2003

words for 2003

b.r. crandall, j. graham brown school

i.

Running along crescent hills of clifton,
Along brownsboro and frankforted roads
Children learn to dream of a
Horizon, beyond the Ohio River, while
Entertaining the journey motif which
Lives, uncharted, within their hearts...their
Longings.

Rachel began running a long time ago
And desired scenery, sensual,
Under moonlit evenings,
Hoping hoping hoping for more hope

ii.

Juxtaposed to the Ohio River,
Along Louisville, lies southern nights;
Men meet ideas, thoughts,
Images, and truth (which also lies), in
Every moment of each dream.

People, they walk everywhere, each
Investing their own secret
Cares, and some of us sing along. Some
Kick stones along sidewalks
Existing only to feel pain,
Running, only to trip upon terrain -
I fear
Loneliness not alone --
Lucidity, stupidity, cupidity, fish.

iii.
Laughter, strange,
Against its rarity of a character flaw, brings
Delusions to my illusional
Yearnings to set a written heart free,
Beyond the baffled boundaries of
Ugh, yuck, bleck, shit -
Go take the trash out, will you?

How do you do it?
Oh, bug girl,
U manage filters, files, and a
Love for an artistic, poetic
Existence, but so young..so young.
The pond becomes a playground, for
The winged one, sprites, who
Exist only to put dreams in a frog’s eyes.










iv.

Violent we are, we beasts,
Icaruses with burned wings and
Calloused, overworked hands that are
Tired...so exhausted from turning every
Other page to see what
Riddle is written next
In this epic poem hidden within
An acrostic world.

To think we’ve ever solved anything is
Ridiculous, because there are
Only questions --
Unbelievable puzzles to mock ourselves into
Traps -- to tip toe through the roses.

v.

Nude teenagers skinny dip into
Adolescent luminescence,
Towards the tap dancing tango of
Adulthood where nudity
Looks like sagging losses -
Illogical marshmallows of wrinkles and
Endless decay.

Know that, and remember it,
All while singing that operatic voice of yours.
Rivers flow forever, but run dry.
Let that love, that laughter, that life, live like it does ---- naked ----
forever.

vi.

Little, are words, their power,
And how sour they taste when
Quenched with doubt
U need to get over yourself, girl
I said, you need to rip open that shell and
Taste what’s good for you. don’t
Argue with me.

Many days passed, and continue to move
On. This is how it goes (and you don’t know --
No, you do know, it’s gone when it’s gone.
Road of barbed wire and irises.
On. This is how it goes (and you don’t know
Everything -- even if you do know too much)






xxxiv

Jittery joke on us all,
Each finding purpose for the game,
Needing another roll of the dice,
I wish to buy another vowel, Pat...
Final Jeopardy, how much
Exists, really, for me to wage, to
Rage.

My age is working against me -
Apart from yesteryear, when
Life had more pieces to play with -
Life had more clues, yet now,
On this playing field,
You aging fart, You don’t get another chance.

xxxv

Juice was pored into a koolaid cup.
Apple
Cranberry
Love for the
Young writer who,
Now, was thirsty.

C....i told u it was good.
Orange juice, yum, and
X’isting.

xxxvi

Mr., Can I ask you a question?
Everyday I
Gain more wisdom, more perspective
And my eyes are growing weary. I
Need advice.

What? he asked,
I wasn’t listening....I was
Going over and over this
Gosh darn poem, and i
Simply can’t decide if I need a comma.

xxxvii

Today, I
Entered another
Realm, where
Reality was
Equal to a
Lamp post
Lashed with electric lashings.

Snapping,
My neck
Is harnessed by
The kinks of bad sleep, and I’ve
Had a terrible, crooked day.

xxxviii

Entering the
Limelight
Isn’t always easy...it’s like a
Zillion stars are shining in your eyes
And instead of vision, you go
Blind.
Entering the
The song of singers
Helps, though, in moving on.

Perhaps I’m wrong and
Ridiculous.
I have been and will be again.
Every time I place
Simple sayings into
Tight spaces, I
Enter the lime light with you,
Riding on the wings of your flight.

xxxix

Nine minutes after three,
I pulled into the lot,
Counted the plastic
On faces, in purses, of their
Lives --
Each, a flamingo, in more affluent lawns.

