Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
and the pen somehow,
handy, asking to let it
lift me up, higher,
off the floors
(no need to ask, beans will be spilled later or sooner)

the inter spilling need, time, the urgent lead,
discovers myself writing/\rhyming to ease the entry,
and the fuzzy errata line on the meditative
medical diagnostics drama,
makes the minions (minyan, almost)
of Medical men,
pronounce a blessing and a question
in one gutteral
exclamation!


mmmmmm

they say,

can you be
a touch more helpful,
A few nuggets of precision,
to obtain a diagnostic decision,
in the definition of this condition reversed perverse

What ails you our blue eyed
daughter of a major hospital
beneFactor,
Whose satisfaction
is slightly more than mere desirable,
kinda
the condition of our continued employment!

my heartbeat irregular,
sometimes I am high and sometimes low,
having fallen in and out with a perfect man,
fools and poets, decry, this disinheritance,
this period of my disenfranchisement

when my vote did not count,
so I count time in clumps,
moods of alliterative
pump 'n dump,

and add to my occasional
poetic hissy fits
that place with comforting as theme overriding,
essentials of dream, complex, shelter, cocoon,
which/whether, almost irrelevant,
if and or,
don't matter when you are at home,
light, fierce sun rays eyes filled,
moonlight stars invading one's composure
now!
time
to alight, feet on the grounding,
rain,
pelting, not an inhibitor to the poem
in me, its resonating drumming me up,
to a beating, a lyric, a thyme of rhyme,
fragrantly repeating in my head, home,
home is where the flagrant poems are
born, delivered by no midwife, from
the ***** of my entirety, all five sensoria,
commanded by multiple generals on
different battlefields, coordinating a
battle plan, exhale, attack, coordinate,
brain, eye, smell, movement, urgency,
taste, words gushed, light emitted from
the fingertips, you cannot write as fast
as required, you, self, afired, and afeared,
losses will be greater than expected, but
no matter when we carry the tide behind
us, sweeping the obstacle of ego, pinging
pain, the hesitation that collapses courage,
oh god, oh me, be brave, lead me into the
breach,
the hole, the aperture that will allow a totality
of me to exit, to escape, to compose, p r o p o s e,
the confines of my uncontrollable uncontained
unconscious natured being and fervent annouce,
on this day,
this poem shall be
written in its fulfilling, exiting fulsomeness,
&
entirety,
and let me rise, raise up, lift and shout,
one more last time, like the first time, praise and glory,
hallelujah to the parts of me that gifted me this
poem in-the unity-of-unison, uncensored, un~
inhibited and finalized momentarily perpetual,
with an amen amendment offered up too all and to
me…
amen, amen, amen
and let us rise up to morrow and once more,
write up to ride to birth the essentials of my next
homebound
be-ing
8/18/25
LA, CA
and still I have to stop and think, is it forwards, backwards, and do they know about Daylight Savings TIme, saving who from what,
I jokingly ask myself, to give my sweet angst, a a better coloration,
though these days, constant comets pass over us daily

but he is savvy smart, and yes, extraordinarily ****, and  knows my routines (he thinks), better than me, so when I drive  to  run in Santa Monica, alternating days, he texts in simultaneous harmony a minute after my too early alarm has me stumbling into semi-Cali-
quake-fulness

we are years apart, not so many that it's remarkable, just big enough gap, to make life problematical; his  career launched, serious guy,, me well, i'm a perpetual student, when not modeling, and my mom, GBH,  and my over pestering, now single parent, demonstrate her mathematical abilities by telling me how closehow close  is 30 is when one subtracts  my "aging pores," & how little sleep she gets because she in in her EST zone

but when he calls, he calls at irregular times, "to better gauge my mood," how he, my day surveils, so he can adjust to my chemical imbalance, an area of his expertise; and its sweet, and it works, and too often, I ramble while listens, for his day is ending, and mine is far from fulfillment

he is European, full of genteel words and english language quips,
especially since he believes he can still sway with his sophisticated
endearments;  but what he doesn't know in the late afternoon, his bedtime, while  he is conducting a sweet nothing roundup of   adoration, my hand slips between my legs, and my envisioning of his lean, broad body being in my interior so tight, for I have crossed my crushing legs behind his back pushing him inside, it nearly makes  breathing impossible

HE LOVES MY SOfT TONES, at this hour, my distracted noises, til he says you sound so tired, I'll let you go; and I willingly, comp-licitly, give him my heated best love notes, and teary gasps, when I mumble
see you soon, thinking in my dreams, for I know his schedule, and exactly when I'll be landing and exactly how long it will be,
till we, are within each other, without any interference, of lairs and
sun flaring interruptions,
from time
and space, those scientific laws of this tiring
annus horribilis
stray thought: hard earned wisdom

is there any other kind?

