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Brendan Roher Jan 16
o what limited time
the deluxe star, burning so bright
eventually retreating into itself

does a triangle truly three times wall itself in
if no one sees where it ends and
where it once began?

questioning an unquestionable truth
reality, pecking its little beak
straight through the thinest of sheets
the other side, so far away
not to diminish our own important drama
or the materials we wish to possess
they matter not in terms of
greater elemental distress-

shining so bright
expecting the expiration date,
round the corner, waxing and waning
weaving and rowing open distance
gusts of black and torment so deep
yet unknown, like a dark slated blue
somewhere underneath

perhaps night is not so bad
i cannot see what is two feet either way
yet in knowing, after all
there is space to catch my falls-

listen, listen and hear a howl
distant and encompassing
knowing there is something out there
deep below or up above
if not comforting, what then...

how to make out the abyss of nothingness, then
that the star, becoming so black and ominous
decides to eat everything
turning against seeds it nurtured
becoming gluttonous, by nature
so we might lose comfort in other others..
out there somewhere

yet, we will be alone then
in empty stomach...

but do as Daphne must,
across the vast stretch of years
yet spanning time relative to months-
dying like dreams in repetition, endless
like unrest and distrust
"no", she says, in noticing the unnoticeable
harmonization, off-the-beaten-path
somehow, she knows what comes next
the note that follows the
barren baritone

however dark the greatest lack of color turns
however loud the explosions and screams weave past winds and waters
it matters not the volume

beings, selfish from birth
learn to care for themselves and one-another
-or do not

but the emotions that exude
make their way to the head and
like the nothingness that is all-consuming,
allude senses and touch

all disappears in due time
seamlessly, hope still wanders closely
desperately trying its own persuading

look around as you must
and you might find
a hopeful way to delude yourself into false belief

touch the ground
or the water
either way, it does not matter
sapling, you are stuck
even now as you walk
imprisoned by gravity-

captive to the belly of a distant
horrific future
Brendan Roher Oct 2020
bob and weave
i blow off
existential steam
piloting thoughts straight down
into earth's core
where they sit and lie
lonely, deprived, boiling
yet being i, leo rising:
it hurts me in noting
the obvious answers
meandering between
unjust truths and hidden lies;
the phoenix, again birthed from its own being
nature, we have not yet figured
how, then, do we few proceed
inevitably through
footprints set ahead
like trails to follow
doe-eyed and confused when
the fork trail pierces our noses
and we decide, in the heat of the moment
when future flashes across our minds,
to play it safe; decide on
precedents already
many times met;
luxury seems self-fulfilling
granted obscurely or innately  
passing along family to family
behind the closed gold doors lies
trust-fund babies;
like wealth and prosperity
knowledge is somehow privileged
and paved before us all is something;
even i admit having
not formed these footprints
often hidden deep down
amongst some dirt or snow...
but then, inevitably,
we do know some paths we all must go...
Brendan Roher Dec 2019
it was a terrifying thing-
waking up in the middle
the facade of night still
shrouding my head from full
comprehension.
my body like a damp linen;
drugged, torn, held up to my face-
musty, the pangs and echos of
horrifyingly false dreams rush
all throughout my bloodstream;
straight to my face, big and bulky
i think i might explode soon-
yet before an intelligent thought, quickly
quickly! it's a memory of a person
supposedly next to me!
turning my face on its electronic pedestal
i meet the bedroom doorframe,
i meet both sides of my bed
in frantic panic, yet
it seems to me, so suddenly
in my single-sized bed-
my heart has yet again
fooled my pretentious little head
  Feb 2019 Brendan Roher
Sjr1000
Goodnight Moe
It was good to know you,
found you in the rickety Virginia City
wooden shelter
alone, staring sadly out at the world
so small,
I guess you could call it a rescue.

Once the puppy stacking wild mustang poops on the front deck
Running wild with the coyotes
You always were a scrapper
When eye contact made,
Your half hour battle with Bingo on a frozen Nevada night
Slipping  on the snow and ice.

The night you walked by my side
When the blizzard came
Keeping me from falling down that hill
when I was sliding, how'd you know?
Goodbye Moe
It was good to know you.

Waking us up with the first light of dawn
Sticking your nose
Into my tears
Licking away my sorrows
Curled at our feet on a cold winter night
Chasing  the cougar
Up the Tamarack tree
When the wild purple onions were blooming
You always had that faster second speed.
Now your legs can hardly hold you
And when the puppy came
You were big daddy
Patient and teaching a young one how to be
As you taught me
Goodbye Moe it was good to know you.

Well, now that puppy is probably
Going to outlive me, outlive you,
And now that the volume of your hearing has been turned down
The thunder and July 4th no longer send you panting
You were always to big to be a lap dog.
Now silence is all you know

Far away from those Virginia City
Mountain days
Everything changes
Everything passes
Time spins around
Our days and our nights.

Now hobbling along Dry Lagoon
Where the big waves curl
You stand bewildered and confused
But when you see me you know which direction to go.

The night is coming
We know that
Better head on home

Goodnight Moe it was good to know you.
Seymour "Moe" Butts, a red tip Australian Shepherd, 16 years old, is still with us, but his days are counting down
  Feb 2019 Brendan Roher
grumpy thumb
Stars prickle the darkness
counterpoints to measure its vastness
they steal eyes and gift wonderment  
allow birth of dream and scientific torment
they witness and receive wishes,
they exist yet
many are no longer in existence
the closest is only seen in its loneliness
yearning to shed the veil of blue
  Jul 2018 Brendan Roher
Valsa George
on a sea strand,
have you watched empty shells
mercilessly tossed from sea to shore
and from shore to sea?
      
often I shrink and reduce to such a shell,
with jagged and broken edges
colorless and empty

among many a debris cast on the shore,
i lie half buried under the sand
waiting for some mighty wave
to wash me away
all the way to the sea

how tedious is my voyage
shuttling from him to her
and from her to him
unable to openly confess
who weighs more
on the balance of preference

through how many alleys and by ways
I have wandered, questioning my identity!
am I a puffer fish, being toxic
the fisher men have discarded?
a jarring note in a discordant symphony?
I wonder....! I often ask myself!

destined to grow
in mercurial climes,
planted in arid shallow soil
with the tap root trimmed,
branches pruned,
growth denied,
I, a stunted bonsai!

still I dream to be a towering tree,
that in profusion gives fruits and shade!
a ****** aspiring to be a Goliath
a hollow reed,
longing at once to be the singer and the song!
When a divorce occurs, the threat of losing the home and losing the purpose of life confronts a child, especially in the younger age. Children of divorced parents experience a real trauma and they begin to doubt about their own identity!
Brendan Roher Jul 2018
In a window of time
We move together
Like rhyme and
Wither away with the fade and sounds of echoing beats.
In your hair is a little confetti strand
In your eye is a glimmer sitting upright
Like a toenail-moon, chilling on your pupil
Too shiny and alone to make itself so known.
You catch me stare a bit and
Take your other hand to my hip
With a nudge and pressure
I’m tilted over ship – wailing about and falling
Without grace.
Time is so presently stopped
So pretentiously nonexistent
I wonder what a brain you had to be here with me
On the floor, I wonder why I had a brain that trailed off
And broke my knee.
Yet, with a comforting glee, your hand and shoulders help me
My own personal spring
Maybe I could see this positive thing – a small dance gathering
Being more than just a little fling
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