"broach" poems
On a comfortable breezy evening,
my mum converses with her sister via Skype
exchanging quirky tales
They broach the subject of her lemon tree.
"It's the most peculiar case;
it was growing so divinely
until, suddenly, it stopped."
Silence. Then the punchline:
"Reminded me of your daughter."
They exchange hoots of laughter
Meanwhile, I sit in the corner
arms folded, eyebrows knitted
unamused
Sep 25, 2014
Sep 25, 2014 at 9:52 AM UTC
The moth with newspaper wings sat under the arrow lungs of the eyeless
blood dripped falcon, more whole than the super-glued roman sculpture.
Next door a 50’s con held up church with a roulette table in the kitchen,
and boarded up the massage parlor
downstairs.
The eye of the man was a centrifuge of ducks, mallard and hen, spiraling
outward into evaporated roach-ground
asphalt.
Next door, slits in the picket fence displayed perfectly formed **** & broach,
empty shoes made of feet below, blending
fields.
The marble foundation formed from twine lollipops and fuzzy candy tabs,
ice-etched to the frequency of splintered seashell
angels.
Next door through the forest of knives a spaceship bearing gargoyles peaked
bodies through collages of faces in technicolor sepia
mitosis.
The heiress molted into tiled pieces, her own dog and sunhat caught in blizzard
cuneiform, kaliedescoping again to fractalled inchworms cemented in motion.
Jan 15, 2013
Jan 15, 2013 at 9:55 AM UTC
The smell of swiss fondue
a chocolate fountain
moist strawberries
angel food cake.
The smell of brunch buffet
apple turnovers
honey sliced ham
bacon and eggs.
The smell of exhaust
as we walk
to the chapel
up Oliver Street.
The smell of flowers
rainbowed daises
heart shaped lilies
a single red rose
on the broach
of your six year old
brother.
The smell of family
friends neighbors.
The smell
of your six year old
sister
beautiful Easter dress
sky blue ribbons
silk bonnet
blonde hair
smooth skin embalmed
because leukemia
doesn't smell.
Today
we will all
believe in God
or pretend
at least
for you, her sister,
her mother,
her father,
her twin brother,
and for Ruthie,
her chest buried
in tear soaked flowers
in a four foot casket.
Oct 4, 2010
Oct 4, 2010 at 9:23 PM UTC
Breathing on the surface but smothering inside,
Pale face blue lips and wide open eyes.
Running desperately with no company and guide,
Too little time and too many disguise.
Like a lost site pervade with dreariness and spite.
Who would help you when they heard your yelp?
Hoped to be broach but no one to approach.
Who would love you when without the pure white dove?
Trapped in coach and let the soul slowly encroach.
How would you feel when no one to reach?
Stares at the window just to look for a shadow.
How would you feel when your heart starts to screech?
At last it became hollow slowly loaded with deep sorrow.
Like a letter unsent filled with unread content.
Holding on like a puppet being sway,
With those unsure senses and constraint.
Living faithlessly and ends up stray,
Nerves are brutally torn and mind gone insane.
Jan 13, 2017
Jan 13, 2017 at 5:26 AM UTC
.
Rose of your ear,
Lantern in your eyes,
Forest of branching hair,
In Inverness of your midlands,
I shall broach lit vernal deltas,
Kiss deep into darkling depths,
Climb the leaved trunks of thigh,
Drunk in the moisted, muted sighs
Of promise, tendered to surrender,
I shall know your ripened *******
As bloom of moon paints moons
At night, I will be ****** in milk—
That offers itself to leeching babe,
With little, lithe fingers you rake one,
A wan vagabond, ***** homeward,
I shall know your flowing wetness,
Below my desert, with purpose,
I am lost, in sleep and dream,
May I never wake, may I
Sleep, never, may eye
Always open, keep
In tableaus of oil,
Strokes, hues,
Glittering
Of you.
.
Nov 23, 2021
Nov 23, 2021 at 5:42 PM UTC
Pretence to be what you are not
Compounds the very way,
You spout the cause and issuance
Of guilt in interplay.
The moments carved from honesty
Cause sweat to run between
The shoulder blades of conscience
And beads of guilt to gleam.
Gut squirms in apprehension,
Those averted, eyes do coax
A riot of indecision
And shrill nervousness to broach.
Sweating brow is glistening
There’s a tremor in the fist,
Wide, dancing eyes unsteady
And a reluctance to resist.
A perfunctory bark of laughter
Occasionally forced between the teeth
And a loosening of the bowels
Betrays a quivering beneath.
These symptoms to the practiced eye
All unveil the hidden truth,
That surreptitiousness in it’s starkest form
Shall reveal you as ....uncouth.
