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Mar 2012 · 690
Never Be The Same
Brandon Mar 2012
Let’s cancel our subscriptions
To the coma we’ve lived in
And soar high above this abyss

I promise we’ve never felt
A rush quite like this

We’ve got an eternity
To leave our uncertainty
Behind with all this adversity

Let’s count the stars
And see how many there are

We can map out our footprints
High atop the constellations
Get lost in all the empty spaces

Let’s forgive the mistakes
We’ll make tomorrow today

We can free our mind
Lose our touch with despair
And be who we were meant to be

Let's fly away together
And never be the same

Let's fly away together
Higher and higher
And never be the same
Opinions?
Brandon Feb 2012
The silence between the abomination of your voice
Speaks it all, says it all
And it’s all been said before
By better minds and better tongues
In better ways than I could ever describe
I’ve heard the words that you spill so hazardly
From your dry rotted lips
Flapping and gumming opinions
Like your opinions are the only opinions that matter
You should go into politics
And spread your misinformation to the masses
Regurgitate all the those old aphorisms
Into new phrases and praises
Your mind spills uselessness
Coagulating on the floor like spilled milk
I don’t want to know what’s on your mind
I won’t want to listen to you butcher the air anymore
With the putrid smell of your lexis
Watching your scathing irritability rise and decay
Like your chopping on thick slices of grade A meat
I don’t want to know what it is that you see
I don’t want to hear you flail your jaw anymore
I want to be the one to be there when you bleed
I just want this to be over
Your conversation skills are lacking
And you should quit while you’re ahead
But then you would have never said a word
Never would have opened your mouth
And never would have had the chance to end up dead
People that talk to me at work are annoying...
My dog barked like crazy while i read this aloud...
She must think i'm annoying too....
Brandon Feb 2012
I practice my cursive daily
Because it’s a dying art form
In this digital age of technology

I used to practice my printing
But got annoyed at the wasted spaces
Between consonants, vowels, and punctuation
Feb 2012 · 527
I'd Like To Keep You Hidden
Brandon Feb 2012
I’d like to bury you in my pocket
Never let you see the light of day
Keep you safe from the outside world
And all the humanity that will prey on you
I’d like to keep you way down deep
Locked away from everything
I’d only let you out at night
When no one was around
And only in the dark
I wouldn’t let anything happen to you
No I couldn’t let anything happen to you
this is lame and awful. i don't even remember writing it. just found it in my notebook and decided to post it anyway.
Feb 2012 · 782
The American Way
Brandon Feb 2012
I want to be an American!

Wrap me in bacon!
Smother me in lard!
Cover me in processed cheese!
Double dip me in a vat of boiling oil!

I want to be an American!

The land is mine!
The world is mine!

I'll use all the resources available!
And then I'll use what's left of yours!
Kneel before my great American feet!

I want to be an American!
And think that I am truly free!

I want to be an American!
And commercialize everything!

Consume!
Consume!
Consume!

Consume!
Consume!
Consum­e!

Consume!
Consume!
Consume!

Now pay me!
Yeah...i'm sure this stupid *** "poem" will **** some people off...but really...some Americans (and the government!) give us bad a name...
Feb 2012 · 1.8k
Sleeping In The Woods
Brandon Feb 2012
Underneath the starry sky of a forest clearing
I try to sleep by shutting my eyes tightly
But in the deep dark my heart beats
With terrified thoughts of

Snarling grizzlies

Gnawing beavers

Enraged deer

Buzzing insects





My restless night
Can’t end soon enough
Feb 2012 · 500
Where Did Winter Go?
Brandon Feb 2012
The first day of winter
Has come and gone
But no snow fell from the sky
And no snow has collected on the ground
This change in season
From scorching summer heat
Of June, July, and August
Gave way to a somber September
And a warm October
November barely happened
And a rain drenched December
Cannot claim to be winter
Feb 2012 · 508
Without You
Brandon Feb 2012
I drown in this ocean without you

With waves crashing over me

Burying my head in the tide

With each vacillation of waves

My breath quickly draws nearer to my last

I drown in this ocean

Without you to help keep me afloat
Feb 2012 · 628
4:26 AM
Brandon Feb 2012
It’s another late night
(Or early morning
I can no longer tell which is which)
And I sit lonesome
In the darkened center
Of my writing room
Attempting to write something
Anything really
Of value or valor
But as usual
Nothing profound flows out
Neither my pen nor my mind
Seems to be working right
Perhaps they are in dispute
Struggling against me
Every step of the way
Keeping my words unimaginable
And the many verses of vices
Refusing to be written
Feb 2012 · 577
Siren's Song
Brandon Feb 2012
She’s got a heart for the beach
Wants to drown sorrows and misery in the sea
Feeling the ocean calling her name
With each ebb and flow of tidal wave
She’ll bury her feet knee deep in the sand
And wait for the tides to come washing in

