alan-browne - Hello Poetry

Beauty in the sea Blond Lady, Standing in the sea. Golden skinned beauty, Perfection to see. What country, She asked. Ireland I sighed, Ukraine she smiled. Heaven, I died That is all she could say, No more I could say, looking at each other, Amid st salty gushing waves. No English she said, No Russian in my head. Pointlessly smiling, Conversation bore dead. All alone in the Arabian sea, Blond beauty standing next to me. Stranded in an uncomfortable pause, Unknown cure to the unfortunate cause. I hinted her name, Joanna said she, While standing together in the Arabian sea.

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Jul 27, 2018

Jul 27, 2018 at 1:21 PM UTC

alan-browne

Beauty in the Sea

Beauty in the sea Blond Lady, Standing in the sea. Golden skinned beauty, Perfection to see. What country, She asked. Ireland I sighed, Ukraine she smiled. Heaven, I died That is all she could say, No more I could say, looking at each other, Amid st salty gushing waves. No English she said, No Russian in my head. Pointlessly smiling, Conversation bore dead. All alone in the Arabian sea, Blond beauty standing next to me. Stranded in an uncomfortable pause, Unknown cure to the unfortunate cause. I hinted her name, Joanna said she, While standing together in the Arabian sea.

23

Being your best friend and your own worst enemy is most conflicting. Patting yourself on the back, Or catching yourself by the scruff of the neck. Being happy in thy own self, Easier said than done. One part of you wants to move on with life, But the other is insistent on staying in the past, Dwelling on all the negatives, Blocking all the positives. Maybe the are just like political parties, But in my head, One being as bad as the other. If only I could deafen my mind, I would nt have to listen to either of them, And all would be well with the world. Maybe I will try that electric shock therapy, Stick my brain in a frying pan, Tenderize some synapses and neurons, Or the past, present, and future. Medium rare, a little ****** let them juices flow. Soften the thoughts that haunt us, That we have no control over now. Making life flow easier, But then again, If i go down that road I might not be able to taste anything at all, Everything will be so bland. Trials and tribulations. Being the pepper sauce, Unfortunately. Oh why did we have to have free will, Life would have been so much easier if it was all mapped out for us. This thinking malarkey can really be too much at times, All this contemplating, dwelling, and fretting. Its a dogs life, So simple, so easy No stress or responsibilities, And they dont lose their hair.

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Jul 27, 2018

Jul 27, 2018 at 1:18 PM UTC

alan-browne

Scruff of the Neck

Being your best friend and your own worst enemy is most conflicting. Patting yourself on the back, Or catching yourself by the scruff of the neck. Being happy in thy own self, Easier said than done. One part of you wants to move on with life, But the other is insistent on staying in the past, Dwelling on all the negatives, Blocking all the positives. Maybe the are just like political parties, But in my head, One being as bad as the other. If only I could deafen my mind, I would nt have to listen to either of them, And all would be well with the world. Maybe I will try that electric shock therapy, Stick my brain in a frying pan, Tenderize some synapses and neurons, Or the past, present, and future. Medium rare, a little ****** let them juices flow. Soften the thoughts that haunt us, That we have no control over now. Making life flow easier, But then again, If i go down that road I might not be able to taste anything at all, Everything will be so bland. Trials and tribulations. Being the pepper sauce, Unfortunately. Oh why did we have to have free will, Life would have been so much easier if it was all mapped out for us. This thinking malarkey can really be too much at times, All this contemplating, dwelling, and fretting. Its a dogs life, So simple, so easy No stress or responsibilities, And they dont lose their hair.

38

Dragging paws along the grass, Growling, breath near its last, Eyes tiny ember, fade away to black

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Jul 27, 2018

Jul 27, 2018 at 1:15 PM UTC

alan-browne

Tara

Dragging paws along the grass, Growling, breath near its last, Eyes tiny ember, fade away to black

3

Wooden boats to ****** oaths, Come on let's have a spell, For the time is near to chug a beer, Your tale is fair to tell. And a barbie too, round hopping roos, That go in haste of wander, Through fertile fields, that justly yield For this isle iv grown much fonder. So what's the go, of the land down low Where the folks are chilled and paced Well never say no, to having a go And come forth to thou lands embrace So put away your smartphone And come yarn over the now Now crack that beer, the sun is here And then we,ll roast that ****** sow

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Jul 27, 2018

Jul 27, 2018 at 1:11 PM UTC

alan-browne

Land down under

Wooden boats to ****** oaths, Come on let's have a spell, For the time is near to chug a beer, Your tale is fair to tell. And a barbie too, round hopping roos, That go in haste of wander, Through fertile fields, that justly yield For this isle iv grown much fonder. So what's the go, of the land down low Where the folks are chilled and paced Well never say no, to having a go And come forth to thou lands embrace So put away your smartphone And come yarn over the now Now crack that beer, the sun is here And then we,ll roast that ****** sow

16

The lack of those little things Having us wonder why Our lack of those little things Ushers a pitiful sigh Frequenting past memories O what might have been Stressing and guessing That old yet relevant scene Nips and Tucks for those little stucks That finesse I could not find Yearning for those times again, To remove thy finger from rewind. Hand up high, or put the head in Tomorrow pondering , O what might have been. Illiterate to those times past being To those times of silence we,ve all seen.

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Jul 27, 2018

Jul 27, 2018 at 1:10 PM UTC

alan-browne

The Lack of Those Little Things

The lack of those little things Having us wonder why Our lack of those little things Ushers a pitiful sigh Frequenting past memories O what might have been Stressing and guessing That old yet relevant scene Nips and Tucks for those little stucks That finesse I could not find Yearning for those times again, To remove thy finger from rewind. Hand up high, or put the head in Tomorrow pondering , O what might have been. Illiterate to those times past being To those times of silence we,ve all seen.