Marshalg
Victoria Park tunnel
11 November 2010
Nov 10, 2010
Nov 10, 2010 at 4:40 PM UTC
O lonely heart so timid of approach,
Like the shy tropic flower that shuts its lips
To the faint touch of tender finger tips:
What is your word? What question would you broach?
Your lustrous-warm eyes are too sadly kind
To mask the meaning of your dreamy tale,
Your guarded life too exquisitely frail
Against the daggers of my warring mind.
There is no part of the unyielding earth,
Even bare rocks where the eagles build their nest,
Will give us undisturbed and friendly rest.
No dewfall softens this vast belt of dearth.
But in the socket-chiseled teeth of strife,
That gleam in serried files in all the lands,
We may join hungry, understanding hands,
And drink our share of ardent love and life.
2.5k
Rose of your ear,
Lantern in your eyes,
Forest of branching hair,
In Inverness of your midlands,
I shall broach lit vernal deltas,
Kiss deep into darkling depths,
Climb the leaved trunks of thigh,
Drunk in the moisted, muted sighs
Of promise, tendered to surrender,
I shall know your ripened *******
As bloom of moon paints moons
At night, I will be ****** in milk—
That offers itself to leeching babe,
With little, lithe fingers you rake one,
A wan vagabond, ***** homeward,
I shall know your flowing wetness,
Below my desert, with purpose,
I am lost, in sleep and dream,
May I never wake, may I
Sleep, never, may eye
Always open, keep
In tableaus of oil,
Strokes, hues,
Glittering
Of you.
Mar 22, 2015
Mar 22, 2015 at 4:22 AM UTC
.
**•point
our fing-
ers to the
nearest a-
vailable s-
uckers• to
take respo-
nsibility a-
nd be acco-
untable....no
one really bothers•we
do it so well unlike any other•al-
most a skill that never gets duller•shit hits
the fan, we all look for someone to blame•it's a
hapless situation when we partake in such a ga-
me•it's become a norm that simply never ends •
it's a nasty situation that makes enemies out of f-
riends•i look at myself and realise that i am no
different•for i too, have my finger pointed si-
lent•i too, have erred...warranting reproach
•milling over transgressions my words
dare not broach•sigh...why is it so
that such a habit we can never
sever•think no further...let's
just blame it on......................**
human nature•
.
Aug 4, 2016
Aug 4, 2016 at 10:11 AM UTC
My community is like a day at the beach.
The warm water melts away the ****** seagull calls
As we build sandcastles large enough for the biggest
And most ridiculously hard to say umbrella that we can
Manage to stitch together from our broken homes.
We play volleyball with our hope
The biggest beach ball we can muster
Our net constructed of ally weave
And it’s got flames and it’s super bad-ass and ****
But nets are only nets
And nets can only do so much
You can’t play games without
The people.
We ride jet skis away from sharks
Sharing the strong towers
Of our middle fingers
Because **** sharks
I know only some of them are dangerous
But after you see a body floating in the water
Like a buoyed tomb
It’s hard to forget the biting.
The net asked us once
Why we never have a funeral
I guessed that it didn’t realize that
We don’t have the time
To bury all the bodies
That’s like
Asking us to count the sand
Like telling us to collect the waves
Like begging us to dry an ocean of tears
But
These aren’t tears
They are a body count
These aren’t sickles of sand
They are our ancestors’ ashes
These aren’t warm waves
but walls of black blood
And it’s here
Amongst the ashes
And blood
That we build our sandcastles
I look around in mine
It is insulated in white
The black blood
Only begins to broach
The moat outside
If I never bothered
To look
I might never see it
How much time
Must we spend in
Our sandcastles
Before we can
Smell the blood
Outside
How deep do we
Have to dig our holes
Before we silence the screams
Outside
Why are we just
Looking at the walls
Why aren’t we looking
Outside
We are not royalty
We are not arbiters of
Ash and blood
This is NOT a
Game
Net’s don’t matter when
All the players are dying.
How many sandcastles
Do we have to build
Before we remember
The stone riots that
Built them
Be spiked heel shoes
Be rock and brick
Be broken windows
Be shattered bone
Raise your fist against
The biting tide
Swim against the sharks
Until you bleed enough
To drown
Them
Be blood
Be ash
Be broken homes
Be ****** murals
In the street
Be white sandcastles
Then tear yourself down
Until you get back to the
Stone Walls of your foundation
You know what, ever mind
**** sandcastles
They seem too much like sharks
anyway
Oct 30, 2015
Oct 30, 2015 at 8:18 PM UTC
Silent cries darken even the brightest places of her soul
As they broach the subject of her faults:
Irresponsible, unempowered, unworthy, insignificant.
