"brashness" poems
A thousand tumbles takes a bottle in the sea-
a thousand dashes and whirls and swoops.
A million grains of sand takes that bottle in the sea,
to break apart, to come to me
in fragments like a snowflake fractal.
How many mermaid miles till she hands that glass to me?
For I've taken out my very-ness, for you.
- And my crossness.
My judgement and wrath.
I've taken out slight hot breathe
(for you to melt the ice on your whiskers.)
I've taken out my toes when they are reaching for yours in the cavernous blanket world through the forest of our lazy limbs.
I've taken out my righteousness
and my second guessing.
I've taken out for you (a surprise, I was going to surprise you!)
all the times you were going to be wrong to me-
and to wrong me...
taken them out to sea, you see?
In that bottle, pretty bottle. Broken now like too many vows.
I've taken out my knowing best and finding better.
I've taken out the half moon of your thumbnail as well
...I will miss that in my night sky-
(perhaps I'll keep that after all.)
I'll take out the complacency of holding your hand getting out of a chair.
and the mindless strokes
as you explain
my commonplace crazy
to
simpler minds-
I'll take out the very-ness of me, and the we-ness of us.
and fill a bottle with a the brine of a thousand tears from hundred slights not slighted quite yet.
I fill the bottle and gift the sea
with the softness of you and the brashness of me.
A thousand turnabouts it takes to reach you on the beach,
a sea glass diamond ring, engage me you engaging man-
and the tides tickles my feet in anticipation, marry me. marry me.
just a sea glass promise
for a mermaid bride
waiting for the sailor man to sing her sweetly with salt on his lips
Just a sea glass lullaby from the man who loves me so.
Marry me, marry me
And we drink sparkling water from a sea glass flute
and we drink all the us and we drink all the we
for sea glass could never hold a second in,
sea glass is far too vain not to shine in the sun fanning
your invite out in a spectrum of color that
a small child's hand creates when he holds it up to the rays.
Spills out all of my intentions
Spoiled child, loved child,
Spills out all of my intentions carelessly on the sandy floor for the tides to swallow whole.
My sea glass prism chucked unceremoniously back to sea
and me the mermaid bride left at her own alter...
But a seashell to your ear and her my wailing sorrow calls,
'marry me, sailor. marry me.'
sahn 8/5/14
Aug 4, 2014
Aug 4, 2014 at 11:42 PM UTC
Cocky?
I beg to differ
There is someone out there
that is much better than me
So I don't believe, for one second
that i'm...
Conceded.
A word applied
To the beautiful people without
beautiful minds, embraced
by the ones less intellectually fecund
than they are...
Brazen.
Polished? I am.
Your feelings? Your worries?
******* I disregard not with brashness
But with angelic cause as my own problems
are significantly more...
Tectonic.
Shifting focus from
your meager existence
as my shear presence fills this page
Outraged? You created these proems
when daily topics I...
Eclipsed.
Full moon rising.
The lighthouse to your sinking vessel
I am not the best, but I am the best of
the better of you and your kind, lower-class
no offense, I speak...
Truth.
And the pain it brings
I don't worry about such things
I don't discount, but I do surpass
Their muggle mind with poise and sass
Dare I say I'm not cocky, just...
Confidently better than you.
Mar 24, 2011
Mar 24, 2011 at 12:29 PM UTC
so many loud yelps
barking voices
clacking at each other
believing that their ignorance
and unabashed rudeness
will get results
hurray for the strong shouldered
head held high
who ignore such brazen brashness
of the moronic
bravo to you
that can stop an imbecile
dead in his tracks
by a stone cold
even gazed
eye meet eye
stare
stopping the foolish without uttering a word.
