The Poetics

It may be cliche, but what other way would a would-be writer showcase a minor sample of their inner-suffering voiced vicariously, and verbatim, with vehemence and visions of grandeur . . . in other words, this page contains poetry pretty words.

by C. D. Brinker

Oh, niggle snap!
Such a rabid bastard;
Like a watchamacallit after a quiet blitzkrieg
Filled with tears and snot . . .
     Yeah, snot!
Like a watchamacllit
Which wiggles a wicked wiggit
With a jiggly slap . . .
     I know, I know.
It's such a horrible sophistry
That’s as stinky as melena,
But one should not muffle empiricism;
Despite it’s fallen positivism
The dusky empire will rise
Through enclosed hamstrings . . .
     Hamstrings . . . hammered . . . ham.
But you didn’t need to know that!
In fact, you don’t need to know anything!
Oh, niggle snap!

Copyright © 2010 C. D. Brinker

Winter Sunrise
by C. D. Brinker

The coffee will brew,

The clock will snooze,
And in the light of your eyes
Lies the night
That left its sweat upon the crest
Beneath your brow . . .

A climactic awakening
Of caricatures vehemence
As trickling fingertips
Tickle beneath the crimson sheets
In a sticky passion
With legs entangled
As the bite of brisk morning air
Wisps with of gentle warmth
On the verge of jovial portrayals . . .

And as the sun climbs
Amidst the gray sky,
It will dawn upon you
That like a shining smile of similes
You shimmer as wet
As a winter sunrise. . .

Copyright © 2010 C. D. Brinker

Such Words Amuse . . .
by C.D. Brinker

fruitful fruit-flies fly
while merry maggots dance
on the bones of shattered dolls
breeding in the backseat
on back-roads
twisting through fields
of midwest apathy . . .
a feeling dwelling
inside the swelling of a belly
crawling with cockroaches
which whither and weep
for the memory of life
bleeding through the seething
echoes of chattering teeth
that plead for justice . . .
     beg to question
     what is?
a sweet mutiny;
a whispering of nothing;
a tickling poke;
a sloppy throat;
hearts beaten asunder
by the wonder of deviancy
denied by dry sea’s
of stagnant desires
and fabricated fetishes
for fine felines
and cool cats
swathed in twine
and leather bondage . . .
the blood of toys
painting rainbows
amidst squirming skies
and purple thighs
deep roasted in
such lush succulence
and greasy fumblings
hauled away
by chanting ants . . .
     beg to question
     what isn’t?
a finger drawing;
a gasp of webs;
a silent joke;
a human coat;
     such words amuse . . .

Copyright © 2010 C. D. Brinker

Yesterday, Today, Tomorrow
by C. D. Brinker
something new,

something original,
something which defies cliché . . .
Monday’s mundane monotony,
the mutiny of mornings,
a blinding orange eye
blinking a purple sky and
singing songs sung by birds and
snoozing through a screaming clock . . .
     an alchemy of egg-yolk and
     the brew of an elixir
     jolts the pupils and
     reminds the bowels;
     then with hair in the wisp of slumber,
     eyes saggy with gray memories,
     tease the mirror with steam . . .
rinse and repeat,
rinse and repeat,
rinse and repeat, and
a clean stroke
lathered to perfection
by a soapy lubricant . . .
     clings with a cold trickle
     which tickles the skin and
     shivers the hairs;
     avoid the wrinkle and shrivel
     with a damp towel . . .
a scab of toothpaste,
a toothbrush scrub,
the power of powder
kissing the pits stain-free,
business casual,
slacks with matching socks . . .
     the day is hot and
     the car struggles to breathe,
     but the radio is calming
     with static screams and
     monotone discussions
     tempting eyelids,
     weighed heavily
     on heavenly premonitions
     of soft pillows and
     silk sheets and
     big beds and
     cozy comforters and
cold stone buildings
with egg shell walls,
cubicle wastelands and
automatons in business suits
with plastic stories
of fanciful,
fun-filled family activities;
the receptionist is missing—
kidnapped? sick?
pink slip?—
who cares,
when regaled with tales
of weekend enthusiasts . . .
     smile and
     sit and
     stretch and
     clock in,
     to sin away
     another beautiful day . . .

Copyright © 2010 C. D. Brinker

I Haiku You
by C. D. Brinker

This is a haiku,
And it is so beautiful
Written with the truth.

Nothing is nothing
When compared to the something
That suffers from love.

Take my panties off,
Slow, with your teeth, use your tongue,
Now eat-me-out, bitch!

The world keeps talking
But I am not listening,
I am talking too.

Winter’s only wish
Is too fade away into
A wretched summer!

I woke up today
With the sun licking my face,
Too bad I’m still trapped.

As I rest in pain
Waiting for serenity
I start dry-heaving.

Suicide is wise
If you only ever cry;
But that’s so cliche.

Hell is too damn hot;
can't we just stay here on earth,
sinning blissfully?

This is what this is,
Nothing more, but a lot less
Than was expected.

Copyright © 2010 C. D. Brinker