"braked" poems
What day is it where we at, where is
the **** were you trying to smoke
my cat??
I see things through glassed eyes,
my mouth has the hunger, but I'm
to ****** to drive, Whats in the fridge
in the cupboard, f*ck it i can make a
munchie feast out of that.
I smoke with friends or when alone, i,ll
smoke in the dark room the spliff my
only light I see "wow look at those trails...
I have speed dial on my phone 1 is my
frindly dealer who delivers to my home,
2,3,4 take away pardise they no what I
want when ever I phone.
I,m a stoner there is no mistake, I will
always be happy unless my **** does
get braked, and if my phone battery dies
no mucnchies, no smoke, I couldn't deal
with that, "wow look at the pretty lights,
Feb 27, 2014
Feb 27, 2014 at 11:24 AM UTC
IF I could have stopped you.
I would have jumped in my car, raced to Hohenwald, and slung gravel as I sped down your driveway, braked fiercely to stop inches from that guest house, and fly out from the inside of my car, screaming, "Don't do it! I'm here, Uncle Brandon! I love you! We all love you! "
I would have ran up the cedar steps, kicked the door in with my foot, and yelled as loud as I could until you answered me.
No matter how many times I yell at your headstone, you never answer me.
You were a cowboy, traveling all over the country, and seeing sights that many would never witness in their lifetime.
You had broken every bone in your body twice
you had a sense of humor
intelligent (two degrees), both in English and Teaching.
You had dreams of being a lawyer and
a college professor.
Only you were a cowboy first.
You loved to ride, and you loved with a heart bigger than Montana sky.
I wish you had not left.
I miss seeing your dark brown matted hair, peeking from beneath your torn, curved cowboy hat as you tipped it at me, with a wink, adding, "See you when the wind changes"
You were a poet.
I think of you when I write, and part of me still blames myself for not telling anyone about seeing you at my work that night. You looked awful and I knew something was wrong, but I didn't say anything--I have no clue why.
You loved life, why did you leave?
You had love, why did you look?
We were your family, why did you leave?
I shouldn't be typing this
You are dead.
The world lost a true cowboy.
A man that lived by the sweat of his brow, and the dirt on his clothes.
I would have stopped you. I would have grabbed that gun, and hugged you for the longest time, and then I would have saddled up your horse and one for me.
Then the four of us would trot along to the highest hill we could find, and I would watch the sun move across the sky, and tell you that every sunset of every day is always different, so you don't need to miss a single one.
Uncle Brandons last poem
Im riding. Riding this way is like playing a finely tuned instrument, at times delicate, at other times powerful... The true artist can play with equal dexterity a soft ballad or a crashing march.
Oct 20, 2014
Oct 20, 2014 at 11:23 PM UTC
Stick and stones can Braked your bones
But words will tear your soal into tiny pieces
Maybe not all at once
But little by little
Slice by slice
The wounds will heal
But the wounds of the soal takes more the just time
And if those wounds don't heal
U die, not physically you can't be that Lucky
, no I can't be that lucky
When your soul bleeds it bleeds hope
Hope of change, hope of man kind, and hope that you are not the words, that people call you.
My soul has ran dried befor,
Sliced way to many time
And me with no confidence to stich it back up
I was to the point of opting out,
Saying **** it.
I was tired of being called a freek tired of being told that I am less
That my life ment nouthing
Then I started to bleave it
That the world would be better with out me
And hell it would of been
I did not contribute to this world
Never made a change
I was so **** close
Blood flowing down my wrist
My mettifulical soul
Looking like my wrist
And obviously I lived
But you don't get over that kind of **** alone
It doesn't despair
It builds
U need a rope to get out of that rapid
You know what mine was.....
