"brandish" poems
It happened in the dead of night while I was slicing bread for a guilty snack.
My attention was caught by the scuttering of a raccoon outside my window.
That was, I believe, the first time I noticed my strange tendencies as an unusual
human.
I gave the raccoon a piece of bread, my subconscious well aware of the consequences.
Well aware that a raccoon that is fed will always come back for more.
The enticing beauty of my cutting knife was the symptom.
The bread, my hungry curiosity.
The raccoon, an urge.
The moon increments its phase and reflects that much more light off of my cutting
knife.
The very same light that glistens in the eyes of my raccoon friend.
I slice the bread, fresh and soft. The raccoon becomes excited.
or perhaps I'm merely projecting my emotions onto the newly-satisfied animal.
The raccoon has taken to following me.
You could say that we've gotten quite used to each other.
The raccoon becomes hungry more and more frequently, so my bread is always handy.
Every time I brandish my cutting knife the raccoon shows me its excitement.
A rush of blood. Classic Pavlovian conditioning. I slice the bread.
And I feed myself again.
Mar 13, 2019
Mar 13, 2019 at 5:44 PM UTC
I could love you
as dry roots love rain.
I could hold you
as branches in the wind
brandish petals.
Forgive me for speaking so soon.
Let your heart look
on white sea spray
and be lonely.
Love is a fool star.
You and a ring of stars
may mention my name
and then forget me.
Love is a fool star.
19.1k
You see me as the bacteria
And yourself as the antibiotic
I see you across the cafeteria
Acting psychotic
Because of what I find ******
You treat me like I'm toxic
But you're seen as normal
So I hide beneath the coral
To avoid your aggression
That will teach me a lesson
About correctly guessing
Where your fists will go next
You tell me I want it like ***
This is your way to flex
To show you have an edge
You single out the marginalized
There's no way you'll hedge
When you have harm in your eyes
And then use charm as a disguise
To make me cry over spilt milk
Because I am not of your ilk
For I am as soft as silk
Like the sheets I want to roll in with you
Instead you shoved my face into poo
As my ***** grew
I think of killing myself
With my gun
When I think of filling myself
With your ***
While pretending I'm your son
And swallowing you like gum
Those are my ideas of fun
Yours is to tell me to run
From your intensely penetrating fists
That make me regret my penetrating wish
As you brandish the weapon
From the movie Inception
That launches you into my dreams
Giving my thoughts a singular theme
As my mouth continually screams
I was born on the wrong team
You wanted to exhibit your power
In this seemingly arbitrary hour
So you broke my nose
To show off for your hoes
An off the cuff
Attempt to be tough
But I found it deeply affecting
When I could feel your hatred injecting
Making me wonder if I'd ever be free
After I saw the only ending I could see
You move to strike me again
This time I have my mac 10
That I brought to school
For a one sided duel
You changed the trajectory of my life
By changing the trajectory of my bullets
You taught me about strife
You taught me how power is the coolest
You taught me to move on to your friends
Their lives I must remember to end
This is the message I'm choosing to send
When they sat back and watched the hate
Like it was 1938
I lost my sympathy
After being treated differently
And gained a ruthless anger
That turned me into a stranger
So I let the automatic gun spray
Faster than they could pray
For their hoots and hollers
I shoot their collars
Creating shade in the halls
That I make when they fall
The feeling goes to my *****
I become strangely intoxicated
By the death of those who hated
So I go back to your dead body
And do what you felt was so naughty
And now there is no one even around for you to tell
That I ****** your corpse while you watched from Hell
Jan 3, 2018
Jan 3, 2018 at 12:18 AM UTC
"My daughter,
when you grow up (enough)
to be able to brandish self-sovereignty
tempered by self-discipline
I only hope that if and when you may choose
to try whatever drugs may appeal to you
you are least fortunate enough
to have access to clean ones
and a safe enough and comfortable enough environment
in which to study your interrelationship with them,
intellectually, physiologically, psychologically, spiritually, and socially,
but not necessarily in that order.
