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Best Poems Written by Brenden Pettingill

Below are the all-time best Brenden Pettingill poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Limitless Love

I’m writing to you this now because it has come to my attention that this is a serious issue.

You are so very beautiful,
so intelligent, caring and kind. And you have so much to offer.
Offering your talents is a scary thing. It means opening yourself up to a world that appears to want nothing to do with you.
But the truth is, that that is a big whopping steaming pile of baloney.

We all want the real, just like you do.

That girl you talked to on the street. The guy you shared a drink with at the party, the long-haired one with bare feet. They are tired of it too.

They just want the realness, like you do.

So give it to them, and trust yourself.
You know you deserve the best right?

You deserve a group of friends and a family that loves and cares for you.
They are off and are not of your choosing,
not always, and always, share DNA with you,
and positively are yours to attract.
It is a simple game of metal and magnets.
Trust the game. It is fun once you learn to play, but it does take practice.

We’ve been playing it for millennia, and the rules and clues are all around you.

Patience and Faith are two of their names.

So offer your talents up to them, share that part of you that allows you to sing shamelessly in the shower, go dancing in the rain, and lay naked on empty beaches.
Every moment we find ourselves amidst the showers of life and with sand between our toes.

Why worry about those stuck in the parking lot?

They will always be there. But that doesn’t mean you need to.
So why not, extend a hand, say the thing they wish they could say
when it is from here, from this place,
of truth.

There is so little needed to give from a limitless love, and so much of limitless love to gain.

More at : http://brendenpettingill.com/index.php/2017/10/12/limitless-love/

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Dhamma Manda

Dried creek beds
Longing for their tears
Something amongst the fallen leaves
of dust covered hopes and floors

Traited trunks stand witness
Still in their helplessness
Showered in light and love
The peddle-stood savior says it best

When the gates open again
If will not be told of now and then
Silted soils will be quenched

From the fallen drops of past mistakes
Slid down the hopeful cheeks
of a Nature of Mother’s men

More at : http://brendenpettingill.com/index.php/2016/12/01/dhamma-manda/

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The Turtle and Golden Yoke

At the bottom of the ocean lived a blind turtle. Believed only to surface once every one hundred years. Floating above it upon the vast Ocean was a golden yoke, blown by the currents and the wind, an opportunity for the turtle surfacing at just the right time and in just the right place to put its head through the yoke.

Our chances of finding freedom and fortune are similar. So what is there to do?
I spent the first seventeen years of my life unaware in a sense that turtles and golden yolks existed.

I learned to swim at a very young age. I loved swimming underwater. I never gave a thought to my own breath, but I give thanks to those times:
To the breath that gives and takes from mine to his and to the roots and leaves and back again.

To a heartbeat that drums into tomorrow, and the day after in timeless rhythms.
To a family that supported being a soldier, a hippie and a nomad, only as long as happiness came with it.
I give thanks to the sickness that whispered to me of the turtle and the yoke, and the ancient stories that never floated away, so that I could be lucky enough to hear them.

To every other being like me, that hurts, and shivers, trembles and dances, cries and laughs as I do, and to all their many languages.
That I have the opportunity to communicate with them, and sometimes without words.

To never once having the worry that I may go hungry this night, or the next.
To always having a home, and a clean bed I can fall back into
and to not having to do so.
To past lives that occurred in this memory, and the ones I have forgotten that have put me in this place.

To the music, love and happiness that make it all worth it.
I give thanks to the turtle on my arm and the one that found its way.
Thank you for the breath and a yoke around a head

More at : http://brendenpettingill.com/index.php/2017/11/27/the-turtle-and-golden-yoke/

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A Taste of Depression

It tastes like a cold soup
prepared in love but left to sit and cool alone
on empty counter tops

It is lonely pyramids and forgotten sands
that whisper secrets with dry mouths and parched lips
that go unheard and untried

It is the trees that cry in cracks by the wind
and scream when the fire licks to cook
It tastes like the last drop of water
and a sweetness that brings you back

a memory of past happiness that only arises with that taste
it is the taste of desperation and empty breathe

when you wish to swallow everything
but cannot reach for anything

it is the taste that enjoys you
it is salty and bitter and less than fairly traded
it cries in the boiling water before being dipped in butter and designed on a plate

it is the taste of regret when the consequence is the preparation and the bite is from the tree of life
it tastes like indulgence and wines for its companion

it is the taste of the meal that comes by candles and dines in the dark
that cooks slowly and burns with expectations
it melts in your mouth and stops at hearts
it bleeds when bitten and squeals from sourness

it is spicy and formless, scalding and unidentifiable
it leaves invisible scars
it is cream and dull, memory and thick

it is the strawberry handpicked and the salad mixed
with caring hands
and it,
is everything

More at : http://brendenpettingill.com/index.php/2017/12/12/a-taste-of-desperation/

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Light House

Evasive splashes rise and fall
Leaving but a trace of mist
To reflect
The taste of awe
For gaping jaws to admit

Could it have been?
Pointers light the way
While the house stares on as the willow
With pursed lips and nothing to say

Catch a slice in frames
Slice a piece to save
Give the rest for the next
To cherish the foggy days

Slide right through the bars
Skip right through the links
Mellow in the bush alone
In wait for the Humpbacks’ wink

More at: http://brendenpettingill.com/index.php/2017/01/22/light-house/

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Ulcerative Colitis and Meditation

I really started Meditating in June of last year during a Vipassana Meditation Retreat. By really meditating I mean consistently connecting and doing a practice that resonated with me and made sense.

I never could sit still for that long, it was too difficult, it just didn’t appeal to me. It didn’t make sense logically or experientially to me, and that is the purpose of Vipassana, to balance the two.
The purpose of this meditation is to observe the sensations of the body in silence. To attempt to do this for one hour at a time or however long you can.

