Crystal Lady
Snow-white woman, sparkling, dazzling soul
If you knew how much I love you
I still miss you,
I am yearning for you
For you, only for your beautiful personality and life
You are more than any soul, yes, more and more
I can’t express and describe you; never, never
Who writes you now?
I or the Master?
My fate is written to you,
I'm just sitting in one of my favourite places
Brent Civic Centre
I love it
But who writes? Is it my second soul or me?
The first…
The Devil made me write to you
Satan
To speak to you, to come near you – I wouldn’t dare
Yes, maybe this was the problem, mine are the results
Yes, everything is my fault
But I am happy you are well and right
Crystal soul, saved my life from afar
Crystal woman, please, tell me
How can I say thank you?
You, you are so fantastic, perfect, and a goddess of beauty,
Noble
I would never deserve you. Never
But I am happy that you exist
Your memory and impression will live
With me
Windows blink.
Someone’s still awake,
counting what never adds up.
The billboard’s face glows through the haze,
selling hope to those who can’t afford it.
Clouds crawl like old memories,
stretching their shadows
across the quiet of the soup line.
Rain begins, soft as loose change.
It never reaches the roots.
The sky eats gold again,
and no one seems surprised.
~Brent R. Grimes
yellow leaves hang like old flyers
for bands that broke up decades ago
orange veins split
along the cold ground’s scars,
last color before the gray takes hold
a cool breeze
threads the season’s last breath
through busted porch screens
now the country coughs again
through exhaust and empty cabinets,
through plastic flags
flapping over pawnshops
still—those yellow leaves,
they don’t quit easy
~Brent R. Grimes
Brent’s Borrowing
Written: by Miracle Man
5/15/2024
I once had a friend whose name was Brent,
whose paycheck was always quickly misspent.
He ‘s slow in returning,
and this is concerning.
He is never fully broke, but always badly bent.
Brent Landers is a keen and brave cowboy
Whose kicks with shunning- bullet-skills decoy
Became the most wanted
Big gold prize for each head
Saving the girl proved all his heart’s employ
May 7, 2022 1.42pm
One of my favourite Cowboy Movies
BADSEEDPRESS is a fabricated enterprise.
Zoltan Goliath and Otis Trench are invented characters,
as are all the other players identified herein as having
had a role in the sweet soul seduction of this sad luck,
rum-soaked dame of a book.
The entire contents of this volume is the product
of the imagination of M. Kalavik. It was all his idea.
BADSEEDPRESS accepts no responsibility
for anything other than words on a page,
but we would like to thank the many sponsors
whose advertisements have acted as fertilizer
spread among the lyrical furrows of this fictional funny farm.
Without their support, this project might not have been thought possible.
We’re all just in it for the money.
Brent Scorn
Non-attorney Spokesperson
BADSEEDPRESS
In 1987, he starred in a movie that was called 'The Monster Squad'.
At a very young age, he died and went to Heaven to be with God.
Two other movies that he starred in were 'Home Free' and 'Dance 'Til Dawn'.
When he died of Pneumonia in 1997, it was hard to believe that he was gone.
He abandoned his acting career to study law before dying at the age of 22.
To die at such a young age is unfair and ridiculous, and that certainly is true.
[Dedicated to Brent Chalem (1975-1997) who died on December 9, 1997.]
It's a cold bitter day
the wind it bites like needles
head held low, wind chimes
beckon from the open fields
to the shelter of his elders
woods, a cabin quaint and humble
place enough to potter and mumble
where he kneels beneath the smoke
stained stone vent
Kindle wood in hands to light the fire
helped on by his old leather bellows
a gust makes good the flame
With time on hand and pipe on lip
he lays right back and takes a sip
old man Brent demure, content
he lived a quite
descent and lent
an ear to the wild,
travelled to town on his
horse and cart always
up with the lark an
early start
Made his own wine from
elderberry fine, where he
drank in the evening of his
own decline
He played his father’s fiddle
that high pitched hey diddle
diddle, fingertips hardened
aged and brittle
The years are closing in on
the old man from fresh pine
hill sitting on the rocks where
his fore-bearers sat, ending
his days on the shores of his
youth, old man Brent his far
away stare, smiles.
For Brent:
The unexpected death of a friend weighs heavy on my mind
Unexpected, horrific accident, I can't understand why it was his time.