I won't tell you what to do,
but my advice is this:
Don't eat yellow snow:
don't snort yellow coke.
If you're gonna poison yourself,
poison yourself with the good ****
If you want to see whats up with something,
be certain your sample size is representative.
That's just good Science.
No one likes a false statistic
except those in power
who wish to remain in power
so maintain thy power
to wield thy freedom of choice
armed with an arsenal of personal experiences
sailing with an armada of accurate information
upon the high seas of this uncertain but certainly beautiful Life,
but be prepared to accept the consequences.
That's just responsibility.
That alone oughtta put you well ahead of the curve."
Jan 8, 2016
Jan 8, 2016 at 3:30 PM UTC
i was born all naturally
formed in a lax factory
im actually
a hack with ******* in my nose, practically,
every day, haphazardly
stumbling home, half asleep
i cant tell whats happening
vision begins blackening
im whack like kriss kross
crack like rick ross
major brown boy to houston
be like, "yes, we have liftoff"
dont like me when i'm ****** off
cause ***** i'm bruce banner
or maybe i'm bruce wayne
either way, i got mad manners
tearing down walls like berlin
preaching like its a sermon
potential begins to burgeon
i'll cut you up like a surgeon
killing in place of coercion
so you better lower the curtain
my head and my body are hurtin
so tell me how quick does the world spin?
i'm taddling on ya, you can call me a toddler
but the snitchin n' **** is somethin im never fond of
and i never grow up, cause i'm the neverland smuggler
peter pan turns into one of my best customers
i never grew into my head, im not cocky
never had the eye of the tiger, im not rocky
growing up i never got in fights or caused a lotta ****
but presently im screaming **** the world", i've got a bone to pick
i've gotta problem and i think its the probable cause
you hold me captive, keep me trapped in your facets of laws
looks of repulsion are what cause me to brandish my claws
constant compulsions reminiscent of prodigal flaws
i've gotta problem and i think its the probable cause
see im a goblin shark i'll sink in my nautical jaws
im not a joker im a jester with lesser facades
wrought with insomnia cause drugs are american gods
Mar 10, 2017
Mar 10, 2017 at 1:39 AM UTC
Settle down, the court is in session,
The esteemed Court of Validation,
Where I stand trial for being
And thus must attend this hearing
To seek the sublime opinions
Of the wise Jury of Champions
Who've been there done that.
Please lecture me on how to act,
Tell me how I must dress,
What to say under duress,
To brandish my success,
And my worth attest
To finally be accepted among civilization
With a stamp of approval from the Court of Validation.
Here comes the verdict for the Judge to read.
I'm guilty of possessing an identity.
Therefore I'm sentenced to a lifetime of conformity
To the status quo established by society.
But Your Honor, there must be a mistake!
There has to be another path to take.
Sorry child, this is the only way,
Or else you'd be imprisoned in the Cell of Dismay.
Embrace your fate without hesitation;
Indeed it's a gift from the Court of Validation.
Aug 14, 2015
Aug 14, 2015 at 10:09 AM UTC
learn your questions.
discern the myriad as One, and console your misery with service.
pour your fumes into the heart of mars; press pause when your gods
make you nervous. and when they don't exist, you whistle while you hurt...
as if
the Master Plan
had jokes.
but know this.
your cathedrals have killed people, and your faith was crushed -
whenever sincere. so i
bid you peace. a peace with
tranquil thoughts and night lemmings;
squealing
right over the Cliffnotes to Oblivion, in vapid terror and happy herds.
their little parachutes; cumbersome, with snapped threads to a forum, that unpack, once filled
with air and
parents .
you inherit
the edge of your vague notions.... that expand
upon dissent .
heretic tick
BOOM !
then make love, all day Wednesday
learn your questions. gain the gist
of your out-risible ignorance and invent the humor of "precise submission"
as humility will boast , enthroned above the kingdom of desire
aching hermetic in a mob. but knobs -
that turn, despite severed hands
turn Truth's *****
learn your throat.
hold only the notes to your music
to a golden standard !