Jan 5, 2015
Jan 5, 2015 at 6:31 PM UTC
I reference this not as the flower just of nature but in this case for the fact it is our anniversary this is an
Oleander of my heart yes the heart is a house all of my feelings and emotions are housed there the
Flower I choose to write about is my sister my wife’s sister Liz it’s kind of appropriate since she was the
Only one in our wedding party as we were married before a judge I guess she was a witness a witness to
The crime as it were to describe her I can use Roy Orbison’s song pretty woman a blonde cutie with
Southern roots in Tennessee now she is a near Chicago northerner take southern nights and northern
Bright lights infuse them with grace and charm you have begun to see the Oleander that lies beyond my
Door yard along my walk and borders the yard of my heart the glistening in the spring rain if you get real
Still you can hear tiny sounds of laughter among the joy filled faces the scented bloom fills my living
Room where ever I am eye catching satisfying delightful spring and summer what a wonder the spilling
Forth of fruitful life she matches the rose in pose an attitude of significance tinged with just enough
Brashness to hold your attention until you become beholden to the inner life that shows character
Wisdom authority a driven wind that lays down in the most beautiful fashion only to arise and make the
Trees sing the glass to shake in the most enjoyable way all in unison they dance the eye stormed by this
Profusion of elegance and color truly a best friend to the wayward wind carried near and far secrets rest
Within the heart that the Oleander knows and claims in darkness unflappable a sweet ghostliness an
Arbor found sweetly remembered but never forgotten unspoiled withstanding the day’s heat showing
Resilience a buoyancy of sprit uncommon the thrill that runs with deep rootedness when the sharp wind
Does blow she through power of will brings calm a flourish of maturity so lovely that is outstanding in all
these gifts she provides the greatest is she calls me friend thanks sis
Jul 6, 2013
Jul 6, 2013 at 6:53 PM UTC
**graduated *** laude
with a PhD in madness,
practitioner of your
own philosophy as
a harbinger of doom,
tales of darkness where
the deck is always stacked,
what's the sense of light
to a harsh night
or spring's flourish
to winter's brashness,
you don't need to be
a rocket scientist
to diagnose absurdity**
Jul 3, 2015
Jul 3, 2015 at 11:27 PM UTC
Momentary lapses of shyness within pretentiousness the size of a non-la-hat
offering shade from the sweltering sun,
confused the boy still residing beneath an
exterior of brashness. A wooing of rose or
lotus petals? Did she not enjoy such frivolity?
What of a bard letting words slide through
the air like silk, for I didn't possess such
romantic poetry.
____
Instead, I embarked upon a journey of false-heroism, took a bullet, figured it to shape me
into a man. I showed off the wound, blood soaking through the bandages--you seemed far from impressed by this display of stupidity.
Yet you played coy, bending over,
letting sunlight play through a thin
summer dress, highlighting inner thighs,
lines arching up into a dome of dizzy-
delirium so sensual it almost appeared sinful.
At night you'd undress before a naked
window, let shadows flirt across moonlit dew.
It was all I could do to keep eyes averted,
instead, living on dreams of unwrapping gifts
under the influence of feverish waves,
even though I never forgot to take quinine.
And after all the games, I had only to stay
still long enough for you to complete another sketch, take its lines, breathe together a new poem, unleashing torrents of words into my ear. A funny sort of unconventional, tactile courtship. You wanted for me to listen,
to test my patience, and once your head
was emptied out, heat arose from the bloom, enveloping me in soft petals, vanquishing
my fever, with a different feverish embrace.
Your eyes almost felled me with their complexities of virginal innocence and a whorish lust. The thrusts,
lips and fingers, the blended push-pull
of rhythm and wild abandon
caused me to lose myself long enough,
to find your soul drifting alongside my own,
amongst the stars that had always been shining amongst the light already written
before our birth.
Aug 2, 2012
Aug 2, 2012 at 11:59 PM UTC
Push me
through the avenue of trees
Anne said
I’m ****** off with the kids
asking how I lost my leg
and so you pushed
the wheelchair
along the avenue
out of sight of others
away from their childish chatters
and ball games
and cries of want and woes
go on you skinny ****
push push
she muttered
and you pushed on the handles
with all your might
over the dry grass
and she rocked
up and down
and side to side
until she bellowed
this will do small fellow
rest me here
and you let go
of the handles
and puffed for breath
and looked at her
sitting there
in the wheelchair
with her bright eyes
and black hair
and she pulled
your hand towards her
and laid it on her one leg
and said
that’s your reward
for pushing me
and she rubbed your hand
over the red skirt
the soft texture
warming the skin
you watched her hand
holding yours
her other hand holding
the side of the chair
sensing her softness
beneath the hardness
and brashness
but saying nothing
just taking in
the sensations and newness
and she said
just as well Matron
hasn’t seen this
or it’d give her
such a flush
and she laughed
and let go of your hand
and your hand lingered
over her thigh
like a bird set free
waiting to take
to the sky.