All I wanted was a book, to
Rake in the published voice of a
Buddy, back in college, who
Unleashed his soul and was
Caught as a son of heaven.
Keep your head up, kid, I
Laughed to myself,
Existing amongst East End tupperware.

xxxx

Lead paint
U used lead pain to
Knock up that wall, dude?
Everyone’s gonna get loopy, whoa..

Vat? Vat? It’s not lead.
Oh, my bad.
Sorry.
Search and destroy, guy....paint your life away.












xxvii

knowing that whiteheads exist
and need to be popped,
totally zonked by the bone man
having subterranean gloom, let me say i
love your letter, your poetic
evolution and for this
eternity, i hope you not only love the moon, but
need its pandemonium, too.

knowledge, wisdom,
and “an eye” have always been your
kind friend, lying on the back burner
in desire of the right match to be lit --

violet fire, with auburn tips
oven baked concepts
existing existentially, while
learning to laugh, love life, and live --
keeping one eye on the road and the other
eye on the river at your side ... this has and will always be your wordplay
rendezvous, and reading you is delicious.

xxviii

Rowing in the canoe,
On Elkhorn Creek, weak from
Being alive,
Entertaining twelve year olds, a
Rainbow trout swam by,
Trolling along, in simplicity.

Down the river, a young man would
Erratically lose control,
Needing to save himself
Needing to save the young boy
In the crash of sudden current, against a tree,
Needing to spit water, a bag around his neck -
Gasping in a complex moment, under water.


xxix

Drowning, there are those days I need the
Existence of artists to illustrate my dull pages and
Rub oil paints into my words.
Every now and again, paper is blank.
Knowledge does no good.

Why?
I don’t know about nothing, but know it’s
Located dear to my heart, and I
Can’t start another poem if they won’t provide
Hues, and the colorful clues for being.
Each blank page begins with a need for us to
Reach for how the other artist lives.


xxx

Jackelopes are good eatin for
Aardvarks when ants are scarce and
Monkee brains are off the market.
Elephants taste like chicken,
Sometimes, depends on the barbecue sauce.

My vocabulary is limited because
On my quest for truth, i decided not to
Read the ones who covered up the banal with
Roseo Infantum.
I like words..don’t get me wrong, they also make me
Sick. Addictions are predictions for death.

xxxi

Jason was a pooping boy
And pooping’s what he did...and
Ma hated when he stopped by,
In days when we’d used to play, cuz
Every time he’d visit us,

Ca ca was his surest way.
Over the toilet he would squat,
Making faces and odd words, and
By the time Jason left our house,
Sure enough, smell of turds.

xxxii.

And on and on, another poem, a
Shadow on the stage,
Haunted by the hunger of words,
Loving the sound
Each pitter pats upon the paper, including
Your name.

Lame, another poem,
You, written across this line.
Ompaloskepsis,
Navigating my naval in meditative
Serenity....Om.

xxxiii

On humid nights of
August,
I imagine

Not here, but
Going away,
Unsociably unsophisticated,
Yearning for the ocean - alone -
Entangled by its distance -
Needing another place than this.


vii.

Azure, the color of the
Sky, a blue, bright -- not the blues.
Horizons kiss its hue and makes me
love, one deserves to love again, man.
Everyone deserves to love and
You do, too -- it’s true, so

How have you been lately -
Energized, enlightened, enthused? You see,
Now is the exact moment for you to take
Destiny by its reigns and live
Exotically, erotically, hypnotically.
Reality is how you make it -
Show ‘em what ya’ Got.
Onward, my dear friend, because
Now, we need your color more than ever.

viii.

Laughter isn’t constant,
Is it? and it may be why I love my
Zzzzz’s, easing into silent comfort.

Noone can make it out there alone,
I know, but you’ve got to
Create the loner who
Knows how they can
Exist upon the
Roads when they’re lonely.
Stars can offer guidance, as can books
On the shelf, but
Noone makes it without their own hand to hold

ix.

