Wonderful

You want to pull up stakes and make
a beeline out of dodge, but the old codger
has a score to settle; he tests your resolve
as your spirits wander. Under watchful eyes
your wish for non-existence is granted
and every man, woman and Zuzu is lesser
for it. Your brother dies, as do the guys
on his ship. You weren't there to save them.
Your mother sees another boarder,
not a son at all. You fall from her grace; losing face.
A bad Martini drives you to drink and  in the Nick of time,
a strange angel gets his wings on your dime!
You think you've wasted your life with so much to give.
This is the place to be, and the people you need to touch.
Is that asking too much of life?

© JPW - 2013

Poets United - Verse First: We Are Interconnected

Mirage

Your eyes are deceiving you
and your heart believes that you
are seeing what it wants you to!

It is her that you see, a vision
in misty faded wisps. You envision
beauty with beholding eyes, indecision

fills your mind, your pulse races
and your can swear her faces is
hidden in remarkable places.

You blame the lateness of night,
you blame your meal, the light
and try as hard as you might,

you cannot erase her.
You cannot replace her
and God forbid you deface her 

memory. You could swear she is there,
her perfume, the smell of her hair
a gentle hand gracing your shoulder to repair

the loss you feel. It seems so real
and you thought you could deal
with it, but you continue to feel

her presence near.
She is right here,
and you’re not clear

if you want this mirage to stop haunting 
you, the task of waiting till mourning is daunting. 
You reach to touch what is not there, leaving you wanting.

© JPW - 2013

Poetic Asides by Robert Lee Brewer - Prompt #237 Illusions

Poets United: Poetry Pantry #168

Memoir of Me at Three

Clumsy kid always hid
in out of the way places.
Atop the refrigerator...
in the pigeon coop...
under the front porch...
I carried a torch for the girl
next door (she was much older)
all of four. Walks in the pram
holding hands and sleeping
together under the trees 
in the park. Afraid of the dark,
loved my mom and dad,
had a sister and two brothers
(with others in my future),
skinned knees and sutures.
A silent sort, never resorting to words
when a good hand gesture
would suffice. A very nice life
when I remember me at three.

© JPW 2013

Written for (but too late to submit) dVerse Poets Pub - Poetics: Try to Remember

Notions - Aisle ½ - 1

A flash in the pan, you've
enlightened this man with lucidity,
for the moment, anyway.
It's not everyday I am blessed
by your mindful caress.
You may not be my first,
but if I don't act fast it'll be
the last time you're mine!

© JPW 2013

dVerse Poets Pub - Form for All: The Three Riddles of the Sphinx

Personal Affront

You look to hurt a trusting soul,
going off half crazed into your tirade.
The accusations that you've made
cut deeply, where no healing can be
affected. Words. They hurt; they heal
and they steal any dignity I may have
had left. Now in shame, I realize
I had allowed you to sully
my reputation; my name. Take your attack
back before I take this personally.

© JPW 2013

Poetic Asides by Robert Lee Brewer - Prompt # 235 - "Front" poem

Out In Front

Out in front
there's a rickety porch,
rough hewn timbers with tree bark
still clinging to their fibrous skeletons.
Rocking chairs and a stump table;
shavings from a whittled branch
strewn about the weathered floor boards.

Out in front
there's a tree; tall and stately,
a monument to the longevity apparent
since it was planted, a feeble sapling 
much like himself - thin, gangly and weak.
It speaks of perseverance and dedication -
fulfilling its station to mark time and grow.

Out in front
near the tree, there's a lake...
a pond, really. Reeds and lily pads
defining its edge. Sounds of crickets and croaks
of bullfrogs, cicada whines reverberate in the late
afternoon. Soon their sounds will be silenced
as the seasonal change lumbers into the valley.

Out in front
is a tire dangling, a rope looped over a branch 
of the stately tree. Dirt dug out, a furrow where feet
dragging and kicking kept sticking the ground
with a new found ferocity. Gaining in height and velocity,
the children take turns launching, airborne to land
in a heap with a thud; sometimes blood appears, the poor dears.

Out in front
a wagon waits; flatbed secured, a hitch holding tightly.
On a brightly hued morning, and without much in the way
of a warning, grandfather had passed. The town folk amassed
in respect; paying forward what had come around on occasion.
Sadly in procession, he was carried from the house - a finality.
Placed upon the caisson, a solemn silence ensued. 

Out in front
the porch remained; rockers swaying in the stiffness of a late breeze.
Birds nested in the tree and the pond continued with activity
and the sounds of life. No one sat on the pendulous tire as it
swung hypnotic. The front door was ajar, but it was in exit,
not as an invitation to enter. Out in back the fields had grown
unruly and left to sit fallow. But, out in front a good fellow has gone.

©JPW 2013

Poetic Asides by Robert Lee Brewer - Prompt # 235 - "Front" poem

Poets United - Poetry Pantry #166

dVerse Poets Pub - OLN #113

Beach Front Property

Along the pier, planked and weathered,
boats tethered to the slips with twisted lines.
Spattered bow with gull souvenirs;
airborne psychopaths swooping
like kamikaze canaries on steroids.
And the noise in constant barrage
is a din that's never done.