the easy come easy go kind
kinda never sticks around
long enough to make an
indentation just like facts
memorized for a school test
gone so quick you never truly
had them to keep, beyond the
inevitable ending by a bell ringing

the earning is hard, painful oft,
gained usually at great cost
which makes sense, long,
or even short,  created to be
savored, favored, and welcomed
every time it from recesses it
comes unconsciously summoned


but never confuse smarts
with wisdom,
snarts (snarky smarts)
can be obtained, purchased,
but wisdom is always
and only
    hard e a r n e d
that’s how you like your poetry,
That’s how you would like everything,
No stress, no test, easy on the breast,
but short and sweet has no protein,
won’t build your bones, quite contrary,
the poem that doesn’t make you think,
it’s just a cavity, a precurse to self~decay
a drip dripping in just another day of you
evaporating
when you can see the peaks,
know
your not there

and yet…
brandychanning Dec 2024
some factoids re me:

I live in LA (Cali).
I like to jog, to stay fit,
bonus is that got great
killer long legs, another
smoke smothering reason
to run my **** off

now the big secret!

am only human,
au courant, single, in bested~
busted, heart recovery mode,
looking for a rebound takeaway,
and “really cautious”
ain’t a word in my vocab
(just a little version)
borm elemental stuff

don’t! mock, critique,
hell, don’t even speak,
a romantic idiot believes
that love is impossibly
hard to uncover, ergo,
grab it like when you
smell it close by,
yum, like warm oven
fresh brioche bread

Anyway,
(set the scene, my momma sez)

love to endorphin~run by
water, Palisades Park, my haunt,
run along Ocean Avenue,
breathtaking panoramic
views of Santa Monica Bay
from atop the sandstone bluffs

believe it, my eyes drift upward,
checking out the scenery,
checking out the scene,
writing/ singing/ watch
feedbacking my reality,
check, check, and checking
as well, the competition ,
the lionesses, and the lions

eyes up, toe down,
slight irregular
sidewalk jutting,
me tumbling,
scratches,multicolored
bruises in many places
surely to follow in the
shortly thereafter, but my
ankle is screaming at me,
clearly more upsetting
than
a typical normative,
upsetting upset regretting

eyes closed, combo
of brilliant sun,  +
pain waves rendering
me semi-blinded,
hearing functioning,
voice saying, let me
please, let us
take a quick 👀

he had me at the
us,^
now acting cool,
overlooking him over,
easy, but required me to
overlook as well
my twisted agoniste

(ageoniste: A muscle that is controlled by the action of an antagonist with which it is
paired (
paired!!!*)

still groan whimpering,
tres tres embarrassing
and hopefully endearing,
hearing this: “Hi! it’s Michael,
need an ambulance at this location,
probably just a twisted ankle,
assorted contusions, possible
concussion, needs a full set
of x-rays..

Ok. Who has an ambulance service
on speed dial

on and  on the story
gies, flows, cries and
finally cracks:

this dark tan slim man
is an ER doc, who
picks
packs
pecks
me up,
but wont
tell me his last name
or why he only smiles
so sadly

somewhere on the way
he says:

cant stay with you
but you’ll be all fixed up
and soon be better,
and when your running
always be looking ahead
five, maybe ten feet

I
do the most
unpredictable
unlikely
ridiculous
thing I’ve
ever done:
weeping don’t leave me,
repeatedly repeatedly,
and he renders tender
with its
just a fender ******
and you will most excellently
recover

somewhere
on the ride
I believe
he quiet cautiously whispers
you’re beautiful and lovely
but I dare not
no longer allows himself
to get involved with patients,
it always end badly

a year later,
wrote my next poem
Part I: my twisted ankle & busted heart, which hurt worse?
brandychanning Dec 2024
“I don't know how to take this
I don't see why he moves me
He's a man, he's just a man
And I've had so many men before
In very many ways
He's just one more“
<•>
ladies
you know ~ I know
these lyrics and the deep cut
and the familiar rut,
they unsecret in our inner chambers

and there is no bandage to
rip off, which/why the cut
never heals
despite your careful care to never
actively seek out the
irritant

but it finds you
in a rom-com
a particular intersection
a advertisement for half zip sweaters
when saying no to a
particular restaurant automatically

and the emotional shake,
not a smoothie,
part horseradish sweet sad,
part bitter herbs, tasteless bread,
spiced with a blend of
angry, self-loathing, regret,
and rage that your emotions
abduct your composure,
and that it still happens
way too often

a pale of regret,
that it was a lost chance,
the kind that come more infrequent,
and you mourn
the building up inside,
an intolerance for risk taking
which once
was your
most favorite
single characteristic
you liked,
about yourself
bad  friday night, a rained out saturday
Next page