"brazenly" poems
My aged mum excitedly points outside
White flowers burst open bright overnight
She says they look like popcorn
I love her metaphor and play along
Flowers white like popcorn bright
Tickled by the heat of the micro light
Mum speaks of small things in her big age
Sun, rain, wind, hot, cold, quite days
The unrelenting pain in her legs
and memories of things she could once do with ease
She speaks of the coming and going of mischievous monkeys
real monkeys - not metaphors
She tells of how they brazenly steal her fruit
when she is alone at home - teasing her
as they walk backwards out the glass door
slinging their stolen bananas like a colt 44
My mum sits across from me
the sun gently brushes her short silver grey strands of hair
Today she wears a pretty pink dress - patterned bright
with pretty pink and blue flowers - reflection
of the pretty flowers outside
She sits in serenity - she is at peace - inside
My niece pops corn in the microwave
My sisters biryani fills the hungry air
My brother in law awaits his birthday party
I am at home
The pretty white flowers
silently blossom in the yard
I sit across from my metaphor mum
My poet, my muse, my loving bard
Stanley Arumugam
Richards Bay
Mar 19, 2014
Mar 19, 2014 at 1:51 PM UTC
There is a face in the mirror intently staring back at you
Attempting to recognize the one it views
You are spellbound for one quick moment, in such wonderment
As your eyes meet, and you both realize that it is you
Was it not just yesterday that you were young and naive
Without the wisdom you now hold in your eyes
Now a stranger is boldly looking back with an unflinching gaze
Brazenly daring you to try her on for size
You briefly pause in sheer amazement at these eyes you see
Beaming back at you with a strength unknown
You smile in appreciation and accept yourself as your own
Sit up proudly and put your makeup on
Jun 28, 2010
Jun 28, 2010 at 10:41 AM UTC
I had been whispering brazenly in your ear all night.
Not even using words half the time.
A knowing smile, a finger edging ever closer to your womanhood.
When I flicked your ******* the first time tonight I knew I couldn't lose.
The nearest park.
The nearest patch of grass in the dark.
Covered in dirt, a train thundered past as you came, your ticket to be vocal.
You looked so beautiful right then.
I inhaled you one last time and looked up at the stars as we put on our faces.
Oct 2, 2017
Oct 2, 2017 at 4:41 PM UTC
**^
/ \
I| \
I| /
I| . >
I| \
I| /
I| >
I| >
I| .\
I| .>**
•you found
a key that wasn't yours
•brazenly opening and entering
boarded doors•pardon this intrusion,
i do so unwillingly•although i only
have myself to blame for
not treading this path,
cautiously...•
Nov 18, 2014
Nov 18, 2014 at 12:30 PM UTC
They say lots of things about love,
They make it seem it is the ultimate desire,
Wanton and wilder than the known universe,
An cataclysmic explosion of two personalities,
Born separate, reborn together,
And yet...
I have loved worse men,
And lost better women than I deserve,
And now my convex chest is as vast and devastated as abbey ruins,
sanctuary,
sacred,
crooked,
ruined,
beautiful,
still here,
After hundreds of years.
Maybe I will live on in my memories,
For there are graveyards in my bones,
Eulogies imprinted on my arteries,
Long lost love letters scarred on my very marrow
For those that I drowned,
And those I saved.
My faith is a moorland hillside war memorial,
An obelisk to reach the very gods,
Your love is but a squall,
My hope is a trickle, a stream, a reservoir, in the deepest steepest canyon and Valley,
Your love is but a rain drop,
My clarity is at the bottom of a whiskey bottle,
Your love is but an ice cube.
Do not ask me brazenly to die for you,
When ******* me is your finest hour,
And I am but a pleasure boat ride for your masculinity to take a trip in,
We are not divine here;
My expectations are as low as your esteem:
A water you paddle in, a toe dipped perhaps,
but you wouldn't swim through, dare to at least,
And yet,
I am a rushing beautiful rainbow of a waterfall on a sunburn induced day,
The haze in the corner of your eye,
When you begin to question,
"is this too good to be true?".
Yes.
We are all but fallacies.
Dip your fingers and cross yourself,
As you wish for clemency.
But still,
Be still,
And know,
That,
I am,
God.
Am I?
Or am I just divine on your tongue?
