"brandywine" poems
I
Through vines indeterminate
Red cherry eyes peeped,
And spied two forms,
Fleshy pink and brown
Trees, tangled at the roots,
kissing in the canopy.
II
The garden was our
Discotheque, the sullen
Moonlight reflected
On the Black Beauties,
Twisted black mirrors,
in the garden of joy.
III
O, to again be mov'd
By your heirloom lips,
I'd give it all, the earth,
the sun, and the water.
A sacrifice: my Homesteads,
for a home.
IV
Soil runs dry.
The sun scorches.
Plagues run rampant.
We burn, we are sacked
and pillaged, and destroyed.
Roma, Roma, Roma.
V.
Maybe the rain,
Or sweet shade,
Or gentle sun,
Or simply the need
To be so defiantly
alive, will bring us again,
And I will drink you up again,
Brandywine.
May 12, 2016
May 12, 2016 at 11:18 AM UTC
We sat cozily on the couch listening to Miles Davis
She, curled up with a glass of Chardonnay, me, a warmed brandy snifter
It seemed an eternity since we made time for each other like this
We enjoyed our home in silence, absent our attention grabbing offspring at Grandma's.
I savored the scent of her lavender infused body snuggled in my arms
Her beautiful brown eyes reflected flickered light
The candles we transplanted from our earlier bath, burned slowly
And "Kind of Blue" transported us as we held each other.
"May I have a sip of your brandy?" she asked coyly with a smile on her face
"Of course," I handed her my glass
"Not from your glass," her smile turned into a mischievous grin
The vanilla and oak from the brandy permeated the air above the gulp I took into my mouth.
My heart rate increased, my eyes closed, and our smiles met pressed together; Heaven is real...
Her lips parted, she pulled the brandy from me along with my tongue that now danced with hers
The fire of the brandy that left my mouth warm, now slid down her neck in one smooth swallow
We took great care in kissing each other, sensuously, passionately, time stood still, for us.
Luxuriating in this kiss, a tear fell from her eye, met only with the tears that fell from mine
As our mind's eye recalled the love we have endured over these adventurous years together
Brandywine never tasted this divine as from the lips of my beautiful lover
Lightheaded, more so from her than from the alcohol, I smiled and held her closer to me.
"I Love you Husband!"
"I Love you more Wife!"
-----ChawzzyScript
Apr 13, 2013
Apr 13, 2013 at 8:16 PM UTC
From the first time that I remember,
'til I penned this ode in September,
I never called him Chips (though many others did) --
Dad was always the name I used ever since I was a kid.
Separated were our ages by two score years and more.
In fact, when I was born -- he was fourty four.
He taught me to be interested in many many things,
for therein lies the essence of life -- with the joy that it brings,
(such as) trains, boats, music, science, photography, sports, and art to start,
... and then he'd tell me to pull his finger when he had to ****
I learned from him respect for others, and to be clever;
and whether or not I received what I ought
I should always appreciate all kinds of weather.
Speaking of which, we'd lie side by side watching the nighttime sky
for lightning, bats, and satellites, and other things that fly by.
Chante et pleure - I sing and cry as I lie beneath the stars
and consider the physics of light, and matters of matter like Mars.
I'll never forget clutching a tree by a flooded Brandywine River
pleading and quaking in my shoes, in the throes of mortal terror
mortified as I watched my dad standing by the rushing drink --
-- ... taking pictures and movies, I think.
Family and friends mattered much to dad,
and keen was his memory of facts he had.
He was serious and fun; and I loved him a ton.
He'd pull a bully aside and tell him to go fish.
And I wish he was still here to correct my English.
So Chips, I would not even be here, I see
without you and mom both growing me,
and I'm grateful 'cause I'm sure that must'a took alot of energy.
I never told you there once was a time when somehow I felt like you;
and now that you have joined the cosmos, I'm sure that that feeling is true. Occasionally, I am swept away by the tide of work and rhyme
but knowing you helps me stay afloat, and focus each snapshot in time.
Feb 8, 2014
Feb 8, 2014 at 9:03 PM UTC
The pulp of brandywine leaves thistle with the dew of dawn,
the strung lights accorded bronze
sashing of the crumbled brick sacrament situated beneath the crack-
break of December 21st, Christ, Nativity,
a triptych; Wrench the whetted, gold seed the steed
of the Order, Clementine garland
and extension cords;
Altar of Santa Celia, burnished walnut shoes,
polished silver fillium.
The wanton hymn of baritones and wisteria hung
from candlelit pictures pressed
between rotted chicken boxes. Merry Christmas
Dec 14, 2016
Dec 14, 2016 at 2:33 PM UTC
the brandywine has struck
from the tops of your cheeks
right down to you feet
you heard it from the birds
and heard it from the bees
now you're hearing it from me
the brandywine has struck
you're woozy and acting floozie
but you're never going to stop
not till you drip drip drop
straight from the bottle into your maw
it burns like your cheeks in the candle light
Feb 3, 2020
Feb 3, 2020 at 2:25 PM UTC