"When power leads man toward arrogance, poetry reminds him of his limitations. When power narrows the areas of man's concern, poetry reminds him of the richness and diversity of his existence. When power corrupts, poetry cleanses, for art establishes the basic human truths which must serve as the touchstone of our judgment." - John F. Kennedy

Thanks for finding me. This is a fairly random sampling of my poetic rumblings beginning in the mid-70s to present day. Not definitive or complete, just things that struck me again for one reason or another on revisiting. There are a couple of previously published collections here which might be good places to start if you are diving in blind from the precipice.

Try the collections MEET THE BEATS or GLIMMERING RAY DUET (both archived in June 2008 in the menu below right) for starters if you are so inclined...

As of 2016, I will be publishing my song lyrics on a seperate page from the more poetic scribblings here. Pieces that first appeared here and then later were arranged for music will remain here in their original form but may appear edited on the lyric page. Check out the links section for the original song blog.

Thursday, November 6, 2008

WHY SO SHY BOY?


You like the way things are going.
“The future is uncertain.”
You want to keep things the way they are
…for now.

Ah, the ever-indecipherable “Now”.
Puts a careful man on his heels
Tilting to one side
Bowing respectfully
Towards
Inaction.

Hmm, how I love the uncertainty
The never knowing.
Yes, it holds my interest
Tickles my funny bone
Perplexes my reason.
Disrupts my sleep.

I dreamt of you for the first time
We kissed long and softly
In my former kitchen
You teased me some
Kissed me again
And turned
Gracefully
Out the door
Making me
Want more.

I hear your need for unfolding
Not rushing
No rules
No expectations
No strings.

I’m not sure if you see that
That is exactly my proposal
Entwined with only the expectation of something new
Courting the exciting
Not waiting for it to fall into our proverbial laps
But opening our laps to it
One might say with a smile.

In the realm of the patient
Things make their own way
In spite of all the planning
The need to control the situation
Languid pace
Cool exterior
Burning
Yearning interior
All seems threatened by the unknown.

But the heart
Still craves
Surprise
New romance
Dark nights
Roses with thorns
Men
Brimming with poetry
Your name
On their lips.

And if my mien in life
Is to cling to respecting these new moments
My head in your sway
In lieu of dangerously
Burning time’s fragile edge
With
My anticipation
My antsy desire
To climb into your skin and know you
From within
Discover your boundaries
Feed your fires
Stir your pot
Dine
Dance
Decorate your delicate countenance
With the exuberance of experience
Yearning
And refreshed spirit
Lie warm in your youthful gaze
Explore
Explore
Places we have never been
Nooks and crannies
Of life’s perpetual change
Flowing through our souls
Our brief shared moments in time.

To miss this resonance
For lack of trying
Would be a horrid sin.
To hold these moments
Tight and cozy
Against our memory
A blessing,
Not fearful
Of whatever
Comes around the next bend.

Yet no gigolo, I.
It is not the climax that I crave
The view from the top not withstanding
Carnality's afterglow but a sweet by-product
Of a deeper attraction
A languorous understanding
An adventurous
Redistribution of affection’s
Soft hand
I seek the eye's confirmation
The touch of a fingertip's affirmation
The spark of a laugh's soft agreement.
I want my arm around the waist of your comfort
Hold your trust and friendship
Close to me like a sacred oath
A pledge of allegiance
To each moment's unique bliss
Nothing more
Such moments to become
What memory may allow.
Ah, the ultimate freedom
Of not falling for time’s
Playful tortures.

And me? Still I make no moves
No leaping stumbles toward your lips
No stubbled cheek upon your breast
No reaching for your long fingers.
Even spinning you close
Around our frequented dance floors…
Why so shy, boy?
When what I fear most is not rejection
Not inspection
Not reflection
What I fear are the words
From your delicate pink lips
Months, years from now
“If only you’d have made a move…
I was waiting for you to pull me towards your racing heart.”
And I say those same words
Each night
in the shadow
of our evenings
As I wait.
Patient
contemplating time's snicker.
I wait.
I wait.
For just a touch.
A kiss.
A sign.
Just a word
That now
Is the time.
A simple moment
Sublime.


TO REFUSE THE MUSE IS MISUSE OF THE NEWS

sometimes paper is so much easier than life
night safer than day
waiting easier
than stepping up.

If I were better in the morning
face to face
fearless
lurching
face first
into the fray
perhaps
words
could
rest
comfortably
rebooting their
resonance
but
that would not
be
muse worthy.

so
consequently
our hearts
rumble
paradiddles
and press rolls
until
attraction + obstacles
= excitement
as we import
desired characteristics
from those we yearn for
in others
while the atmosphere
of the moment
loses itself in the tailspin
of
fragile time
blown chances
passing trains.

Sitting down
heart
in hands
scribbling
commences
daring itself
to resist.



~ for Janine, written as a Facebook comment by Brad in response to Rhys’ McClure’s comment on the poem WHY SO SHY BOY? On November 6 at 2:32a

Thanks Rhys for the inspired reading of the previous scrawling. As one in the throes of courting a reluctant but appreciative muse, as when two people try and discuss the same book they are reading at very different paces, I fill in the blanks with what works for me. Solace in the pen, indeed

WOMEN BY THE WINDOW WAITING

the pen is / mightier than / the bored / hello or
rushing conquest / notching a new name
on the list / I scored!
if only more men / knew that words
are so seductive, yes / and captivating
there would be fewer / women by the window waiting
- Rhys McClure


And then there is the dilemma of the men
walking below those filled windows
chasing
scraps of paper
shredded love letters
that spin in the draft
of their yearning
around some blind corner
where only dream shadows
await.

They look up into the rain
fingernail crescent
diving behind rooftop edge
windows empty
shades drawn
night
longer
than most.






~ for Rhys. Thanks for the light that sparked this poem.
Poetic 2nd Comment by Brad on Rhys’ Facebook comment on the poem
WHY SO SHY BOY? November 6, 2:42am