Brenneman T. - August

Gilded Love

Your gilded love,
its golden flakes
fell chipped and brittle
with our mistakes.

Life washed away
love's hue in you,
and left your rainbow
black and blue.

Your pot of gold
has turned to ash,
and of faith and trust
made balderdash.

- Brenneman T. August 1, 2002

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Raven's Dances

Up against the wall,
and there's no climbing.
All around me smoothe and tall,
just cut my nails. Bad timing.

Where does the one germ enter,
that kills life's hope and chances?
Or do many tiny jolts off center,
begin the raven's dances?

- Brenneman T. August 2, 2002

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Join the Raven's Dances

Another hour passes.
Another moment dies.
Movement, it amasses
as empty motion in my eyes.

It is time for taking chances,
for my spirit to arise,
I will join the raven's dances,
singing as the black bird cries.

- Brenneman T. August 3, 2002

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Right Here in Me

Are we not often looking to the obscure or fantastic to entertain us,
and reveal some secret meaning to our sometimes troubled existence?

If so, I will learn to whisper,
"What is my life, is fine with me."

Two biceps or one,
is better than none.

Sad, confused memories of a friendship or love betrayed
are the rich experience of a life not only dreamed, but lived.

In the paradoxical prison of my own relative wealth and freedom,
I am director and main grip in this play.

Awareness constantly reminds me
how often I forget one for the other.

Even death cannot erase my history's authenticity.
I am immediately empowered whenever I embrace the bald and colored truth of me.

- Brenneman T. August 3, 2002

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Morning Cleansing

Sun's warm greeting,
after pouring rain,
has cleansed my mind
of night's thought-filled stain.

- Brenneman T. August 3, 2002

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Sight Without Eyes

At the bottom of deep oceans
crawl creatures that cannot see.
They thrive in pressured darkness
and they do not envy me.

I found a sun-dried earthworm,
who wiggled wet at midnight last,
His hell was in my morning's sun
on burning concrete cast.

What is our heaven is hell
to another species genes,
So when I do another well,
I best know well what their well means.

- Brenneman T. August 4, 2002

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Note from Hell

But if we were to go there,
not that we will,
We would likely
find the door locked by now,
and a sign tacked up reading,
"Sorry, we're full,
and no one seems to be leaving.
Please try upstairs.
We hear there's lots of room."

- Brenneman T. August 5, 2002

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Neither Entrance Way, nor Exit

I have no report to give you
on the entrance way or exit to God's house.

I never know when I arrive, and am uncertain of my departure.

It is in the center of nondescript room that I sometimes find myself
dining with him, as with my neighbor, at the meek table of his kindness.

- Brenneman T. August 5, 2002

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The Anchor

When my anchor finally drops,
it will smash through the ice of my frozen heart,
catching on the remains of loves lost there.
The ship of my being will jolt against their bones into a strained stillness.

Wintering in the bay of forced awareness,
with no captain or crew to maintain me,
I will rock to and fro until the barnacle of protracted thought
must be scraped from my aging hull.

When the land is again green to my stern,
and the warming winds of wisdom whip across my bow,
I will raise the iron anchor of my soul,
and set my sail with faith toward destiny.

- Brenneman T. August 5, 2002

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Self-employed

Leaf houses
and bush forts,
to me as child
a job of sorts.

Ant farms
and hotwheel cars,
catching bugs
in canning jars.

Excited, joyful,
and content,
to wonder where
the caterpillar went.

Then the miracle
of the day,
a butterfly appears
and flies away!

- Brenneman T. August 6, 2002

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Viewed from my Presence

The phone rings,
a jarring reminder
that you do not call.

Will I allow such hollow emotion
to set it's empty heel
against the door of my tomorrows?

Should it try,
I will slip out the window of purposeful activity
into a world wrapped rapturously in waiting experience.

First, I shall sleep
in simplicity's cabin
high on an unknown hill.

As I rest, all my inner nature will befriend me.
Once again, I am made whole through the richly flavored pleasure
found in the solitary, but certain presence of my own good company.

