Best Brainwave Poems
If I could jump in a rainbow
And soak up the rays
It still wouldn’t compare
To the love of my Babe
He showers me with sentiments
He explains how he feels
He gives us a future
And makes fantasy become real
I can’t quite remember my life before him
And he thinks the same
We are brainwave twins
My life has no past
It seems I’ve forgotten
Like it was molded or rotten
With my baby it’s all new
Life started the day
I met my true best friend
Confidant and lover for always
'Twas the night before Christmas and outside blew a gale
Ol' Santa had a brainwave and on his sleigh rigged a sail
He was preparing for what lay ahead, an arduous task
Then waved goodbye to Mrs Claus and put on a face mask.
First he delivered to the all the cities then town after town
But cross winds were now blowing that slowed the sleigh down
He then put down on the highway to dismantle the sail
And the flapping of the sail fabric tickled Rudolphs tail.
Rudolph thought it was Santa and started moving away
But Santa was on the roadside minus his sleigh
The air turned quite blue, ( I wont repeat what he said )
Santa's face was the colour, like his suit a bright red.
He took out his cell phone and dialed nine one one
And told the bemused operator what had gone on
"My head reindeer Rudolph has made off with my sleigh
That's loaded with kids presents for Christmas day".
An all points bulletin was sent out for the runaway sleigh
Santa prayed that the traffic cops would save the day
Cops in choppers were scrambled and to save at any cost
The magic of christmas, that looked like 'twould be lost.
By now Rudolph was getting tired and stopped for a rest
Then the cops in choppers landed, to make an arrest
Rudolph pleaded his innocence and said he didn't know
Then looked behind him and said " where the hell did he go?".
It was all a misunderstanding and everything turned out okay
Sleigh and Santa were reunited and went off on their way
He cracked his whip then from a bottle took a large sup
Told Rudolph to get a move on as the kids would soon be up.
He delivered all the presents and now house lights were coming on
Santa was full of praise for Rudolph, for the hard work that he'd done
He made for home going by the airfield with five crates of elf beer
As a thank you to the chopper cops and to bring them some cheer.
Meanwhile at home Mrs Claus was preparing the turkey
She knew that when Santa got home he'd be tired and hungry
Santa phoned her on his cell phone , she answered "yes dear"
He said "Merry Christmas Mrs Claus and a happy new year".
Written on 3rd December 2020.
Christmas Poems Old or New Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Constance La France.
Minds eye revolution
14/08/2018
Minds eye revolution
Industrial solution
Brainwave pollution
Stunted evolution
Living life reckless
Fragile future feckless
Heavy heart helpless
Soul search purpose
Chemical dependency
Limited life expectancy
Wake up reluctantly
Doubt self constantly
Hard fought decision
Much self derision
Brain cell collision
New world vision
Wake up expectantly
Start again excitedly
Lessons learnt thoroughly
Damaged world behind me
Detox relieves me
Rehab's a journey
Suffer through therapy
Reliving dark memory
Synapses reconnect
Positivite affect
Self exam reflect
Accept do not deflect
Learn self love
Gift from above
Fits like a glove
Life my new drug
You Live Where Your Heart Lives
As I listened to my favourite instrumental music
Its frequencies sunk me into deep calmness
Wistfully I looked out of the window
To see the morning sun piercing through the
The leafless pruned fruit trees
Which brushed my face with hope
My thoughts travelled to our daughters living ashore
Summer vacations were a few months away
And the desires surged as the delta waves
For speedy flights to our loving daughters for
They had unlocked the doors of their new abodes
Uncontrollable desires arose to bless their homes and kids
I paused and prayed to the benevolent gods
To listen to the rhythm of my writhing soul
My heartbeats went asunder building bridges to them
The binaural wave sounds uplifted my sagging spirits
Kabir's words of wisdom flashed and brought a smile
'You travel with the heart, you live where your heart lives'.
*Three Hour Meditation Music by Brainwave Power Music was being played in the background as I penned wistful thoughts.
* Kabir is a 15th century Indian mystic poet and saint
February 8, 2016
Contest: Solitary Moments
Sponsor: Mystic Rose
The autonomic response seeks a trigger
within familiar brainwave states of being
to toss aside the conflict of conscience
inherit behind the valor of mortal peril.
A batting eye or moistened lip sends
corpuscles on a dance of endorphins
pattering in time to the mother pulse
that stirs the fiber of chattering bone
defiant beneath flexing musculature
soaking up lipids and protein strands
to quake the bleached core of form
that lines us erect with proud notions.
Within the field directing our gait
are ricochet messages from cohorts
and scoundrels with intent on returns
reigning dominion over human action.
The structure of the machine grinds
regardless of purpose or preference
until cellular matter loses gelatinous
resistance from such bombardment
of sigil energy and profit centers in
constant dialogue with all instincts
selectively pursuing black or white
in balance with the Boolean hoard
shaping the appropriate margins of
acceptable thought processes until
sharp knifes cure our insufferable
ideas of mitosis feeding liberation.
