brandon-giesbrecht
Canadian
Brandon Giesbrecht is a writer from the Canadian Prairies. Some things that bring him joy in life are: the clack of his camera's shutter and the smell of celluloid, the anticipation of the moment when pie crust reaches that perfect golden brown, the smell of his boyfriend's shampoo, the feeling of ganache melting on his tongue, and the biting cold in his lungs on a sharp winter's day.
If ever there were anything more beautiful than thee!
Jun 16, 2013
Jun 16, 2013 at 6:16 PM UTC
In my thoughts,
And in my dreams,
I am there with you.
Your arms are wrapped around me.
Your warmth,
And my warmth,
Becomes our warmth.
And In your arms I feel safe.
Your warmth,
It penetrates the darkest parts of me,
And brings in the light,
Filling the wounds of my heart.
Feb 22, 2013
Feb 22, 2013 at 1:21 PM UTC
The thought of you
Hooks into my flesh
And suspends me
Just above the surface
Of the waters of unconsciousness.
The mists above the surface tease my lips,
Thirsting for the stilled depths
That lay just beyond their reach.
Oct 26, 2011
Oct 26, 2011 at 6:23 PM UTC
Sometimes
When I hold your hand,
I can feel the wrinkles,
Signs of the sands of time
That flowed through those ancient fingers.
But sometimes
Your hands feel small in mine.
They caress my calloused hands.
Your soft fingers,
Not knowing the ravages of time.
Oct 13, 2011
Oct 13, 2011 at 11:45 PM UTC
Your hair burns in my memory,
Your eyes that glisten cleverly,
Your lips that kiss me tenderly,
On your coat, a peice of celery.
Oct 1, 2011
Oct 1, 2011 at 12:08 AM UTC
If only the world would come to see,
Just how beautiful you are to me.
Over mountain, and over sea,
I would do anything, to be with thee.
Sep 14, 2011
Sep 14, 2011 at 1:28 PM UTC
I want to run away with you,
Away in that big box of blue.
And hear the question, "Doctor who?"
"I'm afraid we're just passing through."
Sep 14, 2011
Sep 14, 2011 at 1:26 PM UTC
Cwayons.
Wagsy cwayons,
Gween cwayons,
Puple cwayons,
Blue cwayons,
Lellow cwayons.
Wagsy,
Wagsy,
Cwayons.
I liek cwayons.
Deir cowourfull an pwetty.
Peaple are liek cwayons,
Each one a deffewent cowour,
But deir awe cwayons.
Sep 14, 2011
Sep 14, 2011 at 12:29 PM UTC
For a very long time
I wasn’t proud to say I was Canadian.
Not to say that I was ashamed
Of the country that I was born in.
But it never really felt
Like Canada was my country,
It felt more like the country
That I happened to be living in.
I went about my life, ignorant
Of what makes my home so special.
But as time went on, I began to learn
About this Canada place.
I learnt about our laws,
Our people, and our history.
I learnt about our lands,
And revelled in their mysteries.
From the edge of the pond,
To the coast of the shimmering Pacific.
Here lies all that is Canadian.
A land of similarities that unite
Instead of differences that split.
Here lives a people of many races
A land of the free
And a land of diversity.
Home of real beer.
Where people put cheese and gravy on french fries
And don't call it weird.
We call it poutine.
Where maple syrup goes with everything.
Where it doesn’t matter if it's 40 above
All the better to get wet.
Or if it's forty below,
Put on a coat
And play in the snow!
A land where love is free,
What do I care what you like in the bedroom?
It doesn't matter to me.
This is a land of majestic mountains,
A place of powerful prairies,
And of forests of towering trees
As far as the eye can see.
This is a country
I'm proud to call home.
My Canada.
Sep 12, 2011
Sep 12, 2011 at 2:59 PM UTC
Around her neck hung a remarkable cameo,
Of a girl who looked quite like herself.
Carved from the most precious of gems,
Her translucent flesh seemed to glow in the sunlight.
Her features were a shinning example of beauty.
Hair was a challenge, yet each of hers were delicate and precisely cut.
There was not a chip or a crack in her smooth face.
She was surely a masterpiece.
And I could say the same for the cameo.
Sep 9, 2011
Sep 9, 2011 at 1:25 PM UTC