"blower" poems
Love is a blind *****
And a wicked witch.
She's like a bill collector
And a heartbreaker.
Love is a light
Sometimes she's bright,
Sometimes she's dangerous
And very mysterious.
Love is contentious
Like a strange virus,
She kills at times
At times, she saves.
What's this phenomenon
That moves like the moon?
Love eludes some people
And for her, some will struggle.
To some, she's a white dove
Sent for them from above.
To those not lucky like us,
Love is just like a bad curse.
Love is the bedrock of life
Yet she hurts like a knife.
To few, she works like a lawn mower
And too few she's a lawn blower.
Love to some is like a quick shower
In no time it's all over.
The mystery of love
Is the tale of the black dove.
Love's seed was planted in Heaven
And blossomed in the garden of Eden
A long time ago on this earth,
It was the caveat for Romeo's death.
#IvanBrooksPoetry©
7/22/2018
Jul 21, 2018
Jul 21, 2018 at 8:03 PM UTC
The feds are making headway
(generously passing out their treats!)
*while the whistle blower
and his boon companion
hit the 22nd floor*
fiscal plans
are tidily falling into place
and the suits are all busy
chasing their dimes
dancing around the spire
full of wine and cheer
(seems the demand side imbalance
has got everyone doing the same old shimmy!)
they’re all studying their bollinger bands
MACD's, and treasuries
just like the good old days
santali would say
while capitol hill is busy
with its own pleasantries;
*repatriate that currency
hold those rates
bring the boys back home!*
the affirmations are robust
and filled with glee!
conspiracy thinkers
are busy in their own back rooms
initiating the trade
and building their counter claims
as pork bellies
and soybeans
continue to soar
(looks like eddy and the margin men
are at it again!)
what happened to that bear masquerade anyways?
they really were a band of brothers
colourful clowns
with big painted smiles
ready to lead in any parade
but they met with the resistance
a horned wall
satan’s horsemen riding high
with bags hung heavy
under dark squinting eyes
are we near an end?
the undertakers will say
it's only a blink of an eye
to the thin red line
where risk takers and front men
all jump ship
debt addiction is crippling
and hell breaks loose
when entitlements are out
and towels are thrown in
there’s a center piece here
those pugnacious statesmen
with invigorating tales
have had their place
time to clip them at the limbs
and pull the punch from the bowl
(sobriety has its merits you know!)
let’s head to the commission
and throw darts to the board ~
seems the moral blueprints are fading
Nov 11, 2017
Nov 11, 2017 at 5:47 PM UTC
they stained the back deck today (with a hard to match 7 periwinkle)
400 square feet of knotted pine (in a striking rivet sequence)
red ant drivers (who can forget those little ******
caked fir needles & feather cone
bug hologram & cedar moss
graffiti crack & cut joist
wheel rut & pick
pike stain (s)
sow bugs
electric
blower
purple
fueled
washer
missing
foul bits
and two of
its former pins
somewhere near
the erratic 9th stroke the
side kick (and his sloppy dullard)
fell sadly in a cacophony of sick laughter
anxious peckers, poinsettias, grub box, rail stems
lacewings (ladylike in their task), third door down windows
old ergonomic chairs (so highly touted in the checkout isle at Lowes)
all for not, I guess ~ seems they never reviewed the Homestead Manual on Fine Deck Painting ~
Jan 21, 2017
Jan 21, 2017 at 3:55 PM UTC
Goodbye wasps
Goodbye bees
Goodbye pollen from the trees
Goodbye midges
Goodbye flies
Goodbye scorching cloudless skies
Goodbye seagulls
Goodbye ants
Goodbye sunbathers in tiny pants
Goodbye sunburn
Goodbye oiled skin
Goodbye iced drinks laced with gin
Goodbye tourists
Goodbye throngs
Goodbye men wearing sarongs
Goodbye hosepipe
Goodbye lawn mower
Welcome to the noisy leaf blower
Hello Autumn
Hello cool bright day
Hello rolling around in the hay
Hello harvest
Hello fruits
Hello hiking in hiking boots
Hello warm colours
Hello warm hearts
Good riddance Summer
Autumn starts
Aug 27, 2014
Aug 27, 2014 at 4:07 AM UTC
The witching hour
Dripping like silken velvet through
Hushed silence
Broken only by summer winds ......
