brady max

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Sunday, March 29, 2015

Uprooted





Uprooted 

He had a plan the little one
into his pack he stuffed a root
prised from the tumbled tree
they had cut – men in boots
shouts of “timber” laughter
in their voices as he shivering
at his bedroom window heard
Heaven growl – no sense asking
“why?” from the Tall Ones they’d
only turn a tepid patronizing smile
He watched the tree fall, the booted
thugs get into their truck and leave
in the early morning light and in bare
cold feet in hot heart-burst he raced
somehow silently through kitchen door
and tenderly untangled a single
tendriled root
He had a plan
to travel far to
a place of sun
and gentle rain
and on a hill he
would plant his
tree and wait for
green shoots to
spring in rows
of mending as
he healed and
grew to grown


Wednesday, March 25, 2015

Time to go....



Time to go….

He lay against white linen
Crisp as he was limp
Hair combed through
With citrus cologne
Wafting in that hot
August wait for
the tardy Reaper –
they waited as well-
each family member
from toddler in arms to
his swollen-eyed mother
He lay against white linen
Crisp as his face was soft
in waiting eager repose
Reaching for something
beyond their wet clouds
 of mortal sight – He waited
perfectly positioned -head
reclined against a mound
of crisp white pillows
Breathing deeply
Completely
Ready to

Stop

Saturday, March 21, 2015

in the coming a.m.




POSSIBILITY+3e4dc51086e4f832c1fed5cb01757ead-d4c325f.jpg





in the coming a.m.

buried deep in clay –soft in sleep lay
the dream - wild – its end stolen 
past purloined beginnings – 
buried deep in clay ready to rise 
in sunsoaked cloak of powers–
burns the dawning dream –ready 
to arise from clay – to stand on
strong bare feet, to speak in untied- 
tongues -buried deep in clay -this wild 
unleashed-for-glory–dream-without-end 
stirs in the coming morning, as one shining 
human entity shakes 
eoned sleep from eyes 
finally to see, to live the 
wild dream of one world, 
one heart, one collective 
soul risen from cool clay to
sing with one crystal voice –
shimmering from single grain
of stinging sand to arctic glaciers crashing– 
bounding, through all that lies between – 
from the velvet wing of butterfly to the roar
of tsunamied sea–singing as one clear voice- 
All distilled to one shining perfect being – 
spinning the blue marble between the
palm of one hand- this dream–now-realized 
risen-form-from-clay awake. proclaiming in
the soft whisper of a flushed joyful newborn mother – 
in the rolling operatic fever of ten billion threatened
fathers – affirming with one voice – in this one world–
at one time
I am.

Saturday, March 14, 2015

Mother Blasphemy

Alone In Sundown by Amateur Pic




Mother Blasphemy

There rustling in the crisp dry leaves in
my chest I recollect the sweet summer
day – we stood on the deck be-decked
in the spill of golden sunshine -
monkeys’ minds mad chatter
quieted-We were born whole-
together, liquid hearts gelled
in essence of each other and
though it well be blasphemy –
it is mother blasphemy – for
certain my Love rose above
all Power – and I reveled in
obliterating- joy banishing all
others–this new I in full-glow
wet with blossoms-bursting
in tumbled time –newborn
as you, my infant son
together–forever I thought,
until platituded – prophecy
fell –cooling our shared
sun, setting monkeys
to mindless chatter
once more as
plague swept
the smile from my soul –
We lost each other as
the wind blew - a new
chapter without me
my name unwritten
from each new line
until left bereft
alone - but for
that rustling
in my heart
of blossoms
dried to dust
wave you
well on
your
way
cry 
I




I will keep you sweet baby boy softly in the rustling of leaves
in the wind. I will dry my tears and hold your sweet small body
melting into mine on the flowered deck of summer, though the
winds of autumn blow dry and crisp - winter but a breath away.
I will keep you sweet child alive in the rustling of the leaves of
sweet memory as mad monkeys race with thoughts throughout
the trees and blasphemy breathes and I pledge to hold you my
child as my religion - born whole to keep the plague of mortality
banished forever.I shall tear my clothes and my hair before any
harm shall ever come to you –sweet summer child forever mine 
despite the crunch of your footsteps as you turn and walk away –
leaving me with empty arms and dusty infant memories -as you
crunch through the leaves of time walking - man sudden-grown
out of the shadow of my sheltering arms into the glow of a bright 
summer sun of your own.



Sunday, March 8, 2015

Tiny girl child

In Honor of International Women's Day 
By Diann L. Neu




Tiny girl child 

Tiny girl child born in the world wind
Blow gentle to a future without excuses
Let the plant from which your perfect
Perfect pink blossom glows – Grow
to towering tree –legs strong- global
arms spread-  to carry you softly club-
protected, sheltered, loved, far beyond
the soul-slashing slice of scorpion sting
Shakira – Subservience - Shame,
smashed shackle to snipped gossamer
string – All - Begone from you forever
Tiny girl child born in the world wind
Grow to run calm fertile fields fragrant
With the trample of mothers gone under
Let the string of images begin in this new
Unfettered future – jungle to city – desert
to arctic cap -blow gentle, blow strong this
Future without excuse.
Tiny girl child receiver and giver
Of the very bread of life – Live in
the knead of this newly born day

Saturday, February 28, 2015

Howl





Howl 

Flesh of my flesh
empty my veins of
blood-names, fuel
my annihilation-fear
through the weight 
of your indifference
casually cut the certain
circle of life and legacy 
I shall howl 
to the moon
Willing tide-
turn as you 
table time 
immobilize 
immortality
and barren 
by design
consign 
me Ghost
grieving 
through
granite
forever
dead 

~






Sunday, February 15, 2015

for love

MALIZ ONG 


for love

there is no science of love
though many have tried to
track scattered pebbles 
from the mountain for a triggering 
 cue –
there is no science of love
how memory lights darkness
seals smallest and most
gaping crack in any soul 
there is some sort of saintly
sheen on love even for those
who hold no truck with such -
grand as the blaze of sunrise
simple as a field of daisies -
love uncontained as it is held
the essence of polarity at play   
No, there is no science of love
to deconstruct would be to
wrestle an angel to autopsy
why?
there is no science of love
just the simple act of magic
mystic glow filling the spaces