Knowledge and rainbows,
ornate sunshine waltzing upon the Ohio
River and at this moment,
Tonight, with its trouble and my
Need to control the uncontrollable,
I love to read your words.

Right now, at this moment, a person is
On their death bed and another is about to be
Born into this miracle --
Everyday that’s yours is a miracle,
Really. But it’s a
Tad bit easy to forget that, unless, unless you’re
Stepping side by side with someone along the beach.









x.

Not everyone sees the stars,
How they scatter like music
In an arranged composition of the night.

Not everyone sees the moon, that
Giant orb who hovers its phases
Under starlit darkness. Yet,
You do .. and dance with them, too,
Existing to laugh in nocturnal light.
Not everyone sees its smile.

xi.

Ellipses, etc ... blah blah blah, and that
Rendezvous with
Infinite infinity ... all that jazz.... yadda yadda yadda.
Neophytes and fledglings, the artist’s moon,

On the road to find out.
Mr. Moonbeam dreams too much...
And thanks God that others do, too -- others
Run along, lakesides, watching the sailboats
And the laughter of cunning children.

xii.

MacLeish became curious of
Existing, why why why why why
Life needs hope, and hope is life.
I think about this a lot,
Not all the time, but a lot, especially when
Days blend into each other, backwards,
And I’m thirsty for a glass of water.

H2O.
Aqua.
You’ve seen me parched,
Existing out of breath and dry,
So, you brought me something to drink. Thank You.

xiii.

Lending that touch
Is like unleashing the wings of a
Zillion and one stars -- yet they’re unleashed, and

Dying closer to the everyday they live -- a
Rampage across the black chalkboard of night,
Ubiquitous loneliness,
Roaring in a universe of all these thoughts...
You, aglow, like so many.







xiv.

Commercials bring us a two minute lie.
On and on they preach, making us
Reach into them that there is salvation. We
Need them to know what life is really like.

On and on and on they lie, changing the channel.
Now, I think about this, behind warm in flannel.

Tomorrow will go.
He knows this because he does--
Each of us knows this

Knowledge, wisdom and advertised truth,
On and on they’ll leach onto us unless we choose to
Live for ourselves -- turn off the t.v., so we can simply
Be.


xv.

Krispy Creme donuts ... for what?
A moment of thirty second satiation, for
Love, flavor and cravings, given
Into, unto, onto the moment it cries...
And who gets paid what for that bliss?

A temporary smile
Takes the hard labor of how many
Citizens, working calluses, upon their
Hands for wages, rages, and the cages of the
Living....so much is put into
Every moment of a chicadee’s life.
You’ll be able to afford it all. The good stuff is free..

xvi.

Jokes on me, this time,
On a believe it or not Ripley morning where the
Sun shines, but the forecast is gray.
Have a nice

Day.
Am I willing to walk away?
Variables in the equations
Ibid., irises, ie;
Delusional illusions
Since the second my eyes
Opened, at the brink of dawn.
Now i must choose what to see, or not to believe.









xvii.

Knew a little girl once
And the only curl i saw was in her heart
You’d think she was horrid(but she wasn’t)

People thought they knew her...
Entertained the flippant facade,
Not the reality of how she felt within.
Childish are the young, yet
Enlightened as they grow.

xviii

Keeping balanced on an uneven beam, my
Ears grow cold, numb, and
I can’t help not listening,
They can’t help not feeling the sound anymore and I
Hate the silence, the ice.

Down the beam, the sun
Orange-warm and bright, glows, but I can’t
Reach it -- things are uneven,
Shaky, not smooth. I want the solar system,
Especially to thaw my years, those fears of my
Youth. One foot in front of the other, I travel.

xix.

Color me a mountain,
On the horizon of a
River. Call it good morning,
Tell it to me in japanese, Ohio,
Land, my brown band of brotherhood,
Accompany my blues --
Neolution, Neolution
Dying historically for a solution
To make the landscape come alive.

Arrived, the boy with his pen,
Realized a truth about all the music he
Memorized through cultural
Society, buzzed on the sobriety which
Tells nothing but the truth...the whole truth.
Risen, the phoenix is reborn,
On the ashes of another’s death...
Nubian breath is taken,
Giant, within the white clouds.












xx.

