sink in through the scales,
stopping only covetously for the bone.
The venom it sends rushes to unknown ends,
a curious tide trespassing secret coves
echoing haunted laughter in sunless geometry.

The other beast strikes back in reflected anger,
rushing its aggressor like a gull caught in a gust;
sharp salt sea breeze cutting the sun,
fracturing the blue canvas with a searing light
before plunging again into the familiar stream.

Two currents opposed to form a whirlpool,
neither willing to give any ground to the other,
flowing ribbons of water; ocean waves,
burrowing against the earth and rising against the sky.
For the want to live, they both will die.

Overtime

With the coffee that they like,
shaved off the bean like chocolate moose;
a foggy night of swirls rolling off the spoon.
That kind of early.

I need to be there.

People will remember if I’m not,
hold it against me, resent me.

How do I barricade my home office?
It’s a bedroom, no need to barricade.
                                  Supposedly.

Just need food and drink for two,
so when they come for me,
            [They will come – are coming]
                    we’ll live!

          Better than we did when we had to work
all the time,
                  coming in early.

Is a locked door enough to hold them off;
    the door between the day and night,
                      between dreams and reality,
                                  between consciousnesses?

                      I hope so.
                      I hope so.
                I don’t want to die like this,
          early.

Wounds

The vitriol-
the violence gestating in cobwebbed cupboards,
all the features of the face pressed against the wood;
a toppled plateau waiting for the end.

Say nothing though.
The voice will draw it out,
all that suffering and pain;
is the last of the fruit that remains.

Say nothing then,
let it fester,
consume us who feed on it;
not with teeth, but patience, digesting.