Submissions by manic_inspiration (Brian Minnick)
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
5th Feb 2010 00:34am
5th Feb 2010 00:34am
Second Dance
Note: This is the second poem in a set of 4 titled "Insanity Breeds Lowly Company." The first of these (First Dance) is posted here as well if you wish to read them as they were meant to be.
Second Dance
Platinum sunrise paints guilty streaks on shut eyelids
desperately begging me to start a new day. Though my
Egyptian cotton sheets and dove feather pillows
warm my body like a bridal virgin,
I open the windows to my discarded soul.
Ten eager faces wait to serve my every whim.
Their morning began countless hours earlier but...
Second Dance
Platinum sunrise paints guilty streaks on shut eyelids
desperately begging me to start a new day. Though my
Egyptian cotton sheets and dove feather pillows
warm my body like a bridal virgin,
I open the windows to my discarded soul.
Ten eager faces wait to serve my every whim.
Their morning began countless hours earlier but...
695 reads
0 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
2nd Feb 2010 7:50am
2nd Feb 2010 7:50am
Children
for my Mother
Children are born of such strange seed;
they sprout and flower
and then fly free.
Of hugging deep
And letting go,
And pain of growing things unknown.
The pain is real
Love’s hold so strong
Forget me not, oh golden crown.
I walk with strength
my chest held high
acidic tears find rival eyes
Oh sun, my sun, I am your star
And while I may be far from sight
Your warmth encompasses my garb.
Relationships grown firm with time
connecting with so firm a line
...
Children are born of such strange seed;
they sprout and flower
and then fly free.
Of hugging deep
And letting go,
And pain of growing things unknown.
The pain is real
Love’s hold so strong
Forget me not, oh golden crown.
I walk with strength
my chest held high
acidic tears find rival eyes
Oh sun, my sun, I am your star
And while I may be far from sight
Your warmth encompasses my garb.
Relationships grown firm with time
connecting with so firm a line
...
1059 reads
1 Comment
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
2nd Feb 2010 00:02am
2nd Feb 2010 00:02am
No Jacket Needed
Succulent mango juice
cascading down my chin,
a crystal opal glowing
in the sun’s jealous glare.
Summer memories,
seven months past
four months forward
are teased in a Texas winter.
Stubborn in seeking that
raw skin, oppressive curtain,
my car windows open exchanging
hip hop bass for chilling breezes.
The grocery store clerk selling
decadent sun-roasted hummus
cautions my short-sleeve obsession
“Some shouldn’t be showing it all.”
Bird calls sing the flowers into bloom
sending senses wild
...
cascading down my chin,
a crystal opal glowing
in the sun’s jealous glare.
Summer memories,
seven months past
four months forward
are teased in a Texas winter.
Stubborn in seeking that
raw skin, oppressive curtain,
my car windows open exchanging
hip hop bass for chilling breezes.
The grocery store clerk selling
decadent sun-roasted hummus
cautions my short-sleeve obsession
“Some shouldn’t be showing it all.”
Bird calls sing the flowers into bloom
sending senses wild
...
924 reads
3 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
31st Jan 2010 10:50pm
31st Jan 2010 10:50pm
A Bird's Chorus
In a valley
damp with the dew of dawn
a woman walks
Silence her companion
moon setting
sun rising
The shadow of darkness
masked by streams of light.
Then, from tree unseen
sparrows sing a Sanctus
Sweet in its innocence
Dark in its simplicity
Echoes of twilight
clear and serene
stories of poets unknown
A quiet northern breeze
whispers a new song
similar yet profoundly unique
A call
a message
a symbol
an elegant duet
reaching towards the sun.
Out of emptiness...
damp with the dew of dawn
a woman walks
Silence her companion
moon setting
sun rising
The shadow of darkness
masked by streams of light.
Then, from tree unseen
sparrows sing a Sanctus
Sweet in its innocence
Dark in its simplicity
Echoes of twilight
clear and serene
stories of poets unknown
A quiet northern breeze
whispers a new song
similar yet profoundly unique
A call
a message
a symbol
an elegant duet
reaching towards the sun.
