if you will allow a Bree pome

if you will allow
that life is a
teacher

and a pretty sexy one
then you
will understand
poems

pomes

Sometimes a Stoner

There are people who
buy beautiful plants
& forget to water them;

end up with a lot of pot.


Touring Chapel Hill

The ant moves quickly
wherever he goes.

Unlike my husband.

Unlike any shopper at
the Southern Season where
everything you don't
need is on sale and
you still don't want it.



Hot (Painted)

sounds crazy but i like yore heat
Channel 5 calls oppressive, FOX News
says it is 'dangerous'
but i sit in you, get hot
as hot
can and
wait (ever)still
for yore breeze which comes
on and coats, evens me.



An Eternity at Target

I know how to find my husband.

Listen for his cough, unlike
another's.

Look for the first slow gait,
up the aisles
be damned, but if it ain't
him already, looking for me
(and proud) of his one-off
find,

me checking out
those same old begs a pardon,

but has he been holding on
to them smile the whole
time there eyes.

Foe Memory

Foe Memory

all day my face had this stink. was it
from the heat? when i touched my nose
and pulled my fingers back over
my lips it stank.
a stink impossible
to put a finger on.

meanwhile i tried
to place it.
only one or two
times had i smelled this.
impossible to place
now that i've washed
my face, thinking
myself clever
for having remembered
to bring my little foaming soap.

Caught up in the moment

Caught up in the moment

and the hanging plant
above where i sat was
not in relief of the field and thicket
across from the house (wearing the Japanese
maple blouse)so that the whole scene lay
completely
flat before me,
but impendingly so that it were implied
there was
to be no turning back.

There is no Them

There Is No Them

There’s them and there’s us,
and you, my friend, are us,
he said,

and I thot,
he is both right and wrong.

It is simpler to live believing everybody
comes from a place filled with good intentions.
I am an innocent convicted. Within my
constraints I try and sight slights, injustices, as what might make friendships between guards
and inmates, the guilty and the guilty, innocents and guards.

The days and months tick by, I stick to a single
truth:

there is no them.

little pomes

nettle searching

nothing cute, nothing fancy
but hella way yet from the park
i and my hands stroll touristlike
through your tresses


sand combing

u look for shark teeth
some ways down
from where
i look for shark teeth
watching you

en gulf



pissing kings

i pissed kings!

in the bathroom
at the deal, i
was folded blind,
then watched what id
have won
speechless.

Bree pome

That Night

That was called the king queen respect
Hand, actually, the what led to a fold
Before I saw my straight.
Before I see mine a purr comes
On the wind recedes and it is still cool (out).

Before I see mine the radiator leaks.
I sit upon a one night store of
Leakage, for lets call it that, that sit
uponeth store.

And with as much mirth as that,
I won for a while.

-Bree 2011 March

Bree poem

love comes clean

we are in this john together.

i am your sink undermounted.

u go with your own lighting
inter-connecting in lines
where they r.

crusted in plaque, you are
also rusty in places.

yet u (&the mildew)
collect in th folds
of th Mat of Absorbency.

u are my john.

in quote marks,
you floor to
ceiling me
more than ever Before the
Porcelain, before u and i lain

th towels together
on th table we bought
for that

we standing in th tub
drip seeing us
see us in th Fog of Mirror.

Poetry Reading Sunday Nov 14

Sunday Evening Roast Poetry Series
Location:Arts Collinwood Cafe'
Time:6:00PM Sunday, November 14th

15601 Waterloo Rd (in the Waterloo Arts District
Cleveland, OH)

Reading will be Bree, Bridget Kriner, Elena Tomorowitz & RA Washington

come out (even if it rains) and hear some killas!

let Cupid know

let Cupid know

lets find some grass and lean back
into eachothers mythology
between the streets where
we can see constellations,
Greek gods in our eyes,
make ours a moon
vacation.

lets take one heart into the sky,
& yours will be the sun
i bathe in,
the light i go by
when i want to find the sum,

your numbers will come
up like mega millions
of galaxies
& when i hold the winning ticket
you will also have won.

i’ll be your Psyche, goddess of the soul
and you can be Eros—let Cupid know
we’re done shooting
arrows.

time off from workingmans

time off from workingmans

i think you should take a night off awhile from the stolid.
the stolid workingmans serious life because, lets face it,
it cant be all work or work will FEEL like work. its fun
when work doesnt feel like WORK. you carry something or boil
something but its all nice little things you are doing, making
neat slices and neat pours. opening a box neatly, with some
song in the back, familiar without being painful to hear, some
thing like Petty, say.

