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Scott Brendle Poem
The small and tall never meet,
considering the bickering,
in the boxing ring,
in which they will not stand toe to toe,
to touch the gloves,
with pushes and shoves,
dancing, prancing, merrily to the
resounding pounding of flesh and leather,
which is far better than glorious warriors
pouring forth to rape and pillage the grape village,
into a wine of fine distinction,
betting on the benediction of the monk who bonks
his head on the tread of the twelve steps
leading downward to the psyche ward,
led by the hand by the bland, inhibited prohibition wizard
who bought forth the blizzard,
which blinded the open minded into thinking,
that the drinking was the cause
for the gauze that repaired the impaired
who quaffed and scoffed at the vindicated villains.
Copyright © Scott Brendle | Year Posted 2006
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Scott Brendle Poem
Suddenly, a cactus smacked us,
since I led, I also bled,
from my head as my follower fled,
into the wilderness of his youth,
screaming, beaming, teeming up with,
gleaming glorious blooms of June,
dancing, prancing with his feet,
til he became one with the sun
disappearing from my sight,
as light gave in to night.
Copyright © Scott Brendle | Year Posted 2006
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Scott Brendle Poem
The clamorous, glamorous, amorous...
sing succinctly about their worth,
to the ragged bagged haggard masses,
who push forth their carts...of forgotten arts, through the marts.
Complaining of the waning interest in their air
to the mayor who sits upon his throne,
calling home to fill its moat, with his boat,
paid for, by the maid for,
failing to clean the railing leading to bedroom,
the bride and groom tried to room
to sanctify the event to which they went.
Copyright © Scott Brendle | Year Posted 2006
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Scott Brendle Poem
to begin to understand my gland,
take it in your hand,
feel it's worth,
feel it's girth.
Jiggle it giggling,
kiss it quickly withou blinking,
while it squirms like a worm,
wanting and waiting...
to cleave apart your special part,
that juicy and loosely grasps,
my member as your ember glows,
from within without a whim,
and shakes...and quakes...
and gives... and takes...
till it's over, and I'm done,
and you know, that you are the one.
Copyright © Scott Brendle | Year Posted 2006
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Scott Brendle Poem
Days of rage and heartache,
filled with the despair of another pair of worthless shoes,
wandering, walking, leading to the meeting,
to discuss the circus all around us,
which allowed us to be disemboweled by a corporate conglomerate,
hell bent on the message sent to lead us into oblivion,
I will live on.
Copyright © Scott Brendle | Year Posted 2006
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Scott Brendle Poem
Go on drinking, without thinking,
about the bout you'll soon be in,
and begin to fathom the random way,
in which the day can blur,
into a trance, perchance and lead you, and bleed you,
throw you out, give you gout, as you worry about,
a thousand chances in the sand ,
when you could have been,
should have been, out like a light,
before fall of night,
and worry about the fury,
your head will feel, make your squeal,
crying, dying but then flying,
into a place you never have been,
drained of all your sin,
waiting to begin,
again the same way Friday night,
without fright,
to start another fight.
Copyright © Scott Brendle | Year Posted 2006
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