brady max

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Saturday, December 31, 2011

Look for separate page of small stones each day of January 2012

badges-for-jan-12-river-of-stones.html

Thursday, December 29, 2011

Blink







Blink


fourteen years
they sat on the
same couch
in their sagging
dreams -ubiquitous
feathered hope flying
specked in the distant
horizon
fourteen years
they sat over
tea, coffee
that occasional
shimmered goblet
of swirled wine
waiting, watching
with waning expectation
the tested flat-lined
stick
In the early days
she would tango to him
stick held high
laughing falling
on him when
the couch and they
were new and hope-
filled cradling each
sticked-month
now fourteen years
later they sit on
the same -now sagged
nearly flattened couch
and the stick nods
as they blink
heart poundingly
staring at the proof
of their fresh start
they stare, blink,
tango madly across
the room and back again
ready, so profoundly
ready to begin

Tuesday, December 27, 2011

A Birthday Poem - Whorled



                           Whorled

 Here you are from womb whirling to mountaintop majesty
 Wandering, wondering, wondrous, laughing, slip-sliding
 Infant dimple fingered hold on that slice of eternity
 In the years tumble, tempest-joy-uncertain-clear trek
 Always in soft certitude of the light of stars - sparkling
 With a clear true flame - born under, carried within and
 yours to share - from first blink of fathomless eyes
 reflecting the mountaintop from where you came, from
 where you now stand, all pinpointed celestial eternity behind
 ahead and shimmering within you, this day, as each day
 forward flooded filled with all - from first drop of sweet milk
 to sting of  bitter herbs upon the tongue, whirling, floating 
 aquamarined waters to iced-arctic whitened snowflakes
 whirling from infant milestones to the crack of a bat vibrating-
 beasts gentle lumbering, emotion-swirl beginnings, incomprehensible
 endings rolled in burgeoning intellect -until your own  
 first shimmering thoughts coalesced writ- read
 reflecting something beyond, yet within, familiared  comfort-clear,
 life-love flowing up each step of whirling, womb-walk,  
 footfall steadied with each tumbled year, to stand here today
 on the mountaintop eyes filled fathomless deep as at that first blink at the
 whirling tumbled tempested wonder of it all spread before, around
 and within you in timeless kaleidoscopic shifts of endless configuration
 Enjoy the journey and the unexpected vision of mountaintops without acme
 Revel in strong legs to climb, clear eyes to see, and the wondered whirl writ
 in unique imprimatur whorled in your infanted dimpled fingered tip reaching
 from then mystic manifestation, whirling through the considered now, into
 this mindful moment - breathe the clear cool air of your mountaintop of your
 horizonless forever 

Happy Birthday -  


Note: Last night saw The Mountaintop,  An inspirational Broadway play - imagining a mystic night before MLK'S assassination (starring  Samuel Jackson and Angela Bassett)  undoubtedly some of the imagery lingered .... 

Sunday, December 25, 2011

WORDLE #36 Peace on earth for all - within each and all on this spinning marble we all share...



Peace on earth for all -within each and all.. on this spinning marble we all share 

It fascinates me that across a continuum of cultures this is a time when love, light, peace and a sense of the shimmering power of  limitlessness possibility is celebrated -    This week's Wordle offered a few words and from them I offer a simple story of what I believe is the common human inclination for personal and collective peace for all and every across this spinning marble that we all share ... Enjoy:)

  ~

Heard there long ago all ye
a story born by heart decree
a quivered tenuous land where all lived lives in shaken, spectred anguished, Afraid
until absent of paraded tidings - Peace - arrived and softly bade
red faced babes now to nuzzle, nestle, smiling  sweet
beasts unburdened in manger slumbered on pain easy hooved feet
shepherds eyes flowed o'er ribboned flocks gathered lands a-grazing
as they in myrrh scented cinnamoned air, pondered all,  raised eyes starlit gazing
Thus a blanket of unadulterated joy floated mantling the shoulders of the land Afraid
Covering each cowered crevice of the chilled night to the dusken-gold-fingered- dawn
deep, clear, untroubled breaths joined from all,  as though an actual angel had upon them borne
banished away each fear, anguish, anxiety, animus, liquefied, as though never had been before
evaporated in the sun's rising light as each whispered in their way, "Ever will be more"
whispered all in newborn collective, calm, cooperatively, coalesced full-hearted, enthusiastic haste
each and all agreed, not one more second of sacred life, be squandered by foolish fearful waste
Heard long ago ye now listening here
the story of how natural Peace on earth triumphed over galloped fantasied fear
In the land we know still, not-as-Afraid, but as ever-flowing-milk-and-honeyed, Serenity
Cradled safe-still within the embracing willed wing of enfolded, accepted, enacted, destiny

