"brusk" poems
raindrops faintly laughing as they prance
along the leaves
watercress dancing gently twirling slowly
in the creek
a deer’s neck softly brushing like a whisper
against a tree
the sun is rising in the forest with hushed tones
of red on green
a brusk barista whose soul is wounded wants to cry
but bravely greets
the first blush of sweet dawn's morning ignites resplendent
things unseen
©2016janetaylor
May 10, 2016
May 10, 2016 at 6:52 PM UTC
Me and creativity,
We get on rather well.
We see the world with eyes of awe,
From an Elephant to a seashell.
Hearing the "Caw" of the Crow,so brusk.
Or gaze in wonder at the golden wheat husk.
Inhaling the dawn with enthused delight.
Feel sharp edged frost on a star strewn night.
And when the dark consumes daylight,
There's nought to dampen our delight.
Me and creativity
Nov 27, 2010
Nov 27, 2010 at 1:44 AM UTC
he stood at the door caching kudos and high fives
the life of the party the guy at the end of the party
had the lampshade on not much else but a red grin and nose
he was invited to every one
for his brusk take no names personality
he never knew a stranger
then one day he stopped answering the door his phone emails
everything
I found out two weeks later he had met loud Sarah Rubricon
her of the store bought **** and long *** legs
and they had eloped to Vegas
where they are now performing
at Little Ceasar's Pizzeria
just down from the
big names
I am happy for them and Sarah
by god happy she met her match
she haunted me for two years
but I miss that Joseph
when I throw a party , it is not the same
anymore.
Feb 22, 2017
Feb 22, 2017 at 11:13 PM UTC
promise is to be honest
brusk sincere in being blunt
I am not one to
be politically correct
severe i might be but true
to what I see
in our society, i don't say nation,
for that divides humans into me and him
the whims of others are no part of what i portray
the cold truth
we **** Now and in history.
Conquests and victories
cost lives , throats were slit
so don't let us act innocent,
lives cost and from that America grew while my fathers
were herded like cattle.
In god we trust, to what,
guarantee what the white man seeks , The pilgrims
so took a Thanksgiving,
then slaughtered us. All you Christians who want to
say this land was formed in his name.
Get a clue you are all like ******
Jul 16, 2015
Jul 16, 2015 at 12:23 AM UTC
for every little thing i may unwind from my spores
there are other things floating in the yoke of my egging.
a sort of brusk helium chipping away at my lead weights
elevating the intrigue of my primal thoughts
from the bog of my susceptible
desires.
glistening like a trophy made of skeletal glitter
and flesh.
a sage where idiots dream of something other than the sun
staring at a hole with calloused eyes-
the hammer in your inkwell
pounding the sun into your thumbnail
like a rune you stitch
into your marrow.
now the word that gave you Life-
has an Echo.
tumbling over you and you and you
Feb 3, 2025
Feb 3, 2025 at 7:57 PM UTC