- Brenneman T. August 7, 2002

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Parched

As passions spread
in parched weed wildfire,
blue blooms
plumed red
with wild thirst's desire.

- Brenneman T. August 7, 2002

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Richly Scented Moments

Were the sun to demand
for it's morning tea
the cool morning mist
that hesitates before disappearing
above the lake's awakening,

were my dog absent her scent-seeking apparatus,
without invisible messages to grasp her nose
to the mass of matter at edge of the water,
and hold it there as if glued involuntarily
while she moves forward,

and were I to not move synapse and finger,
against the perceived injustice of my own confusion
by scribbling my protest in lines of verse,
capturing solace in a fleeting moment's sanity.

Then the sun would not cast her warmth so freely
upon the cold old bony hips of my Shammy,
allowing her the simplest joys of rising
even without a feast in olfactory paradise.

Were what is with sun and dog and man
not what they are,
I would be without love and light
and the curious wonder at life's meaning.

- Brenneman T. August 7, 2002

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Buzzing Breeze

Bumble bee
bother me.
Hummingbird
buzz.

High breeze
in maple tree
rearrange
what was.

- Brenneman T. August 10, 2002

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The Monarch of My Common Weakness

The widowed monarch of my common weakness
has thrown her soiled purple cloak
about the thirsty root of my will.
She has crowned my reason in her bold nakedness,
and chased from my pregnant fields
the innocent whippoorwill.

I faint from the smothering,
soul-wrecking cover of her cape.
I find my round trunk
from there set askew
to a conscious disorientation
for her sake.

With all hope and wonder gone,
from her stagnate water I drink
and will of her diluted poisons partake.
My character rides
her bouncing ball
as upon the wriggling back of snake.

- Brenneman T. August 11, 2002

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Garden Gone

At first she watered often
setting up her garden for failure.
The roots stayed near the surface.

Now the drought has come
and her care is gone.
The plants wither with her fouled love's produce.

- Brenneman T. August 12, 2002

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Paneless Seen

A window clean
is paneless seen.
Your picture
frames our story.

What is now clear
is you're not here.
In your absence
love is gory.

- Brenneman T. August 12, 2002

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Letters in a Closet

Demon cages
in a closet,
no red hot coals
or fuel to cause it.

Just as fire ants
and dandelions
creep and bloom
against all science.

While hummingbirds
and mistletoe
are fickle in
the ways they grow.

He keeps
her sacred locket,
yet she pictured there
is lamp without a socket.

He asks,
"Wasn't light to outshine darkness?"
Her black hole swallowed him
as a night invades the forest.

- Brenneman T. August 12, 2002

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Yes, No "No"

A "no" is spoken,
but truth is always "yes".
"No" eventually negates itself,
whereas a double-positive is an emphatic "yes"!.

Taken toward its extreme,
fired in time and experience,
and cooled in happenstance,
the "no" is but bit and bridle to the "Yes".

- Brenneman T. August 12, 2002

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Breathe Again

Breathe again,
deeply swell.
Breathe slowly
and exhale.

The blessed air
that you dispel
has saved my heart
from hell.

- Brenneman T. August 13, 2002

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Ascend

Ascend your mountain in forest light
with sunlight rain sprinkled 'cross the night.

Engulfed in blue-black indigo,
ascend 'til you no more can go.

From there look up and find the tree
ascend it's branches carefully.

When finally you've reached your top,
ascend your hopes. Your fears will drop.

- Brenneman T. August 14, 2002

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With Balance to Hope

I don't know what turns me upright
to balance my perceptive
on the rim of my life,
to ride circumstance
like a hula-hip on the hips of a child,
or a surfboard on the most awesome wave.

But today I do know
hope and joy are never gone.
They are always waiting
for me to rediscover them.
I have, and will again.

- Brenneman T. August 14, 2002

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Ring Wet

Listen to fear die
with the humming tone of courage
found in the ringing bell.

It begins it's rocking unseen,
silently, high above the chapel well.

