Ode to Corky And His Dying Japanese Maple.

My bro was joking about sleeping next to his tree in the cold so it wouldn't have to die alone, so I wrote him this one.

Yes, I know most of my poems are absolutely ridiculous.

But they make me happy.


Ode to Corky And His Dying Japanese Maple.
Beneath the dying maple,
a boy... no, a man, lie weeping
clutching the trunk—
a last embrace,
a last farewell,
a last leaf poised to dry
a last tear.

4:30am-4:35am

from July 1, 2008. I decided to post it here because brett said it was his favorite. It may be ridiculous, but at least he knows I love him.


4:30am-4:35am


Oh Fair Fairest Brett-Brett
The dawn has not yet waked
I hear the wind, but feel it not,
the leaves cease not to quake

I ponder on thy absence
as the refrigerator snores
to the echo of an empty house
and all its empty drawers

No Brett Brett in my freezer.
No Brett Brett in the tub-
and no more Utah Truffles,
In which to drown my love.

No Brett Brett in the silence
or on the fresh Sponged walls
No Brett here to answer to
My Waking "Brett Brett?" calls.

Unwritten- the previous draft (P)

I woke up today
I saw things unsecured
teetering on a shelf above.
Things that, if fallen,
would still exist;
things that would need mending.


(changed a lot, didn't it :))

Unwritten (P)

So many things atrophy without commitment
like unfinished poetry, that lingers in drawers
—forgotten words on discolored receipts—
half written, half felt,
half embraced,
unperfected,
denied life,
denied commemoration.

Perceived Aberrations

Written by this method, as illustrated here.


Forward:

As the flirtatious sun teased of dawn
an unforgotten bike lie drowning in it's oil.
Here, a boy watched his aberrant reflection in the inky soup
considering the naive concept that, in looking, he himself had been altered.
A friendless rain drop rippled oil across the lips of vampiric Brett.

Backward:
A friendless rain drop rippled oil across the lips of vampiric Brett.
Considering the naive concept that (in looking) he himself had been altered,
here, a boy watched his aberrant reflection in the inky soup.
An unforgotten bike lie drowning in it's oil
as the flirtatious sun teased of dawn.