brady max

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Tuesday, April 26, 2016

PAD - Day 26 - Love - anti-love "InViolated Love"

InViolated Love

they say that mother love
is inviolate love - bonds
impossible to break -
suspect before a creature
rolls in waves within you
and burst from loins in
blood and ecstasy -
suspect this inviolate
business until its cry
brings mystic milk from
your breast - until you
stab it with a safety pin
and you feel the pain
shiver in your spine
suspect until it rides
a two wheeler and you
scream in joy watching
from a window - at
a graduation - a first
ride in a car - first
love - walk down an
aisle beaming -suspect
until it throws its tiny
arms around you - huge
muscled behaired arms
around you - until each
breath you take remains
taken for both - suspect
this inviolate love - even
when this creature from
within inexplicably machetes
the cord connected to
your entrails and pulls
hard and
away
and
still
love

Sunday, April 24, 2016

NaWriPoMo - Day 18. A poem in the language of home... Sssssssh - your father




Sssssssssh – your father…

"Ssssssh your father..."
is getting ready for dinner
Ssssssh your father....
is eating at the table ...
silverware clinks, quiet
gulp of cool water
swallowed – he breathes
"Ssssssh your father ....
is going to the living room
to relax ...I follow and...
sit ...there next to this king
this raven haired young 
man as he placed ruby
records on the player –
and there – sitting next
to him … music crashed
shook the walls and
my small chest as I leaned
against the solid wall of
him and he cradled me
with an arm and I smiled

sssssh to them all….

Friday, April 22, 2016

The Pass-over




The Pass-over

I walk through the sands of time
beneath my feet slipping through
my fingertips – feel the gritty soft-
sepia – I sing four questions to my
grandfather keeping the trembling
desire for perfection away from joy
in his shining eyes – I walk the sands
of time with them in small books in
the hands of elders reading, - those -
patriarchs and matriarchs and
children of long ago stir in our
very blood and sit for a time at
our table among the fine linen
and dishes piled high with food
cooked with love and laughter
together in the scrubbed kitchen
I walk through the sands of time
my actual elders retelling the story
as I watch the crystal glass sparkle-
filled with sweet crimson wine set
aside – peek - feel the breeze of the
front door ajar – in welcome for
the possible entrance of an angel –
I walk the sands of time – as some
slip under –foot-prints vanish into
hearts – I walk the sands of time
teaching tiny hands to hold a small
book, cut meat for a parchment elder -
listen to the mystical miraculous
music of my own son sing in a high
clear voice the questions that I
answer – I watch the table shift
again –new family constellations
bright eyed well loved welcomed
children and love and laughter -
and the same questions asked -
and answered and crystal clinks
and laughtered songs and sand
slips and shifts and slips and shifts
the glimmer of the sepia shimmer
always moving all in the past un-
known but retold - pharaohs and infanticide
plagues and pyramids, parting seas and sacred
bushes - leaders, legends and legacy
injustice and resilience- exodus tumbling-
to tablets, smashed, castigated and
contrite, connected, walking through
sands of time the richness embraced the
walk continued - tasted again and again
in caves of inquisition -in the tortured
camps of death - the sands of time 
sifted shifted into the dance of a land,
into this land, onto these privileged lips -
through the sands of time
the legacy sweet as sipped wine…
unbreakable - unshakable - 
I walk the sands of time 
tonight at a table for 
two –
hundreds of hundreds of thousands -
walking through shifting sand in-
to a promise....
the walk
continues



Tuesday, April 19, 2016

Nassau County Poet Laureate Society Annual Poetry Contest

NASSAU COUNTY POET LAUREATE SOCIETY
ANNUAL POETRY CONTEST

AWARD CEREMONY


Farmingdale Public Library
(downstairs)
116 Merritts Road

Farmingdale, NY 11735

                                          (516) 249-9090


Saturday, MAY 14, 2016, 1 PM

CONTEST AWARD PRESENTATIONS

BY

Lorraine Conlin

 

OPEN READ



Light refreshments included

Directions to the Library:  Hempstead Turnpike to south onto Merritts Road.  The library will be on your right approximately one and a half blocks down.
Alternate directions:  Southern State Parkway to north on Broadway exit 30 (Massapequa) to end.  Bear right onto Merritts Road.  The library will be on your left approximately four blocks north.

Contact Host:  Paula Camacho (516) 694-5126




Sunday, April 17, 2016

NaPoWriMo - Day 6. "Snowball Summers" flower poem




Hydrangea Free Stock Photo - Public Domain Pictures


Snowball Summers  

I called my grandmother
Mother -because she had
been too young to be a
grandmother - (though
later my own mother re-
vealed that she reviled
the rejection) -Mother's
hair was ebon pincurled
and at forty two she was
without qualm - setting
me, tiny granddaughter
free, alone - scrunching
in the wet perfume of her
snowball bushes- lush-
in that park of her back
yard - in that cool leafy
filagree-light darkness -
mystic wishes worthy
of any silvered grand-
mother floated all day
on hot summer breezes

NaPoWriMo - Day 17. Freud’s glossary of psychoanalytic terms - specialized dictionary

Sigmund Freud | Think Psychology





Freud’s glossary of psychoanalytic terms 

He lay there on my couch
the first fellow never knew
that the couch upon which 
he sprawled was purchased
with his long limbs in mind-
Never knew that he was my
First,whispering abreactions
in that small room – on that
new couch smelling of fresh
unworn leather and cathexis
our collective unconscious not
yet collected as, virgin analyst
sat stealing glances in a small
mirror strategically placed so
that I could watch my counter-
transference – exhale the con-
densation of the drive driven
dreams with which perhaps un-
known to him he stroked each
erotogenic zone along the length
of my earliest days censorship
on high alert - alone with him 
as he lay there on my couch
my first of so very many – 
ego, id, super-sized-ego 
Mr. ____  _____  _____ -
the one that would never – 

could never ever be - 
forgotten. 

Morning -



Morning 
I stretch check a hole in 
my left sock - lost until
first sight this morning
when it lay on my chest
- testament to forget-ting
or phantasma .. pull it on
over my how-can-it- be
getting-old-foot,  shake
feathers from my head
left over from a night
of deep dreams and
rise to rattle into an-
other day 




Friday, April 15, 2016

NaPoWriMo - Day 6. "Chocolate Kisses" - Food Poem

They might as well have lips

into my parted lips
they insinuate one 
after the other in
a madness of un-
quenchable lust
until shining in 
silver slivered 
wrapping I lay
slightly sick 
certainly 
smiling 

NaPoWriMo - Day 5. "Linaria, Fairy Bouquet" Heirloom Seeds

Linaria, Fairy Bouquet


you float ferny 
delicate dancing
flitting gossamer
a fairied bouquet
tossed on the wind


NaPoWriMo- Day 4. "November" - the cruelest month




November 

raucous riot of color
crisp air - perhaps a
wafting toasted chest-
nut - crunching - bright
with a feast at its end -
all introduction to bare
iced march of winter
approaching on dead
legs