Apr 23, 2018
Apr 23, 2018 at 4:24 PM UTC
All the girls with their knees in the sand, stretching all throughout the shore, like a mass modeling gig
And me, I laid on my side, curled up and somewhat hidden in the sand
The buildings with their business, and their free form people, stood up and looked straight down on me
And I closed my eyes, and I held myself and cried
It was there that the salt air invaded my thoughts, breathing in, nose was running, I picked myself up, merely stumbling from where I arose
And I was warmer, climbing out from that umbrella, the sun touching these brazenly exposed parts of my body that I still tried my best to hide in such a setting
And Dandy, he's been gone for a bit now
So I split down the narrower parts
And the sun started setting towards my back, and my bare feet were starting to get cold
But the lights, they stayed lit, and dim like a friend in a moment of doubt
And a song played from the bar, it echoed a ways about, and all the people were hoping its words could save their moments and keep them somewhere
And some people gathered around me, asking me questions and looking concerned, from what I could tell
But I wasn't quite listening, I was too busy singing a song to myself
hoping my words would save my young body
from death
from aging
from something I felt
Dec 30, 2018
Dec 30, 2018 at 9:06 AM UTC
I never cared much for car talk,
But when he speaks, I'm intrigued,
And I don't know why.
Most men speak in tones that imply
I don't know anything,
Can't understand simple machines,
Have never seen an engine block,
And just want to watch as they talk.
But he is genuinely fascinated
With systems and forces,
And wants to share.
His passion consumes me,
And I listen, hoping to learn.
On switchbacking forest roads,
Over potholed washboard,
By steep cliff dropoffs,
My head swims with emergency "what ifs"
But not with him.
He flies over loose gravel
And I squeal with euphoric trust and delight.
He drives twice the posted speed,
And I find myself shamelessly sunk
Into a wet seat.
He pumps the brakes
And I'm bowing to the king,
Brazenly hoping that someday
He'll flip a carnal handbrake turn,
Wondering if he cares enough to show off,
Seduced like so many before me
By oil, rubber, and gasoline.
Sep 8, 2018
Sep 8, 2018 at 1:33 PM UTC
A mob boss for president…
Yikes! That's what we've got--
One who profits from crime
Without a second thought;
Who keeps his family close by;
Who's close to each paisano;
Who looks less like a Lincoln,
And more like Tony Soprano;
Who praises convicted felons,
And pardons them as well;
Who cares less about country
And more about his cartel.
Loyalty is his mantra.
His underlings owe him all.
He sounds like a mobster when
His back's against the wall.
He'll rip you a new one if
You ever decide to flip
And prove that you're a rat,
Or try to give him the slip.
"Flipping should be illegal,"
He brazenly repeats.
Without it he knows there'd be
More crooks on the streets.
A power-hungry bully:
It's his goal to be one.
Listen to his rhetoric:
"I know a rat when I see one."
His fixer threatens reporters
And does the boss's bidding.
But when he seeks revenge,
The boss isn't kidding!
Driven by ambition,
Egomania and greed,
He lets mob ethics guide him
To always take the lead.
He's the kind of guy
You read about in books.
Watch how he surrounds
Himself with other crooks.
Those who cooperate
With law enforcement will find
That he retaliates
If ever he's maligned.
Top decision maker,
He gets such a thrill
Promoting or demoting
Anyone at will.
Having a no-good mob boss
As leader strikes a nerve
Because it's hard to accept
That that's what we deserve.
-by Bob B (8-25-18)
Aug 25, 2018
Aug 25, 2018 at 10:56 AM UTC
Waned and weary with only toil and trouble
my limbs could only travel this journey tired. .
In my head to in my mind
-which coincidentally were not the same thing-
thoughts seemed to expire from the zealous fear found in your gaping wide darkness of speech.
My serenely spiritual soul's mythical secret shadow sparkled as a jewel:
Boundlessly black but brazenly beauteous by day, but by night,
my mind mentioned masses of decoratively hung ghastly gossip,
secretively shushed into silence
never
ever
to be a quick quiet find for any of us.
Jun 29, 2016
Jun 29, 2016 at 2:36 AM UTC
When 'the few' get more and even more
When 'the more' get less and even less
Until all that's left is just 'not enough!'
When the law becomes brazenly unjust
When the poor are trampled underfoot
Until “justice!” becomes hallowed text
When Free-thought is replaced by bigotry
When dissenters are silenced violently
Until 'liberation!' is whispered angrily
When enough there are with “nothing to loose”
It is then that a revolution becomes possible
It is then that a revolution becomes inevitable
Nov 5, 2015
Nov 5, 2015 at 12:18 PM UTC
Two wandered brazenly up the hill
and trip-tumbled down
faster, faster still,
while sheet lightning licked
at its manicured toes.
