Short Brail Poems

Had Been Using Braille

had been using brail
when he did write much email
out window would sail

had been bold and brash
very vile was city of Nash
there his dough did stash

Jim Horn...

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Threaded history - boney fingered
Ancestries woven connections,
Stitched brail of wordless inscriptions
Meaningless decorative presence
Saturated with the timeless reverence of
Boney fingered storytellers.


6/4/2016

THE BEST OF 6 – Poetry Contest
visual #2...

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--Wallpaper portrait of  lake effect snoW
--Icy conditions, back spasms cripple. I
-sNiffle. goose pimples, brail on my skiN
--Thin sheets of black ice line my streeT
--Erratic winds shoot ice shrapnel, I fleE
--Retreat,  for the comfort of my reclineR 


Jared Pickett
2/10/2010
Asavvy1...

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There was a moment, it flashed over us
like lightning at midday.

We should have looked away
but then the living daylights
transformed us
into two undying prayers.

Black cats in lightless rooms
communicated in Brail.
Our hearts danced
among the scattered bones
of fallen angels.

Our friends understood, we were done
with just living,
we were heaven-deep in love,
heads above the stars....

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-Nights wake-


The night is dead. Longs for absurdity, what’s left is a heart of fire.

The abomination of the fallen. Serotonin left astray. Beg for the long-lost magnum opus. Tear apart Librium. Sheer lust of the requisite. Where are we now? 

Deprave the senses. Blind from touch, brail inherently deemed moot.

My eyes close and I see the void. I open them to see the lie. 

Tears stream down my face like rivers surface in the Sahara....

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A diamond's lustre, is tarnished with brail
Read her, feel her, tell her tale
Minds are soiled, with countless detail
Souls are battered, entangled and frail

Formed of heart and solid conviction
Entitled by self or less affliction
Nor humbled by any, sense of constriction
This image is burned, of my depiction

Surrounded by all, these hollow voices
Followed again, by numbing noises
Slimming down, to narrow the choices
Never will I learn, what rejoice is...

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You’re hieroglyphics 
splashed against the wall
smeared paint
rocks and dirt 
all crumbling 
into the faint cracks
that only I can trace.

You’re a line of dots and dashes
I can’t decipher you at all
spilt gin
shaky kisses
now trembling
a silhouette in bed
that only I can feel.

You’re beads of brail
all the blind can read
thick frayed rope 
A turned stool
still swinging
a soul and sin eloped
that only I can see ... 

and I want to close my eyes....

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Just below its surface
the body is furiously writing,
we would translate
but the language is obscure.

Upon a night
when clouds blanket eyes
the great works of the flesh
emerge.

Legend and myths appear
in plain text.
The body, as if dead
gives up its inner voice,
blind eyes read a tactile Brail
words imprinted
on the clay tablet of being.

When daylight peeps
we emerge from these myths
embodied
as the ghosts
of our self-authored
testaments....

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