She wears seashells for a top
Covering her beautiful *******
With golden tan lines
She’s a sight to be seen
When she hangs around the docks
Singing Siren songs to all the boats
And their many captains and crew
Her black hair tangling down
Like entwined seaweed
Entices all with common sense to adore her

She can’t stay on land for long
Claiming her home is in the sea
She’ll disappear once again
When the tide rolls in
Taking the hearts of sailors along with her
Feb 2012 · 879
After The Rain Storm
Brandon Feb 2012
Rain pours like luscious waterfalls
Early spring morning of mourning
Glissading down from grey cumulus clouds
In bursts of brilliant streaks
The rain moves on to another town
As warmth begins to shine
Rising and heating the ground
The rain puddles sizzle
Evaporating into a warming atmosphere
Birds begin tweeting
Talking to the world in sweet bird song
Grasshoppers begin hopping
From overgrown soaked grass stalks to my pant legs
The breeze blows thru the air
Like god’s breath renewing the Earth
The sun shines brightly like a calamity
As the animals come out of hiding
And begin to explore the world
After the rain storm
Feb 2012 · 521
Grey
Brandon Feb 2012
My wife says that I have grey hairs in my beard
And a few growing out of my head

She says that I must be getting old
And that I should dye my hair

I say to her that I am not old
That I am just tired

She says that I'm tired
Because I am old

I don't think that I am old
I don't feel that old anyway

Some people say that with age comes wisdom
And I am wise enough to agree with my wife

So I must be old
If she says so

I am old
Because she says so
Feb 2012 · 1.3k
The Sun Has Yet To Rise
Brandon Feb 2012
Frost bites the early morning air
With slight sentiments of late October chill

The stars twilight in their abysmal obsidian oblivion
Exploding supernovas in a heavy silent achromatic chasm

Gnarled swaying branches of the ancient corkscrew willow
Lashes about with a fevered frenzy of demonic intent

Howling coyote wind whips wildly
Lacerating frigid frost-bitten animal skin
Numbing and chilling both bone and marrow

The sun has yet to rise
Keeping its warmth concealed
For a few hours further
Dec 2011 · 773
I Won't Make It
Brandon Dec 2011
Got a gun pointed at my head
(Now pull the trigger)
Got a razor at my wrist
(Dig deep and cut)
Got a noose around my neck
(Gonna pull it tight)
Got a fist full of pills
(Now grab me a beer)

I WON’T MAKE IT
I CAN’T TAKE THIS
I WILL END THIS
I WON’T MAKE IT

Got a gun pointed at my head
(Now pull the trigger)
Got a razor at my wrist
(Dig deep and cut)
Got a noose around my neck
(Gonna pull it tight)
Got a fist full of pills
(Now give me a beer)

I WON’T MAKE IT
I CAN’T TAKE THIS
I WILL END THIS
I WON’T MAKE IT

I WON'T MAKE IT
I CAN’T TAKE THIS
I WILL END THIS
I WON’T MAKE IT

I won’t leave a note
This won’t be a joke
I won’t leave a note
You’ll never know
I won’t leave a note
It’s time for me to go

I WON’T MAKE IT
I CAN’T TAKE THIS
I WILL END THIS

I WON’T MAKE IT
I WON’T MAKE IT
I WON’T MAKE IT
I WILL END THIS
I WILL END THIS

I WILL END…
garage rock song about suicide
Dec 2011 · 2.0k
Fertilizer
Brandon Dec 2011
The garden planted in the backyard
Beneath the shadow of the old birch tree
Encircled in stone and marble landscaping
Grows like nothing I've ever seen
In the spot where I buried her dead body
Dec 2011 · 2.1k
bullshit
Brandon Dec 2011
*******.
bull
****.
bu
ll
sh
it.
b
u
l
l
s
h
i
t
.
Nov 2011 · 696
As Beautiful As Words
Brandon Nov 2011
You’re as beautiful as words
Written on a piece of paper

Your body snakes like perfect cursive
Flowing a rhythm of intoxication towards me

Your lips speak like a dictionary
Teaching me the meaning of vocabulary

Your eyes shine with verses and history lessons
Like a book of archaic poetry demanding to be read


I want to drown in the words you write
I want to suffocate to the sound of your voice
I want to be constricted beneath your pen



*I want to be seen by you
Brandon Nov 2011
How can I consider myself a poet?
I do not have a cat for a pet
(Instead I have a dog that thinks I’m her pet)

How can I call myself a poet?
I do not over indulge in alcohol
(Except the rarely occasional beer or whiskey)

How can I be a poet?
I do not consciously write with rhyme or rhythm in mind
(If it comes, it’s usually seldom or unintentional)

How can I be called a poet?
I don’t live in France nor have I ever been
(Though given the chance, I would leave in a heartbeat)

How can I be considered a poet?
I don’t dress in all black clothes and smoke Clove cigarettes
(I love flannel and jeans and smoke Camel or American Spirits)

                                                      ­       *How can I consider myself a poet?

