Best Brendan Poems
trickle down economy
pissing away
the poor
pissing off
the middle class
as less and less
our paychecks
pay the bills
ironic how
when I was
still in diapers
the rich got taxed
a whole lot more
and yet
Prosperity -
along with rock and roll -
was King
Now it’s all about
protecting those
whose money
no one sees
as it sits
in nice safe havens
Make a war -
no money to
sustain it
Let the wealth
come
down
TRICK-TRICK
TRICK ling
down to
you and me
T
R
I
C
K
l
i
n
g
.
For Brendan J. Simon's 'Societal Discontent' contest
Just a poetic (souper) side note courtesy chief
wordsmith brother unaware ye experienced grief
diagnosed as walking pneumonia please bull lief
yours me, he doth care and breathes sigh of relief.
Gratis the miracle of modern medicine wife
of Richard McGeehan, he offered succor
during serious bout when ye suffered strife
lovingly tendering lifelong counterpart
spelling finis regarding any galavanting nightlife
nurturing mother of their grown son (Brendan),
who immersed her whole self as housewife.
How aware ill luck of the draw
found thee inexplicably stricken
with serious malady against the law
nearly necessitating travois
(maneuvered by Kit Carson)
to transport thee to medical center.
The above stanza unbeknownst to you
analogous to current reading material
myopic eyes of mine view
historical fiction titled
"A Most Desperate Situation"
authored by Walter Cooper,
I just might maintain as keepsake
among various and sundry other books
lined up like soldiers upon shelved queue.
Courtesy perusing selective material
not so much to become boastful
self pedagogical ace,
but merely to expand knowledge base,
whereby latest erudition
preoccupies mindscape with displace
called realm of imagination
allowing, enabling, and providing me
to travel into hyperspace
only welcoming family members
like thee dear sister into myspace
a beloved sibling
thirteen plus months older
glad ye got begat December 1st, 1959
whereby ye got fifty two plus weeks headstart
to join (chance throw of genetic dice)
entrance into human race.
Though Amelie Beth Harris-McGeehan born
more than three score and three years ago
if series of unfortunate events would befall thee,
this sole brother would certainly mourn
and with futility emasculate and scorn
himself until... his own plaque
designating his buried cremains
in lieu of tombstone worn.
Is it poetry or prose
Who really knows
Must it be in a shelf
To rename itself.
This is a conundrum which has appeared here, in various guises over the many years I have enjoyed the talented 'writes' of the talented scribes who contribute their thoughts/feelings/desires and offerings in many forms.
However, the famous Irish playwright and wit, Brendan Behan was invited many years ago to Oxford University, to participate in a debate on this topic.
His opponent spoke eloquently for almost two hours on the important distinctions and the quality of prose.
Behan then rose to his feet and promised to be brief . He recited an old Dublin rhyme .
" THERE WAS A YOUNG FELLA NAMED ROLLOCKS
WHO WORKED FOR FERRIER POLLOCKS
AS HE WALKED ON THE STRAND
WITH A GIRL, BY THE HAND
THE WATER CAME UP TO HIS .... ANKLES"
"That" declared Behan "is prose. But if the tide had been in , it would have been poetry".
