Hello, I’m not sure if anyone is still following this blog, but if you are, thank you. I apologize for the recent long spell of inactivity but my college classes this year have just been pure hell. I will soon try to reply to all the comments that were last posted, as well as visit your blogs!
Thanks,
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Fargle-Wargle
The riumphed song of Fargle-Wargle rang into the night,
Wings in tatters outspread,
Lust hongorous for the fleeble world through more fleeble might.
Desire gorgified.
Jonking of dark scaled beasts reverberate in celebration,
Thousand of burnt flags raised,
Shouts and beatings of snyls slowly rise in escalation.
Demonstrations of praise.
The riumphed song of fargle-wargle came to its own end
Claws brought angrily forth.
Dattering of feet only against the silence would rend,
Before him his life’s worth.
Flames as if from hell erupt before the fargle-wargle,
Pleasure emanating
From his sinified smile, hands, wings, and every gesture,
Sky filled with his being.
Flames, eternal flames consume his rotting fleeble being,
Silence, all dead silence.
(c) Bret Sears – 2011
Boulder
With passing of breaths I could only boulder by,
Allowing the time to pass over
My uneven exterior of flesh worn thin
As if rock being smoothed away,
By burning droplets of clear and tranquil water.
This is how I slowly passed hours,
Simply bouldering by the long hot summer days
On the moss covered porch and steps,
While shadows flicker under what light eyes perceive,
Unable to leave their own ways,
Keeping company as I too boulder the time,
Until we’re smoothed to gritty dust.
(c) Bret Sears – 2010
THE FAT MAN IS LIKE BURNING SKIN
-Italicized lines taken from “Detroit Moi” by Al Young.
Across their faces blemished a sickened smile
This was life down heavily on the side of live
Entertainment. Biting into the fleshy meat,
Juices of fat roll down their overly large chins,
And from their pulsating lips emerge,
“Oh Lady Be Good. And the Lady of Our Profit was good.”
The emigre who danced or listened hard to dreams escaped
Could only wait to say
“The fix was in. To hell with all the wild pigs out there…”
Life never goes planned to any according way.
And there she was, the feast,
For the fat men burning skin.
Their cries mimicked one another,
Eyes all longing for the same.
Lights filled the center.
Smoke thickened the air,
Jazz plunked around.
Those were voracious nights.
They return in dreams, in daydreams, in the ways they walk,
Crowding around like pigs at the trough,
Waving their healthy dollar bills,
To sufficiently sate
Their succulent desires.
Bills, which silently slid
All down between the cracks, all up and down, the earth was bled,
Until not a nickel was left.
But that did not in the slightest matter,
For each man had their manner.
One after another they’d come for them, the same.
(c) Bret Sears – 2010
We’d wait,
Sipping
At creamy coffee,
Slowly and silently.
Here you’ve always
Kindly gestured,
Even though days
I’ve periodically pestered.
Then we’d start.
Your laugh,
Followed
By mine.
(c) Bret Sears – 2010
Death across Spain
Above a bird
Beyond the season
Beyond the season’s swell
For throughout Spain is death
(c) Bret Sears – 2010
Night fell
A bronze night
Underneath the nest
A desire
The bronze night desired
(c) Bret Sears – 2010
We wrote grand poetry together
Believing it could last forever
Nonetheless here I am, years later
With poetry on paper
Pages slowly decaying away,
Alone this time I read
This time with my poems in disarray
Or without ink on pages to bleed
No, this time I came back
Not with thoughts so black
But to take a step back into bliss
To find the happiness I miss
Into the past I receded
But with empty words I pleaded
I found that in conclusion
My mind was entangled
I faced disillusion
My sight became differently angled
Each poem, doted upon despair
Not upon happiness or thy looks so fair
Page after page I turned
Into my mind, the poetry burned
Words written by our fingers
Every poetic prose
On the paper still lingers
How every word flows
Now the lit match beside me was raised
Near the work we once praised
From it flame flowed onto words gray
Soon they faded away
(c) Bret Sears – 2007
Cymbals
Carefully Crashing
A Collision Of Marvelous Music
Swinging And Sizzling, Multitudes Of Sounds
A Brilliant Beautiful Symbol Of Joy And Jubilation
(c) Bret Sears – 2010
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