Inside the recess of my restless mind
Thoughts bubble
Churning gentle ideas
Into frenzied cognition
My demons rising
Feasting on anxiety ......
Behind the lidded curtains of my eyes
I see your face
Soothing the fear
I can feel your hands upon me
Untangling the tension
In your eyes
I see
Love
The blower of dreams
Leaping into the unknown
Aug 14, 2016
Aug 14, 2016 at 8:04 AM UTC
i couldn't stop looking at this girl. i glanced down at my black leather jacket, black v-neck, ripped blue jeans, and black boots with the buckles on the side. i popped my collar and set out to find the girl i'd just found. i noticed the lights of this weird indie club i'd somehow ended up in. this music isn't normal "club" music. it's all arctic monkeys. the lyrics of these songs empowered me, i felt as though i had to continue my search for this soul. despite the darkness, i slid on my aviators to protect myself from those blinding lights, and also to give me a hint of mysteriousness. girls love that.
and then there she was.
sipping on what appeared to be a bottle of coke, but i couldn't tell because of the ******* sunglasses i was wearing. she was standing laughing with one of her friends. she had such a different aura to her. i couldn't help but watch as she pulled out one of her organic cigarettes.
"i wanna make her mine." i thought to myself.
the lights reflected off the sweat on the walls as i tried to keep my cool, strutting my way over to her, hoping to get her eyes to lock onto mine. from what i finally saw of her in plain sight, she had love in her eyes and perfect lighting over her; like a camera plus filter. she took drags of that cigarette like some kind of goddess, causing me to get weak at the knees and form a lump in my throat, which i soon managed to somehow swallow. i had to find out who she was. i wanted her more than i'd ever wanted anything, or at least so i recall. i played out the scene in my head - we'd dance, and numerous guys would approach her. it was hard not to. i'd overpower them. "she's with me.", i'd say cooly.
i didn't realize all this fantasizing about my mystery girl had taken me so little time, because by the time i was finished my train of thought, i was standing right in front of her. god, i wanted her so bad. i swear, if i looked at her long enough, she'd steal my soul. the love in her eyes was contradicted by the incredibly **** sparkle in her iris.
"hello there beautiful. you seem to be having a lovely time. you're absolutely breathtaking, i'm forced to believe you are a certified mind blower. what's your name, milady?"
with a turn of her head, a bat of her lashes, and a flash of her perfect smile, she answered me in the most angelic voice i've ever heard.
"arabella."
Jan 6, 2014
Jan 6, 2014 at 7:36 PM UTC
Wife-beater, drum player
blower of holy pan-pipes
Plumed, bejeweled in ****** plastic
Inca priest, mestizo beast
multi-kulti prophet
(who chooses to live in the USA)
where liberals kow-tow
while you show them how
to adulate indigenous
crypto misogynous
eager to pay eager to please
diversity’s devotees buy your CDs
a perfect idiot from the mythic Sierra
naming your brood after Andean peaks
pre-Columbian pachamama freaks
eat it up: your Inca schtick
(but ask the battered gringa-chick
about your unsustainable ways:
who hits who smiles who beats who pays ?)
Apr 20, 2016
Apr 20, 2016 at 11:58 AM UTC
Yes, mechanical leaf mover,
create the shrillest sounds known to man.
See if it doesn't just slowly make the world a ******** place
by taking away the joy of crunchy leafs,
which gradually become moist, squishy leafs,
then, after a long period, emerging from a snow covering
thaw and lie there, fully exposed, recumbent,
depriving the dormant seed of grass its sunlight, preventing grass,
freeing up water for infrastructure needs more urgent and rational
than supporting the most boring of decorative plants encompassing our lives.
