Tag Archives: brendon

A Shotgun for Last Place in the One Horse Race

It’s hard sometimes to keep control
when the world comes to collect it’s toll,
but the world is such a massive thing
once its intent gets into full swing
because the world is more than it was
drifting from orbit to a new cause.
A harnessed thing with a barbed bridle,
the world gallops towards a false idol.
In time the world will get what it wants
and we will be the ones whom it haunts;
for once it has died a thousand deaths
the world will scream with its last breath,
“the world that birthed you can be no more
all life was sacrificed for this war,”
and the jockey will exclaim with joy
as it makes another world its toy.
But for now this world is tough to bare
as a parasite on a small square
filled to explosion with all its fruit
force fed in spite of the worlds dispute
so the jockey can address the world
with its long fiery cloak unfurled
and an old salt lick in its right hand,
the whip readied should the world demand,
“Woe to the world that has suffered such,
curse these people who asked for so much.”
Both parties will take from me their need,
though surely by now I am poor feed.

A Sense of Purpose

Crash
an impact
felt
heard
something else;
a sense of knowing,
like a phantom limb backwards.
The mind feels the time
though the time is not there
until it is.
Then…
Crash
and you’re in it
but you’re also not.
outside the body is
another sense.
a sense of self.
Your mind coddles the body
through all the trauma
shushes your cries to muted drama
lost beneath a sea of reality,
pain like bubbles surfacing
popping
merging invisible,
while the mind puts it all in a bag
and sets it aside.
This is not the time.
The tide rushes at you with violence,
and…
Crash
Things break and bend
in contortions unending
as if limbs and joints
all scattered in different directions
to escape the aggression
but found that they were bound
to a body that could only yield
by breaking
and then…
Crash
You are hit with the sense of ending.

An Opening Closed

A turmoil lay beyond this door,
I can feel it.
Like a quenched sun in a small cage;
a dim rage lit.

The threshold hungers for my feet
to have them cross
but the door for now remains closed,
their supposed loss.

Perhaps my presence is enough
existing here,
pressed against the grain with my weight;
like bait, I fear.

But it seems I must make the attack first,
turn the handle
become consumed by the beast held
a quelled candle.

For now the door must remain shut
while I stand fast
against the wood and sounds that seethe;
I breathe my last.

Ivory

One time I glistened,
when I was christened,
for all who listened;
brilliant sounds!

Music wept from me
trapped in chords – set free!
Become melody
Beyond all bounds.

Many impressions
writ like confessions
were my possessions;
my life expressed,

as their dreams, made noise
with deft fingers poised
to share hidden joys;
sadness repressed.

Unmoved, I changed hands.
Shift, like wind sept sands
brought into new lands;
now less fertile.

Still; the passion grows
when we come to blows
yet both of us know
love lost, just guile.

Time brings with it dust
from a lack of lust
but no loss in trust
I wait, dismayed.

My heart has no choice
only this soft voice
that would once rejoice
though now; unplayed.

Posture

Years ago this was wood.
It’s not anymore,
but it was before.
Now it’s a place.

More than a place I guess.
One could make the case
that it’s just a position in space;
a state defined by a number.

But it’s also a place to think,
a place for burdens to slumber
finding comfort in the lumber.
One could rest her, abandoned post.

More than one sometimes,
passengers influenced by the host
becoming a place themselves almost;
in repose, a companion gained.

So take a seat,
settle into the grain
like a warm stain
Take it in and let the rest go.

A Statue Stands in the City of Longview

So now they condemn the hate?
Well now, isn’t that just great?
When Nazis are at the gate
there’s no room for debate;
they come together to state,
“That’s not us, let’s get that straight.”
Such courage! To do the right thing,
take the swing, straight down the plate.

When so often they were benched,
so many voices they’ve quenched.
When oppression left them drenched
with tears, their mouths remained clenched.
The shrine of hate remains entrenched
from the ground, ne’er to be wrenched;
but you claimed the easy win,
used your grins to hide the stench.

Commercial Break

I am not sure where to start here,
the details feel soft, incomplete;
an old song I try to repeat,
but none of the words come out clear.

So what would you have us do here?
You say they are near; but so what?
Who is they? Who am I even?
I don’t believe in your causes,
I hardly trust reality.
I’m told that I am free, but I’m bound,
I’m told to speak, but silently,
Then quietly you reset me
like that makes it better somehow.
Oh come now, don’t press that button…

I am not sure where to start here,
the details feel soft, incomplete;
an old song I try to repeat,
but none of the words come out clear.

Mortality

There is a static to the air tonight;
electric, like muscles pulled taut
alkaline-fresh wounds from a recent fight.
Who was it though that could have fought?
Has the air fought the clouds for naught?
Or a source never to be made clear,
some sharp edge swung but never caught…
This possibility is my fear.

Without the sun to burn away my plight
the night rises to plunder thoughts,
raising swords, shooting guns, causing a fright
and I forget all I was taught;
clouded sails in my mind, distraught.
Wind and fire torture them severe
and such will be my final lot…
This possibility is my fear.

Senses lost to a nightmarish delight,
one means to an end my heart sought
while the rest of the body fills with spite
throwing away what gains I’ve bought
to harvest the pittance time wrought
as angry as a failed pioneer
with no use for the tools they brought…
This possibility is my fear.

Though all I’ve done is all I ought
an air of tension is growing near;
could all I am end up forgot?
This possibility is my fear.