It begins with the breathe, observing the inhale and the exhale as it comes and as it goes. Focusing the mind on the breathe, and by focusing the mind, no longer creating thoughts that don’t serve you. Once you focus the mind you can open it up to looking deeper within different parts of yourself. Bringing up things that have been hidden away within yourself, things that lead to illness and imbalance in your body.

Sitting in stillness and watching your body in equanimity is the way to not react to your own reactions and distractions. Thus, when external stimuli attempt to distract your happiness and contentment from moment to moment, you will, ultimately, not react. It will not affect you as much, as quickly or as strongly as it once had.

In the case of illness and Ulcerative Colitis you will not respond to the symptoms as you once had. You will be more relaxed, more aware, and more prepared to deal with the stresses that come, and hopefully they never will, because, through meditation you have calmed the mind, and are better able to recognize the stresses and past stepping stones that have caused the illness to arise in the first place.

A calm mind, means less stress, means more energy on a day to day basis, and you are able to thrive in your health, appreciating the days and years you spend symptom free.

Vipassana is one of the best and most difficult things that I have ever done. Check it our here (Vipassana)

More at : http://brendenpettingill.com/index.php/2017/01/22/ulcerative-colitis-and-meditation/

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Love Gazing

There was a muttering of three distinct sounds.
It came from breathe and moved mountains.
Expanded galaxies and realigned solar systems.
Neighbors glanced and bounced off each other
Embracing for even just the breadth of a time as a peck on the cheek,
to acknowledge the other's existence, and then naturally,
and absent of sound, from it, beam.

The first sound resonated with the original,
the creator.
The crumb inside the cookie, inside the jar that had once been sealed tightly from persisting hands and now remained open. For all hands and fingers to have and hold, embrace and enjoy.
A breathe of fresh air to stale crumbs.
A part of the whole sweet treat, but a taste of sweetness in itself.
No wonder it will take just the one.

The second sound, an echo, a reverberation of harmonies that wax and wane,
only to come back together once again. A beautiful melodious dance of highs and lows,
passion and compassion.
An expansion, no doubt
From bead to sea.
A power in the drop that builds oceans and destroys walls with a pulse
(of glee).

The final sound, the mirror of the first, a pyramid and prism of colors,
reflecting in order the exact pigments you wish to behold,
sunset reds and a rise of orange.
Deep wines and blanketed blues.
A comfort of hues.

So difficult and yet so effortless, to create such a vibration from that place.
A place filled with lights, of greens, and whites, and sparkles in the night.
And then to stare off at one running across the dark sky
and know,
that with a simple three,
I love you,
moved galaxies.

More at: http://brendenpettingill.com/index.php/2017/03/31/love-gazing/

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This Detachment

I’ve practiced, this detachment

this try and play and give and take

of feelings that stay

you pulled me through the doorway

calling me to temptation and wants

when one day more is all there is

no more waits, when magic is today

even when you are there

and the man at the fruit stand puts the menu in my hand

ill be back tomorrow

thank you my friend

Namaste

this happiness, this love, why am I here?

there’s too much…

But you, it is so simple

smiles and winks, a handstand by the sea

the one I dreamt of in a dream

when love is in my hand

the rest flows into hearts

I said, All I need are your eyes and lips..

teeth and mouth

They were the first I saw

the last thing I remember

they took me away, and I’m still buzzing

like the scooter on my last day…take flight

wind between our hair, fingers on hips

I feel whole,  you said.

and when our lips dance.

I feel empty,

with space for nothing,

but you.

More at : http://brendenpettingill.com/index.php/2018/02/02/this-detachment/

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Woman What I Love

women what I love
the waves and curves
and soft linen to disguise what lies beneath
my gaze surfs, in lines
up and down from bottom to crown

the straights too
and the curly cues
like mine
and their eyes
better than heels, jewels and disguises
guiding me in winks and smiles
I don’t need teeth and dimples
but those make me smile back
and often
even the wrinkles and drops hold me

the softness, wrapped up in a blanket
out of the shower, out of the bath, out of the water
out of the darkness
no woman no cry
not dry, not wet, but soaking
and perfect

I watch you mimic the skies
You know better than I
swaying hips alternating with lips
from a song never sung more beautifully
bare feet and painted toes on mahogany
squinting with an inquisitive look and glasses to magnify

a lens for us both to look closer
delicate hands that could pick me apart
guiding me back to a pillowed embrace and a head on a heart
wrapped up and letting the tears flow
letting hairs entangle like limbs do
and their music, with lips alternating
sweeter than the tree’s syrup and the humming nectar

a violin serenating, a guitar to pluck and a piano to push
keys back into their locks, to twist open again
fiercely independent self love,
fiercely independent to ask questions as such:
Why? How? Is it enough? Is it too much?
silence comforts the sensation by your banks
with warm water and fluid strokes

wrap me up in your blanket
like we used to do before and after and in between
I remember nine months and lights and shadows
and often times forget them too
woman what I love
eyes, hearts, an age, a shape and a cuteness that comes by rhythms and blues

More at: http://brendenpettingill.com/index.php/2017/11/13/woman-what-i-love/

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Finding Love

You feel all alone and all you wonder is why
Why it is you can’t seem to find love no matter how hard you try

Do you really want to know because when I tell you you’ll just roll your eyes
Stop looking for love and start making your own
Which means doing the things you love and sometimes doing them alone

Because when your heart is filled with love
Full of love in everything you do
The love of your life will appear, they’ll appear right in front of you.

More at: http://brendenpettingill.com/index.php/2016/04/27/finding-love/