Unbottles (Stream IV)
The spirit has spirited me away
In a haze of whiskey.
Out the bottle,
Unbottles me.
No longer bottled up,
Now I free the emotions,
I motion to you,
You hold up your hand.
Hand me your ultimatum,
The ultimate last word,
The word which you must always have,
Like you own way,
Which in your own way,
Is somehow endearing,
And enduring.
For you will never admit defeat.
And I defeated,
Know you will not admit your wrong,
Which wrongs me,
Makes me in the wrong.
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poem by Paul Brookes
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Things Long Stored
I remembered the scent
It floated on the air
Following her into the crowd.
It clung to my nose.
And sang in my blood.
Inundated my mind
Washed it with memories
Things long stored;
Of kind warm nights,
Softness of laundered sheets;
Of mother and perfumed hugs.
Those fleeting goodnight kisses
Soft from her fragrant lips.
How the light played on russet hair
And caught the mischief of her smile
As she tripped out the door
In a blaze of rustling silks,
Like Cinderella off to the ball.
Rising from the dusty warehouse of my mind
It all floods back as if yesterday,
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poem by Paul Brookes
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Looking For A Prince
A spirited girl
With long blonde hair, long legs to match.
Her clear eyes untroubled
Waiting on the cusp of life
For prince charming to appear,
Appear and whisk her off,
Off to his mansion in the sky.
So fall in love she did,
In love with a tall dark man,
A man of swarthy skin.
With eyes so deep,
Deep blue eyes in which to swim
And see the oceans depths.
But then came the babies one, two, three.
Money grew tight and she grew thin
And love flew out the door.
The prince turned into an ogre
Making her blue eyes black.
Now her spirit is knocked out
And she knocked up
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poem by Paul Brookes
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Untended
Stone dead she looked.
Only the flicker of an eye lid
Quick as the flash of a butterfly wing
Belied the fact.
Tears rolled,
Trickled slowly
As if in slow motion
down pale cheek;
A ghastly white,
Stark in the ethereal light.
Her hair turned to snow,
And she only twenty.
Lips moved in silent prayer,
A requiem for lost innocence?
From child to woman in a heart beat.
Here is bloody war, destruction.
But she is blind to the suffering
Deaf to the moans of the dying,
The shriek of bombs
And the sobs of the living.
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poem by Paul Brookes
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Savage Tears
He cried tears to tear the heart.
Not the silent tears of aching sorrow.
But those of unimaginable loss.
Vast exhaling sobs that shook the earth
And silent screams that vibrated the air.
That grieved in utter stillness, soundless.
For he had wept the well of tears dry.
The irreparable loss, hard edged,
Had left him hollowed, paper thin.
A howling dissonance of pain too great.
The pit belly loneliness of deprivation.
It is the rendering down of that most deep
An unconscious dissonant of wailing.
But then as surly as the sun rises
He learned to live again, a half life,
Its true, but thankful to come to rest
And lay his head on sunnier shores.
poem by Paul Brookes
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Periphery Vision
Just out of reach,
On the periphery,
I see from the corner,
The corner of my eye,
Just out of view,
A flash of black,
A wisp smoke.
Or the touch barely felt
Of cold fingers lightly landing
To freeze my shoulder,
Yet when I look not there.
A whisper barely heard
Calls my name gently.
Is this stalker death
Keeping his prey in sight?
Invisible but ever present.
Ready to present an invitation.
An invitation to the dance,
The dance of death.
We know those steps,
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poem by Paul Brookes
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Black and White (Stream XV)
I have black thoughts,
It is a black day,
A day when the black dog
Coal black, hovers at my shoulder.
I shoulder the burden.
Deep in the black hole.
Black as a black hearted night.
Negative.
Stark.
Black and white.
I do not call my good days white days.
Why?
Or have white thoughts
On a white day,
When the white dog
Pure white sits upon my shoulder.
Which is unburdened.
Out of the pit,
Luxuriating in the bright white light;
White as the purest snow.
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poem by Paul Brookes
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Killing Love (Stream XX)
Love like gentle petals unfurls,
A tender plant killed by harsh words.
A flower that needs much nurturing
For then it will blossom, grow.
But we, we two,
Having this great gift
Did fritter it away.
Spend thrifts we were,
Misers to its needs.
Gave it no bread.
Fed it no water.
Let the weeds of indifference grow
Choking it with strangling vines.
So that it died in the desert of our neglect.
Killed it stone dead with unkind thoughts
Withered it with cold looks
That chilled and froze the heart.
Turned caresses to sharp words
And used our tongues as swords.
The passion that once burned
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poem by Paul Brookes
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Stormy Breath
Wispy pearl grey clouds,
As if hunter pursued,
Slick across the heavens.
The winds stormy breath
Harries and blows,
Roaring and tearing;
Rips into the trees,
Their branches bend
As if to some ancient diety,
Tearing the bare boughs.
Mounds of leaves skitter and fly
Making spiral patterns.
Like a flock of tiny birds.
A lone deranged umbrella
Rolls and tumbles skyward
Snatched from an unprepared hand.
Then descends rolling
Causing havoc on the road.
Yesterday's news flutters
To paste itself on railings.
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poem by Paul Brookes
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Drowned (Stream XIII)
Once in peace I dreamed
But now the worlds noise intrudes.
Shattering the peace.
Pernicious.
Creeping under the door,
Seeping in through the windows.
To drip perpetual over sills
Absorbed by walls,
They shudder to the thunderous roar.
A never ending cacophony;
The incessant traffic buzz
Which drones, vibrating bone,
Drilling the skull.
The brazen blare of horns,
Raucous metallic sounds.
They drown out city birds
And their melodious song
Which caressed the ear.
No longer heard
Cannot compete so become absorbed
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poem by Paul Brookes
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