the laughing men
oh memory
childhood illusion
behind what synapse
the aroma of smoldering autumn fire
suburban side roads
softly gauzed in smoky light
children’s saturday voices
rising from yards
family raked
weekend chored to
the status...
from innocence
oh memory
childhood illusion
behind what synapse
the aroma of smoldering autumn fire
suburban side roads
softly gauzed in smoky light
children’s saturday voices
rising from yards
family raked
weekend chored to
the status...
promise
swirling banner
wind whipped
color coded
a field of stars
a row of stripes
remembering when
freedom
found a country
to plant its perfect flag upon
made a promise
we pledge with our hearts
to...
the myth of Paradise
ninety-nine names of God in a hat
choose what you need
throw the rest back
take the God without image
God without face
distort him to service
the cause you...
echo
sleepless night
toss and turn
remembering when
relived again
amended to no avail
up-ended
brought forth into that darkness
promising clarity
absolute darkness entreats
silence traps…
your beating heart
resurrects
over and over
refuses
end.
***
BITTER POEMS: echo
BY NEIL...
The revolutionist
hunted down
they found him in an open field
riddled with scraps of poetry
half thought out verse
set in awkward measure
broken mouth
dammed with thwarted doves
fingers crushed
stained with...
on ice
it’s difficult to know exactly
how many of them are gone
but the percentage is high
not the one’s who’ve lost their way
the fallen down, mis-directed
temporarily out...
darkness
that evening you left me on the corner
moths drank every street light
a swarm of locust devoured the moon.
***
NEIL BROSNAN: darkness
nightscapes
nightscapes
in deepest night
long after the roads have fallen into slumber
I go out and paint them awake again
with the headlights on my green jalopy.
***
BY NEIL...
asicanine (a call to dogs)
lavender leashed dog
festooned in a yellow slicker
overly wrapped in man
little rubber booties yukked with mud
rhinestone collared
Oh! how I wish you would
bury the bones
from that...
nouveau math
ridiculously narrow women
poured into black spandex
circle their own cool shadows
pencil thin
wandering free form
over the illusion of abstract leafless branches
interrupted sunlight scatters
down the edge of...
liberation
the manual said
so simple now even a housewife can do it.
Fantastic, I thought.
Let her.
***
BY NEIL BROSNAN: liberation
Yellow Manhattan
All night cross-town cabs
yellow black Manhattan
traveling at the speed of metered time.
Surrounded by hubbub and sound
honking their way to curb exits.
Driven by expatriated hacks
who...