We Are Who We Are
We are the HFB
All my crazy and loving friends and me,
Everyday I try to relax and chill
And share my day and chat with Jill,
When I’m really down and feeling lowly
My best pick-me-upper is Debbie Ivey,
Mirian’s posts are awesome and she cares
I would love to meet her someday; hugs we will share,
This gal now works nights so we’re missing her at the party
The talented photographer, our caffeine-infused Marty,
Then there’s Katie who’s photos in the light and the dark
Are amazing, and she made me an Adam Lambert bookmark,
Summer Rae used to beg, “please, me, me, me”
Now she’s creating baby number three, Oakley,
Mikki’s had a very busy and winning year
She’s helped me out and I hope she knows I’m always here,
Making videos and winning cards are many
That’s our crazily creative Jenny,
Pet beds were made lovingly by our number one fan
Sandy’s talent is appreciated, especially by Kenn, her man,
Annette’s travels allowed her to meet Debbie L. in Disney
And at her son’s wedding were also Sandy and Jenny,
Bonnie’s wit and charm is reflected in those apples falling from her tree
Hilarious antics and wacky words of wisdom from Brendan and Bailey,
Patrick continues to inspire others and, of course, me
The lifesize model of the notorious PP,
Susan Weiner has become a winner
She’s a very gracious and talented beginner,
The Pattys, Donnas, and Debbies keep us entertained
And we try to keep Cougar Connie contained,
I was collecting books for a special cause
Honored to receive authored books from Connie, Marilyn, and Michelle Dokos
Uplifting posts from Lisa, Deana, Kristi, Rebecca, Jeanie, and Mar
Keep me going with how much they care
Also Leanora, I really do adore ya
And next time I’m on the Jersey sand, I hope to run into Dorann
Thanks to the Hallmark team
For fun competitions, flurries and blurries
Even for second guesses after hitting “submit” and the worries
We’ve all created a great community here
Where strangers have become friends we hold dear
I wrote this for my friends of the HFB on Facebook. I've made more friends since I wrote this in July for Fan Appreciation Month; this is for ALL of you...
Another Brick in the Wall
I went to St Peters School in Cambridge
The first time I ever heard Pink Floyd
Was at my friends house during lunch break
His name was Brendan
And was kicked out of school for being disruptive
Because he used to continually question teachers
He was a member of Mensa and had an IQ of 127 at age 16
During lunch break we used to go to his house and hangout
The only possession he had was a record player
And a set of Pink Floyd records
We were so obsessed with them
We even went to see Syd Barret who was institutionalizes
In a sanatorium in Cambridge
We loved the album the Wall
And one thing I learnt later was that
Roger Waters Mum was a teacher
Which when you hear the lyrics
Hey teacher leave those kids alone
Made me realize
Never judge a book by its cover
Don't just take words on face value
Look to understand the context
All in all we are all just another brick in the wall
If we simply listen to a wall
And never wonder how it was built
“Imagine a lovely garden, tea for two, and this story...”
GRAVE MISTREATMENT
Yeah, Doc, it really was a long time ago
But the emotional scars are still there, you know
He came into my room while I was away
And scattered things in complete disarray
Why he chose me, I still question
Perhaps just to teach others a lesson
He moved me to an empty dorm
It was like the calm before the storm
“Welcome to Jenny Barracks”, the note he left read
I'll never forget what that note said
He had classified me as a female ass
A degrading thing, a lowly class
I spent my nights in solitude
I was humiliated and treated rude
Every day, he'd strip my bunk
And call me names – I felt like junk
Tossed aside like a filthy rag
For him to torment, debase, and nag
I felt it my duty to let it go on
In just three weeks, I knew I'd be gone
Nights dragged on in great despair
Why had this man put me there
Then the day of graduation came
But I would never be the same
I left Texas, bound for home
Nights of solitude were finally gone
Forty-eight years have passed on by
Yet I still have nightmares and often cry
To think someone could be so cruel
And treat another like an utter fool
Causing such hurt and emotional pain
When he himself had nothing to gain
Now, Doc, let me tell you this
I live a life that's filled with bliss
I'll not forget those days gone by
But on the nights I start to cry
My tears are never cried in vain
Jesus Christ heals all the pain
I know He hears my every plea
And I thank Him for delivering me
The things I told you made me sad
To tell the truth, they made me mad
But thank you, Doc, for listening to me
Would you care for another cup of tea
For contest sponsored by Brendan J. Simons
This is based on a conversation between a Vietnam Vet and his psychiatrist
The highway was pitch black ahead
and I had been driving for hours,
I was tired and my gas was low.
Then, in the distance I saw bright lights . . .
it was a gas station and it was open!
I pulled in and connected the gas hose,
when my tank was full- I went inside,
there was a man organizing boxes on shelves,
although nothing looked out of place.
In fact, it was perfect and it was real bright!
He smiled at me with teeth dazzling
his smile seemed to me just wrong,
I'll be right with you- he chirped like a bird.
I went to the cash and waited for him . . .
when he got behind the counter,
he just stood there staring ahead!
I waited, then saw a sign with instructions,
if attendant not working plug in here.