16

I met a 22 year old magician today. He showed me a trick. He had done nothing but smile at me. I looked into his eyes and saw two dead brothers, A dead father, dysfunctional mother And an ill son. I asked him how did he do this trick so perfectly? He replied "I have had lots of practice, But he warned me that its not for the faint hearted.

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Jul 27, 2018

Jul 27, 2018 at 1:09 PM UTC

alan-browne

22 year Old Magician

I met a 22 year old magician today. He showed me a trick. He had done nothing but smile at me. I looked into his eyes and saw two dead brothers, A dead father, dysfunctional mother And an ill son. I asked him how did he do this trick so perfectly? He replied "I have had lots of practice, But he warned me that its not for the faint hearted.

9

Laughing on the out, Crying on the in. Smiling and, jocular. Running around in their size sixteens, Throwing cherry pies, Jumping on the bouncy castle Everybodys friend. Behind the painted mask, The Poker face reveals its hand, Eyes soaked in sorrow, Joys blocked by stagnant woes, Chiseled into the walls of their mind, Elusive demons at their door, Relentless till there is no more

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Jul 27, 2018

Jul 27, 2018 at 1:08 PM UTC

alan-browne

Clown

Laughing on the out, Crying on the in. Smiling and, jocular. Running around in their size sixteens, Throwing cherry pies, Jumping on the bouncy castle Everybodys friend. Behind the painted mask, The Poker face reveals its hand, Eyes soaked in sorrow, Joys blocked by stagnant woes, Chiseled into the walls of their mind, Elusive demons at their door, Relentless till there is no more

14

The Nettles and Ivy lay hand in hand, Mingled with the garden flowers. Kindred and cosy in their patch, While luring prey to their web. The creatures with a thousand faces, Welcome all into their acre. Handpicking the ones that will serve them best, While discarding the eels from their rod. They lay in wait for their golden goose, Then contemplating when to slaughter. Brazen faced to no extent, A mere vacuum behind the eyes. Superlative to all, but to themselves, As they live to serve just one master, Morality and trust are merely tools, Cunningly used for a just occasion. The exception of which is commission based, Shortly before an evaluation, The question lays to you in wait, Is can you hear the sound of thunder.

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Jul 27, 2018

Jul 27, 2018 at 1:07 PM UTC

alan-browne

The Garden

The Nettles and Ivy lay hand in hand, Mingled with the garden flowers. Kindred and cosy in their patch, While luring prey to their web. The creatures with a thousand faces, Welcome all into their acre. Handpicking the ones that will serve them best, While discarding the eels from their rod. They lay in wait for their golden goose, Then contemplating when to slaughter. Brazen faced to no extent, A mere vacuum behind the eyes. Superlative to all, but to themselves, As they live to serve just one master, Morality and trust are merely tools, Cunningly used for a just occasion. The exception of which is commission based, Shortly before an evaluation, The question lays to you in wait, Is can you hear the sound of thunder.

20

Tea (A friend to everyone) As good and bad have come and gone, The humble plant continues on. Bore in the earth it made its way, From the orient to modern day. Out of the soil its cast to its hansom pack, Serving the best, and the ones who lack. Awaiting your grace at the early dawn, To serve the needs ye may set upon. From the modest bag to the amber flow, No revered image it may know. Like a loyal steed at your side, Carrying you through the tides of life. So when we re all dead and gone, Be sure in the knowledge that our friend lives on. To help and serve whoever asks, Bestow unto you so many thanks. © 4 years ago

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Jul 27, 2018

Jul 27, 2018 at 1:06 PM UTC

alan-browne

Tea

Tea (A friend to everyone) As good and bad have come and gone, The humble plant continues on. Bore in the earth it made its way, From the orient to modern day. Out of the soil its cast to its hansom pack, Serving the best, and the ones who lack. Awaiting your grace at the early dawn, To serve the needs ye may set upon. From the modest bag to the amber flow, No revered image it may know. Like a loyal steed at your side, Carrying you through the tides of life. So when we re all dead and gone, Be sure in the knowledge that our friend lives on. To help and serve whoever asks, Bestow unto you so many thanks. © 4 years ago

18

Laying kindred with the darkness Surrounding a gleaming blaze No sounds nor whispers to be found In this gloomy yet tranquil place Coal and logs charring slightly Quaking vibrations haunt the room Flames flourish amidst the dark Enriching a comforting gloom. Lethargically set on the couch, Observing the blaze in motion Door sealed to all curious thoughts And maelstrom like notions. The blaze now quietly fading, Fuels exhaust their venting, Systems set on standby, As reality is merely denting Dying flames accompany my dreary sight, Coal and logs breathe their final ember, Eyes are rolling, lids now swiftly folding On this night in mid whenever For when the sun will again, Lift its guise off the sparkling sea Bodies will shiver, and notions will whisper Time immemorials, Fire Lay With Me.

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Jul 27, 2018

Jul 27, 2018 at 1:05 PM UTC

alan-browne

Fire, lay with me

Laying kindred with the darkness Surrounding a gleaming blaze No sounds nor whispers to be found In this gloomy yet tranquil place Coal and logs charring slightly Quaking vibrations haunt the room Flames flourish amidst the dark Enriching a comforting gloom. Lethargically set on the couch, Observing the blaze in motion Door sealed to all curious thoughts And maelstrom like notions. The blaze now quietly fading, Fuels exhaust their venting, Systems set on standby, As reality is merely denting Dying flames accompany my dreary sight, Coal and logs breathe their final ember, Eyes are rolling, lids now swiftly folding On this night in mid whenever For when the sun will again, Lift its guise off the sparkling sea Bodies will shiver, and notions will whisper Time immemorials, Fire Lay With Me.

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