                                                 (
Maybe the fact that I ask this question makes me a poet?*)
Poet stereotypes. if i can think of more stereotypes (or more are offered) i will probably end up adding onto this poem...
Nov 2011 · 904
There The Poet
Brandon Nov 2011
There the poet lives  *                            
            Sunk in his own blissful depression and sorrow    
                       Protesting sobriety with gallons of liquor and hallucinogens                        

          *      There the poet sleeps*      
                           Dreams are made of reality beginning to fade                          
                                         A beautiful cacophony of syncopated Technicolor                                                      ­          

              *  There the poet sits
                       Writing and stringing together subjugated thoughts                    
                                    ­                                For someone to decipher and find further meanings for funding  

                                          *        There the poet listens

            Screeching birds like pterodactyls drilling his mind              
                                  Piercing the silent observations he desires  

              *         There the poet laments*    
                              Perched on the edge of the world                        
            Waiting for oblivion to come and save us all
Nov 2011 · 426
i try
Brandon Nov 2011
i try to find you interesting

                                                                         i try to hang onto every word you say

i try to hear the good in your ***** wishes                                                          

i try to find beauty in your mechanical movements

                                                                        i try to find something in you to love

i try and i try but in the end                                  

you are always *you
Nov 2011 · 928
Untitled Nature Poem
Brandon Nov 2011
A thousand grasshoppers hop
from blade of grass to blade of grass
in the overgrown countryside
Playing a melodious melody for me
concealed somewhere in the grassland
Chirp, whistle, thrash
From early morning
to the dark of night

The sun’s born in the east
but we watch it die in the west

The spider weaves her web
a silky complex blueprint
that only the imagination of nature can manufacture
Like the spider's design stenciled from one place to another
Everyone is abundantly outfitted in life to be extraordinary

The cicadas hibernate for seventeen years
before emerging from earth
before emerging from split shells
dug into the bark on forest pine
Imagine their terrible twos
spent locked inside the ground
Angst-ridden and ready to greet
and eat the world
in buzzing clouds
blocking out the sky

Earwigs are born from locust husks
I've seen it with my own eyes
Crawling down from a tree
with seeds of sea urchins
falling and littering the ground

The sunlight never reaches the bottom of the ocean
Only the glimmering light of the angular fish
Luring prey into a mouth of awaiting ******* teeth

The effects of nature can be profound
If one only listens to the sound
Nov 2011 · 1.8k
Poo-etry
Brandon Nov 2011
My poetry is ****

From mouth
From pen
From fingers typing

My words stink up

The air
The page
The computer screen

My poetry is ****

Not worth saying
Not worth writing
Not worth typing
Sorry to have wasted your time on this ****** (pun intended) poem.
Nov 2011 · 1.1k
"One Fast Move Or I'm Gone"
Brandon Nov 2011
Rucksack – Duffle bag – Backpack
                       Packed
Note books – Journal books – Poetry books
                    Book books
Tin cans – Pots and pans
         First aid – Survival kit
Complete with fishhooks, fishing line,
            Lighter, matches
  of the waterproof kind
                 Even a sewing kit
                                        Equipped
With extra sewing needles,
                       black thread, safety pins,
          Buttons,
                         Band-aids, gauze,
                antiseptics,
                        Burn cream
Just in case
                  it's ever needed
      Bucket hat Stuffed
              down somewhere deep
A handkerchief –
                          bandana too
      Flannels and sweater
                                       For cool weather
Tennis shoes
          For when hiking boots
     Get too hot
               A few days worth of food
     Vegetarian – salmon jerky – chocolate protein bars
                            Sleeping bag rolled tightly
            All slung heavily over my shoulder

One fast move or I’m gone
           Kerouac once said
   As he tried to run away from
     Crashing waves of stardom
        I just want to get away
      From crashing city noise
            And live life like a
              Dharma ***
Brandon Oct 2011
The demons are bleeding from the walls
  Pouring thick like screeching molasses
   Grabbing me by my eye sockets
    With twelve inch ripping talons
     Pulling and tearing my flesh taut
      Like some morose antagonism of obesity
       Dragging me thru the hardwood floorboards
        Thru a river flowing with moaning, groaning souls
         Cast into a stygian darkness that blinds the eyes


          The magnitude of grotesque revulsion
         That unveils itself before me
        In monstrous catastrophe
       Ignites my dejected soul
      To wisps of smoke and smoldering ashes
     Set to a contour of unremitting denunciation
    Scorching pits of fire, brimstone, and sulfur
   The suffocated withering of my intentions