Once at rest
one woke up,
the other not yet,
waiting for a signal
of safety, safely he sleeps.
She waited on him
noon and night
as raindrop breezes blew by
from short summer showers
and cream daffodil skies.
They're laying in the field
awaiting the arrival
of Eternity:
she sits cross-legged
while caressing his brow.
"It must be fear," says one.
"I'm just comfortable here,"
comes reply.
The truth is,
he wants back up the hill,
wants to descend in butterfly spins
again, 'til spiderwebs and weeds
fill his knotty chocolate head,
and his sweet lover sings
of everlasting green.
She dead-still waits
while golden trees die
and powder begins to fall
on a hill never to be tumbled
the same way again.
She dead-still waits
while he heavy slumber sighs,
ear cupped for the call
on the hill never to be tumbled
by the two of them again.
Aug 15, 2012
Aug 15, 2012 at 2:39 AM UTC
we each bought
a burrito from
that same van
i would visit back
when i lived there
two pork burritos
one with added
sweet potato
brazenly requested
the other simply
the expected guac
my overconfident request
should have cost more
than I was charged
but the man serving
could not bring himself
to demand the full cost
for "just" a burrito
we sat and ate
on the bank of the river
that i used to
think of as mine
we bit
we chewed
we swallowed
catching up
as napkin-less
salsa-dripping hands
were licked clean
and wiped dry
across the thighs of
already marred jeans
May 20, 2023
May 20, 2023 at 5:57 PM UTC
Have you never told the truth
Even in your untrustworthy youth?
Did ever make a habit of saying what you mean?
You’re the biggest fake and loser many have ever seen.
When you look into the mirror, what is it you see?
Can you tell how far you’ve fallen from humanity?
You’re always lyin’, lyin’, lyin’!
So shove it where the sun don’t shine.
You make up crap so fast you can’t keep track.
So much sounds like it came out of the other crack.
You cheat and brazenly brag about your cheating.
At the Devil’s table you needn’t worry about seating.
You’ll be right there at Beelzebub’s right hand
And you’ll have friends there, won’t it be grand?
You’re always lyin’, lyin’, lyin’!
So shove it where the sun don’t shine.
The way you look and dress, and your awful voice
Makes me change the channel if I have any choice.
If the gym I go to has you on the cable TV
I switch the gym I go to as quickly as can be.
I never take kindly to liars and to bragging thieves.
I hope your crimes will match the penalty you receive.
You’re always lyin’, lyin’, lyin’!
So shove it where the sun don’t shine.
Brent Kincaid
5/20/2019
May 20, 2019
May 20, 2019 at 3:05 PM UTC
I want you to lay me down like a blanket and
bury your face in my legs like snuggling
the creases for your Winter warmth
falling in love with my creases
make me believe it in the way
that you move your tongue
the way that you kiss, like you've missed me for centuries,
and it's my taste that you want over ocean and stone
my body's tension to your touch and release as I open up
I tell my tale writhing in bed, ending at midway with your face
on my clavicle, smelling of me as you softly breathe in and out
At time of the turning tides, hidden through curtains,
slicing the moonlight over you, ******* and dimples baring brazenly, I'll take the love that you gave me and breathe it back into you,
mouthing nothings and humming, playing my song for you.
Tracing your wanting folds with my lips, will you hold my head?
In the bed that I share with you.
Dec 19, 2014
Dec 19, 2014 at 6:04 PM UTC
She checks her wristwatch
Counterclockwise
Against her former expectations
Of the metal
Around her wrist
She checks her digital clock
The one on the stove
That flashes
Flash, flash, flash, flash
Like a silent metronome
When the power goes out
And comes back on
12:31
12:30
12:29
Calm
She is still calm
Breathing
Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale
Steady
Like the bobbing of a buoy, bouncing
Brazenly in open sea
You see
She sees
That time can be trickery
That conceptual thoughts
Provoke mystery
Illusions and delusions
Conclusions and intrusions
Seclusion
She has many things
About which
To think
Jun 23, 2015
Jun 23, 2015 at 10:07 AM UTC
Think about it,
She off-handedly remarks:
Formality is separateness
Lost in one of the nebulous folds
Of my cerebellum
I acknowledge her comment with a thousand yard stare
Eagle eyed, I surf a warm updraft
To rise above it all
But I can't slip the prison of pre-conception
Amuse me, she says.
