brady max

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Wednesday, June 16, 2010

Stuck

Stuck

Sweat rivulets stream
as we lie
stuck
in that hot room
spinning with frangipangi
stuck for an instant
one, until the smack
whoosh, separates us
into ourselves
limp, wet and stuck
alone again

Stuck

Oil slicked
eyes burned
bewildered
pelican
waiting to
soar

What Does This Have To Do With You?

I may not know Gulf waters
this is true
may not have soaked skin
in those white sands
and crystal waters blue
And so many say
what then does
this have to do with you?

Of course unsettling it is
to see
a bird of flight brought
down so helplessly
But then said aloud
and in their eyes a question
these travesties deserve a mention
of course agreed that this is true
But what for goodness
sake does this have to
do with you?

For those who sit so far away
And shake their heads
Sad this collective continues to say
So sad for "those"
for "them"
and "they"
must be hard for them
to know just what to do
But what does this
have to do with you?

From pelicans trusting fall
from the sky to sea
to egrets white flash
picking daintily
in waters aquamarine blue
Each creature, swish of marsh
Grass, grain of sand and drop
Of sea
has to do with all that is
and has come to be

When the white sand turns to fetid
Muck, when fish and creatures of
the sea lay still
and birds need hands of help
to fly into the blue
This very much has to do
with you
You who breathe the self same air

To all who dream that there is
a “they” a “them” and a “there”
and dispassionate ensconced
in deluded safety do beware

There is no Them, no They
No There
The egret, pelican, marsh-land
fish, and all that live in the sea
from whence we came and
where sustenance continues to be
Look out your window and there
The Gulf’s ripple voice calls
to you umistakeningly
From pain and muck and blood
can come to be that needed path to new energy

Whether in mountain, plain, or dessert land
Whether on a front porch or in a marching
band, professional, working, lounging,
standing or listing, if alive to hear
The clarion call has come now clear

There is no them, no they, no there
The Gulf is here and everywhere
These beaches white
This life sprung
sea of blue
Has everything to do with you

Sunday, June 13, 2010

Obnoxious

Stuck out tongue

eye roll with a
hand on hip
twelve year old
with a sassy lip

Extended obnoxious

Hip jutted out
Puffed lips in a pout
Eyes up high
rolled into a sigh
Twelve years old
nothing to be told
all is fresh,
now all is new
except for out-dated
over-rated, expatriated
alienated - YOU

There from the desk - Right, left and behind

Out the window to my left
branches from the tree that
blooms softly white flowered
in spring and summer, skeletal in late
fall and sparkling with ice in
winter

Always there pulling me to the water
that slice of blue that peeks between
a house taunting me with its presence
there across the street seen seated
only with a crane stretch of neck
only then would I see the blue channel
perhaps a white boat, the marshlands
all spilling unseen to the sea

Inside to the left St. Thomas in
a silver frame at night, the sea navy
under a purpled sky,
to the right St.Thomas,in a silver frame at day,
turquoise sea, white beach, palm trees under
that impossible yet usual blue sun-blazed sky

To the right shelves and more St. Thomas,
a book, framed photos, and there myself
stretched in decades dissolved
sunworshipping incarnation, of flat bellied
indulgence raised on elbows breathing it
in, soaking in it, inhaling the Island where
it still holds me, embraces me, and always
offers present respite and future alternative
I knew I held on but never realized how I had
surrounded myself, encircled in a talismanic
circle of magical protection,
left, right and yes even as I turn
behind me on a shelf the turquoise sea
twinkles, smiles and reminds me
that always there
is another way

There on and from the desk - in threes

What sits on my desk
the thrill almost
sexual definitively
sensual
the blankness into
which time spills
and always the
inevitable mortality
grinning taunting
pushing me forward
and it away

Friday, June 11, 2010

Clodhoppers are not easily roused

It was the second of June

and all through the night
the Clodhoppers tossed
tossed and turned
in the sweet summer moon


The Clodhoppers excited
unslept wondering what
was to come - of what was
to be there
when hours from then
the sun rose in the air

The Clodhoppers knew
from the largest Boot
to the tiniest Baby Cloddie bootie shoe
that for sure something
was coming in - that they all knew

Don't ask how they knew it had
come into each mind in a bright
unheralded sparkled flash light
as they all sat up at once
at one minute past the midnight

It was the second of June
and the Clodhoppers sat in their beds
on the edge of their couches
even babes raised tiny shoe heads

They knew it was coming they knew it was
near
They knew not its purpose nor what it meant
to them and those dear
The Clodhoppers knew only that
something was near

And as the dawn rose pink fingers
drawn across the spine of the sky
Each and every Clodhopper raised an
wide opened shoe eye up on high
As all together in some unknown
unexplainable way they each saw
the silver satellite come closer
their way

As the craft glided closer and the
sky turned bright white
the Clodhoppers stood together and
took in the sight
Their Clodhopper eyes fixed on the sky
as bathed they were instantly
in a flash bulb white light

And then it was over gone dissolved
into the air
And each and every Clodhopper turned
and started their day with not a word
shrug, or care

Not a start or a gasp just a Clodhopper
regular flat bland grunt of a sigh
Each and every Clodhopper forgot the flash
excitement and satellite there

For a Clodhopper is a Clodhopper
no matter what happens where
there - changed not one iota
even by a
bright white flash of satellite
in the early morn air

Wednesday, June 9, 2010

Obnoxious

Stuck out tongue
eye roll with a
hand on hip
twelve year old
with a sassy lip