Creative Ideas

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"Creativity at your service"

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References/Samples | Email me: DB @ CI

Welcome:

I hope you enjoy the poetry on this page, select a link, read and then hear a poem, this is a foretaste of much more to come!... Thank you, Dan Brady

The poetry:

The following groups are samples from various periods. The first two are from the earliest period, the early to middle 1970's and represent bizarre figments of imagination hidden in plain view by simple, common observations.

In the AM sun - - - The whites of her eyes

The next pair from the late 1970's when I was active in the San Francisco poetry scene finding inspiration in simple observations taken to hyperbolic extremes. The second piece, has an autobiographical element, but was written about and for my mother.

Tarzan - - - I ask myself ...

Morning Song and the Set of Haiku represent a third period, from the late 70's through the 1985 or 86. I was inspired by the Theosophical Society and, though I had been writing Haiku for some time, found new inspiration in this form.

Morning Song - - - Set of Haiku

The last three poems represent the most recent period in my writing. I was as surprised as anyone when I began to create poetry in the classical sense of the term, that is to say verse that is both rhymed and metered. I may not keep to exact meter but the form of my writing now is quite different from what it has been in the past. This sort of writing began only at the turn of the millennium.

The Tree - - - Fair Helen - - - The Manifold Manners of Means

 
                                                
              
In the AM sun Hear this poem?
                                    
  In the AM sun         
  of the Fillmore bus         
  this man         
  a study of fine lines
  rough creases
  rustling hands
  in his twisted bag of pecans
  offers some as his talk wanders
  to the house wife 
  whose robe is too small
  her feet bulge 
  over her blue house slippers
            
  because their eyes meet
  he offers
  his food  
  for considerations
            
            
  a listener,  
  she knows enough to say
  no
            
  I'm on a special diet
  with a smile, 
            
  he returns
  to the pecans 
  at the very bottom
  of the small bag
                     


                                                                        
            
The whites of her eyes Hear this poem
                          
  The whites of her eyes
  float up
  in the black coffee
  staring
  accusing they
  always come back     I
  see
  her eyes
  float up
  in orange juice
  in hot brown chocolate
  they
  upset
  the marshmallows
  I always 
  have to spoon them out
  spoon them out
  before I drink
  very     very carefully
  I don't want to hurt them at all
  spoon them out
            
  spoon them
            
  onto a napkin
  let them dry 
            
  and
            
  stare at you!

                                     
Tarzan Hear this poem?
				
 Yellow black saber stripe 
 leap of wild mouth tiger
 on Tarzan's back 
 Tarzan says:
 "Not tonight honey,I'm tired, 
 really am bushed,"
 and he turns on his side to the lamp
            
 Tarzan says  
 to Natasha Svelte 
 in a midnight dress 
 at tiffany restaurant
 tete a tete, glass clink,
            
 "I can't go out on Friday.   
 I have a business appointment 
 in Sumatra,
 must fly over night clouds
 in silver plane."
            
 And she'd been checking out 
 this conventioneer anyway  
 is cool she says, "Oh?"
            
 Tarzan rips open 'gator mouth, 
 cold water clouds, 
 swims like hell, 
 yells his way
 through the jungle, 
 and elephants roar!
            
 Tarzan says, 
 "I want more money, lots.  
 Tarzan says:
 "What about the concessions 
 and royalties on my Mattel model and...
 what about the lump in its crotch?"
             
 Tarzan 
 fights German scientist hunters
 who have radioactive blue eyes, 
 who want,
 animals for experiments.
            
 Their guns 
 rattle like angry sticks and bones 
 hunched on safari shoulders.
            
 Tarzan watches from the trees,
            
 lives in a Louis the 16th apartment, 
 white with gold 
 filigree trim, curled plush chairs
 and palm trees.
 He eats from a tray
 of jet black teak 
 inlaid with aged ivory.
            
 And I saw his name
 finger written 
 in an amateur cement job
 enlarging a driveway.



                                    
I ask myself ... Hear this poem?
            
  
             
 To ask myself if this is difficult
 no
 this is
            
 easy
 sitting with time and tea at the window
 how the glass meets the wind
 now
 that time of report card signing
 seems immediate
 brows fevered cooling     measles now
 washing clothes now
 meals
 their cooking
 and planning     always planning     
 so
 difficult
            
 yet I was not lost somehow
            
 I am still
 worried
 sad or     somehow
 are they reading
 between the lines of my face?
 I receive pretty cards and notes
            
 Miles and holidays
 its called
 a generation gap
            
 Do they know me now?
 I understand them     they understand
 I am still
 feel and
            
 One by one
 birds cross blue skies
 I watch from my window
 frost
 one by one
 the leaving
 colors fall to the brown earth 
 smooth as skin
            
 I notice the gaps  
 between my fingers
 the shape of the spaces
 notice a ring
 a man
 and memories
            
 In the autumn 
 it is difficult
 I accept
 three children grown
 and married.

