Young Old Age
Some, they dance
while others lay,
leave all to chance
or come what may.
Her secret bleeds
on sheets of blue.
No woman's needs
she tended to.
Carpeted condo,
Taupe and beige,
filled like bondo,
with young old age.
- Brenneman T. September 5, 2002
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Right Still
Cut to make strong.
Injure to heal.
The good seems wrong,
but is right still.
- Brenneman T. September 5, 2002
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Mist Your Face from Tidal's Tip
Although my mood is a rolling ship
on waves to cast the surf to flight.
I will mist your face from tidal's tip
and buoy your soul above the night.
- Brenneman T. September 8, 2002
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Easy for the Living
It's easy for the living
to blame the dead.
My sister's more forgiving
to the doctor's wife
who's husband shot himself in the shed,
a bullet in his head.
I ask, "where was she
when he cried?" I said,
"was she putting little ones to bed?"
"She loved him so," my sister replied.
"It's so sad. He was such a good doctor.
He would write a little book of notes for me
whenever I had a problem with the girls.
His are the same age, you know. He was so kind."
"So where were you?"
I cried.
It's easy for the living
to blame the dead.
- Brenneman T. September 8, 2002
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Time's Rise
Grace is the silence
of more time's rise,
hope is the swelling
that subsides.
A moment taken
to accept and breathe,
slow to let go
of the bloodstained sleeve.
I am alive,
and find my way
through tomato garden
to hammock's stay.
Shade has sweetly
cooled my bed,
beneath an injured willow,
rest for my healing head.
- Brenneman T. September 10, 2002
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Mix of Passion and the Everyday
Small gestures of faith
transform the barren inner landscape.
In reality,
fresh organic grapes, apples,
mangos, oranges, and bananas
brim deliciously
above a soon to be empty wooden bowl.
Hunger is again to be satisfied,
the messenger of a coming bounty.
A turkey bastes,
rich and brown,
with the choice herbs
of chosen thought.
Water to wash both the one who eats and the eaten one,
cleansing all good things of earth's clinging legacy.
Life's pure water,
allows the juice of the carrot, kale, and beet,
sweetened with ginger's smack
to moisten the inner path.
This is our manifest religion.
The table is now set for our feast.
Come, sit down to life's banquet.
Enjoy the fruit of this, our common season.
Even the precious foul has been sacrificed for us.
Let the soul's abstinence
not starve our bodies of sustenance.
The discipline of the fast
is for the mind's healing.
A solitary meal
is communion
of nature and body.
That which is consumed,
in all that it enters,
it devours too, as it passes.
The teaching is a union
of lavish fruits
and savored meats,
their essence released in us
to some great purpose.
Our meaning is created in the mix
of our passion for peace
and the every day meal.
- Brenneman T. September 11, 2002
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Beyond the Night
My company,
finally, is me.
Eyes, they focus
on all they see.
All sorts of walls
may shade the sight,
but light is there,
beyond the night.
- Brenneman T. September 13, 2002
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I Bow to Honor
It all seems so contrived to my mind.
Not talking,
but living alone
with such a craving for her in my heart.
I long to connect,
share my soul with the woman I love.
The trap of raw desire's jaw
is ready to devour us both.
Wise it is to stretch much farther,
beyond emotion's unquenchable,
imaginary control.
Wholesome is the discipline
toward balance.
I miss her,
but the pain is mine.
She is well.
In fact, she smiles
as I reach inward.
I bow to honor her true love.
With compassion's passion
we shall kiss.
- Brenneman T. September 13, 2002
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Enough Pain
What is enough pain
to take the narcotic pill?
Certainly, discretion should ultimately rest
in the hand of the tortured recipient.
What is the pill that numbs the senses?
In the mind of a doctor, it is knowledge.
In the mind of the wise nurse, it is compassion.
In the body of the wretched patient, it is escape.
What is enough pain
to use the nuclear bomb?
Certainly, discretion should ultimately rest
in the hand of the tortured recipient.
What is the bomb that kills the masses?
In the mind of the physicist, it is knowledge.
In the mind of the general, it is victory.
In the body of life on earth, it is annihilation.
What is enough to pain for our society
to make the changes needed?
Certainly, discretion should ultimately rest
in the hand of the tortured recipient.
What is the change that heals the pain?
In the mind of the psychologist, it is knowledge.
In the mind of the sufferer, it is action.
In the body of society, it is peace.
- Brenneman T. September 16, 2002
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My 'Cadaver Arm' Update :^) (ie: operation looks successful)
Was I given a cadaver arm
swollen, green, blue, and red?
It looks like it.
But supposedly, it has now an 80% chance of close to full recovery.
Blistered, with a weeping bulging wound
in the inner crease of my elbow,
180 degrees around bend from the constantly buzzing funny bone,
a point at which made another incision they decided to retie the tendon.
