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 Sep 2013 Quentin Briscoe
Àŧùl
It's your voice ringing sonorously in my mind,
It's your eyes that I see your world from.

I don't actually mind it if I turn blind,
When you're here there's nothing that I fear..

And even while you are gone away from me,
You don't actually go away from my mind...

We always live in the cottage of our dreams,
Not hidden but simply away from their sight..

This dream-home will be a reality one day,
We'll reside in mother nature's cosy lap.

Up over the foothills,
Beneath the mountains,
We live away from civilization..

Singing along the birds,
Ashore the dancing brooks,
We enjoy our simpler lives fully...
My HP Poem #437
©Atul Kaushal
 Sep 2013 Quentin Briscoe
Àŧùl
Why do I get on the wrong books of people?
Why must I get to that area of their opinions?
Why should they stop being in contact suddenly?

Oh leave it!
Let them maintain their books.
The problem is theirs,
(-; Not mine! ;-)
Self-note: I can't fake it that I don't care, because I do. I simply don't understand this world's reality.
My HP Poem #438
©Atul Kaushal
 Sep 2013 Quentin Briscoe
AJ
Collin and I have been
Quite mellow lately.
I've been a bit sad,
And he's given quite a few ghost hugs.
Sometimes I wake him up
In the middle of the night
So I can rock him back to sleep in my arms.
And feel his little ghost baby breaths
And watch his little ghost baby shoulders
Move up and down
And up and down.
It's so comforting that he seems to be guaranteed
When nothing else is.
He's still learning to read and write.
He's currently on M
Which he says is for MoM, and Monkey,
And Meryl Steep.
(he means my favorite actress Meryl Streep)
Do not badger me with being a bad parent,
You are not the single mother of a little ghost boy.
You wouldn't even know how to raise a ghost baby.
Other stories about Collin can be found in the collection "Son", which you can find if you look in the notes down below.
one fine sunny day today, and
i am chilling to my bones
when i am raring to be outdoors.
like a freshly painted image
i see through the bay window,
two wine-red butterflies
gracefully diving, while chasing each other
Above the lush grass-covered ground,
of our front garden,
passing beyond and below
purple and yellow orchid flowers.
then, upon the stem of a palm leaf
the birds are in a row, taking their time
watching butterflies go by.
Rising from a chair, my knees are
shaking a bit, feeling tied together....
Still in my pajamas,
I see my red-painted toes
Wonder why they are all folded so
i bend some more to feel them toes
Uh-oh....they're all so froze
another bout of popsicle toes.....


              Sally

       Copyright 2013
  Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
*....was having high fever the time I wrote this, cold toes and all, I suddenly
thought of one of my favorite songs by Michael Franks, "Popsicle Toes..."
in the beginning we counted no cost
but went rejoicing into the warm rain
so now more grimly we face what we've lost

so many choices into the mix tossed
almost at random it all seemed so plain
in the beginning we counted no cost

as being worth waiting no text was glossed
for hidden messages all was just gain
so now more grimly we face what we've lost

a world more troubled a future star-crossed
no brilliant thoughts emerging from each brain
in the beginning we counted no cost

instead we are the ones who now are bossed
ordered about and marked with a sad stain
so now more grimly we face what we've lost

knowing that morning will see the first frost
that signals a new winter with its pain
in the beginning we counted no cost
so now more grimly we face what we've lost
Pocketbook

Transformational intercepts,
messages to the brain.

Time babe, it's time,
to take a next step.
change the bulb
to a higher power.

100 watts insufficient to light
the forward motion of a
Great Leap Forward,
like in a prior writ, when,
limitation awareness
was a borderline crossed.

Like learning to walk without tottering;
We probably don't know we passed a line,
invisible to ourselves,
but all clear to everybody else,
on that special day, one,
that just came and went:
when you could no longer leave home
without a pocketbook


We were accessorized with body parts
most useful to make our way thru life,
but our exterior-designer
neglected to provide pockets knowing
full well that fashion acessorizing
was more that just a way to carry tools;

Individuation, maturation, needed,
a way to communicate I've arrived

Ain't no child no more,
double negatives
a thing of the past,
cause once you leave the
comfort of the abode with
handbag corpuscles inhaled,
from that day onwards,
you could no longer:

Walk these feminine streets,
leave home,
without a pocketbook,

Judgement day becomes
Every day, nowadays, so,
when from the cave you emerge,
and face the world:

Gonna need what ya gonna need,
to negotiate the way through,
don't matter what's
inside your handbag
or your head,  
if you are eight or
eighty eight,
you know,
you believe, you need
in handbags,
as much as you believe in god

I am incomplete,
my body undressed for all to observe
If I walk down the street
after that day,
that came and went,  
when you could no longer
leave home without a pocketbook


Amusing ditty,
nah that's not my speed,
this is a treatise on
serious matters,
when changes in our lives occur,
when we earn a stripe on our sleeves

Pilgrim progress to
a feeling of vive la difference!
who I am is not who I was,
awoken from a previous dream,  
marks on my body will come,
some wanted,
some unwanted,
some happily dismissed
like the curse of braces

Free at last,
free at last to forget
a painful child's past,
sometime it's losing,
sometimes it's adding on,
but for sure, the day I changed,
was the day,
when you could
no longer leave home
without a pocketbook

Oh boys,
don't think you are excluded
from this rite de passage,
I'm one of you and I know
what we kept secreted
in our over stuffed wallets.

Ain't referring to our student org. card
or the emergency folded twenty
Dad gave you in case,
somehow you got
on the wrong bus and
ended up on the
wrong side of town
where bad things
could be found,
somewhat more easily.

Like the comic book store,
next door to the tattoo parlor,
next to where the
Nice Jewish Boys
where never supposed to go,
and the Stars of David and crosses
were removed discreetly prior to arrival,
like Portnoy foretold in
Technicolor detail.

I know you well recall
that bar mitzvah party, school dance,
When the bottles fell to the floor
unbroken, spinning, pointing to you,
When you realized it was that day,
When you could no longer
leave home without a wallet

Times they don't change
all that much,
and pocketbooks now called
Handbags I am told,
and year old babies play
with iPads like they were
born knowing how!

but I ain't impressed that much,
cause I know that it may  
come sooner as the world changes,
there still,  always be,
a day of  painful,
transformational,
generational passing,
when indelible, invisible
birthmarks somehow
became both visible and erased.

Though they may
come different ways than they use to,
in case new parents need guidance,
**It is still that day when
their little girl,
can no longer leave home
without a pocketbook
An oldie, when I wrote longer than long poems
 Sep 2013 Quentin Briscoe
Sir B
Is it just me
Or
Did someone decide to make me happy?

Either, Or

Doesn't matter
It made me happy
nonetheless
to know
that

someone recognizes me
not as a shadow
but as a person
Can I thank you enough? No, I cant. These words that you said.. made me happier.. and gave me another reason to not **** myself, and think about it.
 Sep 2013 Quentin Briscoe
AJ
I purged three times today.
This is the ******* life.
I hate it.

On the other hand

I showed my self control three times today.
I'm getting back on track.
I love it.
As mysterious as the world’s greatest oceans
but nowhere as empty,
and nowhere as dark;
Your eyes were my light,
the light
I saw every single night for
256 nights
before I fell asleep.
The cause for my pounding heart
moments before darkness embraced
a lonely heart.
I thought you’d be my saving grace
but I ended up falling –
what goes up must come down.
There have been songs written about your eyes,
and poems, and letters upon letters.
But I know better,
they were all a lies touched with
a little bit of magic called love.
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