                              
Morning Song Hear this poem
            
    
 exhausted
            
 fallen away
            
 the lime blossoms
            
 give all they can 
            
 to be with us
            
 so
            
 these are for you
            
 from the seventh garden
            
 smell
            
 these special limes
            
 fresh from the trees
            
 blessed
            
 by the birds
            
 whose fleet song
            
 taper this summer eve
            
 come
            
 walk here with me
            
 until Venus
            
 rises over these hills
            
 she'll unfold in the heavens
            
 as we watch her
            
 she'll embroider each flower
            
 and leave a morning song
            
 within each drop of dew

                                                                 
Set of Haiku Hear these poems
			
 early morning spring
 here in the apple trees
 the Mission's Alleluias
            
            
            
 on matted dry grass
 the scattering of black
 and white feathers
           
            
            				
 night,  deserted street
 turning to the approaching sound!
 a scuttling leaf
    
            
            				
  in the clover's cleft
         the drop shines
             with all the sun inside
            
            
            
 birds over the sea
 calling     farther and farther
 on into the sound
            
            
         
           in the dunes  shoes with
    socks neatly tucked in   and grass
           growing out their tops
            
            
 empty living room
 sitting at the cold clean hearth
 singing for the last time
     
            	
		
 He crosses the room
 his steps rebound in the cup
 a tea leaf settles
            
            
         
 rainwater running
 in the steep roadside gully
 taking the pink balloon       

                                                            
           The Tree Hear this poem.
            
            				
 There is a tree
 That shades my yard
 and dapples where I lay.
    
        
 I rest beneath
 Its great old limbs
 And dream throughout the day.
            
            
 Summer winds wane,
 Birds flit and caw,
 I hardly move at all.
 
           
 A book lays near
 Though it is closed
 And hides away my scrawl.
            
            
 Its days like this,
 When time is slow,
 And dreams go idly by
    
        
 That I wonder at
 The sky above
 And gently let a sigh.
            
            
 Let no one chance
 To chide my ways
 As they their life's toils plan.
   
         
 For the muse so set
 Within my heart
 Exceeds the reaper's span.


                        
            Fair Helen Hear this poem.

Aeolian stars, soft night air Aegean beauty ever fair Dancing through the hall in her prime Sweet Helen looses no grace with time. Millennium's girl, it is true, I still fashion a blush on you. Your sweet glances caught, shimmering While lyre and muse set singing. Ardent whispers given and caught While no one knew what would be wrought. Sweet Helen's constellate beauty Was their clarion for duty. They set sail for Ileum bound And brought its battlements to ground. Fervent love returned at last - Forgiven all for what was past. And when, in time, your guise gave way The vigil was kept night and day. Men stayed on, stood close at hand Guarding the treasure of their land. Then, when your blink was slowly missed, A maiden's hand touched at your wrist. But here, now, though ages have passed, Your beauty continues to last. What is the mystery we have here Why should this tale be so dear? Could it simply somehow be A story worth eternity? Or do we now lack their sense? Does it chide our indifference? Dear sweet Helen I give you this, My respect, in a lover's kiss.


                                                            
            
   The Manifold Manners of Means
            
       (commonly called: Life's Tune)  Hear this poem.
 
            
            				
 Through a flower's flow of colors
 And autumn wind's undone
 And the still white of the winter
 Under a sharp and glinting sun;
 
 Through a meal with good old friends
 All with family heartily bound
 And the stories by the campfire
 And songs that are pass'd 'round;
 
 Through the smells of summer grasses,
 Through the Redwood dells a' dawn,
 After moonless nights, a' sunrise,
 Where to gleaming shores we've gone;
 
 Through the words we banter daily,
 The common office jest,
 Through the phrases that we know by,
 That language we speak best;
  
 Through the hearts on fire - and winging,
 Through the thoughts that wing o'er the swell,
 Through the spirit that comes unto us,
 We know we're one as well.
 
 The community of the heart brings one
 On tender, on above
 To present the present to us
 In the quietest ways of love
 
 The quietest way,
 The quietest ways,
 In the quietest way
 Of love:
 
 "With each breath we breathe
 In each moment that we last,
 Before our eyes, in an eye's blink,
 We make the future and the past!
 
 And so it happens that each day,
 Whether by chance or through an old song,
 Opportunity will knock as you go -
 To pass life's tune along.
            


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