But in the distance and on all sides,
the vignettes are very telling.
To the right the congregant gulls
continue their cackle, a drone.
Before wandering eyes, a horizon calls
sun speckled and bright, a light
of enormous clarity bringing this day

to a promising start. It is good
for your heart to be blessed by the beauty
inherent in this shore's edge.
Behind you are all the journeys
that have brought you away from a past
tattered and trampled, over-sampled
and weary. You can't go back again

no matter what your friends say.
For today, you take what's left.
Or to your left. Up the shore a way,
she stands in mirrored contemplation,
a situation you've encountered a myriad
of times; written in prose and rhymes
of every new view. Oblivious to you

she is lost in thoughts all her own.
A seminal glance; a chance look
that crosses paths and distance
to plant the seeds of curiosity
at trepidation's feet. She, 
with her sweet smile (when
she gets around to it) and tender wave. 

New "neighbors" sharing the open waters
along this knowing shore. Memories 
of former lives play in repetition;
new players in this ongoing game.
The outcome isn't always the same,
but this pier brings you back to start;
to beach front property and exploring hearts. 

© JPW 2013

Poetic Asides by Robert Lee Brewer - Prompt # 235 - "Front" poem

Poets United: Verse First - The Places You Love

Pretty Boy Front Man

Shifting moods and a flood of light,
bringing him into singularity; all focus
belongs to the handsome Lothario.
Musical mates fade bringing him upstage.
Head hung; chin to chest - at best he
meditates. A sigh and a raised eye brow
show his depth. A last breath and a note;
long and drawn, his song begins. At times
he is lost in the moment; others, he chuckles 
and grins, catching the glances of the 
enraptured nymph lost in his gaze.
Ballads were made for such seduction.
They are alone now in a sea of hushed gasps
and fawned stares. The words become clear
and he has this innate fear his voice will
go away, leaving him merely a face with no traces
of ability. He has this fight every evening.
But gilded looks are deceiving. Pretty boys can be
refaced; front men can be replaced.

© JPW 2013

Poetic Asides by Robert Lee Brewer - Prompt # 235 - "Front" poem

ORDERED CHAOS DEFINED (O.C.D.)

My Music:

Give me a song with a beat,

make my feet move

to a groove I can dance to;

take a chance to find

romance too, if I’ve a mind to.

Melody matters; lyric flatters,

I can’t carry a tune for shit,

but if it’s a hit I can fake it

as long as you can take it.

Give me a song with a beat.

My Team,

is a nightmare, dressed as a dream,

conforming to sports passion

with the team’s current fashion.

Anything for a buck,

and it’s just my luck -

we’re still in contention

for dishonorable mention.

I swallow my pride,

don my paper bag and hide.

Give out a cheer, “There’s always next year!”

My Meter Is Running.

This muse of mine

works just fine. 

But I laugh and I scoff

because I can’t turn it off.

I can fill any form

and make my words swarm

but, a terse verse

keeps repeating on me.

It can only get worse,

when hooked on poetry.

 © JPW 2013

Poets United -Verse First ~ Original Obsessions
(Three of your obsessions as three stanzas of your poem)

HAVE YOU NO EYES?

The soul has no windows,
as far as I can see.
But the truth has a heart,
and getting to the heart of the truth
takes a lot of belief
and a bit of faith.
Your ears will hear
what your eyes will not receive.
Do not trust your eyes,
for you realize that the soul
of a person rests in the eyes of truth.
Why didn't I see that before?

© JPW 2013


Poetic Asides with Robert Lee Brewer - Vision - Prompt 234

HERE ON THE SHORE

He saw her at the beach,
lovely and lanky was she

and with a style that outshone
every summer sun ever seen.

Her voice was quite hypnotic;
his thoughts of her were quixotic.

That memory always brings him back. 
Alone he comes to stand

there on the very sand
where they had first made love.

© JPW 2013


dVerse Poets Pub ~ Getting Tight In There (55)

BEYOND THE SANDBAR

Swimming, an exercise from here
to there. Choppy waters wish
to take a soul floating onward
to a place where her footing is found.
Arms paddle and legs churn,
aches and fatigue become
the lead that muscles despise.
No bottom and endless water
ahead. Being awash upon
the sands that time has numbered.
Shallow returns and toes drag.
Standing on the sandbar you ponder.
Does the journey continue, 
after the promise of home calls you?

© JPW 2013

PALPABLE FEAR

Inside, a rotting, lurking in shadows
of darkened thought. Confidence
takes a powder and all that remains
are the knock-kneed jitters of
these failing nerves. Seldom brought
out to play; never wandering past
nose’s end. The journey of a thousand miles
ceases before that first step lands.
Needing a leap of faith
to allow flight to commence.
Waiting for fear to subside.
And yet, inside, a rotting.

© JPW 2013

IN MY MIND OF THOUGHT

On this silent shore I ponder.
Thoughts invade like rebel raiders
wreaking havoc on my serene state
only to incite and ignite these thoughts
into words, my stillness flows
like a crystalline river - deep and blue,
and you are the giver of all things
that desire has discarded. I find much
in my mind of thought to occupy my days.

© JPW 2013