charles-brannick - Hello Poetry

And it came to pass in a foggy clime by the North Coast sea far from city lights a man became a tree. And the seeds of life fell on good ground and in a thoughtful way took hold and in this sea salt air breathed a clearer vision. This would be no beach blanket vision or pina colada trade wind tanning oil dream It would be a dream of driftwood and broken shells that once had life, where sand pipers and gulls feed and peck away at what the tide brings in Nightlife and nightclubs, parking spaces were memories gaining rust on backboards and rims that sent missed shots rebounding off into some other court and game His daily devotion would be the ground he was planted in and the filtered sun beaming passages of hope and inspiration It was the simple dog walk routines of life and pleasures found in a backyard with ball and stick that caused his heart to bounce Guided by the filtered sun his path was green and light until he found himself tall and stout as well as any of the fine trees around him Cedar cowboys, Redwood indians, Pine tree pilgrims and pioneers, transplants and strays in need of space and time and unfettered vision All because the Lord sought us out and grafted us in like new sprigs that take hold and prosper like the blue figs of summer and the sweet sugar pines with ends better than their beginnings It didn't matter fog or sun all the same to him he strengthened And after many days the bread cast upon the waters returned in a dream where where you planted your heart was what that mattered . © charlie brannick 2016

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Aug 14, 2016

Aug 14, 2016 at 8:40 PM UTC

Epic Sunday Muse

And it came to pass in a foggy clime by the North Coast sea far from city lights a man became a tree. And the seeds of life fell on good ground and in a thoughtful way took hold and in this sea salt air breathed a clearer vision. This would be no beach blanket vision or pina colada trade wind tanning oil dream It would be a dream of driftwood and broken shells that once had life, where sand pipers and gulls feed and peck away at what the tide brings in Nightlife and nightclubs, parking spaces were memories gaining rust on backboards and rims that sent missed shots rebounding off into some other court and game His daily devotion would be the ground he was planted in and the filtered sun beaming passages of hope and inspiration It was the simple dog walk routines of life and pleasures found in a backyard with ball and stick that caused his heart to bounce Guided by the filtered sun his path was green and light until he found himself tall and stout as well as any of the fine trees around him Cedar cowboys, Redwood indians, Pine tree pilgrims and pioneers, transplants and strays in need of space and time and unfettered vision All because the Lord sought us out and grafted us in like new sprigs that take hold and prosper like the blue figs of summer and the sweet sugar pines with ends better than their beginnings It didn't matter fog or sun all the same to him he strengthened And after many days the bread cast upon the waters returned in a dream where where you planted your heart was what that mattered . © charlie brannick 2016

35

I hurt like a kid playing in the dirt calling after a friend who had to leave You have to pet your heart softly back to health sing to it softly losing the tune till the song comes back Pruning the dry leaves trimming the dying non vital parts, A fortunate **** does better in the sun pamper yourself with healthy thoughts till health returns till new rains come sending confidence down to the roots back into the currents of life and strength returns.

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Aug 4, 2016

Aug 4, 2016 at 9:54 PM UTC

Untitled

I hurt like a kid playing in the dirt calling after a friend who had to leave You have to pet your heart softly back to health sing to it softly losing the tune till the song comes back Pruning the dry leaves trimming the dying non vital parts, A fortunate **** does better in the sun pamper yourself with healthy thoughts till health returns till new rains come sending confidence down to the roots back into the currents of life and strength returns.

18

Where you live I'll be the quiet street where you exit and retreat the neighbor who by name you greet On a cold damp winter's day to be in the blast of furnace heat, Your thirty year roof in the rain to keep you dry from above, the dirt that gets on your hands and knees from an afternoon's work in the garden that you love. The air that gets down deep in your lungs after a long walk on a country lane, A part of what brings you joy and never causes pain, The warm sand beneath your soles and between your toes And always in my heart wherever it is you go.

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Jul 26, 2016

Jul 26, 2016 at 11:33 AM UTC

In All Those Moments Reclaimed

Where you live I'll be the quiet street where you exit and retreat the neighbor who by name you greet On a cold damp winter's day to be in the blast of furnace heat, Your thirty year roof in the rain to keep you dry from above, the dirt that gets on your hands and knees from an afternoon's work in the garden that you love. The air that gets down deep in your lungs after a long walk on a country lane, A part of what brings you joy and never causes pain, The warm sand beneath your soles and between your toes And always in my heart wherever it is you go.

19

Be the steady character in this slow drama grounded in those natural elements time, weather, seasons purposeful flesh and blood that runs its course wanting from some wishing stone one star to follow.

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Jul 19, 2016

Jul 19, 2016 at 8:03 AM UTC

One Star

Be the steady character in this slow drama grounded in those natural elements time, weather, seasons purposeful flesh and blood that runs its course wanting from some wishing stone one star to follow.

8

The music has ceased stirs remain from the dreamland a sleepy voice asks what time ? and looks for it's shoes I had been inhaling words in small sips for some time and with a large exhale a school of small fish are returned to the wild I always return young and unbeaten first sun fresh snow on the mountain I am the river and this is my song.