Mar 20, 2012
Mar 20, 2012 at 3:03 AM UTC
the women on my father's side of the family are quiet
they are traditionalists, rooted in the ways of the women who came before them
i have watched them shrink before the voices of men
wilting like flowers do when the nights are longer than expected
it is not their fault
they have not been taught any differently
the women on my father's side of the family are small
delicate bones and feet made for tip toeing around hushed rooms
voices made for apologizing for things that they can not control
their lineage traces its way back through generations
they have shaky hands, yet have mastered the art of threading needles
i watch them, and something tugs at my heart, but i do not know why
i fear it is pity
the women on my mother's side of the family are loud
they have laughs that carry like the notes of a symphony
bold and unapologetic, sure footed in its own presence
they are the center of attention
at times the center of gravity as well
the women on my mother's side of the family are tall
they take up space and are not ashamed of it
sometimes it is called brashness
i always saw it as courage
they taught me how to sleep in on sundays and how to walk like i am
not afraid and how to hold my keys in between my fingers like daggers
i watch them, and something tugs at my heart, but i do not know why
i fear it is because i do not know if i will ever be able to be like them
you see, i am equal parts one as i am the other
as much as i would like to be brazen and unafraid
i cannot forget the reflexes inherited
these things cannot be unlearned
they have been ingrained into hollow bones
however, if this is true, it must also be true that somewhere beneath this lies the kind of fearlessness that dances on tables and is not afraid of who watches
i have seen this courage in my mother, and her mother, and the women before them
one day i will steady these shaky hands and find that courage
until then i tip toe around hushed rooms and apologize for things that i cannot control
i am equal parts one as i am the other
May 15, 2017
May 15, 2017 at 5:56 PM UTC
I started high school with grand intentions of grand friends and grand grades and boys would only be a street-side fruit stand to glance at while I cruised on by.
Intentions never quite work the way you plan.
My first class of the day, a boy with striking blue eyes, an awkward gaunt, and floppy hair sat down next to me and started talking about Pokemon. He had seen my Pokeball pin on my backpack and had singled me out as the person to vilify him the least. I was uncomfortable and unsure, horrified by his brashness. The seat had been meant for my best friend, Cathy.
But the second his mouth opened the teen awkwardness faded from his face and he become bright exuberance. Stunned and flustered, I stared as he passionately smiled and seemed to revel in our one-sided conversation.
This happened for weeks and I eventually became comfortable enough to talk back. His smile widened as he seemed pleased to find another person who was willing to be a little weird. I didn't know nearly as much as him, but I learned because I loved to watch him beam.
Right before the homecoming dance, he asked me out with a poster that said, "I choose you! Do you want to choose me too?" I blushed and said yes, and we coordinated red for our first dance as high school freshmen.
At the dance, though, my blue eyed beamer was someone anew. He was dorky and the way he danced was flamboyant but terrifying. He often ditched me for his marching band friends, and I felt more humiliated and uncomfortable around him than the bright admiration I had felt before.
When he took me home that night, he tried to kiss me and at the last second I ducked away and gave him a hug before running inside. Those lips weren't nearly as enticing anymore when they weren't beaming at me.
The next week in class, he sat next to a different person. A guy from his science class, I heard from my friends. I shrugged and went on doodling on my notebook. At least I learned now what a Gardevoir was.
There we were, back to square one. Guess it takes more than a semi-mutual interest and a beautiful smile to maintain a relationship. And there I was, back to grand intentions and great expectations, but this time I knew things won't ever go quite exactly as you plan.
He ended up dating Cathy later, and he and I are close friends now. He's actually pretty fun when he bothers pays attention.
But this was the end of our love story.
Jun 26, 2016
Jun 26, 2016 at 10:37 AM UTC
the chicken walks in the
back door with
all the brashness of
christopher columbus and
makes straight for the dog's
bowl as if nothing can stop her
getting what she wants. and her pecks
are noisy shouts through the house of
beak on tin clang, clang, clang,
she is full of confidence and even when the
dogs chase her out she goes struttingly,
back within minutes-
i think that maybe i should take notes
Sep 18, 2014
Sep 18, 2014 at 10:15 AM UTC
I turn and look at you
And I speak my peace, urging you to leave all you secondary notions at the door
Patiently waiting at the turn style for some one who I know will never show up
Because he is already here
He is me
He is everyone
A genius
Another futuristic constructuralist
Studying equations
Where the answers lies in eternal joy
The difficulty to burn and the ease to understand
Only separated by patience and time
Overthrown and renewed
Refurbished
Barking dogs crafted from jade kissing your palms, bursting through parlor doors smoking on a long stemmed pipe
Writing in blood with a raven-wood quill
And a distraught agonizing yelp echoes in the library
Denouncing the existence of love
Brining what is mistaken as such to surface
Gain, satisfaction, self esteem and companionship
Love is up for redefinition
Bargains and betrayal
Vacations in plains never explored
Taking trains filled with ridiculous faces
Stark raving madness with clarity
Disapproval of sonnets of old that now in the new age are no longer suitable for the forward thinking minds
Necessary brashness
Eminent affection
Everlasting adoration of the suns embrace
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 6:05 PM UTC
he espied our poems
on the internet
so fetching they'd look
in his pilfering net
without so much
as a by your leave
that thief did stow them
up his ****** sleeve
he twas like an incessant
plaguing parasite
taking those fab writes
which did so invite
none of them were
his intellectual property
they'd been nicked
with much impropriety
he got his fingers
caught in the honeypot
making off with works
which were not of his own slot
such brashness he did exhibit
for all to see
pretending that the pieces
were of his tree
he shall be recalled
for the loot that he took
of this deed he should be
bought to book
no person with a conscience
would ever steal
what isn't rightfully theirs
in its creative deal
Nov 22, 2014
Nov 22, 2014 at 6:10 AM UTC
fascinated i draw in my breath,
little murmur of content, i am life
and i am death, what is there
to prepare, what to unravel,
what happenstance to know?
