Poems
by Terry Brinkman

Sonnet CCXIX

 

Her stockings are loose over her ankles at work

Stained back pocked of her trousers color of Red Ink

She was perched on the stool behind the bar lips of Pink

Crouching over the bar to meet the jerk

Perceived from two different points an observation lurk

His turf from the midlands inner rink

Past she stood before the window on the brink

To watch increasingly vaster moon incipient quirk

May Moon, she’s folding a yarn

Sitting under the window eating her lunch on the cheap

Write for the liberty next to the Green Barn

Hope the rain mucks them to keep

Slow worms la lamp is still gleaming in the dawn

Weight of eleven stones and four pounds in her sleep

 

 

 

 

 

Sonnet CCXV

 

Her eyes dancing in admonition kissed the best

Spiritual is an Alabaster Ivory like ring

Seated by her companions she’s left to sing

Joyous little laugh said she would stay west

Blue Irish Blue eyes a woman’s crest

Old Tin Box clattering under her wing

Occupants of the grave buried last evening

Lady of the land on her last quest

Gury of the brightness of the stained glass

Haunting expression girlish shyness when drinking beer

Terrific and instantaneous smoking Grass

Proceeding down the sage sloops of Deer

Dark woman and fair man seated together at Mass

Witchy bluest Irish blue lustrous volunteer

 

 

 

 

 

Sonnet CCX

 

Sun was nearing the steeple of the church and still rising

Proud lighting of the intellect’s pitfall

Our Souls shame wounded by our sins drawl

Violet night and augur’s rod of ash harmonizing

Shadow lay over the hand maid of the moon scrutinizing

Stench of his greener grave, foul flower water so compromising

Seated crossed legged smoking a coiled pipe in Budapest

Her hat was hanging on the kitchen floor of his nurse

Darkness shining in the brightness may suggest

Nudging the door open with her knee holding her purse

Human eyes monk words screaming infest

Smelling fresh printed rag paper from the back of the Hearse 

 

 

 

 

 

Almighty Banana

 

Majority of Parrot’s Greek Bananas are gone

The Alpha and Omega is the Half-life of the poet

Jesus washed it from our Lobe in his rain

Was and who the almighty last Banana

Shame with you hoarding insane

Found myself on the Island Patmos days after days

Caught up in sprit of the profane

Voice as loud a trumpet we can’t hear from our raft

 

 

 

 

 

Drinking Gin

 

Struck him Ilk drinking Gin

Two identical names both are lost

Our Lives in peril tonight we lost all control

Lord of her creation tattoo sat on her skin

Lyric plat form original playing

Feast of Avoirdupois cat patrol

Adjoining parch tropic trees midnight crying

Inexistence to existence equid-difference plot

Regressively accompanied Blue Blindfold

Compressed his hat on her head

Recline against wet railing is getting old

Unions of rails stiles laying still the tornado

No bigger than a woman’s Mind

 

 

Rate this poetry.

Copyright is reserved by the author. Please do not reproduce any part of this article without consent.