Out of emptiness...
819 reads
2 Comments
STORY POEM
Published
28th Jan 2010 10:36pm
28th Jan 2010 10:36pm
Instructions
The key to locking Satan’s door
is one pecan and cheap perfume.
But if you do, beware the cost,
for thirty years you’ll have no heart.
Find a quiet sandy road
at 3am (demonic code).
Count back from six
three times with haste,
Begin to walk
Here starts the clock.
At 3:04 a dog will bark
walk on.
At 3:13 a door will slam
walk on.
At 3:19 three crows will squawk
now stop and please extend one arm.
All three, with grace, will gravitate
to welcome your dark company.
Now concentrate for only...
is one pecan and cheap perfume.
But if you do, beware the cost,
for thirty years you’ll have no heart.
Find a quiet sandy road
at 3am (demonic code).
Count back from six
three times with haste,
Begin to walk
Here starts the clock.
At 3:04 a dog will bark
walk on.
At 3:13 a door will slam
walk on.
At 3:19 three crows will squawk
now stop and please extend one arm.
All three, with grace, will gravitate
to welcome your dark company.
Now concentrate for only...
949 reads
4 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
28th Jan 2010 6:37pm
28th Jan 2010 6:37pm
Burned Book
These verses are all that remain from a burning book I found in an alley
I
…nine cloaked horsemen lead the way.
II
I am a beast…flowers are the essence of life, handcuffed to the earth.
Human hands know not what they do.
…What is love but…
III
When the lights returned,
my body was covered with the breathe of children.
When my mind returned, all it could perceive was
boiling smog.
…my cradle song, sung, now lost.
IV
…the worst is yet to come, but the answer lies when the clock strikes…
Am I human?...
I
…nine cloaked horsemen lead the way.
II
I am a beast…flowers are the essence of life, handcuffed to the earth.
Human hands know not what they do.
…What is love but…
III
When the lights returned,
my body was covered with the breathe of children.
When my mind returned, all it could perceive was
boiling smog.
…my cradle song, sung, now lost.
IV
…the worst is yet to come, but the answer lies when the clock strikes…
Am I human?...
850 reads
5 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
27th Jan 2010 2:00am
27th Jan 2010 2:00am
Affair
Can the shadow of my pill bottles
protect me as the sun sets?
Surely not the florescent gills
dumping electric breath
into the next room.
And why must I be saved
from the rapture of
Night’s masculine perfume:
Burned acorns and
a red lion’s mane?
I can lick the thick
honey of silence
while chemically dehydrated lips
cry to the darkness.
When Night first kissed
me (against my father’s wishes)
I knew my human bound
sacred marriage with Sleep
was over.
The affair I never...
protect me as the sun sets?
Surely not the florescent gills
dumping electric breath
into the next room.
And why must I be saved
from the rapture of
Night’s masculine perfume:
Burned acorns and
a red lion’s mane?
I can lick the thick
honey of silence
while chemically dehydrated lips
cry to the darkness.
When Night first kissed
me (against my father’s wishes)
I knew my human bound
sacred marriage with Sleep
was over.
The affair I never...
1083 reads
3 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
27th Jan 2010 1:27am
27th Jan 2010 1:27am
Knowledge (and/or Greed)
Tell me, fine sir, can you spare
me a couple grand or two? You see
I wanted this thing called knowledge,
and with it came ramen,
and silk water, a mother deep inside,
only a pre-frat party memory.
With it came screaming nights
of questions and the memory
of how it felt to hold your dad’s wallet
(metaphorically of course, a spoiled
brat stays a spoiled brat)
and that awkward pain you feel asking
now after all these years.
Somehow I now need to find a golden
rainbow fed pot,
(I have a way with leprechauns)
...
me a couple grand or two? You see
I wanted this thing called knowledge,
and with it came ramen,
and silk water, a mother deep inside,
only a pre-frat party memory.
With it came screaming nights
of questions and the memory
of how it felt to hold your dad’s wallet
(metaphorically of course, a spoiled
brat stays a spoiled brat)
and that awkward pain you feel asking
now after all these years.
