"channing" poems
When Mr. Apollinax visited the United States
His laughter tinkled among the teacups.
I thought of Fragilion, that shy figure among the birch-trees,
And of Priapus in the shrubbery
Gaping at the lady in the swing.
In the palace of Mrs. Phlaccus, at Professor Channing-Cheetah’s
He laughed like an irresponsible foetus.
His laughter was submarine and profound
Like the old man of the sea’s
Hidden under coral islands
Where worried bodies of drowned men drift down in the green silence,
Dropping from fingers of surf.
I looked for the head of Mr. Apollinax rolling under a chair
Or grinning over a screen
With seaweed in its hair.
I heard the beat of centaur’s hoofs over the hard turf
As his dry and passionate talk devoured the afternoon.
“He is a charming man”—”But after all what did he mean?”—
“His pointed ears…. He must be unbalanced,”—
“There was something he said that I might have challenged.”
Of dowager Mrs. Phlaccus, and Professor and Mrs. Cheetah
I remember a slice of lemon, and a bitten macaroon.
3.5k
he called me *****
when I left the room,
he called me *****
My tomes of Shakespeare,
witnesses,
fellow poets all, my wall decor.
well familiar with fools,
reported the occurrence
upon my return.
confronted, it,
he did not deny,
for he understood
pointless
at that point,
exceedingly well.
was not angered, simply asking,
since he fancied himself a poet, did
he know any rhymes for that word?
in the interest
of poetic brevity,
answered for him.
*****
witch.
twitch.
gave him reason to use
those words
sequentially.
after that, he addressed me
as mistress, or **********
with respect, an attitude
that was previously
menu unavailable.
what then shall we call you?
the Bard,
his Band of Brothers, and I
jointly confabed.
undignified is slave,
Shakespeare opined,
human dignity needs
respecting.
my walled observer,
co-conspirator of
all that transpired,
drew upon his
own source material,
suggested,
knave.
yes, quite apropos,
my considered reply,
a fool always, and still,
after all, was he not
himself not a
son of a *****
as much as I,
Brandy Channing, is, was, daughter, proud, child
of one great and wonderful Queen
*****
Jul 10, 2020
Jul 10, 2020 at 12:15 AM UTC
long after you’ve logged off,
the screen, now, just room temperature,
no longer warming plate hot, a good feeling lingers,
the glowing, slowing remains of our days first visitation,
reducing to a single dot, fading gunshot message, but unstated:
*”I was here, but moved on,
I am your first, yet you, are not mine...”*
the Dylanesque mystique, mystifying, mind-burring,
in the air hanging, those words sticky stuck in your craw,
ear worm ya, until, you utter rush, desperate to return,
shoot, what was that poem, its title, the author, ****
on what-was-that-poetry-site’s-name?
Hello Poetry! and now it’s too late, you’re not entranced,
no darling, you’re entrapped, fly glued to my sticky heart,
you, served raw, with the hook, line and sinker still attached,
you, my friend, are now my poet ****** my belonging, for
fourscore and evermore there is no cure, no cutoff, no resisting.
fresh meat for the poets beat, and you still have not even tasted
the salt water words, the rhymes that will tie up, and prolapse
your heart ******* in the love poems, ha, so when they ask what’s
the name of your new friend, the one that you are keeping so secret, tell them, shyly, bravely, whispering outstandingly, upright, shouting forthrightly: it’s me, Brandy Channing, and your soul is now mine to keep...for as long as deemed necessary to extract my ****** poems essence, so be my parasite and I will be you mistress, the mutual infection meaning but one thing! we, you and I, will live always apart, always together, yes darling, be distressed, you’re oh so blessed now, and
f o r e v e r....but tattoo these words upon your bicep lest one forget,
I am your first, you, are not mine
Jun 25, 2020
Jun 25, 2020 at 9:56 AM UTC
sitting in LA traffic,
feeling very traff,^
unsurprisingly,,
dream-haze to SF,
now, every doorway
is an entrance/exit
to the Matrix
the movie is all about
concentric circles of reality
intersecting, when I emerge
in Chinatown, me and naturally,
Neo too,
(older and cute, and edible, like my fav flav)
who finds me equally irresistible,
He asks am I real,
sore disappointed,
for earlier, making love,
there were no harpsichords,
just The Zombie’s breathy vocals,
singing prophetic these songs
“She’s Not There” and
“Tell Her No.”
my then reality was in no doubt,
but nearness breeds suspicion
as much as trust, and Neo
is a worrier, I foresee not
much future for him & me
other men have called me Shylock,
for the betrayal probability is nearer
to 1, and these words, a reality test,
a forewarning to all in my bed sojourn,
are framed, resting above my pillows:
“*If you ***** us, do we not bleed?