I guess what I'm saying is that, not only are your sounds annoying,
they're just another of the short-sighted endeavors our present society insists on.
You are the "circumcision-for-hygiene-purposes" of our urban planning.
**** you, leaf blower. **** you and the excruciating environmental ignorance you represent.
I SAID **** YOU, LEAF BLOWER, YET YOU PERSIST!
You need to let that leafy-foreskin grow,
covering the shaft of ground.
Rid it of the pleasure-impeding growth of grass!
Let the earth cry out for the sensation of tiny points of pressure
moving delicately along its surface.
Let the ground erupt with wild flowers, or at the very least,
the trampled exuberance of plodded soil
and the desperate levels of human debris that would collect upon it.
Or are you trying to hide our wastefulness from us by removing something
which is nothing, a nothing, invisible barrier?
You've already succeeded in giving my apartment complex the ambience
of an industrial production complex
which I suppose it always was.
Maybe your attempt at concealment
has been a revelation.
Or maybe I just can't think straight,
because there's been a ******* leaf blower
circling below my window all morning
and now a heavy, riding lawn mower is coming to cut the grass
that hasn't grown since September
but has been watered every day
even though it froze last night
and it's almost November.
Oct 26, 2012
Oct 26, 2012 at 12:45 PM UTC
The train comes by every morning bout 5
I wish that train could find a cliff and collide
Before the demons with it arrive
Always, some poison they unpack
Wherever it came from, I wish it’d go back
That whistle blower must be the most vile of all
He probably blew whistles during the disaster in Bhopal
Sounding off as thousands of people died
Now I hear melodies of their killer pesticides
Echoing deep thru the hills, into the chemical valley
Here it continues adding death to it's tally
So rich men can be richer, they threaten a poor mans fate
Acting like life is worth less than methyl isocyanate
Jun 5, 2013
Jun 5, 2013 at 11:40 AM UTC
**** bruh! call a bomb squad (bo[ɑ]mb squa[ɑ]d)
for there's a bomb—
—shell here, whose rear evokes a somewha[ʌ]t
unholy, wrong thought (wro[ɑ]ng thou[ɑ]ght)
reminds him of a jihadi-done job (jihadi-done jo[ɑ]b)
'cause this bum's (boom) banging; this honey's dancing
boldly & lewdly, got his jaw dropped (ja[ɑ]w dro[ɑ]pped)
his sight's fixed on her hips, she's beyond hot (bey[ɑ]ond ho[ɑ]t)
this gal's freaking blazing
his hand's in offensive motion for her hind part
a haptic invasion
she moves on from wining to fondling, she's eager
such a luscious body, killer figure (body)
disguised with a tank
top with a low neckline & tight-fit cropped pants
she's like: "make me high like a rooftO̲p nearly reaching
the sky; give me a tI̲me so exquisite
that I̲'ll be left speechless
when this ro[ɑ]mp's over"
she's none short o'... a mind-blower, like a gun-toter
blowing a brain of a **** hound wrongdoing
('bout time to strike a hunting seas-on up on these ****
she digs vicious, dark-sounding music
but also doesn't mind to bounce her tushie
to 90-100 bpm party-sound tunes
Oct 18, 2019
Oct 18, 2019 at 4:24 AM UTC
Living on the toilsome trail
A mere speck
Without flight
Or even the aid
From a friendly leaf blower
I make my way
Upon my belly
Born to struggle
But shaped to endure
Feb 10, 2021
Feb 10, 2021 at 10:59 AM UTC
I think of many things
bubbles form all around,
colourful ones form of
love, and smiles and ideas
that bring bright emotions
all around.When they pop
a rainbow formed in my
thoughts, calm relaxed is
my mind.
I have little bubbles tiny
thoughts, many of them do
float around. Big bubbles
some like a rain cloud that
take up much of my mind,
some slightly tinted dark
a thought I wish would just pop
and evaporate and leave my mind .