A tragedy takes a young life
And makes a widow of a young wife
A child loses his parent
Parents lose their child and have to say goodbye.
Friends and family are left to wonder why.
Death is cruel, emotionless, passionless as it takes who it may please
Never caring that the person has loved ones who grieve
Locked in shocked, heart wrenching, numbing grief
I struggle to find a reason and hold onto the belief that he is out of pain and in a better place
But how can that be when we will never again hear his voice or see his face?
We're taught to believe we will hold him in our hearts until we see him again someday
That time heals our wounds and it gets better every day.
Right now I'm still in shock and my heart is heavy and sore
as my childhood friend is gone away.
Allison scrunched up her nose and oinked like a pig.
Joey stuck out his tongue and opened his eyes so big.
The other children in the classroom laughed out loud
when silly little Willie made his funny face then bowed.
Erin rubbed her little cheeks red with lots of finger paint.
Jack patted his face with chalk dust and pretended to faint.
Rachel pulled her eyebrows up and her chin way down
while Brent spiked his hair and wore a bad boy frown.
Each kid had a turn to try to win the honor and prize.
The shyest child of all was the winner. What a surprise!
It was the quiet little girl who was funniest of them all.
Jenna pursed her lips and cried, "Mama," like a real doll.
Then the teacher said, "It's time to return to your places,
but I promise we'll have another day of making funny faces."
April 21st, 2016
~Absentminded Brent~
(Rhyme)
When somebody looks for him,
they find that he's never there.
He's the kid that people never see
In the classroom, emptied, they find his chair.
When the teachers run the list of names,
They call out, in fact, for Brent.
But Brent he's always full of games,
He just came in and just went.
Who knows! to someplace no one knows,
So they miss him all the time.
He's so often in the come and go,
or wasn't there at all, anytime.
When he's at home his parents call him,
but Absentminded Brent, he's someplace else.
He's either fighting with Big Jim,
or bullying and scarying little Kim.
He hides anywhere and everywhere,
of his own shadow he's so very scared.
So he goes to his very secret place,
and prays nobody will find him there.
Dorian Petersen Potter
aka ladydp2000
copyright@2004
January.09.2016
I had a little friend who left too soon.
Acute leukemia struck at age five.
His mind was so blindingly bright.
This earth could not give it room.
He had questions in endless supply.
Every answer quickened another query
About stars, earthworms, seasons.
Even some adults struggled to reply.
In that era nothing could be done.
He was hospitalized for passive care.
I visited him one bleak, broken day.
His mother was sobbing for her son.
Losing a child—name a thing as bad.
I cannot conceive the anguish of it.
I cannot harbor a hurt so severe.
Years later grief drove the father mad.
And if perchance I meet the mother
A decade beyond her child’s death.
Seeing me opens an unhealed wound
And she tries fresh tears to smother.
His name was Brent, I see him yet
Dressed in all white in his casket.
I wonder at the why of his passing.
I wonder if God should a child forget.
Two-Fifty-Four
©2012 C. Brent Cloyd
I bought a new scale at the Wal-Mart store.
Made it secure and level on the floor.
I took a breath, then stepped on.
The digits I saw made me moan.
Surely, I do not weigh two-fifty-four!
Let’s balance the scale, then I’ll try once more.
Adjusted proper, they’ll give the right score.
This time the scales will behave.
I stepped on, tried to be brave.
But with a grin they said “two-fifty-four”.
I would like to throw these scales out the door.
Wish they were lying, but I can’t ignore.
I’ve gobbled many things sweet
And chewed on too much red meat.
My expanding poundage is “two-fifty-four”.
My belly is huge, my chin is galore.
Need to lose it, but process is a chore.
Need diet low in fat and starch.
So my stomach will not arch.
Hope to be smaller than “two-fifty-four”.
Would a brisk walk cause my health to restore?
Would losing blubber help me not to snore?
Let’s get started. Soon I say!
Well - after the holiday!
Cause my clothes don’t fit at “two-fifty-four”.
A Deal with the Chief Campaigner
©2012 C. Brent Cloyd
There was a House Speaker named Boehner
Sought a deal with the chief campaigner
For budget cuts he did hope
But campaigner said nope
For how would we pay the retainers?
Joker Joe
©2012 C. Brent Cloyd
Vice President Biden is prone to gaff
But his debate strategy was to laugh
With smirk and grin told things that were not so
That’s how we will remember Joker Joe
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