If you tickle us, do we not laugh?
If you poison us, do we not die?
And if you wrong us, shall we not revenge?*”
tear stains, some from loneliness,
others from being held to tight,
some from my own scripts reread,
some from you, you don’t even know
when they stay over, I give them
one of two matching robes, both
Barbie pink,
those that laugh and grab it on,
they’re the keepers, they are for real,
just like me
by the way, so many of you have drunk
my crazy words, it’s inexcusable that I’ve
not thanked you yet, individually like the
Queen Mother teaches, repeat reminds,
preenly informs, nothing better than
a hand written thank you note, so
considered yourself served and appreciated!
am I for real?
the very question I ask myself daily,
to my morn mirror who magic replies,
more than real, crazy unique special, so so
different, otherwise I wouldn’t stick around,
and I thank the mirror with a lipstick kiss,
and it blushes from the love so real, and
cracks
a smile and says you be careful my genteel,
lady princess, your pale skin is exposed and
the California sun is a burning torch and it
touches your perfect body like all the others,
whose fingerprints evaporate in time, so husband
your love, give it slow and precious, for you are
more than mere real, after all,
you are Brandychanning
Dec 20, 2023
Dec 20, 2023 at 12:16 PM UTC
Queens Loves Poets. (for Em MacKenzie)
———————————————————-
*Kings love making war,
no wonder, the people,
remember well fond
their femi-mine
rulers with femi-fervor,
Queens, who loved poets.
You fear Jesus,
Adore Mary,
generosity of understanding.
because it is hard
for woman to do
cruelty,
till she has been abused
by men who thought
they were kingly by being
beknighted, unbeheaded
for now at least.
Men who invented Brandy,
in the be of night,
were stupid men,
they forgot alcohol, the
Brandy of Channing,
is not fit for manning,
for it is a*
toxin, like me, like me.
Jul 4, 2020
Jul 4, 2020 at 3:14 PM UTC
—
neglect and respect do not rhyme,
**{will grant you one,
will give you none.
will demand one,
will send you some.
you poets,
always thinking
you can get away
with murdering
the English language.
***** of assonance,
you do not fool me,
I’ve killed a thousand
men’s “original”rhymes,
while you’ve been
fast sleeping,
they’ve been
fast seeping.
I’ll give you no quarter,
won’t spare a lousy dime,
my spare change,
is poet-unaffordable,
cheap suited hucksters.
work and ****
do rhyme.
you can be one,
if you do not
put in some.
work by day,
slave by night.
awake to the sun’s
inquiry, what have
you done for me
lately?
IF
all you have to show is this
scribbilus miscellaneous,
tear up your lice-ence,
poetic and DMV, you
ain’t going nowhere.
was branded by hot iron,
early on,
brandy channing.
your best nightmare,
guidance counselor,
extraordinaire,
great big fairie,
poseur, exposer,
m u r d e r e r
of awful poetry}**
WHAT,
what do you stand for?
Jun 26, 2020
Jun 26, 2020 at 3:34 PM UTC
Just the other day I saw you.
Same nike shoes, ray ban glasses....
New haircut, looks nice.
But I just cant help myself from having flashbacks
I remember walking, talking with you. I...
I remember.
I was thinking about us, thinking about me, thinking about us. Whats it going to be?
Opened my eyes and realized it was just a dream
A dream that would remain dead and cold ,and anything but a a reality.
But that was back when it took 5 seconds to need you
Channing Tatum to leave you
and a phone call to make my day.
I remember. I remember.
But tell me why did you have to make things so complicated.
Make something so ugly than what we made it?
You remember the canvas of colors that we painted
that you out of carelessness painted gray.
I refuse to let something so small affect me in a big way.
You gotta understand thats why I let it slip away.
It's funny how three words "I love you" can hold a big meaning yet be said without one.
So, let these next seven words be that you remember.
We are never ever getting back together.
Dec 15, 2014
Dec 15, 2014 at 1:11 AM UTC
She called tres excited,
have learned that the
word of the year was
rizz; excited for she’d
discovered something,
a word bond with me.
Did I know that word?
Did I employ it ever?
Did I agree that it meant
*someone’s ability to flirt
by being charismatic*?
My Reply:
4 shizzle, my Safety Queen,
you be fam, my boujee mummy,
this ***** a campy snack,
this BA, a main character,
you sending me slaps,
and mom,
my name is Brandy Channing, BA
Dec 16, 2023
Dec 16, 2023 at 9:31 AM UTC