sacrifice

•April 18, 2016 • 1 Comment

sacrifice

We say that we would give
it all for love. Do we really know
what we are asking for?

Love will demand for you to give it all
every jot and every tittle
every last hope to which you cling.

And after it has asked for this
it will ask again for more, reaching
down for those hopes laying hidden.

Love will gut them from your heart,
chill that faint glowing ember, dash
the last lingering expectation.

Love will ask for even those.

April 18, 2016 By c.m.brooks

image of two poets

•April 15, 2016 • Leave a Comment

image of two poets

[two men] posing for the camera
you don’t have to know the subjects
individuals, separate but together

each photograph, a conjunction of profiles
their very squareness Beat geometry
Ginsberg, Orlovsky at right angles
to one another

on a trip to India, informal, affectionate
casually taken images
lengthy captions written on each print

aware of the lens, what it can do
the intensity of a gaze, length of the shadows
nest-like appearance of his own beard
sage, sexy, dapper, dandy…

poets

April 15, 2016
 By cm. brooks

afterimage

•April 3, 2016 • Leave a Comment

 

Your warm scent lingers in the house
a full day after you have gone.
Living on my own I’d forgotten
that men have this unique aroma.
Mown grass or freshly turned earth?
Faintly musky and wild, I’m not certain
what to call it.

But I know my appetite and it has
stirred a fire lying dormant
one that is eagerly fed by springs late
disrobing.

April 3, 2016 by c.m. brooks

the rise and fall of words

•March 29, 2016 • Leave a Comment

 

With hardened consonants and
the soft whisper of vowels
you penetrate my pages
your words are entangled legs
your pauses the press of moistened lips
my stanzas cupped in your graceful hands
your long fingers couplets
that slip slowly along my hips
and between my thighs
words evoking rhythm and rhyme
between the folds of my skin
you coax a lingering blush,
the rise and fall of my breasts,
reflected in your eyes.

By c.m.brooks

 

Holy bones

•March 29, 2016 • Leave a Comment

With our heads bowed
our feet among the stars
born within a vaulted ceiling

Floating safe in Mother sea
our royal heads gently embraced
tight among the holy bones

Sacred fire lit to guide our way
the pulse of heart and drum
guide our way into this heavy world

Our first word, a wail
that lays heavy on our lips
first separation, first breath, first light

We give up this close embrace
for freedom, our last act
to kiss the serpent’s tail

Pain of our mothers
our feet touch ground
sacrum mysterium
this is the grand design.

By  c.m. Brooks

Remind me again that the world is still good

•March 22, 2016 • Leave a Comment

This morning my soul is shaking.
I want to slow down the world,
try to keep it from spinning.
Because it’s out of control.

When divisions are great and
political rhetoric is rising.

When hatred is growing and
the sea levels are climbing.

When bombs are exploding
and glass shatters,
and the world is going mad.

When mankind is losing its fucking mind,
hellbent on its own destruction.

When the human heart appears to be
blind and broken, and I feel powerless.

I step out of my door, and then the earth
begins to speak, the trees quickly rebuke me,
the wind always has something meaningful to say-
oak has a clear way of explaining things.

Bluejay calling reminds me
that the world is sane.

Woodpecker drumming reminds me
that the world is sacred.

Cardinal singing reminds me
that the world is still good.

March 22, 2016 By c.m. brooks

not often visible

•July 9, 2015 • Leave a Comment


for Oliver Sacks

Do we learn to know ourselves
better in the moving or in the keeping still?

So much of each of us is unseen
like the luminous Universe that
so completely envelopes us.

So when you press the telescope
into my hands will I see more
than the rough satellite
you are sharing? Will I miss the
infectious enthusiasm you offer,
the call to peer into the mysterious,
the wonders that lay hidden
even as close as our clenched
fingers?

I ask, what are you prepared
to take away with you when
the wild winds come?

7-9-15 by c.m.brooks