Poems
by Terry Brinkman

 

Hair Flying Down Her Skeleton

 

Rocky ramparts Red-Walled behind the wall of Seasoned Brick

Rolling ridges giant cliffs steely skies ghosts lost in the sun

Hair flying down her skeleton

Vague loneliness with the scarlet blood on my walking stick

Fragrant sage memories of her haunting sweet Arsenic

Expostulated sentimental simpleton’s grave

Ramparts of the horizon yearning his strange phenomenon

Peaceful sleepy tenor ever watchful eye of Arithmetic

Ghost horse Red swollen thundering river high in the sky

Sheep-Headers sleeping at breeds Sage Palace of the dead

Tormenting monstrous rocks and cactus horrify in the shadows after midnight

Yearning for her heart flavored Fringed Pie

Thundered past ears laid-back burning Mustang Chalice

 

 

 

 

 

Crucified Lady

 

She walks through a maze of dark

With chalk scrawled aged skin

Crucified Lady from Chapel Poly

Joust years of life to honors the Holy

One of two outcast weak wasting twins

Her soul’s confessional when playing the Violin

Naught utter crosses down lowly

Spiritual condition of woman falling slowly

Eager anticipation of communal Gin

 

 

 

 

 

Sleepy Whale 381

 

She entered from front door, wind and piss against her back

Old age seeps through shattered windows when no one looks

Much like the chef’s special cooking Spicy Pigs feet

Cigar butt hanging from her red lips fibers of tobacco lost in pig’s blood

Sent of urine, bar mistress leads me to the best seat

Her toothless smile with stocking fallen to her ankle 

Inside Outhouse, such is her life

 

 

 

 

 

Sonnet CCXX

 

In lonely silence she wearing a crucified shirt

Storm tossed hearts on her elderly face

Monks words Mary Beads jabber at her base

Seated cross-legged smoking a coiled pipe in a steeple skirt

At her feet Meadow of murmuring water in dirt

Nudging the door open with her knee covered in lace

Last glow of fleeting day to embrace

Corpse rising salt white from the insert

 Irish face cloth wiping her unshed tears from her blue eyes

Star thrown shadows of a night’s sleep

Short sighted shadow less early morning lies

Gun wale of the boat stuck in the sweep

Stone heaps of rising butterflies at sunrise

Inscrutable philosophical assertion to keep

 

 

 

 

 

Sonnet CXXXIV

 

Tide sheeting the lows of sand

Sweep of the old dying Sun

Medieval adstruslosities old age phenomenon

Quaking soul’s take a stand

Livid night-life of Galveston

Kleene fun not to shun

Hobbling in the sad of the band

Electric blue

Stained with Tea

Cut of her Voodoo

Honey-pot Bee

Elsey-like brew

Lord forgive me

 

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