brady max

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Wednesday, October 29, 2014

After Sandy



After Sandy

We emerged blinking
at sand piled streets
upturned cars, boats
flown from sea to land
all manner of tumbled
posessions
flung as toddler toys tossed
after a particularly onerous
unexpected temper tantrum
We emerged blinking
staring at splintered boards
torn remains of a walk holding
the footprints and memories
of generations long past
We emerged in crawling
returning lines
refuges
with collective held breath
until we reached home
or what still remained
We emerged
and rushed salt
destroyed gardens
through the murdered
pines to see
if the marsh tree
planted as a tender sapling
thirty years ago
still stood
tall
it did
and only
then
we
cried


Sunday, October 26, 2014

red fields



red fields

into that velvet carpet of crimson fields of tulips
pretend poppies slept, a sea of nodding heads, 
dreaming gnarled roots to soft oblivion -as
we ran
two small children
hand in hand
we ran
from our apocalyptic home where we stuffed our breath
in in-adudible rhythyms – hid all frivolous thought below
solemn faces until tip-toed
sprung into the navied blue pre-dawn
we ran 
squeezing through the not quite open gate
mindful
of squeaks-creaks –
we ran
barefoot in the chilled dew until safely
far from the sleeping house of strange-mooded giants
we tumbled a week’s worth of laughter
pollinating the cradle of our prescient protective poppies,
rolling, hand in hand, as first fingers of light shimmered
writing for those with literary inklings the epilogue of a future
not yet conceived –
this, the first of our thirteen chapters
as we ran
home before they woke 




Sunday, October 19, 2014

Little Girl at Night




Little Girl at Night 

knees drawn to tiny chest she curls in velvet
night her secret swallowed under her silent
laughter, laughter polished to dazzling dancing
in the dark - this prismed diamond dancing, bouncing
joyful twirling as a whirling dervish –until the chill spills
down her spine –she, tiny seer, in the lifting dawning dark
tastes the stranger shadow who wears her father’s face
looming long-strong legs like steel twin towers
holding her prisoner of childhood
martyr to her mother’s sweet unknowing sleep
as the small bed creaks in supplicated sigh, laughter
safely stowed, the dancing diamond of joy stilled for now,
her fist stuffed in her mouth, small teeth grazing soft knuckles
as crazy time begins

again

Sunday, October 12, 2014

Back Over the Hill




Back Over the Hill 


Oh yes just a gimmick – she thinks as trains of
images clatter through to tease - hypnotizing her
with loosed chickens of lust clucking cacophony
on-the-other-side-of-the-road – here, over the hill – 
her flesh scratchy-sere, demanding truth from purring
 lotion-potion promises - sweet words to halt the torture machine
in which she fell - entangled, snared as surely
as a worker-bee's uniform caught in the gears – this lotion-
potion sure to loose her from the liquor non-sense of this
suddenly slack body, these veiny hands, this wrinkled brow, 
these tired eyes suddenly lifting in hope born 
on the scent of lavender lotion massaging in backward circles- 
as all quiets – chickens and trains fall still, and she 
inhales deeply - 
eyes closing, closing - closed
 falling back 
into her true -self
on a sigh 
smiling  




~

Thursday, October 9, 2014

31 Poems in 31 Days - Day 6 - Poetic Voice - Poem After Meditation








Sheeps' Meadow

From the tangled
tumble of sheets
and wanton wilding
thoughts
jangling
cacophy killing
morning
meditation
comes unbidden
the sheep
in the distance
roaming slowly
small white figures
in emerald fields
roaming slowly
in shafted sunlight
slowly roaming in
emerald fielded

peace


31 Poems in 31 Days - Playing Catch-up Days 7, 8, 9 List, Meter, Elegy

Day 9– Meter

a poet of Scudder named De
a mermaid in indigo sea
beat me to the line
in meter-y brine
her limerick sliding down buttery

~
Day 8- Elegy -

Ode to Travels Not To Be Taken
It is time to pack the
suitcase of dreams of
picking up and dropping
it all – wandering wantonly
dancing barefoot on the
shores of some foreign isle
it is time to embrace the
comfortable waltz of
sweet safe surroundings
with dreams dancing
in the sunset

~
Day 7 – A List Poem

velvet talcum bottom
bare skin to skin melt
milk body temp heat
hot winds blow curtains
covering the bright sun
shining on that down covered
crown – a son – new word
whispered in frangipani
floating in a long ago room


~