Brandish your exile, like a rogue -
from it's sheath of Turin
[ and flash! ] it's blade of grasp
in Walt Whitman's
Verile Phase...
face your loved ones, but only
with the face
that got away.
return...
return unbridled and
unkempt. more windswept
than lost and found
haunted...
and remember
eat whatever
you **** well please
because
" **** Dr. Phil, Really ? "
Have you ever seen an anorexic
Buddha ?
and bought that one ?
if you have...
you might be
ascetic.
May 29, 2013
May 29, 2013 at 12:57 PM UTC
They easily left in a remorseless goodbye
I tried to forget and seemed to get by
The hardest part of moving on
Is always remembering that they’re gone
Even if they’ve forgotten about me
Feelings can’t be erased nor the memories
Friends stick together and lovers depart
I’ll say I’m better but always feel the spark
With a promising brandish it died on your end
My heart sunk and drowned, trying to pretend
That I felt okay, that I was going through some phase
Everyone assumed, but it never felt that way
What does it matter, you have a wife and kids
To be trusted and lusted by you
I’d sacrifice anything to give
But dreams like that never come true
Happy ever after seems a faraway thing
Effervescent laughter inside two rings
That sparkle on both of your intertwined hands
How left behind I feel you’ll never understand
Apr 16, 2021
Apr 16, 2021 at 11:26 PM UTC
You don’t have to wave your country’s flag;
Nor do you have to boast and brag
That yours is the best country on earth—
Whether or not it’s the land of your birth—
To be a patriot.
There’s no need to brandish your weapons to show
That you have your rights that you’ll never forgo;
Nor do you have to copy the ones
Who feel the need for an arsenal of guns
To be a patriot.
You don’t have to heed everything you are told,
Fear seeking truths that your leaders withhold,
Or forget that in your laws there’s a reason
That public dissent’s not the same thing as treason
To be a patriot.
You don’t have to feel that the government is right
To force young men and women to fight
In wars that profit the War Machine--
And which you in your heart know are obscene--
To be a patriot.
There’s no need to always bewail and prate
On the separation of church and state
Or let the troublemakers upset you
By saying the government’s out to get you
To prove you’re a patriot.
But caring about the poor and the needy;
Wanting to have, without being greedy;
Feeling concern for the rights of ALL;
And helping others up when they fall:
That's being a patriot!
- by Bob B
Oct 4, 2016
Oct 4, 2016 at 3:19 PM UTC
*Don't bother me, don't follow me
There's no one else I yearn to see
So fold away your memories
To cede beneath that Hemlock tree*
What will I do? Where will I go?
Unshod against the burning road?
These memories I mourn and hold
Crease in my hands where they enfold.
*Don't bother me, don't follow me
Or brandish me things I cannot see
My eyes plunge past the memories
Beneath that bygone Hemlock tree.*
What will you do? Where will you go?
I was your heart, you were my soul
Did you let go and drift below
The Lethe River’s undertow?
*Don't bother me, don't follow me
I hold my head above the sea
These memories furled around your sleeve
I've stashed beneath the hemlock tree.*
What do we do? Where do we go?
There are separate paths, or so I'm told
You'll tour one, and if I'm bold
I'll peer once more down your own road.
*Don't bother me, don't follow me
But yes, perchance... I'll dream of thee.
I'll stargaze there, and make believe
Of truth beneath that Hemlock tree.*
Mar 8, 2015
Mar 8, 2015 at 9:54 PM UTC
you brandish most beautiful eyes at me
as our paths cross
in the city.
a blue as pure as the winter sky
makes me think that
to see you cry
would plunge my heart into
a roaring blizzard.
yet I can imagine the light
of the sun
shimmer upon a single
tear.
I could bear the thought of
seeing you weep with joy,
as the first dew of
blissful spring runs down your
snow-pale face.
and in a second you pass me by.
and you are gone like
a snowflake in the wind.