I noticed an extension cord on his back,
so I plugged it into the wall behind him!
Oh, that's better he chirped in his non-voice,
my battery must have gone dead.
I stared, speechless, then handed him payment.
have a nice evening Miss, he sang . . .
I walked back to my car puzzled,
what to heck just happened back there!
Anyways, I drove off into the night feeling odd,
suddenly, my car was beeping that my gas was low.
Had that been a mirage- a figment of imagination,
was that gas station in the middle of nowhere
a hallucination . . . ?
I turned my car around to go back to the station,
but I drove for a long time and it was gone!
________________________________
March 8, 2018
Poetry/Verse/In The Middle Of Nowhere
Copyright Protected, ID 18-1002-219-01
All Rights Reserved. Written Under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest, Hallucination
sponsor, Brendan J. Simons
Honorable Mention
Delirium Dust
In the corner of my room you’ll find many a decentralizing delirium dust
Where my mind does consume peripheral visions of malevolent distrust
Deprivations that entomb metabolic disturbances of cunning combust
Temporal lesions loom of psychotic disorders in a state of thriving thrust
I see you but can not touch thru nociceptive nightmares nurturing night
Hallucinogens that will crutch frantic neurons paleocortical penal plight
I feel you but can not clutch a dimensional dementia in a demons fright
Denunciative delusions a monstrous much external images in fetal flight
I sense you but can not taste chemoreceptic catacombs a pernicious smell
Stimuli distortions of waste proprioceptors penetrating the gates of hell
The love I give is displaced impalpable illusions within a condemned cell
The love received defaced from a schizophrenic defamatory defunct dwell.
March/11/2018
Hallucination
Sponsored by: Brendan J. Simons
Mum and Dad wake early on a hot summer morning.
"We should take the kids to the beach", "Gee you could have given me some warning".
"You know taking them to the beach is really such a mission".
"Well you could pack the rods and maybe do a bit of fishin'
Dad is out at the car with all the stuff, trying to cram.
He looks up on the deck and see's the, truck sized pram.
Starts all over again, playing tetris with the boot.
The fishing rods won't fit in so the question is moot.
With the esky all packed with lunch and drinks for the day,
the car starts up and they are all on their way.
Not five minutes out and the kids have already started.
Maddie yells, "Put the window down Dad, Brendan just farted".
Going over the mountains and Katie looks green around the gills.
Without any warning, from her little mouth spew spills.
Lauren's weak tummy cannot handle the smell
and within a few seconds her mouth lets lose as well.
Two hours and four stops later the beach car park is found.
Sun cream applied, bathers on before beachward bound.
Dad loaded up like a walking coat rack,
Katie asks politely, "Can I climb on your back?"
At the end of the day mum and dad are just beat.
Ice cream, sand, salt and kids are on the seats.
The car pulls out and we are on our way home.
Maybe this will get easier when the kids have all grown.
Transition
It was a smooth transition
So imperceptible that I hardly noticed.
The passage from life to death was so sudden.
It happened as I was driving
Making a right hand turn.
The bright sunlight softened
Became less harsh.
A blanket of peace embraced me tenderly.
I turned inquisitively to Eliane.
She wasn’t there.
I was truly amazed
I didn’t comprehend.
Somehow I wasn’t stressed.
I want to go back.
I turn the steering wheel,
However the car does not respond.
I want to panic
No I cannot
I am at peace
I look in the rear view mirror
And I see commotion,
Eliane is leaning over someone,
Who is she so intimate with?
I am brought closer to her
I see that she has someone in her arms
She is crying.
I still cannot comprehend,
Why is she sobbing?
People have gathered around her,
There is Brendan
Now Mel is running
And Carlos too,
Why?
As Louise pulls Eliane gently away from this person
I see that it is me.
My eyes are staring nowhere
My face is wet from her tears
Am I?