A Couple Of Nags
A couple of fellows who weren't very bright
Got terribly drunk in the pub one night
It gave them a bit of a shock of course
When in a drunk bet... They each won a horse
With just enough money for chips and some haddock
They couldn't afford the price of a paddock
Bob said we'll rent a small field for a start
But how would we then tell our horses apart?
Ted slurred his words and burped when he said
Couldn't we paint a white stripe on one's head
Bob said we're too skint to buy us some fags
So we can't afford paint for marking our nags
We could tie a pink bow onto one of their tails
Scratch names on their flanks with a couple of nails
Or if you're not liking the sound of all that
Could we make one of them wear a straw hat?
Bob simply belched before he then said
We need to do something much cheaper instead
We can't afford ribbon or a silly straw hat
Did you think me too drunk to have thought about that?
Well we need to do something before we get old
Or before we end up stone dead from the cold
But then Bob jumped up and he started to gloat
I've sussed it he boasted, just give one your coat
Not likely said Ted, the thought makes me chilly
So frankly, he burped, you're idea is silly
Next you'll suggest that we smear one with jelly
Or maybe we ought to make one wear a welly
The two of them sat there, each scratching his head
Then Bob had a brainwave and here's what he said
We really must get this decided tonight
So you have the black horse, and I'll have the white.
A spectrum of memories // etched in // directing
Synaptic obscenities // fetching regrets //
Count those dour mental entities // concepts like insects //
Innumerable enemies // wielding their sketches
Of interlacing, undulating, thoughts I’d never saught to see again
It’s raining, awful tortured claws of water dripping down my neck
Engaging like the famous horsemen four of the apocalypse
A brainwave tells me faught or flew is not an option, it’s past tense
And it’s passed any means of remedy - my enemy’s my friend
And it’s last orders on the corner where I’m standing with a ten
And if I bought at four I might, instead I waited ‘til seven
I test the borders and the corners of the realm of temptation
Daily thoughts of pickin’ up…
…When all the pieces come unstuck
And I thank that’s It’s a familiar pattern
I piece it back together, crumb by speck by dotted flame, refuelled lighters on the bristle of tobacco peering from its paper nesting, used now to light a subtle torch, the lightbulb in my head, a spotlight thats located a second answer -
And I thank that it’s a familiar pattern
As I know how to piece it back together.
Tomorrow, do the same thing again,
But tonight, a glass of water then bed
Dreaming of keeping the faith
Dreaming always
http://samnicholasharrison.tumblr.com/
Germ of essence.
Human blob.
Shattered eggshell to the chicklet hatched.
Interlocking family of a kingdom.
Beget or begone? Antigone!
Pouch bearing mammal with no issue for her milk a plenty.
Enlightened species on
a zodiac sign.
Propagating genus wild and free yet stillborn.
Wet nurse in a pregnant phase but still a child at hearth or so it seems.
Meadow grazing Macropod fazes antipodean observer all the while.
New arrival signage whose laboured footprint chills on every impact.
Courier from catacombs, fateful torch aloft, flambeau at a glance where toddlers cheer, sonnet form heraldry ablaze with kindling verse.
Human destination thread that spins a hopeful tale.
Cave of legends halting site persevered by household zeal.
Stalagmite, stalactite, granite grey day gulag’s natal spasm.
Troglodyte who once did tramp upon a uterine tunnel trading in survival for relief.
Embryonic creeper stuck on dry wall canvas.
Border crossing cradle cordons off a check point, never mind the cost or inconvenience.
Acorn random toss, mighty oak seed trap between a leaf and fallen log.
Flower pollen stigma,
never seen as shameful to the fertile mind.
Tree of life penumbra casts a limelight shade.
Concepts pulse the mind like nascent parabolic kites that stymie outcome.
Genesis of brainwave.....
nurtured by insightful minds and marble carver tomes.
Olympic status offspring, budding Einstein player on the ball.
Thought, the inner urchin magnet probing deep inside magenta labyrinths.
Wheel of fortune‘s mumsy shadow
ova.
Masterful philosophy storing foetal logic on some growth cell’s wellspring fountain.
Infant augur embers fan their winter flame regardless.