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Jul 10, 2016

Jul 10, 2016 at 1:30 PM UTC

The River

The music has ceased stirs remain from the dreamland a sleepy voice asks what time ? and looks for it's shoes I had been inhaling words in small sips for some time and with a large exhale a school of small fish are returned to the wild I always return young and unbeaten first sun fresh snow on the mountain I am the river and this is my song.

15

Early before day break before the jewels of morning sparkle our love is there It visits and travels like the foreign ships that come and go the men unload her cargo, and the fishing boats will go out to sea for their catch Our love is a trail we follow with vistas where we write new chapters Our love is the pretty colors of the orange marigold and purple of a careless summer garden Our love is a family of birds chirping and in the pleasing sound of footsteps on gravel paths Our love is heavy and it bends the ends of old oak boughs it is in the tips of branches reaching as far as they can go Our love is in the different dreams passing only a few of which we share So much of love my heart cannot contain it is all the beautiful dreams of all the people and in all the great songs on this street alone there is at least 15 I do not know A bird I know flies away, I want to tell it something but it flies away before I can this too is a form our love takes A tear forms in my eye whether it is from cold or love I cannot tell I want to go somewhere I forget where or why I follow the scent of the baker baking fresh morning bread Our love has many forms .

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Jul 9, 2016

Jul 9, 2016 at 10:38 AM UTC

Our Love Takes Many Forms

Early before day break before the jewels of morning sparkle our love is there It visits and travels like the foreign ships that come and go the men unload her cargo, and the fishing boats will go out to sea for their catch Our love is a trail we follow with vistas where we write new chapters Our love is the pretty colors of the orange marigold and purple of a careless summer garden Our love is a family of birds chirping and in the pleasing sound of footsteps on gravel paths Our love is heavy and it bends the ends of old oak boughs it is in the tips of branches reaching as far as they can go Our love is in the different dreams passing only a few of which we share So much of love my heart cannot contain it is all the beautiful dreams of all the people and in all the great songs on this street alone there is at least 15 I do not know A bird I know flies away, I want to tell it something but it flies away before I can this too is a form our love takes A tear forms in my eye whether it is from cold or love I cannot tell I want to go somewhere I forget where or why I follow the scent of the baker baking fresh morning bread Our love has many forms .

33

Listen to the wind where the river bends get out of the boat there this is where your life begins Step bold in that direction start your fire here tomorrow plant your corn over there everything true and in a row You've already changed your world now golden fields will grow.

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Jul 8, 2016

Jul 8, 2016 at 12:38 AM UTC

Listen to the Wind

Listen to the wind where the river bends get out of the boat there this is where your life begins Step bold in that direction start your fire here tomorrow plant your corn over there everything true and in a row You've already changed your world now golden fields will grow.

10

I saw a child running late to school such a happy clod you or I lost much too deep in thought We have the much harder task a trip to self discovery learning to be satisfied with less calling less a lot handling disappointment being thankful loving in a random way please stay in yellow fields under blue skies where my lines can find you Should you find anything utilitarian please share we may have to change because of you I sing

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Jul 7, 2016

Jul 7, 2016 at 1:28 AM UTC

I Saw A Child

I saw a child running late to school such a happy clod you or I lost much too deep in thought We have the much harder task a trip to self discovery learning to be satisfied with less calling less a lot handling disappointment being thankful loving in a random way please stay in yellow fields under blue skies where my lines can find you Should you find anything utilitarian please share we may have to change because of you I sing

19

Dreamt of a house built in the 40's needing paint . Standing on the grounds across from a horse pen moving ladders thinking of my lost love Hoping she will be pleased with my efforts. I think about my eyesight and how much longer I can see And I'm thankful for my hearing and whether or not when God speaks to me it will be strong enough and clear enough to make a difference. I'm lucky to have this life and the one I think about.

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Jul 6, 2016

Jul 6, 2016 at 9:46 AM UTC

This Life I'm Lucky

Dreamt of a house built in the 40's needing paint . Standing on the grounds across from a horse pen moving ladders thinking of my lost love Hoping she will be pleased with my efforts. I think about my eyesight and how much longer I can see And I'm thankful for my hearing and whether or not when God speaks to me it will be strong enough and clear enough to make a difference. I'm lucky to have this life and the one I think about.

15

I really don't need encouragement to go negative on myself I need time and distance to follow my hunches to their own conclusions giving up on a thing when I'm ready No explanations necessary Honor my agreements Build on my own progress Be efficient and energetic Burn up some well directed energy towards something useful The thing is I know when I'm tired like day is tired and goes inside and becomes night maybe tomorrow we'll sing.

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Jul 6, 2016

Jul 6, 2016 at 9:38 AM UTC

The Code

I really don't need encouragement to go negative on myself I need time and distance to follow my hunches to their own conclusions giving up on a thing when I'm ready No explanations necessary Honor my agreements Build on my own progress Be efficient and energetic Burn up some well directed energy towards something useful The thing is I know when I'm tired like day is tired and goes inside and becomes night maybe tomorrow we'll sing.

17