  The agony of ennui
And the simplicity of sin
Oct 2011 · 1.3k
The Doors Of Our Perception
Brandon Oct 2011
Jim Morrison is alive and well

I found him in some juke joint cantina
Down in the deserts of southern America

He was sitting in a dimly lit
Booth in the corner of the room
Digging on some blues band blowing blues
And nursing a bottle of whiskey like a pro
Slowly channeling the shaman within his soul

As I approached in dumbstruck awe
He waved me to take a seat on the bench
Adjacent to where he himself sat

We ate from a plate of enchiladas and ten-cent tacos
And spoke of the poetry of Rimbaud and Baudelaire

He dreamed a dream where he and Kerouac
Took a trip from France to San Francisco
And read volumes of poetry books
From famous beat authors
And reminisced about their pasts as famous men

We continued to allow the whiskey
To slither like serpents down our throats
As ancient poems sauntered back up
Like lyrical word *****

I told him of a dream where he and I
Ate off a plate of enchiladas and ten-cent tacos
In some southern American juke joint cantina
Listening to joyously lamented blues
And discussing the great poets of the past

We laughed and had a great time
As the Doors of our perception
Bled poetic verses of imagination

When the night was over
And the dawn began to arrive
We parted ways with many thanks
And a hugging hand-shake

He went his way
Off into the the waiting sun
A Lizard King in celebration

And I went mine
Off into the depths of shadow
Taking a late moonlight drive
A dream i dreamt last night...

http://grindedintopoetry.tumblr.com/post/20720753055/the-doors-of-our-perception
Brandon Oct 2011
Where upon I staked my throne
This old man wears his lonesomeness
Like sleek stygian veils of mourning distress
Nights considered black and eternal sorrow
Sunshine’s fading memory eclipsed
No terror greater than the ignorant sin
Where feelings laid to rest upon the mantle of my chest
A heart no longer pulsates with regularity of days
Satisfaction of disillusionment and melancholy laments
The cool night air fairs warmly against pale flesh
Remnants of smoldering corpse’s smoke
As fires rage burning in communal silence
Bleeding the bled for perspective
Ripened wisdom sinuous ancient veins
The slight grey of death’s breath collected
The slumber of days has wrecked our lives
But the night still echoes our call and thrill
For the midnight hunt and ****
Brandon Oct 2011
this blank piece of paper taunts me
as my words disappear before they can even be wrote





_________________­
__________________­
___________________
­__________________
­_________________
_­_______________
___­______________
____­_____________




                 ­              it's full of lines and unintended spaces
                                   It won't even accept erase marks
                                 or a smudge of greasy finger prints




________________­
__________________­
___________________
­__________________
­_________________
_­_______________
___­______________
____­______________




this blank piece of paper haunts me
as my words disappear before they can even be wrote
Bored and a little frustrated...
Brandon Oct 2011
My golden heart beats and beats for you
A thousand palpitations at any given moment
I can feel my chest caving in within every pulse
Filling my head with such evocative dialogue
The salacious sound of your slithering voice
Snakes into my head spreading like an aphrodisiac
You solicit lecherously illicit questions that unnerve my judgment
In our dreams we dreamt of double eclipses
Upon our lips while we slept and slumbered
Our bodies coiled like serpents tangled in tantric passion
With the waking of giants and mythical expeditions
Our hearts would burn the fieriest of red
Ensnared between these silken sheets
Springs tied around every exposed limb
As if we haven’t known the sweetness of sleep for days
Brandon Oct 2011
***** me just like the last time in my life  
when my eyes went blind and my words  
suffered like the end to a long story.


wash me away with love
and send me on my way  
but be sure to tell me good day
even tho it's night  
and i'm *
lost
the title says it all...i wrote this in like three minutes so it's utter crap, but whatever...
Oct 2011 · 725
Most Days
Brandon Oct 2011
I wake up to the first note of my alarm
Ringing loudly into my dreams
Pulling me from the depths of sleep
Out thru the ocean of slumber and awake

Never anytime for the snooze button
I have no extra time to spare
I set my alarm for the last possible minute

I stumble into the bathroom
Rough my hair around a little bit
And peel the sleep out of my eyes

I turn the shower on and step in
Standing still for just a few minutes
I think that maybe I may fall back asleep

A lighthearted prayer escapes my lips
Hoping the hot water will be enough
To wake me from this grogginess
But of course it never is

I’d really rather not get ready
And just crawl back into bed

Ten minutes have passed
Now it’s time to get out of the shower
And get dressed

I blindly let the dog out of her cage
Walk her outside to do her business
In the thick early morning fog
She plays around for a few minutes
It’s all the time that I can allow