Whisper me your pretty little lyrics,
Sing me your song
You have one of the most interesting faces I’ve ever met
I brazenly tell her, and
My minds eye is full of anticipation
I know it’s pedantic
I am not so romantic
Maybe we should not peel back the veneer, but
A peak
It’s inexplicable
Naive and unassuming, with
Bashful sincerity, and
An enduring patience
Awaken: open your eyes
The serpent goddess counsels
And you will find your way
Aug 17, 2018
Aug 17, 2018 at 3:51 AM UTC
It's hard to change any cult
More so the jealous from the occult
Faculty of the melting mold of mind
Zealous of inflicting conflicts of all kind
To the just and graceful among mankind.
Brazenly different from vogue dears
conspires to inspire its rogue peers
To smear even slur on godly seers.
Constantly configures to figure out,
Anything, by any means to spy out
The faintest attribute of the virtuous
Contributes to trigger the rash jealous
To fling out and pierce the gall
to gush out to spread and stall
The arteries, nerves to blood-en
the face and the cheeks to redden
Nose and the chin to harden
Ear lobs to burn and burden.
The jealous is well known
Yet the cause is unknown
Why does it vent its ire
Dent and impair the fair
Engage in freelance
To abuse in parlance
In parliaments of vanity fair
The evil avail many a company
Of gluttons, covetous avaricious
sloth, sensuous pride and many
Engage merely to rage in ferocious
Fire, the fuel of the evil in the savage dark ages
obsessed in rampage and carnage
All celebrations become aberrations
Of the essence of celestial presence
The din dares to dampen the spiritual
Asphyx the specifics in fad rituals
It is difficult to change the cult
of the stinky melting mold
of the evil minds that find
new felony ways to inflict conflicts
To the just and graceful lives
of the peace loving among mankind.
Dec 14, 2018
Dec 14, 2018 at 10:09 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
when the world,
was much younger
and i was a stupid-crazy
girl-ly-chick, enamoured
with her youth.
i drove, a sunshine,
lemon, yellow bottomed, white pith on top combi van. coyly, cloyingly named Mello Martha.
it was...surfboards and swimsuits,
egg and bacon sangers,
early morning breezes,
after a blitz at the breadbox.
before... changing into
the structured, tortured baby, bank teller blues,
in the back,doors left open.
it was... rockin, knockin,
*** on credit,
to a promised future,
alluded to, but postponed,
for the moment.
it was... bruised back and
grazed knees,
harder, deeper oh god!
oh god! please... faster, fucken frenzies,
on a saturday night.
it was....running away to nowhere,
to find myself,
then finding me,
running away from,
the self i didn't want to know.
noway, nowhere, nohow.
it was... a barrel of monkeys, a barrel of laughs,
a keg of beer,
a box of wine,
under the crowded stars.
it was.... a roadtrip,
up the coast,
midnight bonfire,
midnight munchies,
playing hunches,
exploring reefs and reefers and such.
it was...far from family
and church rules,
a friendly rebellion,
of loud, proud youth.
totally and brazenly,
uncouth
it was... wham! and m.j.
cindy and boy george's culture club ,paperlace,
billy idol and the beach boys.
sung with abandon,
at spinal tap level eleven.
it was... peaceful, quiet, sleeping grace.
insanely in love with...
i forgot his name.
it was.... the birth of bodaciously me.
all brass hair and bosoms,
wild and carefree.
it was ....so long ago,
it was... yesterday night,
when i saw... Mello Martha's identical twin,
stopped at a traffic light.
it was... sunshine and lemon, bitter and sweet,
as she sailed off, down the street.
i sat and watched,
wist, full of recollect,
far and away, from my presently minded place...
sitting in, the driver's seat,
of my mom-blue subaru.
Jun 8, 2014
Jun 8, 2014 at 6:16 PM UTC
They flutter about in the deep dark night
sputtering on, with a bright firelight might
Butterfly sized, with wreathed shining crescents
The only word breathed is, "effervescence”
Their flowing glowing streaks against the dark stark black
While the old stale pale moon beams strong against my back
These little white spheres, of magical energy
lapse my mind of momentary memory
I cannot move, for my movements are crude
and the fear that they'll disappear, is suddenly cued
They are kind and wise, I find I have been mystified
sitting crystallized and innocently petrified
Fickle, free floating dancers, in my quaint little kitchen
Reveals peaceful little answers poured from false fiction
"Playful" I whisper from afar, that's what they are
The purest, clearest energy that's escaped the stars
They brazenly bounce and bob about
reflecting off of my glazen glass jars
Can I love them, without knowing, what or how?
Can I exist forever in this glowing, here and now?
What could they want? Where do they go?