Somehow I now need to find a golden
rainbow fed pot,
(I have a way with leprechauns)
...
829 reads
0 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
24th Jan 2010 8:37pm
24th Jan 2010 8:37pm
Wedding Drive
I
The right lane is packed with cars.
Smog packed cityscape Houston art museum
man in a bunny costume,
is he actually in there?
Don’t touch.
Traffic and a wedding in the Woodlands
stuffed and cycling into foggy emptiness.
He doesn’t know if florescent tunnels
or breezy open air either provide enough shelter
or dissonant radio harmony as a Ferris wheel
and paper leaved tree zoom past the concrete highway.
Texting poems upsets the stomach
and provide anti-social company,
so stop.
II.
It’s...
The right lane is packed with cars.
Smog packed cityscape Houston art museum
man in a bunny costume,
is he actually in there?
Don’t touch.
Traffic and a wedding in the Woodlands
stuffed and cycling into foggy emptiness.
He doesn’t know if florescent tunnels
or breezy open air either provide enough shelter
or dissonant radio harmony as a Ferris wheel
and paper leaved tree zoom past the concrete highway.
Texting poems upsets the stomach
and provide anti-social company,
so stop.
II.
It’s...
710 reads
0 Comments
STORY POEM
Published
22nd Jan 2010 4:31pm
22nd Jan 2010 4:31pm
A Dwarf, A Well
Down a stone and stolen well
through water’s tunnels seen
again, a little man with orange hair
sits quietly and bites his nails.
He’s thinking of that princess who,
in time’s of old,
in dream’s of new,
sat staring in his beady eyes.
Her golden dress with flowers blue
and perfect ruby lips adorned.
She must have thought the well
enchanted, dwarfs in wells
no longer happen.
He offers her a little book,
she scarcely has a chance to look
before she sees her own reflection
raven hair returned.
His haunted...
through water’s tunnels seen
again, a little man with orange hair
sits quietly and bites his nails.
He’s thinking of that princess who,
in time’s of old,
in dream’s of new,
sat staring in his beady eyes.
Her golden dress with flowers blue
and perfect ruby lips adorned.
She must have thought the well
enchanted, dwarfs in wells
no longer happen.
He offers her a little book,
she scarcely has a chance to look
before she sees her own reflection
raven hair returned.
His haunted...
827 reads
4 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
21st Jan 2010 4:23pm
21st Jan 2010 4:23pm
Dissonant Trio
Trumpets duel for superiority in
a townhouse fit for a sax.
Add a melancholic Tenor and
you have quite a trio.
Brilliant whistles, dampened blues,
Cacophonous arpeggios, lip trills galore.
Basketball, opera,
golf, and booze.
Bachelor pad is quite the term I would use…
a townhouse fit for a sax.
Add a melancholic Tenor and
you have quite a trio.
Brilliant whistles, dampened blues,
Cacophonous arpeggios, lip trills galore.
Basketball, opera,
golf, and booze.
Bachelor pad is quite the term I would use…
647 reads
0 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
21st Jan 2010 4:16pm
21st Jan 2010 4:16pm
Territory
The naked wind hisses its territory
as I smoke outside.
Warm coffee, bitter and free
due to a frozen pipe lays waiting inside.
Reading Sherlock Holmes grows tiring
and even the excitement of being four pages from the end…
and the staccato female voice over the
speaker reminds me of Josh.
As my body warms, my mind numbs
and my coffee is now too chill to drink.
Though I don’t really want it anymore,
at least it would be something to do.
My car idles outside thirty-three hours away
covered in a pile of snow
anxiously...
as I smoke outside.
Warm coffee, bitter and free
due to a frozen pipe lays waiting inside.
Reading Sherlock Holmes grows tiring
and even the excitement of being four pages from the end…
and the staccato female voice over the
speaker reminds me of Josh.
As my body warms, my mind numbs
and my coffee is now too chill to drink.
Though I don’t really want it anymore,
at least it would be something to do.
My car idles outside thirty-three hours away
covered in a pile of snow
anxiously...
724 reads
0 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by manic_inspiration (Brian Minnick)
