Flagrant
Breathe the trees
revival follower!
Autumn appetite's spring leaf
grew as tender as the flower,
fragrant symbol of our grief.
©
Brenneman T. April 1, 2003
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War
Hope is flying in a rocket
through the subtle mist of dawn.
Finally, we lock it.
Suddenly, it's gone.
© Brenneman T. April 1, 2003
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Flicker Guide
Why is what I claim to know
seldom understood 'til lost?
Another's ways of loving
are now symbols gone, but bright.
When I hold their torch before my eyes,
I see God dance in light.
© Brenneman T. April 3, 2003
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Miracles Made
Look up through willow oak branches,
and spot the one I fancy.
From the hammock it appears
a realm free of planar limits.
Could I defy the purpose of my feet,
and rise above to meet the breeze?
I need not wish or wait for dreams.
A rope and harness are my wizards.
Magic is the act of a mundane will
hoisted to perform an extraordinary task.
The charge of the mind is to convey
to the body the pull of lofty purpose.
© Brenneman T. April 4, 2003
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Conscience
Wisdom rings
are quickly counted.
when the tree is dead
Birds swoop and sing,
then are mounted
for lifeless show instead.
A living thing
laid waste or flaunted
will surely haunt our head.
© Brenneman T. April 5, 2003
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Projection
What is it that fills
the solitary sky?
Not a thing,
no sun or cloud,
but visions in the construct
of a mass behind my eye.
© Brenneman T. April 6, 2003
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No Cow
I stopped, then smiled
to be with now.
I had no thought.
It had no cow.
© Brenneman T. April 6, 2003
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Grocery Grace
He picked up the empty boxes
to help me carry them to the car.
When I commented that it was raining again he said,
"You know, I like the rain.
I know some people don't,
but it's my excuse to lie on the couch
and watch a good movie.
Then I'll crack the window and fall asleep
listening to the peaceful sound of rain."
I looked at him a moment with envy,
then smiled and low-fived him.
"You have the right attitude," I said.
©
Brenneman T. April 9, 2003
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Supposed To Be Green
Between sleigh bells and hay bales,
there's supposed to be spring!
When rain falls and day fails,
dark puddle-frogs sing.
© Brenneman T. April 9, 2003
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Unborn Cry
Time tickles the feet of my baby
until she giggles her way into being.
As longer days
tease the twig to release the bud,
the barren structure of winter
is forced to loose
the temporal, tender frill of passion.
"Come forth and be!"
My hidden voice
has made the choice
to risk infinity.
- Brenneman T. April 14, 2003
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Single Pane
The finest glass
is single pane,
windows clear
will break.
What's left behind
is just the same,
transparent the
mistake.
- Brenneman T. April 15, 2003
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Hung in Waiting
The sweet dingo-like mix next door
only whines or barks for attention.
From her cage,
she stands attentively on her hind legs to watch
Uncle Lav as he hangs his sheets to dry.
Her paws are hung in waiting. She's lonely.
Ninety last year,
Lav has hung a wind-chime in the arched opening
between the dining room and front hall.
He tilts his head and brushes it when we walks by.
I ask him, "Why?"
"It gets mighty lonely around here,"
he says matter-of-factly.
His son died suddenly at 67 last week.
"They said I'd never die as long as he was around."
In the following silence,
my lab Shammy leans her heft against his legs.
I sensed a match, having seen him clap and play with her
in the yard this morning as I awoke to peek out the window
into the finely mowed, spring-green yard.
"Maybe you should ask the lady next door
if you could let "Dingo" come over during the day
while she's at work to keep you both company."
"That dog loves you."
After a pause, he half-ponders, half asks,
"I may just do that."
A boyish grin creeps
from the edges of his lips
to his eyes.
The dingo yelps as Shammy moans contentedly.
- Brenneman T. April 15, 2003
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Sight and Sound Are Everywhere
Where are we,
now that the promise of our hearts
persists as only a wanton memory?
The eye that saw seems blind.
The ear that heard seems deaf.
We, who searched and listened in earnest,
are now lost among the bites of words
that surround true love's aching song.
I sing with you,
and the melody is endless.
Our spirits blend throughout our suffering.
"Hear me. See me once again.
My heart is ever tender towards you."
Misunderstanding is not everlasting,
even though the mind is sometimes worshiped.
Life splashes sight and sound everywhere.
Deeper voices converse and bigger eyes see
beyond our laughter and our tears.
The vibrations and reflections of these blessings
will find a way to heal us of our distance.
Hope will, in time, mutate into faith,
and we will find a way again to say, "I love you."
- Brenneman T. April 16, 2003
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Berrybrook Bee
A carpenter bee hovers here and there,
as if inspecting the decaying wooden structure.
Another darts by my face slamming into combat with it.
They fall, a wrestling, buzzing alarm to the ground,
then divide and fly away.
Some trucks and cars rush hurriedly by, while others appear patiently stopped at
the light.
Someone honks, and a moment later tires screech.
Shadows of construction on the new building next door
overwhelm the street-scape. My eyes search for the bee.
A wren lights on the pavement, eyes a seed, pecks, and is gone.
The sun warms my feet. I swing gently back and forth,
watching the guy with long gray hair walk by as he does every day.
Where is he going? What does he do?
I remember when he used to dye his hair a reddish brown,
then just let it suddenly grow out almost white,
displaying the decision boldly in a descending line, just the way he walks.
Among spontaneous friends and familiar customs,
I finish eating my veggie chili, dipping the last bite of my vegetable sandwich
into tangy balsamic vinaigrette.
© Brenneman T. April 19, 2003
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Mr. Easter
It seems insane, but smiling, Mr. Easter huddles under leafy cover in the
rain.
It's four AM. The Mrs.sent him out to hide our eggs again.
Remembering we're all children who dream of life in pastel hues,
our Mr. Easter gets up and off his 'keister' to share the colorful good news.
© Brenneman T. April 20, 2003
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Vanilla Skies
From everything to nothing,
did I turn or close my eyes,
or was all your love and meaning
just vanilla-clouded skies?
© Brenneman T. April 22, 2003
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Another Place
Putrid oil, sour sea,
I am not the son of thee.
Of God's earth, the outer core,
I taste, in essence, of the ore.
A place where no man thought I'd be,
Look for me there. That's where I'm free.
©
Brenneman T. April 23, 2003
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All Will Watch and Some Shall Know
She's was perky, young, and running fast,
her ovaries dreaming of endoblast ...
time ... waving frantically at the cars,
she falls in the street, afraid of SARS.
Scared of her bustling bygone youth,
of energies seeming now uncuth.
She scolds the hand that helps her up,
curses the wine, then drinks the cup.
We carry her groceries to her door,
and follow the path she's walked before.
We see that we could soon be her,
our courage could to fear defer.
A slipper on the broadest sole
will soften intent and alter role.
Soon the sprinkle, a drench will seem,
aged youth's passions, doused will steam.
Vapors will rise. Dew will form,
on what could be our final morn.
We all will watch. Some shall know,
that all we feared was H2O.
©
Brenneman T.
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