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 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.
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.
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.
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.
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 poemThe 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 poemexhausted 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 poemsearly 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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