I hear her there, alone, up above
A poem, a painting in the sky, a
Northern dream, an eye
Looking down,  lights phantasia
glow, to earth from above,  a fantasy spectacular,  her voice
Calming northern cool as mint and winter winds,  miles across this barren land lends hope to searches
I cannot give up.
Someday may the Norse gods and southern generals make peace and stop haunting my love and dreams,
might a line be crossed with will, determination,
my love and I united.

I never met.
So beautiful her eyes
A smile like a rose.
I heard described
By one that loved
You, just like you loved.
Unconditional.
As the sun continues to rise
To fall
Days are counted since
You died.
I count on meeting you in
Heaven.
I heard your mum cry.
I know you were there.
I love your mum like you do.
Sweet Lilly.
I'll remember.
I will make sure mum
Gets there in heaven
To hold you
Again.

One circle returning a spiral
No beginning or end
The origin is forgotten
The end is to come
Unending unknown
The cycle spins in orbit
A known side and a dark
a duality is studied
But like quantum  physics
Is just a theory
And great minds
Get dizzy

conceptualize if you can
spirits and ghosts
Afterlife and life's beginnings
Your own end And
grieve while you live
Make habits and poems
Rhyme while you're  capable
Of watching
Sunsets

Make haste when you are hurried
Make love when you're  worried
Make songs to be sung
And diagnose the worlds wrongs
But make something round
A mouth puckered up
A ball bouncing over
The world spinning round

And you will realize that sides mundane conceptions
We live uneventful Like days
will always go on
The last thing we should study
more the right than the wrong
we should play ball more
life and a metaphor

Its all coming round

Up, on the tip of the flame
  White dancing disappearing.
Buried in cellular flames deep
    Within embers embraced.
As fleeting as a flicker
       Becomes smoke the ashes waft
Dust into air into living and breath.
Stolen froth off the timeless beasts
     Mouth, the masters revoke your
Sentence, to become a mounted steed
      A father.
And they mate, not by threats
        But loyalty not by chance
But lusts analogy
   To love.
As therefore matters are made
       Your majesty, the creator,
Gaveth thy dagger
          And her sheath.
And fires dance to flicker
  Airs to breathe
       Like water
To quench thirst
         And matters
Of nature to worship.
Nothing less.
     Nothing more.
Noble as any kings conception.
      Yet, personal.
Appropriate by design,
     Thus dawns
             Origin.

Love, Sorrow, Joy, Pain, Beauty, Loss, Peace, Hatred, Hope…
All a part of life’s grand design, and if you have felt them,
then you have lived life.

When there is one, there is always the other,
always a balance so to speak.

But what if, what if there was more,
love, joy, beauty, peace, hope…

I dream of that, although it is just a dream.
I still dream of it!

The child cut up paper into feathers
A headdress
Another into feathers for a turkey
And the Indian child told the truth
Wept
And his tears were taken like the waters from his ancestors farms
To feather a white nest of
Lies and harm
Today the harm has
Been shrouded like the sun
Behind darknesses
And the native wanders
Alone
And truth cannot stop
The black cloud lies
From darkening
A legacy
Or the forests dying
On horizons
Of tall white
Concrete
Fallacies
Or the proud indigenous
Bearers
Passing into
Dream
Like shadows
In the trees

shall I compare thee to burning hay?
thou art more highly and more plenty.
rough tokes do shake the buds of August, and summer's shake has all too long to wait.
sometimes too hot the high of heaven shines,
And often is the gold reflection dimmed;
And every hair from fair bud does decline,
By chance, or nature's changing course, undimmed;
But thy eternal sizzle shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that buzz thou ow'st,
Nor shall death brag thou wand'rest in a daze,
When in eternal times to fine thou grow'st,
      So long as men can breathe, or eyes get red,
      So long lives this, the smoke do smell like burning hay.

I'm  a bit like Brett I like my beer,  Senator Feinstein,
Ha. Your name has stein in it,
thats  like a beer mug, i dont have blackouts from beer drinking.
It's the lack of that makes me forget.
I don't remember much of this morning.
Went to work got some **** done, I
Don't think I molested any women,
But it's all foggy. I remember going into DG after work. They got 15 packs for 6.95.
Cept I vaguely recall creeping out. They were
Out. Until i found three of them white boxes with red and blue lettering an A
With wings insignia I'd  tucked in
A corner of the store behind cases of
Heinekens, out of my league drink,
For just this situation.
******* patriotic
Almost. I think it's doing my part to support this free-market capitalistic
Economy. Like paying taxes.
Better than voting.
So you all can impune Kavanaughs
Character all you want.
I like beer so do he. So.
Back to me.
I couldn't wait for one.
I'd put six in the freezer.
And it had been ten minutes.
I drank it lukewarm.
And my memory came back.
The fog cleared. Oh yeah, his problem
Isn't that he loves beer
Like I  do, it's that he was a punk upper class white dude who
Pushed around young girls, laughed while he felt them up,
Thought he was entitled to.
That's over the line, even for Republicans.
You are not like my justice.
I am a justice of peace and integrity.
Go drink beer,
BRETT, JUST NOT ON THE SUPREME COURT.