brady max

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Sunday, September 25, 2016

Submission


Submission 

at first light I will type the date, pat
my pounding chest with nibbled 
fingernails -as you glow taunting 
spent malevolent completeness
from behind the staring screen-
I will print a hard copy of you, hold 
the heft of you in my hands-rip you, 
shred you, burn you - and after - 
when you are reduced to a pot 
of ashes I will throw you 
to the wind over my garden - 
I shall rinse my burning face - 
in cool water-clear my mind of 
your mess and finally free -hit -
SUBMIT

Sunday, September 18, 2016

Unlikely Deplorable




Unlikely Deplorable

Damn I’m growing tired of deplorable
depressing my soul with a try to tamp
out the spark of light and hope and yet-
And yet, ain’t it something that deplorable
lights the fire to the straw, puts a spring in
our step and rushes us together - faces bright –
voices loud in righteous outrage - Standing together
without guise to smite the hatred deception, division
and oh the denial -Ah deplorable you unlikely champion –
I throw you in a basket over our shoulders and toss chunks
of you colored with the shimmering impenetrable dye of red,
white and shining blue… until those that would writhe
hatred around the flagpole – slither from their skins
dissolved.



Sunday, August 28, 2016

Bless me ...





Bless me  ....

As a little one I yearned for  a gentle hand to cup my head,
brush my cheek with parchment fingertips - to turn when I,
on small feet, did hurry toward -  to smile at my back when
I left -  Free then to cross the threshold 
to nibble at delights from the plate of the day -
sighing deep - safe under the count-
less protection of the bless that set
my unfolding fledgling soul to soar ....

Sunday, August 21, 2016

Omran est notre enfant


Omran est notre enfant
(Omran is our child) 

Oh Omran -I wipe the dusty
blood from your face with a
clean,cool, white cloth- gently 
rock you in my arms and soak
you in tears of guilt admission
When I saw you sitting there -
bewildered touching blood -
tousled hair - dusted with the ash
of adult hell unleashed in the name
of some cause or another - When I
saw you, my eyes scurried across
the page piteously scanning to see

if "we' or "they" were to blame - oh

Aleppo angel staring soul into soul -

stopping me with the searing shame

of all innocents. In your implacable

stare I knew as surely as if you had

pointed your bloodied fingers at me -
there is no we or they - All of us have
your blood on our hands as we scroll
screens and wipe newsprint - and sit, sit, sit -
within walls of our collective failed protectorate
We must stand - each and all of us - speak your
silence -until all children look to the sky expecting
only sunshine, raindrops,snowflakes-until all children
sleep secure- their unexploded world softly breathing -
I kiss your eyes with my bleeding heart and surrender
to the dust of all souls-including my own that contribute
to the reigns of terror - collapsing the sky your blood un-
washable from my hands-my heart -Oh Omran, abandoned
son of us all -We see you -See our shame writ in the tousled
bewildered innocence of blood that limns our legacy in the
dust of our collective immorality... "We? ... or "They?" there
is no difference in the emptiness of your disappointed stare.
It is on us all
the shame....
and solution
- peace. -

Saturday, August 13, 2016

Baby Boy


I loved you as they rubbed the slip-slime from your
body freshly slid from your travel from my womb
to world – sacred charge – I would stand before
a bullet for you – so powerful steel would bounce
softly against my milk filled breasts – Invincible – 
our bond inviolable – a brand set to burn burnished
into the epi-center of my soul, ignited by the sound 
of your first cry – Nothing could ever chip the solid
soul-bond birthed fresh in that tropic dawn –I felt it-
that inexplicable, actual, aching stretch of my heart -
as you tiny soul-mate set sail apart and part of me – 
forever in the brightest crook of my being. Or so
I led myself to deliciously trust in totality.
Erroneously – apparently – undeniably -
now, that you are grown, flown and gone
distant-detached-deadly 
cold 






Baby Boy


I loved you as they rubbed the slime from your
body freshly slid from your travel from my womb
to world – sacred charge – I would stand before
a bullet for you – so powerful steel would bounce
softly against my milk filled breasts – Invincible – 
our bond inviolable – a brand set to burn burnished
into the epi-center of my soul, ignited by the sound 
of your first cry – Nothing could ever chip the solid
soul-bond birthed fresh in that tropic dawn –I felt it-
that inexplicable, actual, aching stretch of my heart -
as you tiny soul-mate set sail apart and part of me – 
forever in the brightest crook of my being. Or so
I led myself to deliciously trust in totality.
Erroneously – apparently – undeniably -
now, that you are grown, flown and gone
distant-detached-deadly
cold 






Sunday, July 10, 2016

Cold Comfort



http://www.drpkp.com/2016/06/crow-fury.html
for Viv.... 


