JD Brayton
Three Poems by JD Brayton
Three Poems
by
JD Brayton
Zen Snowcone
Kite flying in an arctic gale.
The Moon is a Hoax.
Truth a Trope.
Sentient Sneezing.
A mistake dangling
accidentally
Out of God’s nostril.
(here’s a whisper from the Buddha)
Fuck The Man
For He Is Wise
In Giving His Cash
To Sleeping Artists.
FELLOW CHAMPION
POWER CORRUPTS, OR IS IT THE
STRENGTH OF ONE TRILLION SUNS
AND LETTERS TO THE INSANE
YOU CAN’T CALL IT CANDY
OR ROSES FOR THE QUEEN MOTHER
IT’S SIMPLY THE SCENE YOU PAINTED
LIKE TEMPRA PILLBOX SUNSET SPEARS
USE THE PAWNS LIKE PICKETS ON A FENCE
KEEP THEIR EYES WIDE OPEN AND LEARN THEIR NAMES
LAMBS WHO EAT IVY SURELY WILL DIE
BUT ONLY AFTER A SECOND TRY
IT IS HUMAN NATURE, THIS WILL IN BATTLE
THEY SHOUT FROM ONE MILLION ANGRY THROATS
AND POINT TOWARD THE ARMOR SHIMMERS
WHISPERING JEALOUS POEMS
TO ARMS ALONE
WHO NEEDS AN ARMY?
THE UNISON SOUND BREAKS QUIETLY
TOWARDS THE FRONTIERS OF DELUSION
THERE WAS NO BATTLE
THERE IS NO FOE
YOU TASTE BLOOD BECAUSE
YOU BIT YOUR LIP
Chimera Bombinians In Vacuo
ssss-ssss-ssss-sss
Wring my wait
Standing pandering fool
A wrung Chimera aside.
Unscathed.
Unscaled.
Or a mountain of blue un re-totemstone
Blue luster cast bleeding
Cracked grey lids for seeing
Lips in favored breathing night…night
Old tasted..tasting
Crazily (ME)-bite
Crazily (ME)-bite
Here’s a callous rubberstone
Bouncing, prancing, chewedly bone
Glissading dogmouth kites
“ Ah, Youth! You glide like God-Dog water.!”
(I’ve watched from my perch..)
Yes. I’ve sat and set
Drooling petrified
Down
In
Ice.
Down in silver trails unheat
Spattering cowbones at my feet
I eat more stone in hand
I smell beauty
Assuredly( ME )-seat
Assuredly (ME )-seat
“ The Chimera has a riddle, soft man..
~young * man~
who scars stone in a moaning sun?”
ssss-ssss-ssss-ssss
My poetic statement- has to reside with the words committed to blank pages. Though it may, (at times), seem so -these poems are not limned in blood. Racing thoughts and automatic writing are the stuff of whispering ghosts. And I’ll be damned if I don’t listen between candybars. Pass the salt and it had better be worth it, pilgrim.
Faith may be primitive, but it’s the rarest tribe I know.
Bio- J.D. Brayton is an artist and musician who can, as if by magic , transmogrify poetry into lyrics, lyrics into short stories, short stories into novels, and novels into guaranteed poverty.
ALTPOETICS 