There are those that pop, a
thought lost couldn't have been
that important to me as now gone
from my mind.
I have many bubbles travelling around
in my mind. My bubble blower of thought
some times quite, other times bubbles
popping all over rainbows that float in
my mind.
Mar 24, 2014
Mar 24, 2014 at 2:03 PM UTC
if i was a leaf blower i'd wish you were a stationary bike
so we could be forgotten together in an unused garage
i want to be a candlestick holder if you're a dinette set
so we can dance close under the chandelier in the quiet foyer
i'll be an old stained t-shirt if you're a chest of drawers
and i'll slip inside and live in the back of your heart forever
if you're a tennis ball and i'm a chewed up shoe we can
hide from the dog in the dark under the sofa holding hands
but i am only a rooftop
that you won't lay on
you are a thousand stars
out of reach and too beautiful to
acknowledge
me
Mar 12, 2015
Mar 12, 2015 at 7:32 PM UTC
As my Precious sits on my desk,
shedding and watching with interest.
I take a drink from my cup.
A hair sticks to my tongue..eew yuk.
She is pleased with herself and wags,
her tail, hair flies off like flags.
They are small, black and everywhere.
Making patterns on all of the chairs.
Little drifting smiles of hair,
residing on my clothes without care.
This much hair from a small Chihuahua,
it's not possible, no not at all.
It's not as if she's going bald.
But then, Kojack, she could be called.
Oh look! You have some hair that she's shared.
I'll take care of that, you wait right there.
I'll just run and get my trusty lint roller.
Better yet! I'll get my leaf blower.
Aug 24, 2010
Aug 24, 2010 at 7:10 AM UTC
I felt like a giant
Holding fireworks in his fists
Fuses burning between my knuckles
I could silence the bang if I wanted to
Inside your chest are bibles
Full of psalms about hunger
And love
And letting go
Psalms about selfless
I want to kiss you like a prayer
**** you like a prayer
I am small
And I feel the ground breathe beneath my feet
It is dark
I am a marble with a green cat eye center
Still hot and smooth
The glass blower that made me had asthma
I don’t roll like the rest of them
This dent in my chest
But you decide it is a good place to rest your head
You feel like the ocean
When I am sleeping on a raft
I made from fallen trees and rope
A steady rock just past the wave break
So calm I’m sure I could sail safely
As far as I wanted
I feel like I don’t exist
Like I am unicorn horn glitter
After the slaying
The men who have ground me down
Use me to sell toys to kids
Because glitter makes everything magic
I am magic
Clumsy magic
Like a giant learning sleight of hand
Fireworks in his fists
I could stop the bang if I wanted to
I don’t want to
I am hot glowing color
Falling from the palms of a giant
Whose hands are clouds
Someone has just prevented a car accident
Saved someone’s life
There are fireworks
A celebration
I am rubber kneecaps
For people who collapse
I bounce them back
People who don’t pray anymore
They just keep walking
I feel like a slave song
The simple message
When you sing these words
I can do anything
I feel like a giant
And I want to kiss you like a prayer
That stops someone from dying
Dec 1, 2012
Dec 1, 2012 at 4:48 PM UTC
Thinking back to Thomas creek and sneaking a peak at the freaky little tweaker
in blown out sneakers a toothless mistress second guessing ******
thrift dressed house guest ******* up my speakers blown out woofer
wolfing down dinner mad slurping curry a beginner at twister
her sister, disaster, got caught ******* the Doberman.. unable to find sobriety
got gang ***** at the sorority doing an impression of Brad Dougherty
shoes to tall falling all wobbly knees knocking hostilely like a rasta in Montgomery
racially outcast Big Boi with a skin tare lash with passion unfashionable bastions
with rashes wear red sashes like Communist fascists I‘m a pacifist with a speeding fist
ready to dis any resistor to this transistor radio I eat filet-minion with boxers on
my mind be gone, like, no one’s home and this body roams all alone
with a ***** I’m a stoner, a postponer, ***** donor, out on loan
bought and paid for, caught with a lawnmower, impersonating a horn blower
like I was Gillespie at the Filmore, or Apollo theatre as a greater Walmart style
wearing a wife beater, not a reader, sort of a ******* not like Kim, more like
a mosquit-er drinking blood like it’s from a hummingbird feeder.