Cold Comfort 

the little girl tiptoed to 
see her - the sunporch
chilly in the first shock
shivering just a bit - she
approached - and there
as she knew she would
be - she sat - that bright
quilt draped on shoulders
Regal - I swore she spoke
to me as always-whispers
in the rustle of the willow
I felt her touch - her hand
veined and blue and firm
floating on mine - She,
my touchstone-talisman
Love - for it was always
love ... Love, said she is
the lift - the spice - the
laugh of life - in some
spectral knowing my
eyes suddenly stung
by her coming goneness
She held my tears ..
her voice in my soul
Do not weep little bird -
never waste a wit on
worry - you will grow -
you will fly and soar -
to love, to live, to laugh.
Yes, even without me...
for I am always there..

I sigh and run fingers
across my faded soft 
quilt - chilled on this
night - touched with
fear - I run my fingers
on my faded quilt and
suddenly in brilliant
conflagration burning
softly, strongly bright
in the distant twinkle
of these cold dark nights -
needed...
She
shines.

and somehow
I hear the soft
sound of small
footsteps
tiptoeing









Cold Comfort


the little girl tiptoed to 
see her - the sunporch
chilly in the first shock
shivering just a bit - she
approached - and there
as she knew she would
be - she sat - that bright
quilt draped on shoulders
Regal - I swore she spoke
to me as always-whispers
in the rustle of the willow
I felt her touch - her hand
veined and blue and firm
floating on mine - She,
my touchstone-talisman
Love - for it was always
love ... Love, said she is
the lift - the spice - the
laugh of life - in some
spectral knowing my
eyes suddenly stung
by her coming goneness
She held my tears ..
her voice in my soul
Do not cry little bird -
never waste a wit on
worry - you will grow -
you will fly and soar -
to love, to live, to laugh.
Yes, even without me...
for I am always there..

I sigh and run fingers
across my faded soft 
quilt - chilled on this
night - touched with
fear - I run my fingers
on my faded quilt and
suddenly in brilliant
conflagration burning
softly, strongly bright
in the distant twinkle
of these cold dark nights -
needed...
She


and somehow
I hear the soft
sound of small
footsteps
tiptoeing



Cold Comfort


the little girl tiptoed to 
see her - the sunporch
chilly in the first shock
shivering just a bit - she
approached - and there
as she knew she would
be - she sat - that bright
quilt draped on shoulders
Regal - I swore she spoke
to me as always-whispers
in the rustle of the willow
I felt her touch - her hand
veined and blue and firm
floating on mine - She,
my touchstone-talisman
Love - for it was always
love ... Love, said she is
the lift - the spice - the
laugh of life - in some
spectral knowing my
eyes suddenly stung
by her coming goneness
She held my tears ..
her voice in my soul
Do not cry little bird -
never waste a wit on
worry - you will grow -
you will fly and soar -
to love, to live, to laugh.
Yes, even without me...
for I am always there..

I sigh and run fingers
across my faded soft 
quilt - chilled on this
night - touched with
fear - I run my fingers
on my faded quilt and
suddenly in brilliant
conflagration burning
softly, strongly bright
in the distant twinkle
of these cold dark nights -
needed...
She
shines.

and somehow
I hear the soft
sound of small
footsteps
tiptoeing




Sunday, June 26, 2016

Crow fury


Crow fury

in a flurried fury the crow rose – sunlight
shimmering on an ink tipped wing – from
sleep int-erupt-ess she rose blinking at
her window – a small girl watching a ripple
rise, swarm, sweep – hatred boiling in the
land as the crow rose and soared – to park
on a leaf rustling tree not too far off in the
sweet shadow of cool place – of peace –
the small girl – watched as the crow
vanished to a point and then was gone
and returned to her sweet bed to sleep

to dream and to wake to a new day coming