The trick is not only in our journals, but in the
Ridiculous ways we can concoct our truth
And create the magic for better memories.
Cacophonies are best, when exploded
In the sparkle of the human mind.

We find voice, only in play
And reflection. We see ourselves in
The mirror only after experience, but very few
Know how to smile back at what they see.
I used to hide from the glass, ashamed of the
Nights and days of childhood and what I was told.
Songs, though, are better sung for me, alone-now I sing.

xxi.

All my life, I’ve tried to be brief.
Less a dictionary,
Less a dissertation.
You know what i mean?

He, they say, goes
On and on and on, and
He, i say, knows how
Mad it is. I want to be
A blink of an eye,
not the optometrist.

xxii.

Grow, said the sun to a seed,
Reach up towards me. My
Energy is vitamin to your soul.
Go on, now, grow.

Please, said the seed,
I need more light, and I’m
Thirsty. Water is
Necessary, too. But I can’t
Evolve with you burning me all the time.
You need go behind the clouds.

xxiii.

Reaching across the table, she grabbed salt
And pepper. She said my pasta
Needed more flavor -- it was too bland.
Did she think i was stupid?
All day she watched me cutting herbs,
Lifting vegetables from the garden,
Lining ingredients for days,

Boiling the Pasta made from flour and time.,
Lowered in tomatoes, peppers, pesto sauce,
And served a
New dish, upon an old song. Neither of us would
Do the dishes.

xxiv.

Man met woman in a galaxy of
Stars, and suddenly was struck by seduction,

Kaleidoscope of peacock behavior
Existing to woo a little “wuv”.
I am not the first poet to wonder, to
See the drive which
Haunts our
Apple trucks.

Chemistry is more of the element, and i
Hate thinking there’s even more details
Amongst the chaos.
No. Man met woman in a galaxy of
Testosterone and
Estrogen.

Dionysius got involved and invited Venus
Over and wola! a
Raunchy rendezvous of blood,
Sweat and tears.
Erotic. sometimes, but mostly
You do the eye game to satiate the moment

xxv.

People rush behind headlights
Along salt-lined roads.
The radio is turned off, and you
Reach at the seat belt.
I feel uncomfortable, too.
Crowds of people moving,
Innocently trapped by
Angst, clocks and needs.

My grandmother
Always took the time to
Reach across her seat belt to hug us,
Children, give us poems.
Underneath the tapping of your foot, impatient,
My drive is to write poetry for you.

xxvi

Crazy how crazy I’m becoming.
And they say,
It’s only the beginning and
That senility is even worse. Walt
Laughed at me this summer
In his sharp, meteorologist way.
Needs to see me lose my sh*t, he said.

Reality, for me, is already
Assanine...and he, he wants to
Yank what little truth i have into geriatric dreams. Crazy.





xxxxii

Just between you and me,
U got to be a bit of a con - man to
Scribble out poems. You’ve got
To have word-tools and an
Interest in S P A C E, a
Need to mean a little more.

Hell, anyone can write a poem.
All you need is wascally wabbits and wile
Ye coyotes....then,
Every now and again, beep beep,
Some road runner leaps across the page.

xxxxiii

Jokes on you, they said,
On you, you, you and you.
So, they’re right.
Humor.

Me in an
Overture of self actualization.
Reached into my stomach and pulled out
Rancid meat, slightly digested,
In less that twenty four hours,
Silly succotash and stupid sagacity.

xxxxiv

Boy, those hugs,
You got to cherish those hugs as they
Reach around your stomach, arm
Over arm in a bear squeeze of
Need.

Love...this is what it looks like,
Unlike the way most of us are,
Kindness is a young man,
In his senior year,
Not caught up with the world’s
Sadness, but with hugs...just hugs.

















xxxxv.

tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow,
hovers upon us like a plague of yesterdays -
each of us will forget and remember.

brown school...a huge pain in the
rear, a rare gift amongst the chaos,
on the corner of Muhammad and
why we united together...birds of a feather
naturally flocking.

since this will be my last poem for you,
cause the chapter is being finished, i say,
have a great life, move
on, forward and ahead
on the idiot’s stage.
live like maude. love like we do.