Jan 11, 2024
Jan 11, 2024 at 5:17 PM UTC
One cries from a foxhole
A tear splashes an urn
Some dance laced in bootstraps
Many diminished returns
Two shuffle tarots
“All in!” Shouts a third
Homesteads brandish wind chimes
Infant dreams lay deferred
A quiet malarkey
As hunger pangs ring
Piled high, bullion
Cages hearts and clips wings
Jul 15, 2012
Jul 15, 2012 at 1:00 AM UTC
I am a peripheral *****
I brandish my notebook
Like a chef brandishes his dish-rag.
Where do wizards keep their wands?
I build worlds out of words
Universes out of silence;
Universes that can be destroyed
With a single eyebrow.
I am a calculator.
I am a thermometer.
I am a clashing painting on the wall.
I am a question.
I am as much as my pencil.
I am as much as my frame.
I am as much as my stains.
(I am as much as the buttons unbuttoned on my shirt collar.)
Nov 27, 2011
Nov 27, 2011 at 9:57 PM UTC
Thundering, thundering, rat a tat rat a tat, they beat fiercely. Stirring the heart to join the cause. Head long into the fire, forward into the breach. Brandish the sword into another persons face. Lighting races across the sky, echo's and flashes from the distance as death rains down. Blood pools at the feet of a comrade who friends lies in pieces and the rat a tat rat a tat tat of the drums of war still beat.
Nov 17, 2015
Nov 17, 2015 at 10:23 PM UTC
Hi, my name is Black Rose
And I'm an addict.
I'm not here for rehabilitation
I have no fancy to cure my obsession.
I yield willingly to this terminal fixation
I brandish it brazenly for all humanity to bear witness.
I voluntarily surrender
To this sweet, seductive habit
I'm hopeless
But need no extrication.
Oh yes,
I'm a freak,
I'm an addict,
I'm a ******
My mind and
body cannot function
Without my daily fix
I live by having a drag
Every second
Day by day
My need goes stronger
I'm permanently light-headed
From the cloudy ecstacy
Constantly surrounding me
I'm in total delight
I'm in pure luxury
I'm a freak,
I'm an addict,
I'm a ******
I'm addicted to your love.
Aug 31, 2017
Aug 31, 2017 at 6:34 AM UTC
be here this year
turn off cell phone
be still
be active
be in love
be truthful
be just
free a prisoner
walk for peace
find a friend
be a friend
mentor a child
be a child
take a hike
ride a bike
revel in nature
smell the coffee
grow some flowers
start a garden
honor God
read a book
write a poem
paint a picture
click a photo
say a prayer
maintain silence
hold your peace
speak truth to power
sheath a sword
brandish a pen
unload a gun
shame the arrogant
practice peace
dance joyously
sing gleefully
speak softly
love largely
climb the mountain
linger in the valley
dip toe in water
tip toe through tulips
pet a dog
feed a cat
protect a child
visit the aged
listen to someone
open your ears
hear someone
lift your eyes
see someone
go fishing
feed someone
conduct a search
find someone
watch the moon
bless the stars
write a book
start a business
make some money
lose some weight
drive courteously
cook a meal
feed the hungry
open your home
house the homeless
swim the sea
sail a boat
get some sleep
stay awake
be kind
be useful
be diligent
be vigilant
be reverent
be genuine
be helpful
be present
be grateful
be still
be
Namaste
Vaya con Dios
Have a Present Day!