Irresponsible in the face of problems,
Unempowered to the point of deafening silence,
Unworthy of anyone's blessings and everyone's love,
And insignificant enough not to have any worth in the world.
She was a simple, scary mistake,
One that could never be erased,
But she's here now,
And she's been here for quite some time.
Now everyone wonders:
How much longer will she last?
Aug 5, 2016
Aug 5, 2016 at 4:33 PM UTC
Unbroken damsel of the water's edge,
poised as if she were living.
Weren't you crafted from gold, in the riverbed?
Never such a shining thing was born of mud:
Mirages for wings and clockwork for blood.
How fast did the moving hands that
tolled her final minute tick?
What eternal, turning clock
knew the second her wing-beats stopped?
And where’s the scratch that shows the place
death touched her glassy face?
She might have been a broach or pin
with diamonds on her silver skin,
who never had life in her hinges and bolts.
But there she lies
with twinkling compound eyes -
Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 10:01 AM UTC
When addiction runs deep,
Like the blood in our veins,
Its impossible to kick,
Unlikely to abstain.
For we are what we love,
And we love what we are;
It’s said that an apple,
From its tree won't roll far.
Her parents were junkies,
Generations gone by,
So deep in her blood,
It’d be cruel to deny.
I’ve found in resistance,
I beat my head on a brick,
So no longer at odds,
I embrace life as her fix.
“Honey, can you fix this?”
She says, smiling at the sale.
At the lamp I look closely,
It stands tired and frail;
It's brass tarnished dark,
Its wire is frayed.
In my head I say, “No," then,
“Sure babe,” someone else said.
Believing I’ve dodged one,
I breathe a sigh of relief;
We return to our Jeep, and
Drive away down the street.
Then I glance in the mirror,
And what do I see,
It’s that LAMP in my back seat,
Staring smugly at me.
*“This dresser will be cool,
In robin's-egg-blue;”*
Just describing the hue,
I see her almost drool.
*“Yeah, natural on top,
It's frame painted, then glazed...
You’re the best at glueing drawers!”*
She adds icing with praise.
*“Look, here’s a chair I found,
with pretty calico;
If you fix it's broken arm,
You’ll be my hero!
Cuz I am sure it will fetch,
Ten times what I've paid.”*
I’m a wage earner no longer,
She pays me in accolades.
That bowl with mustard yellow,
Picture frames of wood & plaster;
An old tin box, and this small broach,
A barrel chest with leather straps.
A jewelry box,
(A lover’s locket found inside)
Each purchase she makes,
Adds satisfaction, and pride.
Her addiction runs deep,
She’s my bargain-maker;
Not a corporate girl,
But she’s a mover and shaker.
Yes, she's my ******
And I am her fix;
Together we’re a duo,
"Can we peak in your attic?"
In my chair as I write this,
I feel something, turn and see;
And there pinned to the cushion,
Is a price tag poking me.
Now I’m nervous as a cat,
Wouldn’t want to fall asleep;
For fear I could wake up,
In the back of someone else's Jeep!
Oct 12, 2013
Oct 12, 2013 at 1:16 PM UTC
Every day the people do it
We can always see straight through it
Every day they ‘ooh’ and ‘ah’
‘Where are we going’ and ‘how far?’
Walking right through our arcade
Playing out the same charade
Are they coming in to buy?
Or look at every price and sigh?
‘Candlestick sir, antique broach?’
‘Sorry must get to the coach’
Occasionally while one man browses
They will look at the price of houses
But we know that they’ll never buy
Because the prices are too high
‘Salami, cheeses, tongue in jelly?’
But they just walk past the deli
From their course they never budge
Unless of course they want some fudge
‘Perhaps a painting or knick knack
A china tea *** letter rack?’
The gallery’s packed full of art
But from their cash they still won’t part
The café almost tempts them in
The smell of bacon tends to win
But then they look upon the clock
And wallets full still, off they flock
In short this daily stream of life
That travels through our little fief
Just amounts to so much teasing
Rather than shop keeper pleasing
There is a reason none the less
For their single-mindedness
Despite how varied our approach
We cannot hope to beat the coach
Jun 13, 2012
Jun 13, 2012 at 11:05 AM UTC
I'm struggling to comprehend this desire to be desired
The forces of nature and evolution in which we're mired
No matter how far we travel into space,
Or how many organs we manage to replace
We cannot transcend the basic instinct
To preserve the species from going extinct
The world keeps spinning at a whirlwind pace,
No time for contemplation, it's the human race
If you don't keep up you'll vanish without a trace
A terrible fate that we can't seem to face
Is to have ourselves and our lives erased
Is this all there is then?