Words
The same thing that sliced my soal
That night I dreamed
That I was a writer
That my words did more good than the words of the outhers did harm
Not just for me but for others like me
Despair oozing out of them
Hatred coating there mind
That the only thing keeping them alive
Was the fact they cut across the tracks and not along
The next day I wrote
I wrote stories and poems
Letting my worries of the fuecher draw hope from the page and into me
Letting me clime out of my self pity
Without drugs
Without other people (the way I do everything)
And I lived
Not like I was, day by day
No I was finally alive I wanted to live
Not just because its what was expected
But I wanted this, I wanted my dream
I wanted to save not just my life
But some one else
To tell them
Yea words can beat you down, drag you to your grave, dig u a 9foot grave and berry you
But they can also brang you back to life, more alive than before.
Words can give you some thing that you felt you never had
Love, and love is what repair the wounds of your soul,
Show you that you have a reason to live,
No matter if those words are internal or external
They can heal you, and free you from the world that I once feared
Aug 21, 2014
Aug 21, 2014 at 2:13 AM UTC
Faced back before the field space overrun
of runway's end, rusted spikes of flower'd
dock, the field left empty there. World's
airport flatlined beyond and down the sky
ride planes on turbined mist. The stack's
descent, each air-braked glide to tarmac
draws another on and down the day
I slip off into, drive away
along the curve of it. Before
Haslemere, where a tight hedged bend turns up
to the town, is a roe deer, struck dead against
a van. The driver, in descent,
appalled before the long, spread body
of this two year buck, its twin-tined head
laid to ground, a trickle of blood at the mouth.
It fell to this elegant pose
athwart the van's front width,
white neck flopped from the withers;
Crash landed in a sudden grace of death.
Jun 19, 2011
Jun 19, 2011 at 8:03 AM UTC
tonight when I got home
I pulled my hair into a ponytail.
I wished I could have kept pulling,
up and up until every little thing
and every last hair was off my shoulders.
-
I was running down my street tonight.
a meager glance down and I saw
another shadow chasing mine.
breathlessly,
excitedly I braked
in time to realize both shadows belonged to me.
-
tonight I mapped the distance
from Salt Lake to Phoenix;
11 hours and 18 minutes.
should I stop through Vegas
or the Grand Canyon?
-
I fell asleep alone tonight
in a bed too spacious for my body.
through murky midnight eyes,
I thought I caught you turning over.
what I didn't realize
is that you are not sleeping here
not tonight
and not the night before.
Nov 9, 2014
Nov 9, 2014 at 1:15 AM UTC
She was definitely dumping him
All she needed was the right opportunity
It was like that song
Fifty ways to leave your lover
Now just to get it through to him
You’re crap in the sack Jack
If only you were more like Stan
What a man
Or even Gus
Though you do have a lot in common with Gus
You always go by bus
God, you’re so last year
Out on your ear
Okay maybe that was a bit severe
Need a new plan
I’m just going to tell you straight
Before it’s too late
Don't come on all coy
There's something I have to tell you
It's about me and Roy
I’m having his boy
I know what you’re going to say
What happened to Lee
Let me see
It started on the bus
Him and Gus
I don’t want to discuss
Okay, well Stan caught them
Do I need to spell it out
Stan said they were all like brothers
Now it seems they two are lovers
Stan was devastated
I mean, was that in the plan
Anyway, Roy told him about us
Which was fatal for you and Gus
When the driver braked
Driving the bus
Stan no more
So I end this letter
Missing you Jack
Such a young age to leave
Just turned fifty, lover.
