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~for Wendy ~

with my almost two years old poetry advisor,
who loves her Sunday rituals, an extra sabbath,
of waffles and Shrek, kid’s gym and artistic endeavors,
cozying up with Nana and siblings in a big old bed,
snacking and chewing on the good silk sheets

as always, she and and I go off to have an intellectual conversation,
letting the older ones to do kid stuff, while we converse and debate
topics of nature vs. nurture, the weather vs. climate change,
and the future of everything, unbeknownst to everyone else

which is greater, love or honor, she inquires,
sensing my thoughts are preoccupied with matters of honor...
as she strokes my itchy, scratchy day old face,
insuring her having my full attention, while
taking advantage of my loving weakness

grandpa:
honor over everything my opening gambit,
while she coyly harrumphs in response,
one can love without reason for such are
our natural souls programmed,
but honor needs concentration and contemplation,
and if done right,
then love will surely follow!

She-Woman:
ah ha! once again you sidle up to nurture,
cause love is too inexplicable,
old man, old man, did I not love you before
any season of reason crossed my brow,
and my vocabulary consisted of just
more, no, toy and hungry

what did I know of Aristotle, logic, codes of conduct,
the definition of honor yet abstract,
while love is nature’s illogical construct,
coming first without restrictions,
while honor is malleable and
property of the eye of the beholder

grandpa:
wise beyond your tears, you are, and unquestionably correct,
but while coming first, love cannot last,
until cover-coated with honor,
for honor gives us the because, and locks down the why,
honor gives the insight, the rationale, the rules of how to say
yes and no, when love is tendered and an R.S.V.P. is requested

She-Woman:
absent experience, for now will concede,
but be warned this is not over,
fo you have not brought me a definition of what truly honor be

grandpa:
honor is the housing of love, and though you granted me your favor,
comes the day that you will demand proofs that
what was unearthed & unearned
is now earned, a course in credit, a baccalaureate in life’s lanes,
when to heed them, when to crossover, when to say I do, I do,
no to someone else alone, and yes to your honorable self

She-Woman:
adult double speak, I suspect, and you will rue the day
when forced to concede, with a wrenched
‘child, I do not know,’
meanwhile change my diaper
after I karate chop your knee

Grandpa:
yes child, but know,  two of your requests/notifications are
honorable acts and/know real love can be ONLY be exchanged
tween honorable humans
see photo for her  in position preparing to strike

3/3/19 9:45 am
Brian Feb 8
Look

Feel

Sequence

Ratios

Forming the spiral

Beauty found well within nature

Conscious and unconscious patterns forming everywhere

Support and resistance levels formed around fear and greed of people in markets
for my trading friends....
Bryan Oct 2017
I'm trading tender for splendor:
The loss of sweat, not-so-tragic.
I'll build up my blisters for whispers:
Spells recited in habit.
Dollars can buy what I seek:
It doesn't take many to have it.
The strange, the odd, the mystique:
The flowers painted by rabbits.
The song played by the beach:
The harp without hands to grab it.
Nature has cradled my needs:
The order created by savage.
We pay for all of these things:
Even chance has stated this adage.
I know this from my own beliefs:
The months living as addict.
They blurred, and flew on the wings:
My "needs" growing emphatic.
The basement was surely my feet:
My mind, alone in the attic.
The empty, the holes, the replete:
Filled, trading my money for magic.
Gabriel burnS Apr 2017
Cooking beneath the shell
The meat of my thoughts
Like a hermit crab
The boiling of my dreams
Escaping as high-pressure steam
Through tiny fissures
In dye-shifting armor

I never opened up
I never bent or broke
and never cracked
But now is never
All I have, I’m giving back

Plug your ears
To the deafening screams
That no amount of heating
Can make edible
You are the hardness of my shell
Omnipresent and Incredible
I wanted to post this earlier, at the time of writing but I guess it had to ferment a bit.
Knit Personality Jan 2015
Take them: my coughs, my sniffles and sneezes,
My nighttime nose-crusts, and afternoon wheezes.
Give me some sugar.  (It’s healthy I’m told.)
Give me your kiss, and I’ll give you my cold.

* .
Kale Aug 2015
I am not as beautiful
As my ice cold heart,
Which glimmers each time
We experience pain.
But I will not waver
Because they say I belong in a fortress
To hide this outer shell
And this soul that crawls within me.

I would dream of endless nightmares
In which I obtain the beauty like
My callous heart
But then I would realize I would
Loose those who are special.
And don't care if I am a goddess
Or human.

— The End —