We rush back up the stairs
And back into the warmth of our home

I hurriedly pack my lunch
From a limited number of choices
And empty cabinets

The dog accepts her treat
And trots back to her cage
She is trained well

The thought occurs to me
That if only people were so well behaved
Maybe I’d enjoy their company more

But I’m running late by now as usual
So I don’t have time to dwell on this thought
As I close the bedroom door
She watches me and I hear her whimper
A soft goodbye with her eyes

I grab my lunch bucket and head out the door
Muttering a poem of early morning under my breath
Which seems to hang frozen in the air

I unlock my car door and slide in
Keying the car on in one smooth practiced process
The radio booms to life because I always forget how loud
I had the music playing the previous day
And my right hand quickly reaches
For the volume **** to turn it down
But only a little
At least until I get out onto the road

Every second of my drive to work
I sit talking myself into not turning back around
To go back home and go back to sleep

Most days I’m successful and I end up at work
Punching the time clock for an eight hour or more shift
Of busting knuckles and periodic book reading

Most days though I really should just turn back around
And go back home and go back to sleep

Most days though I really should never
Have gotten out of bed in the first place
Oct 2011 · 1.2k
Le Dramaturge (et le poète)
Brandon Oct 2011
Chase the emerald fairy
Around the Eiffel Tower of France

Shadows swagger an acid dance
Of Hollywood trances and diamond glances

We’ll spout poetry beneath a glamoured moon amour
Drink whiskey and absinthe by the gallons
And wash it down with the finest wine
Grown from sultry ***** countryside

A poet’s star will drive jealousy mad
In famous graveyards of prostitutes and prose
Our night will be spent in gothic debauchery

Eyes once spoke the tale of flesh and lust
Pouting over torrentially voracious desires
Decadence deceived promises
Bewitched with voluptuous tongue

The playwright types at his typewriter
Typing funeral dirges of sitar and violin duels

The contravention of dawn’s chorus
Erupts behind curtains of pantomimes
Charms lost in the end of magnificent performances

Your whispers in my ear are the last I hope to hear
The last beautiful gasp of breath I hope to hear
Will be your whispers in my ear

(Death sits before his typewriter
pounding keys in a ravenous lunatic frenzy
electing the end to our story
we have no contribution
only dealt the parts we act upon
and our scripts to speak
)
Suivez la fée émeraude fastly
Autour de la Tour Eiffel de la France

Ombres à pied une danse d'acide
Des transes d'Hollywood et des regards de diamants

Nous allons la poésie sous un bec de glamour moon Amour
Buvez de whisky et l'absinthe par l'gallons
Et le laver avec le meilleur vin
Cultivé à partir de la campagne sensuelle *****

Star Un poète conduira jalousie folle
Dans les cimetières célèbres de prostituées et de la prose
Notre nuit sera passée dans la débauche gothique

Yeux fois parlé de l'histoire de la chair et la convoitise
boude plus voraces désirs torrentielle
Décadence trompés promesses
amoureux de la langue voluptueuse

Le dramaturge écrit à sa machine à écrire
Chants funèbres typage des duels de sitar et au violon

La violation de choeur aurore
Éclate derrière des rideaux de pantomimes
Charms perdu dans la fin des spectacles magnifiques

Votre murmure à mon oreille sont les derniers J'espère entendre
Le dernier souffle de souffle belle J'espère entendre
Sera votre murmure à mon oreille

(* Mort est assis devant sa machine à écrire
martelant les touches dans une frénésie folle voraces
élire à la fin de notre histoire
nous avons rien à dire
ne portait que sur les pièces que nous agir sur
et de nos scripts de parler *)
Oct 2011 · 1.0k
It's Become An Obsession
Brandon Oct 2011
My wife says I spend too much time writing

That I’m always on the computer or cell phone
Scribbling digitally

She says that it’s become and obsession

She says that I spend too much time writing
That it’s all I ever do anymore

She says that writing poetry
Is all I ever think about

I told her

No, sometimes I think about leaving you,
Now which would you rather me do?


She flipped me off
And stormed out of the room

Good

Back to writing in peace and quiet
Brandon Oct 2011
Shhh…
Hushed the librarian
Pushing her glasses
Up onto the bridge of
Her nose
This is a library
Please keep your noise
To a minimum
We have people
Studying
Reading
Writing
Quietly enjoying
Their latest find
Amongst our many rows of
Books and books
And more
Books
We can’t have any
Interruptions
So please keep your voice
Down
And resist the urge
To make any loud
Sound
If you do
Feel the desire to be
Vocal
Or
Loud
Please
Go to the back
Of the library
Where the Classics
Are located
You won’t bother anyone
Back there
No one reads the
Classics
anymore
Oct 2011 · 781
Going Off The Map
Brandon Oct 2011
We loaded our boats
And raised our sails
As we set our course
We hoped the world is flat