Nov 3, 2015
Nov 3, 2015 at 11:38 AM UTC
*I Know I Should Take A Shower,
And Go To Bed,
But I Have To Write While This Pain Is Fresh,
I Cannot Bare To Read Anyone's Poetry Tonight,
Because I Am Already On The Verge Of Tears,
And I Can No Longer Write My Train Of Thought,
Because My Keyboard Is Blurred By My Lament,
Blubbering*
Jan 6, 2013
Jan 6, 2013 at 10:42 PM UTC
i want to write you the perfect poem
i want to string words together so spectacularly that you tattoo them on the inside of your eyelids
i want to write you the world, wrap these lines in a bow and leave the package on your doorstep
i want to write you the perfect poem,
but i'm an imperfect person and love,
so are you
you are the bags under my eyes
i carry you with me wherever i go
and you draw the most attention to the brightest parts of me
my under eye bags are the only cosmetics i wear daily;
you are the result of late nights of laughter and 1 AM drives home
you sopped up the spilled cherry coke in the back of my car with napkins from my glove box
i braked too hard and it spilled all over your feet
it was a quiet ride home
my knuckles were white on the steering wheel and my head a blur of apology
my favorite mop;
my messes are yours and yours will be mine and i've never been one for tidiness but i'd scrub the world clean for your smile
you are
the dent in my passenger side door,
the soreness in my muscles,
the paint stains in all of my jeans;
i can’t get rid of it, i’ll never get rid of it;
the dent gives my car character
the soreness makes my body feel real
the stains make me feel free and the jeans fit me like a glove
i like routine and you are a part of mine
text you tease you love you
wash rinse repeat
i could send you a thousand love letters
i’ll keep them in a shoebox instead
i'll write your name into the stars,
i'll carve my love for you in the moon,
print it on postcards,
press it into my skin
but i cannot write you the perfect poem
Mar 25, 2017
Mar 25, 2017 at 11:40 AM UTC
I almost got into a car crash the other day.
This car swerved in front of me and then braked.
I had to slam on my brakes, going from 60 to 10 mph in a few seconds.
I could hear the screech, and smell the tires.
I could see the car a few feet away from the front of mine.
My natural reaction was to get away.
I got into a different lane.
Because I didn't want to be near the crazy driver.
It was a natural, normal reaction.
I didn't hate the driver, I was just trying to save myself.
You're angry at me for not being your friend anymore.
But it's not because I hate you.
It's because I'm trying to survive.
It's a natural reaction to avoid things that hurt you.
I'm sorry for not being your friend anymore.
But I have to survive.
Dec 12, 2015
Dec 12, 2015 at 12:57 AM UTC
-
in case you may not know, it was the last car
at the end of a train, usually it was a red or
occasionally a yellow color which would be
clearly noticed
this car was manned in order to monitor the
train from that end for any issues, particularly
in case an axle from one of the coal cars locks
up and catches on fire
but i guess this feature was eliminated due to
improvements in the wheel assemblies, or maybe
because they had new electronic monitoring for the
crews in the locomotives
if you are under the age of thirty, this may not have
been general knowledge to you since the use of these
cars were phased out sometime in the 1980's, now a
red flashing light signifies the end of the train
you can see one of these cars parked near the city
square just north of the Tennessee/Kentucky
border in Guthrie— there is just enough rail
underneath to hold it braked in place
i think the rails once extended to the mainline
and the car was trapped there when acetylene
cutters terminated its route in either direction.
the men who rode it are now
the ghosts of everlasting
employment.
now we have thousands riding the
caboose of their careers amidst
red blaring lights that flash
from all imaginable
directions—
many of them sitting motionless
upon routes that go nowhere...
s jones
2010-2020
Dec 21, 2020
Dec 21, 2020 at 6:48 AM UTC
I deepen into a castle,
castle of sound it is ,
while it goes,
i assume this is my field of win,
a proffecy to inherit,
a potential to be fulfilled with,
over the horizons,
i approach what i feel is to be my destiny,
my holy place of pray,
walls closing on me,nightmare it was,
the feature of my incompatability to this world was filling ,
like a biased coin - all that to choose was me turning down.
I take the time on earth,
loud back at em,
as though in deep water,they ignore me,
i again does so,this time with might,
i trigger the power of a poet- his words.
The world i lost to,opened its eyes upon me,
my heart braked that moment,
stirred this earth to change,
piercing this invasive darkness!
the difference created the indifference,
hologram is what i am- you see dream simultaneously reality!