how does the tide, desiring only
to rise and fall, to sweep the shore
and then drawback like a warrior lunging
with a sword, the death-cry obliterating
the sky, then pulling his arm swiftly back
the same fire in her heart, unremorseful,
unrelenting, bring me such rest?
i’ll forget all my loves except
for you, die like a warrior for love
because my heart is a rugged shore and
it carries the crashing waves and the
clamour of gulls because it believes in
freedom, and needs to hear the brashness
of the wind and the far distances of the stars.
Aug 28, 2016
Aug 28, 2016 at 12:17 PM UTC
A wave of thought always encircles you,
A wave of yarn link to civic concern always involves you,
A hope for change always enforces you,
A longing for endeavouring cogent living always inspire you,
Your brashness for a transformation yields this long journey,
A journey for reflexion, inquest, elucidation and communication,
Communiqué for an unfailing thinking and for an effort for human wellbeing!
Now it is the time for us to continue this journey,
A journey of unfurling thought for rationality, fairness and equality!
Mar 12, 2018
Mar 12, 2018 at 1:05 PM UTC
High wind and low moonlight
In my bluffing poker hand
You strain to read the smile
behind my lie
But the smoke obscures my intentions
You check and ante
Calling me out to reveal
The truth of my brashness
We lay our cards there
On the table
And you stifle a giggle
As you rake in
My lost bet
I dig deep
While you deal again.
Jan 29, 2011
Jan 29, 2011 at 7:47 PM UTC
Take a drink,
Stare up high,
Give a wink,
Wave goodbye.
My mind goes blank,
My heart goes slow,
My soul turns bare,
my life turns off.
Take a pill,
See it fade,
Aim to feel,
Hell is made.
Trip over,
All my lies,
To cover,
My strength flies.
My love gets lost,
My dream gets scared,
My song is soft,
My page is blank.
I go blank,
I go blank,
I go blank,
I go blank.
Blankness in the blanket,
Blankness in the bleakness,
Blankness in the boredom,
Blankness in the background,
Blankness in the brashness.
Aug 27, 2012
Aug 27, 2012 at 2:06 PM UTC
The Kleptomaniac sat in his stolen smoking jacket
Disregarding all the trifling troubles of the world
And plotting his next lofty move
The Urchin rolled down his window
And screamed his head off about Manifest Destiny
In the Sahara
The two met at the airport
A rift in fate
They were both subjected to a pat down search
The Urchin attempted to interject
The Kleptomaniac saw him as an irritant who should just keep his mouth shut, yet respected his bold brashness
The Urchin saw the Kleptomaniac as a person on the right track
Someone of substance
He wanted to simulate
Emulate
Imitate
Everything he was
They were both the biggest all star losers at their all time low winning at having the two longest losing streaks ever
Inglorious
They traded numbers
But never spoke again
Even though they knew the phone worked both ways
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 7:28 PM UTC
I remember you
in shades of pseudo
toughness but really
inside sweet
a conglomeration
of rebel-quiet-luscious
flutter of Nordic
New York city eyelash
that fixed stare
strict leather
jacket flare
I loved your brashness
brazen statements
shooting from the hip
as you took your provocative
attitude stance
pouting fullness of lip
we listened to Patti Smyth
and Salem 66
"Wanderlust" curving
up my spine
tension building
in your room
as you stared at me
looked away
each subtly
heated time
your eyes found me
my pulse quickened
in shy leaps
I did not understand
my own feelings
only when
you finally kissed me
did my world spin on its axis
and I understood
that love goes far beyond
what they say
it should
curve of waist
and gentle slope of breast
under men's shirts
revealed
only then did I understand
who I am
and how that
fresh snap
of breaking boundaries
feels
May 20, 2016
May 20, 2016 at 7:11 AM UTC
Ship of Fools
ship of fools , sail into the night
knowing no fear is your downfall
not feeling concern, is your saddend plight
no one to hear your cries or your calls
pleading for mercy, begging for life
the brashness has listed on side
sinking deeper, like the edge of a knife
your watery grave is where you'll hide
we think we're invincible, we know not of fear
presumptuious us challenging the rules
never learning, when the past has made it clear
forever we sink, oh sad ship of fools
Gomer LePoet...