Happy New Year
Music Selection:
Rimsky-Korsakov
Flight of the Bumble Bee
jbm
Oakland
01/01/09
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 6:44 AM UTC
The tea sits
Death collecting different scenes
I’m stressed
Such a mess with the reaper next to me
Life vest on my chest
And I couldn’t really see
Long steps to unrest and I’m bent reality
Still
The fragments breathe
Will deliver and I’m keen to the quiver
Arrows preen
The apple’s novelty
Real
Surreal it seems
The venom makes sin of me
A little sliver the beast
Disturbing the honesty
Feel
The havoc see it in the light
And let it seek a little strife
Collapse in dreams it’s still alright
Just follow me and
Days go by
And the days go by
And the days
Fall next to me
They wither in seasons
Oppressive tendencies
Observe the winter casualties
With frozen blood and splinters
Unruly royalty for dinner
The bloodline isn’t coiled
So they haven’t found a winner
The peril focused
Elapsed so nobody would notice
It wasn’t hopeless
Ascension hadn’t found a locus
Scrambling the frequency
A remedy just like unbroken chains that lead to purity
As if the marks of shame were lotus
Petals
Drinking deep amidst tequila dreams
Settled
With that much alcohol I’m bound to see
The difference
What it takes from me in travels
Hollow ships that creak and battle with my frenemies
Just trying to find some ******* peace
Scattered
A little crazed
A little battered
Hazard
So many names
Poetic ******* is my favorite
And it’s said with sharp tongues and flagrance
Art forms and a cadence
Just trying to count the ways that
Days go by
And the days go by
And the days
Make clouds break
Unraveling the seasons
Couldn’t fathom all the reasons
Left to brandish all the pieces
Couldn’t handle all the artifacts
To me the voice of treason was a pretty ****** father that I couldn’t wait to see
He left scars
Gave me emptiness to seek the stars
I grew lost
With a tendency to keep to bars
Some new parts of me I never noticed
Please
I wasn’t hopeless
I’m just barely even getting started
Some new paths
Chasing fantasies I seek to harvest
Undo traps that I set to self destruct the progress
Parallel to heavens gate
I’m aiming for the secret garden
Eyy
So catch me gliding through the waves as
Days go by
And the days go by
And the days go
-Whoo-
-Whoo-
-Whoo-
And the days go by
And the days go by
Aug 25, 2015
Aug 25, 2015 at 10:47 PM UTC
I've got a prayer for you, my Lord,
It's not quite fleshed out, that's true.
I wonder if you can brandish your sword,
And cut us down to the few.
I know it's not the most popular
Or practical idea I could say,
But, let's face it, there's far too many
Of us to squeeze into heaven today.
Also, begging your pardon, my lord,
Most of us really are ****
We could do with a culling,
Before we take off and split.
You see, we're spawning like maggots
And spreading from pole to pole;
Slaying each other in your name,
With oil and land the goal.
Evolution was really quite clever,
A red herring for white-coated nerds;
Genetics our new religion,
As dinosaurs turned into birds.
We forgot your purposeful message,
To do onto others your will.
Instead we shoot the innocent,
And send their families the bill.
We buy and sell gold in our temples,
Our banks our churches of greed;
We care not at all for holy prayers,
Crosses, or rosary beads.
So spare us your soul-searching piety,
Leave off your crown of thorns.
Pick up your sword, strong and mighty,
And sound from your terrible horns.
Is it too much to ask for apocalypse?
Is it really that hard to do?
Or maybe you're far from omnipotent,
Or maybe, just maybe,
Not true.
Mar 5, 2015
Mar 5, 2015 at 2:54 PM UTC
Like a vampire, I'd met him in the night
Seated by a fireplace filled with flickering light
The silence lulled as if drawing me in
Broken by his voice, dripping with sin
Dark hair beautifully framing his face
clear white skin, like an old portrait filled with grace
As if looking through me with those piercing blue eyes
Revealing the secrets that within me, they lie
To brandish a stake, to hold it tightly in my hand
Desire to pierce the still-beating heart, return it to the land
Unlike a gentle melody dancing in the night
The taste of iron on my lips wouldn't feel right
Trace the lines of my body, call me mine with those lips
Enchant me with that sweet tongue, Let my reality begin to slip
Caress me with those cold hands, Hold me tightly in embrace
Tell me all your heart desires, what you dare not face
Close your eyes for but a moment, Feel the warmth of my skin
Let it radiate around you, Breath it all in
Now run away quickly, Flee while you can
Before the prey falls captive, to this hunter of a man
Quench your thirst
-
Aug 26, 2023
Aug 26, 2023 at 10:56 PM UTC
#You were telling him about Buddha,
you were telling him about Mohammed in the same breath
You never mentioned one time the Man who came
and died a criminal’s death. [Bob Dylan: Precious Angel]
If Christ and His Gospel are offered you
you squirm—then dredge up the gods of the East.