The castle now awaits my return,
to this solemly place,
welcomes me with cherry blossom on either side,
in here,rythm takes honour,
words take pleasure,
i inherit these ancestral words to you,
which better of than my english teacher,
i smile looking at these lines,
then to this untimely world,
rubbing the memory doomed crevices of my palm placing them in prayer,
thats a dream that changed the world '!
Jul 29, 2014
Jul 29, 2014 at 9:48 AM UTC
A gray rain
is slinking down
the sunken crown
of alley lane.
Green-topped church,
I bid goodbye
to your broad thigh,
a mourning perch.
I'll miss the stone
that frames this view
of moon, a bitten scone
against night's broken brew -
you were a hardy bone
that braked my raving blues.
Apr 13, 2019
Apr 13, 2019 at 12:46 AM UTC
There's red on Nandina,
berries blazing among
morning's mist
Years ago you were
a sprig, shiny green
hiding below the white spruce
Once, nearly
pulled along with other
less worthy underbrush
Like the car that braked on
time, like the strike of lightening
that missed the cabin
Survival can show
bright, radiant
veil of flaws
Gone, times of trial
evasions of destruction
hidden behind the glare
Dec 20, 2014
Dec 20, 2014 at 10:34 AM UTC
Remember the time you said you hate me?
Remember the time you set the date for me?
Remember the time you ran away from me?
Remember the time you cried that day because of me?
Remember the time you crossed the road and tripped?
Remember the time the car braked but slipped ?
Remember the time you closed your eyes?
Remember the time you felt yourself rise?
Remember the time you flew out of the way?
Remember the time you landed and looked back my way?
Remember the time I smiled at you?
Remember the time your heart split in two?
Remember the time I lay on the ground?
Remember the time I didn't make a sound?
Remember the time you cried as you held me?
Remember the time you didn't say that you loved me?
Do you remember what I said before I left?
If not just remember these five words...
Remember that I love you.
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 11:22 PM UTC
I was lost in your eyes
when you reached across to unbuckle my seatbelt
your lips grazed my cheek
and a shiver ran through my veins
I love you, but I have to go
were the words you left
lingering in my ears
I stepped out of the car
and leaned through the window
and you gave me one last kiss
you sped up the street
knowing you would be late
but you braked
I was staring waiting for you to go
but you opened the door
and ran
straight to me
you lifted me off my feet
and once again grazed my cheek
and whispered
sweet remedies in my ears
you jogged back to your jeep
and fled around the conner
and it wasn't until two am
that I realized I forgot to tell you
how much I love you
when I got the call
I knew the kiss would have to last me forever
for there would never be another
yet I ran to your house
and sat on the lawn
in front of your window
begging for you
begging for just one more kiss
and one more chance
to tell you
I love you
j.h.
Jun 16, 2014
Jun 16, 2014 at 11:52 PM UTC
And I passed people on the highway
in front of a pile of their belongings
spilled upon the shoulder
from a bloated pickup bed
At church someone told the tale
and added
that motorists honked at the owners
when they tried to walk back to where the spill began
and collect their mattress love seat
lamp shade stuffed giraffe
"like they ain't already got enough problems"
one sagely concluded
And when I walked by
no one honked at the arm leg
kidney ear patella
fourth metatarsal shattered soul
ejected at high speed
as I fell apart
parts dropped like breadcrumbs
too something to stop and pick them up
No one gaped
no one braked
I suppose no one was inconvenienced
by my disintegration
Some days I'd rather be a problem
four tires facing up
rolled over in a ditch
beyond the mangled guard rail
honking cars audience to my broadcast indignation
desperation
loneliness
regret
I'd rather be a byword some days
as kind church ladies tut-tutted over my predicament
and shushed the busy, impatient drivers
Yeah -- like I ain't already got enough problems
Right? See?
Feb 21, 2018
Feb 21, 2018 at 2:05 PM UTC