and while you are at it drink lots of wine
and write. smoke cigarettes knowing
how easy it will be to go back to quit.
you already quit, as far as im concerned.
and then watch a hockey game. Antiques Roadshow.
watch something boring to the point of interesting.
fascinate yourself on NORTH AMERICANS.

then go boondocking elsewhere for a change.
like in the dish chamber or laundry corner.
some place where you can tidy something up.

the only way

the only way id do that is if
nothing in my life mattered

like heroin, you only try that
if nothing in yr life matters
u might let somebody ugly
suck yr cock, if nothing
in your life mattered
you could walk out on
the job, wife, comedian
if nothing mattered

you would forgo butter,
tipping the waitress,
why fortify the buttress?
why change the oil on
the Cutlass?

why not fuck over a good one?
an open hearted?
make fun of his comfyest shirt and then
remove it. shake it like a
tablecloth, at a family picnic.
then wrap it round yr own neck
and stomp out.

if nothing in yr life mattered
you might take a hundred
million bucks over ever
lasting life, maybe.

it would be a hundred
million bucks well spent,
knowing you.

two Bree poems

and slowly

citys only correctional hospital
same as where i got born was
torn down today
and this evenings also
gone allreddy to cornering sheets
whiling time

worlds largest surplus hardware
the one where my old
momma found me
tho i meant to
be lost
mini blinds on her
head/modern medusa
me with paint sticks
whiling time

regionally touted hot bar buffet
just outside my old hometown
steaming outwardly
cooking whats been cooked
allreddy furious
as trains and
slowly
whiling time

999

light/again

is it a wet orange
or breast augmentation
bleeding
sterile
citrus squeeze
is the sun
throb dancing or
am i migraining
dull
jerk
again

999

for the little girl

the one eye he gave me
made me feel holy

i only looked a while
afraid that he might know me

something about interlopers entwined

i entertained his existential story

me shutting up enough he did not
need to hurry away
but he certainly
could not remain
some figment and neither could
he any more be imaginary

and yet i put him down
pick up a book or a blanket
i put him down and brush my teeth
breathing the whole time at peace
and then i pick him up again
regardless of the brevity of him
the levity of him amusing me


i hardly looked at his eyes
the one best chance for it wasted
and of course in that moment the
two of us were
wasted that is
wasted on or by or for each other
the grammar of it all eludes me

Bree poem

for Brian

i like to get tight with you
for you who are
so light on dark

you manage

to fill my moon baby

nightly by daily

and u know i aint crazy
for falling thirteen times

tripping on the same

spot in the room
you fill

with your funny
like Fridays

like a light

always on for me honey

o i do so like loving u

       

000

on not parenting

on not parenting
im a survivor. spending my whole life this time
surviving, with a little flair about it.
maybe next time i come back i wont be as cling to
survival
and i can with ease ensure
the flair of another.


000

simply not into biology

i am not my presentation
u cant make me out from
the ledging
paragraphs
i am not into
diagrams
polyrhythmic charts
grafting reason
i have none
concerning simple biology
i wont trade body marks
rough draft image blue prints
hyroglyphics fold out
open into an olden pie
graph
im not about archaeology
im not my suitcase baby
just take me

jes culls a poem

jes culls

wading thru
cocksure traversing
less the rhythm
culls-thru

makes it somehow
stealing long the walls
thru

with one eyes
on and
mirth and how
thru u
my honey one
and only

jes culls

yo call did not
go thru yet
you are still wading
among

the muck that hull
on yr soul does
a doosey on
the shoes i trample
on making me the way
to you

thru who?
jes culls i said so

white waters

we'll leave the boat alone
no embarrasments
regrets or
reminders at all

just a sail fair on and well

leave the boat alone

dont caption the captain
refrain from using the deck
go alone in the stall

no pockets left
no ink trail whoddunwhat

just a sail fair on and well

Daniel Thompson song

found this old song looking for a flashlight....written in maybe 2003 for Cleveland's own Danny T.

the browns of his eyes
are whiskey and cola
whites of em bright
as ten old st nick souls

aw a picture cant tell him
to someone aint know him
here's to wishin him on
heres to wishin him on

ringer of silence
pops, the old man of color
sellor of sea shell shaped
stanzas and chorus of beard

cleveland wont have him next year
heres to wishin him on
heres to wishin him on
                                                                      image by Steven B. Smith
speaker of truth                                                        
when u know that he's lying                                                                                                      
whistles a deuce
when he mays well be cryin
great folders manilla
store up his poems
so he finds the right one
to put someone at home

ringer of silence
the old man of color
sellor of junkyard poems
medicine beard

cleveland wont have him next year
heres to wishing him on
heres to wishing him on