For this great species of women and men
We've struggled, survived and conquered
But our genes are still our masters
We splice study and duplicate
And try to decipher the codes
But must make time to find a mate,
Before we're too old
We've been to the moon and travelled back
We've fought world wars and pandemic attacks
We've studied the brain and consciousness
We've challenged society's prejudices
But no matter what we achieve, build or transcend
We're haunted by the spectre of being barren
The ant, elephant and amoeba
Redwood, fungus and bacteria
The chimp, owl and lowly cockroach
May not have weighty subjects to broach
But for all our millennia of evolution
The name of the game's still reproduction
I wonder if we'll ever be
Even as evolved as sea anemones!
May 28, 2015
May 28, 2015 at 7:24 AM UTC
.
Rose of your ear,
Lantern in your eyes,
Forest of branching hair,
In Inverness of your midlands,
I shall broach lit vernal deltas,
Kiss deep into darkling depths,
Climb the leaved trunks of thigh,
Drunk in the moisted, muted sighs
Of promise, tendered to surrender,
I shall know your ripened *******
As bloom of moon paints moons
At night, I will be ****** in milk—
That offers itself to leeching babe,
With little, lithe fingers you rake one,
A wan vagabond, ***** homeward,
I shall know your flowing wetness,
Below my desert, with purpose,
I am lost, in sleep and dream,
May I never wake, may I
Sleep, never, may eye
Always open, keep
In tableaus of oil,
Strokes, hues,
Glittering
Of you.
May 9, 2017
May 9, 2017 at 1:54 PM UTC
.
Rose of your ear,
Lantern in your eyes,
Forest of branching hair,
In Inverness of your midlands,
I shall broach lit vernal deltas,
Kiss deep into darkling depths,
Climb the leaved trunks of thigh,
Drunk in the moisted, muted sighs
Of promise, tendered to surrender,
I shall know your ripened *******
As bloom of moon paints moons
At night, I will be ****** in milk—
That offers itself to leeching babe,
With little, lithe fingers you rake one,
A wan vagabond, ***** homeward,
I shall know your flowing wetness,
Below my desert, with purpose,
I am lost, in sleep and dream,
May I never wake, may I
Sleep, never, may eye
Always open, keep
In tableaus of oil,
Strokes, hues,
Glittering
Of you.
Sep 21, 2015
Sep 21, 2015 at 3:40 PM UTC
Cement patch brick twenty dollar bills.
Sidewalk with f i g u r e d steps figure
skating around Bazooka Joe and Joe
Camel sharing banana split menthol
kisses beneath Atlas' golden world.
Idealism, baby.
We gold-stripe fine Chinet, fine clothes,
a broach laden with Leda swan feathers.
Plastic-tipped felt strips wound with
a straight paperclip.
That Ginsberg belt & pleated pants +
ruffled shirt. Seinfeld, Central Perk,
and Easthampton. Flip through
conceptual art book with art
still inside your glowing, artistic
mind. Reverse countersink
a media bit / Craftsman
holds it still. Teal X (Tilex)
on a Chuck Taylor floor
so clean, sparkle, innocent,
blind, oblivious, ignorant,
narcissistic, sparkle, spark
me up but don't let me help
you find your face in the dark.
Hold the gun, ease the trigger,
ignore the twisting hair and wet
shoulder. Forget the shreikscreechscream,
it's only jazz.
Dec 8, 2014
Dec 8, 2014 at 12:39 AM UTC
Take out my heart
and fill the hole
with a sweet ****
take several bites
and stay through the night.
Take off my lips
and put them on your hips-
steal my finger prints
and get me in to trouble.
Pull out my teeth
and make a bite-mark necklace-
pull out my tongue
and make a broach
pinned over your left ******
Remove my hands
and use them as wash rags
as you bathe in the tub-
take my body
and use it as a towel to dry yourself off.
Take my soul
and use it as a blanket to keep warm
as we drift off to sleep.
Apr 19, 2012
Apr 19, 2012 at 10:12 PM UTC
Supporting strangers
Standing tall
Silent in the wings
On call,
Yet vocal
With penache and flair,
Supportive when
The call is there....
Stalwarts stand
In blazing light
Resolute
To keep the fight
Above indifferent
Eyes downcaste,
Resolute
To broach and blast
Encouragement
Way beyond the time,
When expectations high,
Exceed the very best of mine.
Marshalg
An accolade to you,
The few... who quietly, eloquently and roaringly support.