Jul 15, 2010
Jul 15, 2010 at 4:38 PM UTC
Knuckling under weatherworn predictions, the salt is down. There is a limit to preparedness and at some point, faith that the break shall come to a blizzard's infamy, must supersede. It's just fluff and slush after all. Barely, this white blanketing is made, before the brine trucks are revving, ready to tear up the sheets. Shall I slumber too long, I may miss the hush of placidity. Who will be the first to break silence? That inevitable metal scrape against cement, I dread its' brashness. Can the missies' ice morning not roll by without delusions that these snow damsels must be shoveled off? Let the winter lassies lie for briefness of their coolness brings me to a dream scene. Colleens of a cold front, you blew upon me so softly this way, how dare I snow blow you, away?
Jan 22, 2016
Jan 22, 2016 at 9:05 PM UTC
It was a tumble of disbelief
A rumbling in my belly
A stumble into grief
Through jumbled telepathy
It was me
Looking right back
But only and exactly in the flash
Where irrational brashness
Was splashed upon shattered glass
As he slumped over the dashboard
Jul 4, 2013
Jul 4, 2013 at 11:07 PM UTC
Knuckling under weatherworn predictions, the salt is down. There is a limit to preparedness and at some point, faith that the break shall come to a blizzard's infamy, must supersede. It's just fluff and slush after all. Barely, this white blanketing is made, before the brine trucks are revving, ready to tear up the sheets. Shall I slumber too long, I may miss the hush of placidity. Who will be the first to break silence? That inevitable metal scrape against cement, I dread its brashness. Can the missies' ice morning not roll by without delusions that these snow damsels must be shoveled off? Let the winter lassies lie for briefness of their coolness brings me to a dream scene. Colleens of a cold front, you blew upon me so softly this way, how dare I snow blow you, away?
Jan 22, 2017
Jan 22, 2017 at 12:34 PM UTC
his is my conception flawed
most Patina proned
the imperfects,
they
fragment
become
at its surface
wanting
life's reasons
cracks
chaffe
of this
creation and eternal question
the layers meaningless therein
the death of sunlight
setting perfected
another day
to feed tomorrows imagination
much
displayed in each rotten liars face
covered over some past
smothering and building above
and fragrant dreams
should fuel brashness misdirected
purpose that
for all it is
be it found to be lacking
it bears the knowledge gap
famed no known muse
or compostion worthy
notedly proportional whites and
other shades, emotionless
calming,
the sediment settles
to touch the muddy surface
consideringly well intended
another day,
another to shine
less than
perfect
is
and those
that demand
a concept placed uncertain
determined and truthfully in the rught
hopefully atleast as to face
forced gazes
accusatiions
a reflection
my face
that
looks back
upon one
uwanted.
Jan 23, 2015
Jan 23, 2015 at 6:49 AM UTC
The charcoal footprints mar the boards
across the rugged floor.
The wise, adored, and agèd face
leans in for but a taste.
With a flavour in mind (too familiar, yet sweet),
the worshipped one tends to his tasks.
From the small, seam-full void,
he unravels small joys
and bestows his own deeds to your wealth.
For the fragmented soul,
there is only one hope;
restoration of claims so outrageous.
Lest you revel and bask
in the brashness you dealt,
your depletion of arms 'comes contagious.
Oct 20, 2013
Oct 20, 2013 at 2:45 PM UTC
the days of heaven gold
are coming to its end.
are we the children
of the fall, those of us
who dance in the leaves,
who fail in the cold or the
brashness of summer
**
read about the courage of others,
about the closing of doors,
against the rain and the wind
blowing.
read about the loss of brothers,
about the moving of house
escaping pain,and remember
these golden days of autumn.
going
**
read about the perfection
that never is, the quality that fades
in time, with crosses,
people’s minds.
read about the rain in the cwm,
that blinds and blinds,
and loses paths and footings
**
read about the days
in the old house
the days that are, and were,
and may come with dreams,
and fortitude.
read about it all, and i ask, why do you read here? here?
sbm.
Dec 19, 2013
Dec 19, 2013 at 5:19 AM UTC