Going off the map
Going off the map
Going off the map
Going off the map
Going off the map
Going off the map
Going off the map
Going off the map
Going off the map
Going off the map
Going off the map
Going off the map
Going off the map
Going off the map
Going off the map




Oh ****,
the world is round
not flat
looks like we're stuck
here
maybe i'll be an
astronaut
and go to outer space
but i heard it's hard to
breathe
up there
real hard to breathe
Oct 2011 · 2.8k
Cheesecake
Brandon Oct 2011
I sit at the booth,
Thinking to myself,
**** restaurants that don’t have a television
Making me listen to insipid conversations
The kind that only in-laws seem to be able to speak

The fumbling and stumbling over topics and
Phrases repeated without any real meaning
Thought or understanding

I stare off into space and nurse my whiskey
But even it won’t fully drown out
Their side effects

“I’ll have the cheesecake,”
I hear one of them say

“Burger extra rare,”
The other hurriedly offers up to our waiter,

Our waiter
Fresh out of high school
Oozing pimples down the pores of his ***-marked face
Uniform stretched taut against his bulging stomach
Exposing crater like outline of his belly button

I wish that I could be the waiter
I envy the waiter
He gets to walk away from this table
And away from a flowing sea
Of faltering words

Someone’s talking to me
Asking if I’m keeping up on the OSU football drama

But I don’t hear them,
I’m too busy studying the Egyptian architecture
And wondering what it has to do
With the Cheesecake Factory

My wife kicks me
Bringing me back into this dreary reality
Telling me to answer the question

“No, I haven’t,” I say
As they began awkwardly telling me about it

I signal our waiter and ask for another whiskey

It’s going to be a long dinner tonight
Brandon Oct 2011
I wrote this poem just for you
With my mind racing and my heart beating
Among amorous feelings and thoughts of you
My love for you is and always will be true

You are my eternal sunshine of the spotless mind
You are the one I can never leave behind
When I first met you I knew it was a sign  
You are so implausibly beautiful to my eyes

You deserve the world's grandest jewels
Emeralds, diamonds, sapphires, amethysts
And anything else that money can buy

When we met each other some time ago
From the first time we said 'Hello'
I knew you’d be the one
To bestow my life with love and fun

My words forever fail to express
What I felt when you said ‘Yes’
To a Taco Bell hot sauce packet
That said ‘Will You Marry Me?’

And when I held you near
On the coldest day of the year
When we both said ‘I Do’
And you became my wife
I knew that our love was true
That we’d always be together
To see this movie we call life
All the way thru

We’ve had our ups and downs
But eternal bliss is where we’re bound
Together in each other’s embrace
Everything we long for will come around  

You are the only thing I need
I’d sell my words, my talents, and me
If you’d agree to proceed
To be mine everlasting
And never sever our affection
And always retain
This one piece of information:

No matter what comes our way
I will always love you
Each and every day
Poem i wrote for my wife.
i really hate writing love poetry.
it feels so cheesy.
Oct 2011 · 1.1k
Writing Room
Brandon Oct 2011
my eyelids feel heavy
it's been too many hours
since i recall what sleep felt like
my hair and beard are a disheveled wreck

working on my sixteenth whiskey sour
On the rocks, hold the fruit
and smoking another cigarette
countless crumbled packs sit empty
on my hardwood desk and the surrounding floor

it's a mess in this darkened writing room
lit only by the computer screen
and one dying lantern soon to extinguish its flame

outside the snow continues to fall
piling high and deep
pulling the frigid chill of white
into my writing room

my fingers caress the keys
of this battered keyboard
stained with ashes, alcohol,
and things i couldn't even guess upon

nothing of any good quality being written

words i've used before
words i've used incorrectly
words i am past the stages of being tired of using
words i've given up on

i listen to listener, orchid, saetia, envy
and more bands that no one has ever heard of
screaming poetry thru the worn out turntable

aggravated by the fact that i have to keep changing sides
but appreciative of each records quirks and pops
i continue listening to the echo of their verses

i should just give up, give into failure, i'm good at it
but i can't, even in this disheartened state

somewhere between the flipping of records and the
bombardment of keys being slammed
my lantern finally dies
leaving me in the glow of my computer

and the warmth of another whiskey sour

in my writing room i am left lingering
haunted with the words that i am choked upon
haunted with the last page of my story
haunted with these final words:

The End.
Brandon Oct 2011
You continue to update and "improve" your site
      When all i want to do is come here and write
               Enjoy the words that others have wrote
   And maybe meet some friends along with way