14 July 2011
Jul 13, 2011
Jul 13, 2011 at 7:14 PM UTC
What reasons could there be?
For sure, none just that you should be alone!
So bright struck from your eyes, like stars
The rays of hope when first I saw you
That I said the day was dark for me
If I had failed once to look upon your face.
So now I peer the while, expectant for you
As the earth turns toward the sun for morning light
Revolving in my mind your form and features-
How they draw from me lively anticipations of your caress.
Alone?
If you’re alone, it’s not for want of charm or beauty
But that Man’s grown dim of sight and hard of heart
Not to be moved, as was I, by one marveled glance of you;
For once enough it was for me to look into your brimming eyes
And swoon with ambrosial thoughts that you might grant me favor-
So fitly joining each, as one
Enraptured with our prime humanity!
Smile then, for I am wont to play the courtly fool for you
And entertain a simple dance of meaning.
Yet one thing, it is no jest-
If your heart’s as fair as your form implies
More I’d serve respect and high regard
Far better than this playful verse I now employ;
For this, I’d broach with awe
And if you dare my innocent and eager wiles to try
Up-springing I will throw a thousand garlands round you
Whispering sweet admirations of the soul
That you, for this and laughter, then must say and true confess-
I am not alone, far be it hence!
Dec 9, 2011
Dec 9, 2011 at 10:03 PM UTC
let’s not hesitate
let’s not broach the subject; _butterflies are free_
transform the unknown purgatories fall
from lofty 'par for the course' concepts to living life in purity
they fly a short flight _(that’s restless)_
they fall towards the trees _(that’s abandon)_
they light my eyes without hesitation
_(that’s free)_
"Oh my butterflies of clipped existence
bring me more loves _lighthearted_ clarity"
Nov 27, 2011
Nov 27, 2011 at 11:56 AM UTC
skirting the rusty rose of a brooch
dangling on canvas bodice as she leans
tightly over me; the waves of wrinkles
on her be-bangled red hands pointing to the
wrong punctuation; this is dream-building
in the fifth grade; don't end the dream
too soon, she gruffs sing-song like
a prize-winning racoon; and still applauds
the bricklaying we so clumsily feign
for our castles in the sky; tho she, too,
dies of cancer in the last year; the tubes at the
very last weaving through the canvas;
something of a final stitch to the making
of a dream; and so i think all dreams in me
they die in darkness and still i wonder
what happens to the crenellated castle
walls i abandoned scores of years and
many As ago; and still we pat our doeeyes
on their infinitile heads and **** our
cynical shacks-by-the-forest-fires back
into our heads, begging beneath the
damp light of early-onset reverie: save
us, won't you, from the stiff stillborn of
dreams our generation lost to the fantasy
of getting what the saddest, dreamless
dollared dupes decree; oh be better yet for me,
my naive sums, and take your brick-laying;
your canvas sheen; your impossible, doubtless
dreams with broach and gnarl; with gruff and
soundless trill; your soulful self metastasized
with every beat
to the happy grave.
Dec 15, 2018
Dec 15, 2018 at 11:56 AM UTC
I leave this place.
The clouds of humiliation hang heavy,
drenching my naked skin.
The air damp with shame.
Looking back at the town
called worry and torment.
My naked form ridiculed and put in stocks
as the towns folk aimed their best.
My time was served
for no crime that I committed.
And I am now leaving.
To wander the hills and woodland once again.
To find my peace.
My rucksack now packed with my hopes,
like Lambas bread.
A small cake of it
would feed a grown man for a day,
even with a hard march ahead.
I know there are many in my bag.
Enough to last a lifetime.
My water skin filled with laughter,
drinking deeply to quench my thirst.
I know the clear springs I find
will fill my bottle to the brim.
My dreams are worn about me,
as the finest cloth,
To give me warmth at night
and to hide me from my foe.
Their colour indiscernible,
neither grey nor green.
The soft Hithlain hangs about my shoulders
clasped with a broach of comfort.
I wear my friendships under my garments,
keeping them close to my heart.
As strong as Mithril.
And just as beautiful.
My map shows the way to happiness,
just over the horizon.
Away from this town.
The sun shines through the trees,
showing me the way.
The only thing I can trust is that it will rise in the east
and will set in the west.
Everything else will be met with caution.
A lesson well learned.
My heart is light,
my mind clear,
I know the way ahead will be led
only by my own footsteps.
Walking barefoot to the new lands that await me.
Running,
happy,
waving my map...
I'M GOING ON AN ADVENTURE!!!!
:O)
Feb 4, 2016
Feb 4, 2016 at 5:35 AM UTC