Thursday, December 22, 2011

Papa 's Box

Papa’s Box

Mandated for centuries a plain pine box
raw wood unadorned slipping easily
into the earth from whence he came
But Papa loved mahogany spent lemon scented
Sundays oiling the whirls in the towering breakfront
the cornered Victrola on its own fringed carpet,
the twin side-tables at which he knelt to polish each
claw footed toe in turn with his white cheesecloth
and soft sable mustache brushes
In the soft late afternoon Sunday ligh
glowing golden he’d smile at the gentle shimmered
sheen of his burnished mahogany
and so – when it was time – there in place
of the mandated raw pine was Papa slipped
into the earth in solid mahogany shining
as his smile lowered into the soft earth of
that final Sunday a scent of lemon oil drifted
a filament of pure white cheesecloth lifted into the air
   

Sunday, December 18, 2011

WORDLE #35. In the year of the purple citizen



In the year of the purple citizen 


In the year of the purple citizen
The dream states behind reality did lag
the determined desire of luck with dermal equality now in the bag
In the year of the purple citizen
Started as a game, an idea soaring high on the fly
Each stained their own and a child's skin with honeysuckled elderberry dye
In the year of the purple citizen
From one side of the earth to the other it came tumbling true to be
In each purple dawned reality -  color did not all from trouble free
In the waning time of the year of the purple citizen
As skin returned to rainbowed variegated shimmered human hue
Each and all sighed, yet smiled,  accepting finally in consummated common view
what did and did not happen and all there was, as the last purple faded, left to do

Labels: WORDLE # 34

Wednesday, December 14, 2011

Six Separate Thoughts On Magic

Fairy wing  brushes  her neck as  unicorned hooves tremble the
soft sponged earth lit clear drenched in luminous shimmer of moon-day 
breathed syllables float soft as showered chestnut blossoms settling in poem
messages from Everland....

~
He stands as the world spins around him
blurring colors in melted sounds all heard
clear and distinct. - loudest the small voice
pierces core of innermost ear...raw with
mumbled jumbling one singular word  
Clear 
Inexplicable 
He stands as the world spins around him
flinging coupled notes into sonataed crescendo
as a jug head one minces  "Retard" in C Major"
repeatedly.....
He spins ...
 
-
Now you see it 
Now you don't 
Said Uncle Hymie
Pulling endless coins
From my ears
While Aunt yelled 
Don't!


-
He conjured The Magician Set 
a wand, a long black swirly cape
one silk top hat, glitter in a glass jar   
The box materialized  there under  
new sock stacks. red Santa pajamas
A dented box - one end taped 
Torn open to reveal   
The wand -  drooped 
plastic cape unswirlable stiff
Glitter gone 
Unknown


~
Give me your cackling crone and mumbly spell
Kneel down to a hope drained child - watch eyes light and well 
Transformed as you simply say " it will be better I can tell"
Make something happen go further still
Become the magic itself - as moon follows sun you will

~

Four-year-old-raped murdered Kaitlin
rises from her shallow fifteen-year grave
and tenderly brushes the dirt from her high arched foot
with graceful nineteen- year- old manicured fingers

     