Tantalizing taunts, I grow old in their glow.
Aug 13, 2023
Aug 13, 2023 at 6:57 PM UTC
Assembling a bouquet of flowers on my path toward home,
an assortment of Hyacinth and Daffodil, Fern and Cherry Blossom
and some other flowery **** that I managed to conjure;
drunk, levee en masse du la fleur.
I felt pity in the bottom of my stomach
as I strode concrete turbulence across the road and
toward the McDonalds.
If I were a chicken it would have been
no wonder why I had
crossed the road
but
since I was a human being
my reasons, experiences, hair colour, blood alcohol content and steel-stomach absenteeism furled into a tightly wound knot-of-motif.
I stood
and stared
waiting to gain momentum.
Peering at the swaying, sobbing mob waiting impatiently
brazenly and vacantly
for their shot at luke-warm burger patty adorned with onion that looks like little baby teeth and cheese so processed it will never melt, I realized that
we both stood in ecstasy.
And I stood, swaying in the breeze as all good drunkards do, blankly and inquisitively; I began to wonder what it was that I was
witnessing.
Did I want to participate in mindless habitué? spend my money on
**** food that could
hardly be considered as such?
Stand in line, jaw hanging loose like a gorilla that had voluntarily dislocated his mandible so that he didn’t have to chew? wait for my shot at glory?
This is glory: the bars had all closed, and now there was no haven for the drunk ****** to congregate better than the local gut-fill station.
I took one final look at my squandered comrades, brains scrambled, disgusting.
I hate you ******* ******* it I hate you all.
Mar 28, 2013
Mar 28, 2013 at 3:51 AM UTC
I sit alone in this park that I’ve known for so long, and listen to bird’s songs, in the hopes my mind will grow tranquil and clam.
I await words to write, to relieve some strife, seeking merely a sliver of a slice of peace of mind. But time comes to a halt, as ghosts with a waltz, dance through my head causing dread, harboring memories from when I was young.
Still naïve and oblivious of the strenuous afflictions to come.
With thoughts collected, I reminisce these recollections, of when the world was filled with bliss, and wish that life was still like this.
When every day is an adventure to be treasured and joy is never severed, I’m care free because responsibility does not exist, within, my limited vocabulary yet.
Each day is met with set structures from a structured home, where mom and dad, still pretend they’re glad, which means I have no reason to be sad. And so, I still don’t know, what it’s like to feel alone, in a broken failing home.
Normalcy becomes conformity, complacently but blatantly forming a shell of apathy.
Because now dad yells, and the children’s eyes swell, with tears of fear, my mom’s with sheer, determination to captain this ship, stubbornly sit, amidst, these waves of irritation mixed with infidelity.
I found myself stuck in a storm, totally torn, as my joy is worn consistently down. I clown around to be sound, but a permanent frown, is brazenly embroidered into my broodingly breaking soul.
Time flew by ignored my cries to slow, and so my consciousness consented its blissfulness to turn to bitterness, my brokenness was all that I knew, and soon, it was all I could show.
Although now I’m older, still too often I smolder with rage, and both shoulders have boulders, for chips but I’ll fight fate, abate my hate, to keep my future family safe.
Safe from the games my parents played to hide their shame, of a marriage disparaged by barriers, bolstered with a selfish taint. I will sufficiently and selflessly safeguard my wife from treachery. To not neglectfully or carelessly, lead her into insanity. For bride and seed, I will succeed, to do everything my parents failed to do for me.
May 22, 2015
May 22, 2015 at 12:35 AM UTC
Tonight, I pray tomorrow
an orchestra brazenly
plays, and hounds
bay in tune, the sun
melts a path in the snow,
blue morning stars glow;
all, so I can find my
sad and lonely
way.
Dec 19, 2016
Dec 19, 2016 at 7:16 AM UTC
In his address to Congress,
The Donald brazenly
revealed plans to spread fear through
a brand new agency.
It will report and list all crimes
by each new immigrant,
to heighten paranoia's spread
amongst the ignorant.
By fanning fiery flames of fear,
the bigots shall rejoice,
and they shall love the agency
that Trump is naming "VOICE".
Victims
Of
Immigration
Crime
Engagement
Now, I propose an agency
to give another choice,
that balances the propaganda
to be spread by VOICE...
An agency that recognizes
Donald's vile role
as chief hatemonger of the world.
It shall be named, *****
American
Sociopathic
Shooters
Harming
Others
Less
Entitled
Mar 5, 2017
Mar 5, 2017 at 6:54 PM UTC