Your act of avoidance is nothing new—
salvation proposed: evasion increased.
Waxing socialistic – as if on cue
your blustering is consistent, at least.
you brandish your anti-Christ point of view.
Descending like Darwin: angel to beast.
In Babylon’s gardens you disembark
to deconstruct Noah, the flood, the ark.
On Gilgamesh, Enkidu, in madness
you ramble—and it fills me with sadness.
There is one truth, undiscerned, unadored.
Be still. In silence, acknowledge your Lord.
Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 9:15 PM UTC
There's a spiritual realm and there's this physical plane...
In the the spiritual realm, I'm a super hero, but in the physical- I'm just plain Jane...
In the spiritual realm, I brandish huge, shiny weapons, but in the physical- I'm a homemaker, making sure that my daughter gets her school lessons...
While y'all are tucked in, snug as a bug at night- I'm on another level, fighting for dear life...
I know some of y'all are gigglin and laughin-and that's quite alright...
But you need to be aware, because we super heros...we save lives.
We see, feel, and know things that you don't even know exist
Cause bwai, if you knew what I knew? You would throw a major hissy fit!
By day, I'm Clarketta Kent...
But at night, I kick demonic ***** with an artistic bent.
#TrueStory
#WarriorPrincess
#KiCotheConqueror
Nov 19, 2017
Nov 19, 2017 at 9:53 PM UTC
Because regardless if you ever loved me
we both know you still feel my mouth
on the very edges of your skin,
and is it not news that she can taste my name
on the pieces of your exposed flesh
you haphazardly place so heavily beneath her.
I am burned so inescapably apparent
like silver scars that beg for invisibility.
I have kissed you deep with these malicious lips,
and left your blood tinged with toxic venoms
that you are so desperate to water-down,
to erase, to pretend as if they never seared
the guarded walls of your insecurity;
but don't let me brandish my own wounds
as though they somehow belong to you.
And I might not have ever meant I loved you,
but I can still feel the exact moment
it could have possibly been conceived
and the way the currents kept back
the aching light of truth that lay so calmly over
you and I, you and I,
you and I were never meant to be;
we just happened.
Dec 12, 2013
Dec 12, 2013 at 11:00 PM UTC
Rebellion – for too long the status quo,
is, in our day, a predictable show.
Antichrist irony, absurdity
shockingly daring incongruity
no longer shock the bourgeois, you know…
Alone in the temple of glass with a rock,
you’re out of traditional symbols to mock.
Surrealists did it much better than you –
and it meant a lot more in ’32.
You chew your cud on the cattle-wagon
overused shock-tactics (moo ! ) now draggin’
(or herding) aboard the iconoclast train
(b)lowing through boxcars your bovine refrain:
“to, um – make people think…” Oh Lord, how uncouth.
Nihilist narcissus – tell me, what’s Truth?
Must creative always be subversive?
I discern, in your frenzied discursive,
a dull and predictable lack of life.
While you brandish that plastic butter knife
I seem to note, in your constant ******
dearth of artistic ability. Must
bohemian acolytes (some yawning)
ever be deer in the headlights, fawning
before the ironic gesture? It’s sad;
the bitter is sweet but the art is bad…
They circle hors d’oeuvres on opening night
like moths around white wine in candlelight,
cerebrating in a modernist void:
contemporary aesthetes, overjoyed
to know once more that life has no meaning;
the planet is doomed; that kings are queening;
that chic just arrived, escorting philosophy
(Forgive us, Duchamp, for all this monstrosity).
I long for Hudson River School sunsets
Old Dutch Masters, religious art, portraits,
Red, green, or black propaganda-art? NO !
The view does not merit the price of the show.
I’m dada-ed to death, beyond the surreal.
Conceptual gimmicks have failed to conceal
your want of ability, values, and faith
In the book you despise it is written: “thus saith
the fool in his heart: that there is no God…”
You: Postmodern Art – to the firing squad!
Sep 10, 2015
Sep 10, 2015 at 9:57 PM UTC