                         Learn something from the massacre of Facebook
                                                        ­ And don't fix what isn't broke
                               And only improve upon the fun one can have
            Not changing the profile so it's a rambled time feed mess
Yeah, this is stupid, i'm bored. easily irritated this morning. blah.
That said, i'm still thrilled HP is no longer a pay site,
so forget everything i said and do as you please...
Oct 2011 · 1.4k
Promiscuity Of Heaven
Brandon Oct 2011
First I was born
                                                          Th­en I began to die
                                                             ­ (there's no way out)
                                                           ­       (and there never was)
Nursing wounds                              
Gangrene and obscene                                        
Promiscuous and unwanted                                                
                                                             I favor the blessing of the Black Mass
                                                                           Shrouded in the catastrophe of disillusionment
For the first time in my life                                            
I’m disappointed in your crucifixion                                                          
And all the reasons you said you did it for                                                                    
                                                                              Antagonistic misanthropy in Maplethorpe grays
                                                              Humanity cultivated arctic aspirations
                                      First I was born                                                                                           ­  
                                Then I found a way out                                                              ­                                      
                               First I was born                                                             ­                         
                                (Then I found a way)                                                            ­                                      
(Away from you)
Brandon Oct 2011
I sit at my computer
Typing words
To the softest
Almost silent click clack
Of keyboard beneath
My finger strokes
I yearn for an old school

DING – new line!

Typewriter
The loud
PUNCH
Of the keys
As rhythm, rhyme
Flows from my mind
To the coiled sheet
Of

DING – new line!

Paper
Hitting the keys
With effortless flow
Sometimes I reach for
A notebook
With all its lines
And structure
I quickly grab a

DING – new line!

Pen
Full of India ink
To have the ink flow
In one ongoing script
Of verses that

DING – new line!

Hurt
But then I give up
Because my hand
Simply cannot write
As much as my mind

DING – new line!

Pours
Rhythm and woes
And this typewriter
Always running out of

DING – new line!

Space
Has become very maddening
With the rewind
So I quickly switch back to my

DING – new line!

Computer
And continue writing
with out the stop of

*DING - new line!
Oct 2011 · 729
Darwin
Brandon Oct 2011
We started here at the Big Bang
And traced our steps fifteen million years ago
To a single cell being born in the ocean
From the ocean
We crawled on amphibian legs
Lounged in the sun with reptilian pride
Until the trees called our names
We climbed the highest mountain peaks
Just to jump off the edge
We watched the steps of evolution
From beginning to end
As we swan dived
And the judge rated us a perfect ten
We fell into the ocean
And shattered into a thousand amoebas
In a few more cycles
We’re doomed to repeat processes
One thru eight
Oct 2011 · 887
Shoulder Deity
Brandon Oct 2011
On my left shoulder                                                                                                      ­                                                     
I wear the devil                                                                                                                     ­                                               
Devious and grotesque                                                                                                             ­                                          
With all the tricks of the coyote                                                                                               ­                                          
He persuades me to do                                                                                                              ­                                         
All the polluted things                                                                                                                 ­                                       
That my human nature craves                                                                                                   ­                                       
Drinking, betting,                                                                                                                 ­                                              
Cussing, smoking,                                                                                                                ­                                               
*******!         ­                                                                                                                    ­                                                  
The obscurity of his darkness                                                                                               ­                                              
Calls to me                                                                                                                       ­                                                    
As a *******                                                                                                             ­                                                        
Calls to her john                                                                                           ­                                                                 ­      
On a filthy street corner                                                                                                ­                                                     
Imploring me to do my offenses                                                                                             ­                                          
And join him                                                                                                                            ­                                           
In the gloomy shadows of sin                                                                                               ­                                             


On my right shoulder
I wear an angel
All clad in colorless white
His mouth has been covered in duct tape
And his arms and legs
Bound by rope
He seldom speaks
Only mumbles words
That I cannot understand
Brandon Oct 2011
I trekked across the icy shores of Alaska and survived with Gary Paulsen and his dogs
I went on many cross-country road trips, hitchhiking, train riding, and drinking with Jack Kerouac
I shot up ****** and did some time in Interzone with William S Burroughs
I dropped acid and read poetry with Jim Morrison
I murdered a girl and committed suicide with J.R. Hayes
I insulted everyone I knew with Jay Randall and laughed about it afterwards
I meditated high up in the mountaintops with Gary Snyder
I suffered New Orleans police brutality and withdrawal with Mike Williams
I drank, worked, gambled, ****** myself with Charles Bukowski
I admired the beauty of nature and God as self with Walt Whitman
I admired the beauty and balance of nature and city life with Henry David Thoreau
I wandered the desert landscape and sabotaged those that would harm the Earth with Edward Abbey
I painted a world of pictures out of words with e.e. cummings
I loved like no one has ever been loved in this wretched world with Pablo Neruda
I outlived macabre and twisted tales from the mind of Edgar Allan Poe
I spent a few months in France with the cryptic mind of Charles Baudelaire
I drank and wrote nature literature from animal perspectives with Jack London
I lived the songs that Tom Waits wrote
I went insane with Sparrow in New York
I found myself traveling on a Tour Of Homes, reciting ‘Talk Music’ with Dan Smith
“I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness” with Allen Ginsberg