As I waited too long,
the good doctor had to re-scar the biceps tissue,
pulling it back from atrophy's resting place
and sewing it by tendon to bone.
I was lucky, truly.
I don't have to wonder if the numbness in my fingers
is from the incision in my wrist, because he didn't have to make it.
It's my medial nerve feeling pressure which ironically causes reduced feeling
A green "yes" is still discernible just below shoulder.
(This did not add to my confidence.)
At two weeks out,
I am grateful to be healing, but the progress is slow.
I am doing therapy to get back movement
Thanks to all so much for the many good wishes!
peace, bren
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Mountains on Beach
We followed the dolphin on mountain bikes
as it paralleled the beach
just beyond the low breakers,
swimming closer than I'd ever seen.
It was windy out,
and we rode with it now.
Little more than dusk
glistened on her well-timed arches.
We were headed north.
Suddenly, she turned toward land,
directly at us,
rippling masterfully through the surf.
Just before she would have beached,
she veered starboard
one hundred and eighty degrees
back to mystery.
We had already fallen off,
shouting in amazement,
amazed in wonder,
wondering in awe.
We asked each other why,
reveling, we projected the divine.
We exclaimed to passer's by our blessing.
Then, as we ourselves,
the chosen, were losing faith,
the creature sped to shore
to give it's benediction.
These years later,
I wish I had run towards that dolphin.
I wish I had risked all
and been touched by the holy messenger.
There's no seaside sermon now
to slay my spirit.
All is normal,
and out at sea.
- Brenneman T. September 18, 2002
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Adage:
People who get maintenance are the ones that last.
- Brenneman T. September 18, 2002
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The Grub
The grass it dies.
We wonder why?
The grub below
finds alibi.
Outlasting drought
and scorching heat,
he grubs about
and eats root's meat.
- Brenneman T. September 19, 2002
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The Seedling
Rejoice in his well being!
The seedling, he has thrived!
Your love's led branch and flower
to lift with limb toward sky!
Yes, he once caterpillar
is now the butterfly!
- Brenneman T. September 19, 2002
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To Bright
Suns of distant light,
shine enduring truth,
and burn our night to bright.
- Brenneman T. September 19, 2002
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Blade's Tip
Slice seems brazen,
be it kindly sent.
Blade's tip weighs in,
no matter intent.
- Brenneman T. September 20, 2002
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All Will Be Free
We all will be free,
when we each finally realize,
that I am not you,
and you are not me.
- Brenneman T. September 22, 2002
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A Third Calling
There are at present
two autonomous and boisterous
dogs of emotional design
vying for my attention.
They bark incessantly.
One is the distant and beautiful
hound of acceptance.
It howls as a lone wolf.
The other,
close enough to snuggle in my face,
is the sly and anxious
canine of want.
I listen for a third calling;
the balanced Labrador of engaged contentment,
playing jubilantly in the fertile field of the present moment,
cultivated with a zest for it's own ideas, experience, and possibilities.
- Brenneman T. September 23, 2002
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One Bee Richer
The sea, it may seem soft by light,
but to me, who walks its edge at night,
a shell, that once knew love inside,
ebbs and flows now with the tide.
A bee, it flies the window pane,
trapped by glass from life's domain,
my hand has taken solace in
the chance to make it free again.
So life is now by one bee richer,
and empty shells, they fill a pitcher.
As beach in window's boundary,
I reach through glass to destiny.
- Brenneman T. September 24, 2002
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My Pace
Momentum built, but I staggered,
then finally found my pace.
Not too fast and not too slow
is how I won the race.
- Brenneman T. September 25, 2002
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To Straighten
What is it I learn
when I straighten my vertebrae,
and sit upright
in the frame I'm given?
Is it not stretching
that leads to faith,
and inner alignment
that strengthens the soul?
- Brenneman T. September 26, 2002
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The Last Penny
The cash is now here,
three hundred thousand
in varied presidents.
Branded the courtesan of lost souls,
each protests with the same paper melody.
It's all the same, or shall be;
one thousand two,
or one million three.
The chorus falls or rises
numerically,
until the last penny
has disappeared,
captured you,
or conquered me.
- Brenneman T. September 27, 2002
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Memory's Blessings
Why do I allow passing circumstance
to guide my eternal spirit's well-being?
Has day ever failed
to follow blackest night?
Has sun not shone again,
when fierce storm has passed?
Has love with time not healed
my most bitter hurts?
When troubled, let my heart feed on these,
a memory's bounty of God's great blessings.
- Brenneman T. September 27, 2002
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Rich Dark Syrup
My arm, it dents quite easily now
as over-ripened fruit.
The wound, it weeps and I go 'wow',
rich syrup on my boot.
The tree, it stands so still and strong,
though limb-less on a side.
The scar provides a rain-filled throng,
where both death and life reside.
The hammock, it is stained
with juice of both oak and me.
These spots, they form of our pain and
losses an organic tapestry.
- Brenneman T. September 29, 2002
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