All the time, all my life
I've been chasing a dream
of catching the wind
But how could I explain the gleam
Without confounding the mind
Of things the senses cannot perceive
Is hard to believe
So how could I explain
Things only the heart could see
In such hour of quiet meditation
When transported to the mount beyond the sea
To experience the joy of divine revelation
How could I explain
Esoteric manifestation
Without a psychiatric advice
So they may say this is mental infestation
You must be living in a fool's Paradise
So all these years, all by myself
I kept pushing toward the lofty height
Brooding over the vision day and night, talking
Calling things that be not, to come to light
And in conceiving something out of nothing
I birthed a brainchild from the wind
Such a novelty that blew the mind
It thinks me, the brainchild,
the chameleon, the winged gecko,
friend of mine
a real backstabber
ego, amigo, fiend.
I, (not this or that I)
but I AM hunts it down,
yet am bushwacked,
caught
in the bad mind-talk.
Snakes in my throat
lay their diamond eggs.
Best not name these wayward thoughts,
best not claim them,
let em swill in the swirl,
look the other way, say hello
to whom I am,
follow the echoing silence.
Your call is important to us
Says this smarmy bland voice
So please stay on the Line
As if we have any choice
They don’t have many staff now
Just a multi purpose call centre
The logical result of the work
Of that thrice cursed inventor
Whose greatest brainchild was
The automated answer machine
One of the greatest time wasters
This world has sadly ever seen.
How many die of apoplexy
Not having the resolve
To keep on waiting for
Their query to be solved.
I hope that inventor met
An excruciating painful death
Lingering hour after hour
Before taking his last breath
All the time hearing
Over and over again
Your death is important to us
We just don’t know when
Babbling bantering behind bashful backs
Bolstering bizarre behavior between brawling brothers
Before bogus betrayals bragging both bravo
Benevolent beguile beginning bequeath
Borrowed broker buoyancy best brainchild
Beneath broken bureaucrats breach
LOL
Prescribed philosophy…
medicine of the soul
Brainchild of the gods
—thoughts becoming whole
(Newtown Square Pennsylvania: September, 2020)
Hardly, a Human Being!
Get a hammer and garrote that
brainchild,
That demonic smartphone, I propose.
That mutant who seduces you,
With most amorous rings!
Put the sultry siren to rest,
Tune into the real world, as it's
simply the best!
Above all else do not invite family or
best friends over for dinner.
Place the sultry siren on it, next to your
sweaty palms on the table at dinner,
Then start taking calls, checking messages,
and avoiding human contact, you dolt!
If you are alone with this devious device,
have at it, play with it, stay up all night!
But never avoid human connection!
Thinking, mistakingly that the human
is less than that interruptive thing?
See...there you go!
Already?
Like Road Runner racing, entranced by
ear bling,
Lost to its call~ to her captivating
insidious ring!
Panagiota Romios
4/9/2019
I once had an idea
Thought completely off the wall
Replacing the piggy bank
I would have myself a jar
And instead of silver coins
I would deposit tokens
Coded different colours
For every conscious effort
A bright visual reward
An investment in my health
Or maybe more in kindness
Or just any goal I’d set
Couple years since my first thought
Brainchild still sounds rather good
Time is ripe to implement
AP: 1st place 2021
Posted on March 3, 2018
it took more than myself to save me
i was a narcissist without an independent confidence
with the wrong type of thinking in my brain, i chose to take the plunge
all i got in the end was the honest answer to my imagination's figments
it took more than myself to save me
i was a brainchild genius without a blueprint's thorough thought
with the wrong mode of strategy written lack legibility, i chose to jump right in
all i got in the end was a sweat stained pillowcase and icy drool by sunrise
it took more than myself to save me
i was grown man without a clue as to how to properly display my presentation
with the wrong method of approach, i chose to pursue and go for it
all i got in the end was a broken heart and my own lonely space to stare in
it took more than myself to save me
i was a lost soul without any type of concept of an adequate plan
with nothing left in my arsenal but an overwhelming collection of prayers, i decided to just fall to my knees, let go, and let God
what i got in the end was the naked truth and a slap in the face as a wake up call
Those words
Yes I wrote those words
But I could not remember when I wrote them
Wild thoughts flew into my head
Like mad rabbits
And my mind expanded like the cosmos
Yet I could not remember
When
I wrote those words
With inspiration from God
And I wrote those words
Like I was tutored by the Muses
Beautiful words
Which I said to the young lady
Some were true
But most was not
The words were matured due to the experience I brought
Yes I lied
I can not hide
To seek attention
And can I mention
That the words I wrote was a brainchild of my mind
Because when you find wisdom
You leave all that wisecracks behind
I will wrote on till a grow and gray
I will pray that this wonderful talent
Will stay
Words can deceive
And It may make one wiser
Words can be harsh
But some are nicer
Hunter
Ears are prone on the ground
To catch vermin's motion sound.
Up empty skies, eyes are cast-
In the dark sea they're steadfast .
On the veld, the long nose,
Trails to catch a whiff while close.
*
Writers are a Natural Hunter
Of Gist and not the blind punter.
Fishing Gist in the deeper wild
With Guts is his or her brainchild.
Sometimes, the hunt of the day
Bestows Hunter no bag to flay!
You are pregnant now -- the way a poet is, with brainchild.
He pupmed a life in you,
And you are pregnant.
I whispered a thought, and I am pregnant.
I am being stuffed witha wind
That swels in me with my nutrition;
In you, came, a blood-clod apparition.
The fetus grows inside
With the germs of life.
Beads of moments pile up,
And you become a mom.
Thus I fathered an art.
Unlike yours, I feel no end of my cyclic pregnancy,
By day, and by night;
Unlike yours, I can blow it in the wind.
BECAUSE
Your one is a shape;
My one is a spirit.
Adorable-angel. Mild.
Charmed with golden lips,
The world at my fingertips,
Clever. Classy. Curious.
Beautiful. Bubbly-brainchild.
© April 12, 2011
Dane Smith-Johnsen
Caption: I Am Me, Linda-Marie
Catharsis
A cautious, yet deliberate, experiment of the mind;
fleeting thoughts considered,
then quickly left behind;
a brainchild of emotions cached within the heart;
I finally have relinquished
that which took too long to start.
The motive from inception was to recognize my grief,
achieving, through just pen and ink,
soul-cleansing relief.
Jubilantly now among the shadows of my home,
I clutch, with blue-stained fingers, my goal...
a finished poem.
The passion for alleviating pain has now been quelled,
and many facets of my anguish
have finally been felled.