Birthright , birthstone,
birth pang, the reproductive organs of infinity whose algebraic series has no final chapter scheduled.
a really good brainwave ~ leaves nothing to the imagination
breathtakingly deep ~ dreams may be ~ surfing on the edge of fantasy
Wave Of Fantasy Poetry Contest
Sponsored by mystic Rose rose
Monoku form
Howmanysyllables 2x17
02/14/23
City hub on wings
apogee of ultra bright
fire within urban comet
tangerine signpost
to future halcyon spot
amidst buoyant step onrush
Bouncy castle perk
spurs avid market stall pitch
bargain in a jiffy bag
loophole hatched off-curb
brainwave surge from genie flash
to everyone’s benefit
Silver winter tinged
trees and wet overcast skies
never dampen township verve
that heartland zeitgeist
typical of boom and bloom
day or night march on dweller
Sweep off feet vision
endemic to rapid shifts
where marvel woos miracle
in heady cocktail
at the cutting-edge hubbub
point of entry upbeat frame
It's fun having fun with English,
Children are smart, sometimes we're not;
Enjoy this, call it what you wish,
One of the wittiest I got,
"How many kidneys do we have?"
The teacher asked the bright young boy,
"Four", replied he, (what a brainwave!)
The teacher laughed, he did enjoy,
The boy explained, "WE have got four,
Two of mine and two of yours, Sir",
Dumbstruck, the teacher laughed no more,
This boy, when grown, caused quite a stir!
He became a great humourist*,
The school, I'm sure, was his first stage,
He knew how to give a fun twist
To the witty English language.
08.14.2021
*Famous Brazilian humourist - Apparicio Torelly Aporelly (1895-1971), better known as the "Barao de Itararé"
(True story found in the Web)
Have you ever met someone who made love to your mind
Took your heart and soul
Massaging your brain everytime (Intertwined)
The words that they speak
In their own way unique
Having you looking crazy
Sweeping you off your feet
Mentally caressing not touching flesh but the heart
The mentality so sexy
Closing my eyes
The words stimulating my brain
No flesh just mentally connecting
Flying on that brainwave plane
Attracted to his ambiance
Mostly his intelligence
It's the meeting of the minds
That makes this love well defined.
Something different
Not physical but pineal
Sow seeds before green garden ye savour,
Eat fruits of toil and sweat only thy own,
Quote no quotes often chewed, void of flavour,
No garden goes green, not by hard toil grown.
Be it an insight, brainwave as never,
One’s own muse is most inspiring maid known.
For long man, who’s forbidden fruits desired,
Goes on a wander lust such fruits to fish,
Why the Garden of Eden is admired,
Why things proscribed go for greater relish.
It is no sin to get by greats inspired
If you add your own, cook not someone’s dish.
World is the sole piece of creative art,
The rest is inspired, all of it or part.
_______________________
Sonnet |03.03.2009, revised Feb 2025|
Note: This sonnet does not follow the Pythagorean divide between the octave and sestet commonly found in sonnets, but an equal one followed by a couplet resolving the premise.
Nights of flying dream world,
who might chase a raucous laugh,
or seek indeed mirthful excitement,
the sort that has embroidered twists,
as is generally perceived by intention,
but epic hurdles formed in still frame,
city snores past midnight bell clang,
dare one ever risk a robust venture,
should I have said pursuit instead,
sleep is diversion in that steel crib,
that modern crib pillow we fostered,
an idiom that has it’s silken source,
on foot of rainbow studded home run,
as denizens of driven blissful sprint,
with that palette city life concocts,
waiting to arise from brainwave surge,
but toilers so content at last wonder,
can still find that extra zestful yen,
nocturnal misnamed down tool free time,
energizing hour filler may arouse,
around the ink drape walkways,
quite surrogate and surreptitious,
character one may mold from time,
spent as a regal rhombic chaser,
boundary scuppered plot by strolling fleet,
as creatively imagining might edge,
vast supply has penchant without dent,
zeitgeist flower of a fluorescent flag,
warning mask so deft but visible,
canopy laid beauteous black fringe,
alliance in shade infused etch front,
squeaky noising trickle eardrum muffin,
hear full dose of ripple muttering,
clued on obscurantist thin,
taut code evasive decipher ask,
float of urban mirror pool by pattern,
reflection, mirage, cocoon,
after midnight curtain draws,
to protracted claps evinced from,
squinting imp coterie on foot,
ricochet off Moroccan spice tint,
outside vivid haunt so frequented,
perchance, perforce, pertaining patois,
little seen scatter mice squeak,
analogy horizontal spurt funk,
if only these dart and dash clan,
midgets metaphorical so jubilant,
in sonic meddle near edge encounter,
it would be strictly beyond a dazzling cast,
from other daylight theater staunch queue,
when aiming for parallel experience,
performance nocturne wise deep art,
even rich fantasy has upper boundaries,
some grating gulley flake debris awash
Those specific quiet noondays
When I wake up in a blaze
With anticipation and amaze
It enables me to start transcending
A blasting brainwave of creating
Suddenly, I have a hankering
For dynamic innovative rhyming
My internal universe of eidetic imagery
Is continually running lyrically
My mind works, with a hunch feeling
It encourages me, when drafting
Where I sit into the quiet of night
Underneath, its cryptic shadow delight
Where my psyche is running and gunning
I keep composing and poesying