May 9, 2016
May 9, 2016 at 6:03 PM UTC
On my bed night after night I
sought him who my soul loves, I sought him
but did not find him...
I sought this morning
a handful of domestic tools.
I raked, I shoveled, I let fly
a gust from my mighty
two-stroke gas blower, which
shuddered to death in my hands,
before all of the leaves reached
the end of the ******* driveway.
I adjure you, O daughters of Jerusalem
that you do not awake my love until
the motor has had a chance to cool off,
or you might flood the engine.
David was anointed with the
oil of myrrh and cassia. My wrists
are caked in Havoline from
1998. Solomon ate banquets,
loved Sheba, three hundred
concubines and boats of perfumed wood.
Ramen at lunchtime. Sixty yards of two-by-fours.
If I never resemble a king,
let me sup of television dinners
let me work my hands in the valleys
of a clogged fuel line, let my bed
fill with the twin odalisques of
leisure reading and ***** sheets,
and give me never three hundred concubines.
And if I go about the city at night,
pleading with the watchmen, have they seen
she who my soul loves, let them answer:
"There."
The driveway is clean, now,
all the leaves left at the end to rot,
or be swept away.
Jun 7, 2010
Jun 7, 2010 at 4:22 PM UTC
"Opportunity," this American Dream life we so believe in,
The limo stops at the hotel, the rich people get in,
A set of old jars full of coins, a leaf blower, men with picks,
A brush put through ones hair, make up, vitamins, drugs,
The people sit in a park, the time passes, the clock ticks.
Stock market books sitting on the shelf, a church ***** playing,
A magnet stuck to the fridge, pictures with people smiling,
A war machine, the newspaper, a set of playing cards and a
Distant smile. A set of hedge clippers, a ferry crossing,
Solitaire.
A man on the curb with torn clothes and nothing at all
A set of file cabinets, clocks, the sent of a bank,
Golf clubs, a set of business magazines, a Barbie Doll,
Swaying hammocks, and one guy in the background
Who is losing it because he can't ever "take a fall."
Feb 8, 2015
Feb 8, 2015 at 5:17 AM UTC
bare it straight...
the knight-fool referenced here,
me, scrabbled, scrambled writer,
moat-surround builder,
petard hole-blower in walls of captivity.
letting those inside out,
letting those outside in...
all the beloveds from
ailments hurtful,
in and ex ternality
fearful of eternality
guise of knight errant,
salve and solve,
two pocket protectors,
needy, downtrodden, love-hurting,
slip inside and hide till ready
to come out on acceptable terms
entrapped, locked down and in,
show me the walls for to break,
make the solitary unobligatory
hands holding you will lead us,
all writ on clean new chance foolscap
open sourced coded for sharing
knock knock knock
come calling,
my calling...
to come...
Jan 17, 2015
Jan 17, 2015 at 12:53 PM UTC
Free unrestricted journal publications
Words are bombs, dropping ink and paper
Typeface whistle blower and in your face
Chasing stories and truth, free the gonzo
The revolution in print, internet, television
Notepads, computers, and wi-fi
Liberated publication for all open eyes
A world of free thinkers and literary fact
No comment from the silent advertisers
Their payment in truth concealing lies
The United Censoring Of America
The political principles of censorship
Glory or death, guts and congratulations
No justice, no peace, no surrender
We’ve got the voice louder than power
The accuracy of enigmatic liberty
Apr 3, 2012
Apr 3, 2012 at 4:02 PM UTC
The farmer and the poet walk side by side.
The wind is blowing and with every grain of sand approaching their skin, the kettle moves closer to boiling.
