P S Bravo

P S Bravo Jan 2012

And then one day, I looked up and said, I wanna be like them.
Like those big white pillow puffs from mass bodies of water that roll across the sky like kids up top hills.
Carefree.
Do those clouds care that their short lives will be dragged down by pollution and dirt into sewage drains full of **** and ****?
Or water reservoirs reserved for thirsty plants and cottoned mouths; some desperate for their demise, while others never even noticing?
Or
Do the thunders not resemble their screams and cries?
Is lightening not a contest between the panicked nimbus and stubborn mountain tops or city skyscrapers?
Is a clouds gray not it's sorrow?
Do sun-dogs not smile back?
What can be said about a cloud suspended over grassy plains after a summer storm?
As soft and still as a sleeping baby that wore itself out in a late night tantrum.
Perhaps my musings are misguided.
Are the lives of clouds really that much different?
Perhaps not.

P S Bravo Dec 2011

Sun Set on His Cloudy Face

He turns his head and watches the Sunset in the west.
The last of the days light broken up into rays and beams by clouds and mountains.
The dust has settled.
The moon has risen.
And the stars glisten.
A days end embezzled by men and women who
take the nights breath away for their own pleasures.
How they forsake each other without understanding that we really do love one another.
For love is not bound by words and action but by the silent meddling of the heart
where it's only interference is the reality that we are forced to succumb to;
the real world.
The world of men and women
stealing days for the sake ideas.
Burning the nights up with incandescent glows and unnatural woes.
A world of wants and desires never met
but always sought after.
How we detest ourselves.
How we loath each other;
forgetting that it's not so bad.
It's really not so bad.
We are all lost children yearning for affection.
Mothers praying for their sons and daughters.
Soldiers in the heat of battle.
Ships lost at sea.
The hapless smiles on orphaned boys and girls in a big empty vast universe.
But the Sun still rises to the east,
and his head will turn again to greet broken Sunbeams and scatted light.
The birds will chirp.
The cars will start.
And we'll steal the day again.
All together now.
All alone.

P S Bravo Dec 2011

Of Beer-Soaked Mourning Upon Starry Eyes

Misery knows a drunk with hangover
It knows a poor soul sick with flu and no one to care for them
It knows the lost dog to house broken to fend for itself
Misery is a friend of mine and a good friend indeed
It picks at me when I need picking
It ***** the air out of my lungs when I think I'm out of breath
Here misery is king and it's queen is solace which, like in all great love stories, misery will always seek.
For all great loves are like high-speed car chases
With the peddle punching through the floor boards.
And misery too is a kind of love
A bad love, but a love nonetheless,
Searching for it's queen.

P S Bravo Sep 2011

Absolving Tender Memoires I

I wake up
No breakfast today, life's much to fast.
A cup of coffee will do
So I set the coffee maker,
turn on the shower,
And lose myself in the mirror.
All the while watching,
Waiting.
Waiting for something
But finding nothing in the end
This morning is not my own
It belongs to someone else

I once read on a dollar bill a few years back that
“You can't sing the blues without blood on your hands,
And you've got blood on you hands.”
I spent that dollar but the blood staid on my hands.

We absolve our tender memories
Of what it was like to be children
To not have worry on our brows
To have an unstoppable imagination
which could build floating boats
and mega droids the size of skyscrapers.
An imagination that would make us all ninjas
and princesses and cow boys and girls
Each of us have saved the world with a cardboard swords
and index finger barrels and gun hammer thumbs

Now, we sing requiems of missed messages
All for a few lousy blood soaked dollars.

P S Bravo Sep 2011

Sermon for Wandering Ships

That ships sail, now forgotten, is remembered only in rust.
What stormy waters have you conquered?
What triumph have you fostered?
How many hurricane eyes have you starred into?
Forever forgotten is you legacy.
Forever forgotten is your destiny.
Your death knows not the silent depths of watery tomb,
But the slow sway of a swish swash waltz.
A dance in rust and slow decay,
A dance we all share someday.
Let us pull off our hats of to you and your skeletal remains
As your skeleton serves us as a reminder of our tick-tock days.

P S Bravo Sep 2011

Subdue the Qualm

Feed the lion.
She is the law of the light
and the love of the lamb.

Teeth tear open wounds
ripping skin like rags;
flesh for the feast,
an altar for the beast.

She looks at her prey.
Her eyes pierce the heart.
Her body's of a lover.
Her breast are of a mother.

She swallows the sin of it's soul.
She eats the salts in it's sweat.
and let's the blood wrap around lips
dripping crimson on the sands.

P S Bravo Aug 2011

Muse

light dances around her
as she moves
covering her skin
in lightening

She is wrapped
in electricity
her touch
each caress
a jolt
a shock

Sparks fire from her lips
when she moves them
thunders her whispers

I am the bundle of dead dry sticks
she sets a blaze with her kiss

And this is her fire
...