Two vagabonds
With a dozen of dogs
Around the half eaten bread
A boy and a girl
With the school bag and pink smile
The beggar boy and the pigeons look blank
Her boyfriend Collin
Has sent a letter that she
Cannot read with her darkness of illiteracy
Along with the letters
Send some light too in the envelope
Shabnam says
The hunger for the alphabet
The thirst for the sounds of music
All in the sparkling snow beyond their closed window
Through the window
In the thatch roof of the shanty
the moon laughs at and the rains soak the bed
The life remains a tattered shirt
The hungry stomach and empty mind keep filling
The multiple holes
We seek the buds of democracy
We stoke the fires of the wars alongside
The persona at the core of the personality
With the two hands you
Loot our flowers and the carrots
The hunger of the fists never satiates
Still we wait for the morning
Some Che Guevara will come and say
Come with me for the pigeons in the blue sky
We will recognise the wall
We will demolish the deliberate divide
A black boy will hold the hands of a white girl
The blue pigeons in every courtyard
The yellow roses without discrimination
The dreams of reading together the poetry book
__________________________________________________
April 2, 2018
For Societal Discontent - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brendan J. Simons
How pedestrian of you
not to think
outside your box
I understand
sketchy neighbourhood
being too afraid to stop
I don't mean to be insulting
pedestrian has more meanings
but not one of them
speed bump
and as you rock it
in your three ton
cozy bassinet
mind two wheels
despite your vigor is not
a speed impediment
and don't believe
that that last text
is truly a matter of life and death
I'd rather be late in this life
than early for the next.
18.03.30
Composed for Brendan J. Simons'
Societal Discontent
The boys have formed a Rock Group
Whilst Liam plays guitar
He hopes he'll reach the doors of fame
And so, become a super star
Brendan, he does play the drums
He loves to feel that beat
"I did not know they played so well'
With amazement, spoke our Pete
But Vera wasn't too impressed
She said "that's far too heavy"
I do wish that they would play
Some sweet stuff just for me
Oh, the folly of words, false!
Lies, rumors, hate, jealousy ...
Anyone who utters or listens to gossip,
Or takes it to heart as the truth, (forsooth),
Is doomed to be the fodder for such themselves ...
For by accepting its laurels and consequences,
They are condoning the perpetuation of hearsay and falsehoods,
And letting others know that they're of questionable motivation,
And highly questionable character.
Those who believe bad things about you,
Simply on the word of a third party,
(Even those things, arrows and slings, that are in opposition
To the kind of person they KNOW you to be),
Shall be reserved their own special place of judgment.
No mistake, the Universe is in perfect balance ...
Chaos is simply a disguise for all that is unknown,
So the "friends" who smile to your face,
But spread deceit and hatefulness behind you,
Are not only no friends at all ...
But are the kind of people that grease the gates of Hell ...
The kind who shall someday find their sorry selves
On the tip of their own vicious, spiteful spear,
Twisting in the wind of dire consequence,
Their lies and evil intent bleeding out ...
Into a pool of karma ... cold.
~ 2nd Place ~ in the "Karma" Poetry Contest, Line Gauthier, Sponsor.
~ 2nd Place ~ in the "Societal Discontent" Poetry Contest, Brendan J. Simons, Sponsor.
Killing occurs in front of kids on crowded streets
When every conflict ends in senseless violence
And fear takes stage as death becomes routine
Looking for a meaning where one does not exist
It spreads far and wide jolting every corner of life
Inside churches, schools, and spaces in between
Where unthinkable happens attacking humanity
Probing each time why guns are sold like candy
Hearing their cries, tears reign saddened eyes
Those who didn't die asking why they survived
As the nation drowns in grief one more time
Immobilized, witnessing end of innocent lives
Friends they saw that day left without goodbye
Conversations interrupted filling in the blanks
Words unsaid cower listening to heart demur
Repulsed by ugliness, clinging to solemn faith
Protests mount louder in the halls of Congress
Students deploy eloquence to confront inaction
Hearing again falsity nation has heard before
Fear gets replaced by a resolve to find answers
Millions have been counted as vocal protesters
Speaking intelligently to challenge lawmakers
Awakening goodness of freedom loving angels
Looking for our voice, to hear how much we care
Every movement relies on the goodwill of citizens
Its success originates in a rational conversation
Decipher again the words of second amendment
Nothing there envisions a bullet ridden nation
April 1, 2018
Social justice contest by John Hamilton
Societal discontent by Brendan Simons