I know
the bell will ring
again, and slowly
chiming it's truth for us.

I know
a breath will deeply fill our chests,
and the pouring rain will come
crying happiness.

- Brenneman T. August 15, 2002

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A Letter from Your Pet (found in a bottle written in paw prints)

Dearest "Owner",

I don't talk a lot, and this may be the only written communication I have with you or any human that will ever really be understood. So please listen carefully. I have decided to come down to the human level to let you know some truths that may be especially helpful to you during this exciting time of growth in your life.

Mainly, relax. You're fine. Your family is fine. Your life is fine. In fact you are wonderful. Your fears are unnecessary. All is as it should be. Accept your growth as good, even great.

Pray more if you want more peace. When unsure or confused, do the most simple things you know to be positive for you, starting with the most basic, not necessarily the easiest. Be kind, mainly to yourself. Your mistakes are nothing but your lessons. We all must go through them. You are never bad (and by the way, neither am I).

Your life will continually change, but you will find that peace is always available to you when you let go of expectations and accept your life with gratitude.

A great spirit is loving, protecting and caring for you in ways far beyond your current understanding. You can and must learn to trust this. You will do this with practice.

Continue to give love, and grow in the confidence of your special brilliance. You are a very exceptional person. I will not focus on this, but will only say that when you find out how special you are, you will be amazed at how tough you were on yourself. So relax.

As for your troublesome images and thoughts about others, situations and your perceptions of meaning, let me help you by letting you know what most other life forms know intuitively. You are neither your thoughts or feelings. Just because the mental tank's full, doesn't mean you have to go anywhere.

Let your thoughts be observed as the visitors they are. You need not own them. Invite them to dinner if you like. If they are not good company, you may kindly ask them leave. Sometimes you have to ask more than once. That's OK too. You will then have others with whom you will find the pleasure you deserve. Your feelings simply help you determine who your favorites are.

Welcome the thoughts that are kind to you, and enjoy the a feast of fond remembrances and the wonder and beauty of life to be found in your bright mind that you so desire.

Please do this all with as much faith and hope as you can muster at the time. That will be more than sufficient. It will be easier if you practice it regularly. If you don't feel you've done well some days, tomorrow will do, but the best time to start is always right now.

That's all. Now practice, and get some rest. Nothing's so important you need lose sleep over it. The spirit will watch over all while you rest.

By the way, I do things like act excited in the morning to just see you smile.

Thanks for taking such good care of me and remember, easy does it.

PS: Please don't try to act differently towards me, or think I will talk to you again. This is a special one time wisdom-giving gift of my lifetime, and I have decided to give it to you. I will tell you that most of my "noises" mean "I love you."

Love,
"Your Pet"

- Brenneman T. August 18, 2002

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Listening to His Dreams

As her child sleeps,
his mother lies awake
listening in the darkness
to his dreams.

This mother's heart
is not without fear,
but nevertheless,
it beats consistently
while her mind muses until morning...

"School is starting.
He needs a haircut...
We'll go to mass today,
and then I'll take him to the driving range,
so he'll feel good about golf tryouts...
He wants to see the movie 'Triple X'.
He'll like the action in that.
Maybe I'll take him to see it today.
That would be nice...
He's going to junior high school.
Wow! He's growing up so fast.
I can't believe it!
He'll be gone so soon..."

- Brenneman T. August 18, 2002

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Iamunwell Orami

Iamunwell orami
just acting..but and butt...

rhyming cacti,
needle packing...

...not a good thing to know up close,
better on a distant horizon...

always farther than you think ...
crazy jerky sausage link.

Please don't fret your gut
over a coiled, spoiled self-made slut.

- Brenneman T. August 19, 2002

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Yellowed Hopes

Of yellowed hopes
a sinless satin injury was born.
In her closet is a dress
never tinged with sweat.

Time has left a veil
once white unworn,
taunting ghosts
of matrimony unmet.