The farmer with his miniature mule in his palm sweeps in motion with his other hand, the one with golden rings and chewed nails.
He shows the poet that the land must be toiled.
And sweat must mix with blood to form meaning to one's life.
The farmer combusts into ashes over the poet and the untouched bloodless ground.
There is no anxiety.
The poet and the glassblower walk hand in hand, shoulders pressed closer, finding rhythm in each other's differences.
Warmth and love shine from their portrait.
And the poet thinks as he walks.
The thoughts collapse and the glass blower breaks into sheets.
Furthermore into jagged shards and then, into pieces too small for a human eye to see.
With each step the poet contains his winces and his groans.
Walking his every step, a moment closer to suicide.
I'm aware this is temporary.
The solution is permanent.
Stay as permanence, pouring as warm oil from the eternal lion's mouth.
I grow uncomfortable.
Distance yourself and twist language.
Pull yourself together.
Jan 21, 2015
Jan 21, 2015 at 6:04 AM UTC
Sammy Turpin one fine day
Took his go—cart out to play.
While speeding quickly down a hill
A passing fly his eye did fill.
He couldn’t see two yards ahead
And landed in a hospital bed.
The nurse was very sympathetic
The fly was extremely energetic.
The doctor came with his stethoscope
But it wasn’t long before he gave up hope.
The consultant came to get it out
But he was never in there with a shout.
Just then the gardener passing by
Raised his leaf blower to the sky.
The air came in just like a rocket
And blew the fly from Sammy’s socket.
l He isn’t the gardener anymore
He’s chief consultant on ward four.
Keith Wilson published 2001 (Anchor Books)
Jan 1, 2016
Jan 1, 2016 at 8:29 AM UTC
Glass is burned
and melted
and molded
burned
and melted
and molded
Again
And again
And again
Until it reaches its final form
Sometimes the glass is molded for beauty
Sometimes the glass is molded to be put to good use
And sometimes
the glass breaks.
Maybe the glass
falls
falls
falls
to the ground
and shatters into pieces.
Sometimes the pieces can be picked up
and reformed
into
new patterns
and new designs
But sometimes you cannot save this glass.
But
despite the fact that this glass was never finished to be
something beautiful
or something useful
It was once in the process.
It was in the process of becoming more than it was.
It's whole life
it was in the process.
Despite the fact that nobody had the chance
to stare at the beauty of this glass
or use this glass to hold their flowers,
to the glass blower
it was beautiful.
He saw it in its most fragile state
during its most beautiful times
He shaped it
deliberately
every curve
every corner
was deliberate.
Despite the fact that this glass was never used for its intent
it served perfectly
because
to the glass blower
it was beautiful.
Mar 15, 2014
Mar 15, 2014 at 10:06 PM UTC
Paul Bunyan is up and at 'em
with his trusty **** wacker, slicing
through to the other side
of suburban nightmare. Zeus,
in barreling breath, holds low
his mighty leaf blower.
An American hero and Greek god,
hell bent on getting what's
greener on the other side, begin their
Battle of the Lusher Lawn.
Paul's Babe, in her royal blueness,
is star-studded and singing, "Glory Glory"
as she banners the front porch
in red and white stripes. Zeus' sister-bride
Hera, turns a goat on spit, thinking,
"these Americans know nothing about
good barbeque." Later, the two will be
promising recipes over the side fence
of their baba ganoush and ambrosia salad.
The boys will be reminiscing Gallipoli,
slapping each others' backs,
and choking back tears.
May 30, 2016
May 30, 2016 at 6:15 AM UTC
Fatty fatty
standin' in the yard,
Put down that leaf blower
and start burnin' some lard.
pick up that rake!
clean that grass!
don’t be growin' yourself
no big fat ***
skinny skinny
standin' on the lawn,
Put down that leaf blower
and start buildin' some brawn.
pick up that rake!
clean that grass!
get to workin’ your
skinny little ***
Sep 16, 2015
Sep 16, 2015 at 6:10 PM UTC