Sunday, December 11, 2011

Wordle #34 - She Ran


She ran

There at river's edge ran the water clear as crystal glass sparkling crashing rapid as she chiffoned and tear swollen smacked by the whipping elements released her grip on further confabulations of the implacable cruel enigma of  the words - the words rippling in a recurring  spasm of memoried cursed pulsations. Again, and again, and again, at river's edge -his face floating over another's shoulder -  smile smirking at her chat-stopped-bedroom door-gasp " it is not all that rare" laughter falling as gravity grew weightless and the world tilted- She ran barefooted -an earring still ridiculously clutched in one hand - She ran,  through slanting rain to the straight river's edge and stood through darkened night as discarded resolutions fell about her, fallen from her running mind, until inevitably, finally first light fingered the sky and she did not wake - that last sliver of possibility  that she had slept and dreamed ran from her.  There at the river's edge the rain stopped and she, chiffoned gown clinging as second skin to her tempestuous tossed body - she simply released - hope tumbling into that crashing clear as glass rapid of icy river of crystal acknowledgment -  She tumbling weightless in the spacious sentient now, of her irrevocable release of yesterday, pouring herself  into the pulsations of the river, surrendering to the enigma thrumming in each coalesced drop repeating in its way -   " it is all not that rare" - "it is all not that rare " as light flashed the sinking soddened spark of her dishonored ring - a single songbird heedlessly trilled the new day  - soaring weightless above the tumbling running river where she flowed.                

Wednesday, December 7, 2011

Those few hours - While you were gone



While you were gone
We talked
We touched
We slid melting
Ice cubes over
Sweat slick thighs
While you were gone
We danced barefoot
To the little radio
In the kitchen
Naked
Ate chocolate chip
Cookies and licked
Crumbs off our faces
Together
While you were gone
We laughed
Softly and hard
As the light fell
We sat face to
Face and fingered
Eyelashes
Until
With an unwarning whir
You returned
In blaze of light and
Blaring voice
And caught us
In reimpowered
Sixty inch eye
Shamed separate
we covered ourselves
And resumed
Our silent watch
Power restored






A bit of this and that - while you were gone



A bit of this and that – while you were gone
While you were gone the little boy grew a mustache
Just for a while
While you were gone the tow-headed baby girl
Researched the seas for her masters thesis
While you were gone
Some books appeared on shelves
Bearing a familiar name
Sun rose and set in alternating configurations
Of blaze and bland
Snow fell into tsunamis, hurricanes, tornadoes
Ice-caps crumbled a bit
The air was a bit cleaner and a bit more toxic
While you were gone
The calendar melted in dali-esque delusion
And I passed you in age
While you were gone
All surreal and the same
While you were gone
The gloxinia bloomed
And the house was sold
Through the dancing dust
Of slanted sunbeams
I see you in it all
Rustling in the thrum
Of always here

Monday, December 5, 2011

Haiku to you - a small stream of consciousness collection




Haiku to you


~
11 before
she sleeps in 5 7 5
breathing paused at 17

~

In slanted  sunlight
young man waits in dancing dust
as carousel thunders
~

Pillows piled crisp high
Hold apricot breaths secret
Last exhalation

~
Cat on windowsill
Folding boneless in sunlight
Origami breathes

~

Leaf slips grip from tree
Suicide by seasonal
Imperatives

~
Chestnut horse stamps breathe
on dead air of frozen fields
resuscitation  

~
under blood cover
infant player screams sliding
into awaiting  home base

~
koolaid sugared lips
touch, stick, separate
first kiss remembered

~
scalpel slits tender flesh
exposing rotted fruits growing
ready for harvest

~
crimson cardinal
lights on frozen pond alone
prizing Spring’s warming

~
whimpered end of sigh
in the final curtain call
crow caws to darkness

~
Chrysalis cracking
under weight of butterfly
velvet opening

~
I am haikued out
still in syllabic sentience
I am haikued out


Sunday, December 4, 2011

WORDLE #33 Sun Tumbled

It was subtle, the way the best of an amorous mission shall always be, laden with vanilla creamed dreams of perfect completion - She had no inkling,  as he in  mid December dawn traversed the frost crusted ground and  stood on the precipice of their unfolding future. As sun fingered the sky he bowed a gentle genuflect to all lovers who had balanced before on this  trivet of he, she and possibility and a poem, his poem  penned in hand - knocked, as dawn broke shimmering this forever remembered day.

Sun tumbled.