Poems
by Terry Brinkman

Last Swig

 

Last swig of the Challahs Sea

Sole immunities a slightly ironical power

Hymns to heavenly beauty plea

Like a burr sticking in your flower

Three strikes and you’re out

Gun whale of her boat stuck in a stout

 

 

 

 

 

Sonnet CLXXXI

 

Living by your Pen and sort of a half laugh

Dropping off in a peaceful doze on the side of the road

 Canters preaching while picking your pocked their mode

Sanctimonious ironsides children of the Dog-head staff

Dear Lord, you’re lying on the Paraphernalia Paper Graph

God never backed a horse as a lawn Mower

God ups his pint to wet his Toad

I wouldn’t doubt her flourished exceedingly calf

He put that in the Bible, just now

Free translated happy speech on a dusty rock

She’s a bloody dark horse herself, not a Cow

Old sloppy eyes is mucking up the lock

Blessed is the one with beer in the crock

Iliana of Saints and Sages decay

Star throwing shadows of night alack

 

 

 

 

 

Sleepy Whale 369

 

Looking back on yesterday’s mottle affair

Humors solemnities, silent

Heavenliest ironical nod old cur

She never or always can tell

Eager anticipation of everything

Alabaster’s enormous irrelevancy

Panther sahib ghost woman’s moon

Seaward pointed

Deathless God nobbling his beer

Such is life in an Outhouse

Ultimate spiritual damnation

 

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