- Brenneman T. August 20, 2002

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Just My Touch

Were I to choose
with greater care
the words I speak
and thoughts I dare,

I'd sift my soul
of all despair,
and stroke your arm
or smooth your hair.

The tiny smile
my touch would bare
would help another
to form somewhere.

So soon would be
a world more fair,
and just a touch
would bring it there.

- Brenneman T. August 20, 2002

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Her Ways

What is this kind constancy I've found in her ways?

It is more hearty than sweetness,
more challenging than patience,
more courageous than acceptance,
but softer than strength.

It persists as a complex background of integrity,
in even her weakest moments
or her most troubled conflicts.
A compassion that does not only ride the surface of her activity and speech,
it's source is a deep well of beliefs that transcend her circumstances.

In being so human and also so charitable, she has exemplified goodness.
Although a quality easily taken for granted by others,
her life teaches us intuitively that nothing is more powerful than our smile.

- Brenneman T. August 22, 2002

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Coming To

When I do come to, and adjust my eyes to the bright light of my soul's awareness,
I begin to awaken to the hidden meaning of my own unscripted play.
Only then can I enter into directing my story.

It's like walking into the middle of my own home movie,
realizing just how much of my life I have already slept through.
So much of my existence has been censored by my own preconceptions.

Trying to remember where I was and how it felt to be there helps bring some self understanding.
This awareness may enable me to write a more attractive future,
but editing my reruns is otherwise of little use.

- Brenneman T. August 25, 2002

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Morning's Evensong

On long eyelashes' tears
rimmed dew of an endless dawn,
sage eyes will with the years,
cry my morning's evensong.

- Brenneman T. August 27, 2002

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Whiles I Won't Forget

I want to be movie star.
I want to be a singer.
I want to run around the world,
and poke it with my finger.

I want to ride the amazon,
see all it's life amassed,
or peek in Mount Saint Helen's
and see where lava passed.

Of the many things I'd like to do,
before my sun has set,
a talk,a touch, a time with you
are whiles I won't forget.

- Brenneman T. August 28, 2002

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Sweep Clean My Room of the Cluttered Norm

In what distress is confusion bound
wrapped tight in coiled troubles round.

Crazed at the cusp of vertigo
piled high with thoughts on thoughts I know.

In one small convoluted brain
with no new cells to drive insane,

a synapse buzzed with energy
and took from me my misery.

I fell asleep as dopamine
waged seratonin wars unseen.

The head is hard, the mind is soft,
and thick is the neck to knock it off.

All the nerves that run away
send signals back to guide my way.

I write, I speak, it fires a squeak,
a mental manna's mammoth streak.

All that is left is cerebral jelly
jiggling in it's cage as one big belly.

Laughing at the clever joke it's made,
and rippling in it's own charade.

"A horrible thing to waste" was said,
before it weathered the stove was red.

It baked and rose, then I surmised,
"what is the cake without surprise?"

Add one and two, and you get three,
but all is one and I would be

amazed if all the thinking done,
would bring my frazzled senses one

day of precision clarity
when it could rest, and I could see.

A simple chore I would perform,
sweep clean my room of the cluttered norm.

- Brenneman T. August 29, 2002

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The Wren That Rots

In the crevice
flew a wren that rots.
The room was there,
and flight collects in dead spots
everywhere.

Some, cavities,
holes bold with gold.
Others, valleys,
rolled with bones untold.

No surplus dirt of grave, no sound,
no quiet rounded mound to mark the trap,
another winged-one slips inside
for a gap's eternal nap.

Below endless space,
above a birdless sky,
life so soon seems alien
in it's smelly, crammed good-bye.

- Brenneman T. August 30, 2002

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Rainbow of Her Soul

Crazy how her heart shines through
tears puddled on my face.
The rainbow of her soul gives clue
to the mystery of God's grace.

- Brenneman T. August 31, 2002

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To End the Drought

In pouring rain to end the drought,
plants thrill to be alive.
Shriveled stem sends out a sprout
determined to survive.

- Brenneman T. August 31, 2002

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