When all was said and done and every word wrote three times or more
I disappeared into the oncoming onslaught of midnight's dreary dreams
Like so many forgotten poets, writers, and orators
Who’s words have faded with the oblivion of time
Only to be remembered by a select few from here and there
That have chosen to remember, to write, to read, to never forget

**Which are you and where do you come from?
this is actually a much longer poem with more verses / kudos but i didn't feel like posting it all...
Oct 2011 · 1.4k
Apartment Living
Brandon Oct 2011
Muffled voices
Crying babies
Loud adults
Louder kids
Nosy neighbors
Terrible music
Heavy footsteps
Slamming doors
Shoddy construction
Inept maintenance
Cheap appliances

Apartment living
Really *****
Dedicated
to every apartment complex
that i have ever lived in,
to every neighbor
i have ever met,
and to every neighbor
that i have never met
but always heard
Oct 2011 · 766
Rock Critic
Brandon Oct 2011
I woke up feeling like a Rock Critic today

Looked at myself in the mirror unsteadily
Not sure who's reflection stared back at me

I scratched my *****

Drank some cough syrup
the hallucinogenic fun kind

Drank some whiskey

Drank some more cough syrup

Went back to bed
And closed my eyes

Better luck tomorrow
dedicated to the old-school rock critics
who were complete *******
but knew a thing or two about good music...
Brandon Oct 2011
what can't be described
the end of the line
where jokers joke
and the massacre happens
when the sky is falling
and the doves are set free
shoot
shoot
*******
and let me rest in silence
i seek the peace of existence
but often get caught
up in chaoticness
that seems to seep
from the very walls of reality
and when we're alone
the sky opens up
like some benevolent being
is watching us
a ******
a pervert
these are the things
that i see
when i look into your eyes
and get hypnotized
in that brief moment
where your mouth
is not lying to me
about what you did
last night
and where you'll be sleeping
tonight
no
nevermind
i forget
what it was that you said
but that's just because
i wasn't listening
i was too busy
staring off into oblivion
hoping and praying
that it would get here faster
but it must've ran out of gas
cuz i'm still here
and you left a long
long time ago
spontaneous writing and not paying attention to whatever it was that i was writing...
Oct 2011 · 781
Butterfly
Brandon Oct 2011
flutter by butterfly
whisking by on air sublime
orange and black monarch of sky
butterfly fluttering bye

Where do you fly to in such a hurry?
Where do you go that you can't rest your weary wings?


off into the skies
the butterfly did fly
waving monarch wings
good-bye
Oct 2011 · 1.3k
Untitled Love Poem
Brandon Oct 2011
Kissing lips of the softest feathers
Remembering lightening and mosquito songs
Intensifying the moment between thunder claps
Sarcastic quips from a woman so beautiful to me
Trembling with mouthfuls of devotion
Entangled and ensnared in the ache of my heart
Never to be without my love

Epic stories of love, life, and commitment
Like fairy tales written long ago
In some far away land that we couldn’t possibly know
Zephyr winds blow like strangled tornadoes of
Adoration sweeping my words across the sky
Beckoning sweet diction in the bat of a lover’s eye
Enticing the love of late nights coiled in your embrace
Transcending all the doubt and fears of two
High school sweethearts with nothing better to do

Bards sing songs and speak poetry
Adorning exquisiteness upon the exquisite
Rhythm without the comfort of rhymes
Nightingale’s lingering song croons
Espoused on the coldest of cold winter nights
Safe in the affectionate passion of her kiss
My attempt at a love poem...
Oct 2011 · 1.3k
Flumbertwimbla
Brandon Oct 2011
The coolest,
                   hippest thing about being
             a poet
                                 a writer
                   an orator
       is the ability to invent
                                            words
     give them                      meaning
where no             meaning            previously
                      e x i s t e d
    give a new              word   a    definition
                        defined,  wrote,             spoke
Use them in
                    verses
                              sentences
                                             speech
nouns
                 pronoun
                                  adjective
             verb
                adverb
and
      on
           and
                on
                    and
                          on

*the flumbertwimbla (not to be confused with a flumbertwumbla...) was as quick witted and razhnaha as a beginkogojobalu but had none of the charm nor characteristics of the humbajuno. What it lacked in chuggakoocahoo it made up for with it's own take on ickshelllatah. True story.
this is sleepless crap. i posted it anyway.
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