Brett Foster
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Something Else
My knees scrape upon it.
I thrust my toes deep.
My hands quest into it.
Grasping, delving, desiring, yearning.
...
Kneading. Else.Hope and desperation war within me.
Trepidation and inspira… -
Fall Down on me like Rain
Would you like to feel that I am here
to catch your tears with mine?
Would I see your smile if I told you
that you fall on me divine? -
I used to Live in a World where...
I used to live in a world that
Prized courtship
And romance.
Now dating is on speed. -
Muse Potential
She glissades along the hallway shedding a vermilion ribbons to reveal creamy curves of porcelain which reflect and embellish my brume desire.
-
IMPALETTE - Canvas is cheap, art is priceless.
We all have our implements but his preferred utensil is the scalpel.
Perfection is both his nemesis and his pain, and sculpture is his release. -
Music Happens
Adrift of audience, his aged frame supported askew his old grand, his friend,
he recalled the fading moments from recent past as a soliloquy. -
Momentary Lapses
These are some of the things I have dreamed
while listening to the whispers that drift between the moments. -
Fire in the Stone
I just need to tap the walls.
And I’ll need my breathing space.
I’d huddle in the corner.
But I’d like to touch your face. -
C'mon!
She’d done some things to get ahead.
The lonely cry, the empty bed.
And she’d reasoned them harshly.
Better to be, than be dead. -
Gifts of Love
When you walk the beach alone
I am the one
who follows your footprints
in the sand
picking up grainy thoughts
for my collection. -
Every Day
“They didn’t stop breathing out did they, Grandpa?”
“No, child.”
“We breathed in too much didn’t we?”
“Yes, child.” -
Mistress Poet
and with an explosive rhapsody of ink she drafts another sated admirer into her volumes…
-
If you can't see the wind, let it see you.
But if you let it, the wind can be your inner vision, your soul sight.
-
The Real Zoo
You don’t see it do ya, despite ya lofty view
That those what walk beneath ya
Are the keepers of the zoo. -
Lament of the Lonely Larrikin of Literary Libation
And had I not facetiously farted at the final furlong the facile fawns infatuated with my infantile felicitations would have feathered my fold with a fair fathom of farthings.
-
Two (or Camarilla)
We’re a clique just me and you.
Our cabal, it’s made for two.
Oh Camarilla.
...Oh, Camarilla. -
For One Last Time Before the Dawn
And in the dreams I feel my turning
gaze upon a newborn path
As in the distant sombre leaves
a sigh reveals the final hearth. -
I am the Middle Man
Above me are the dreamers
Below me are the screamers.
I am the middle man, I think both ways.Equilibrium. Above my below. I am flat. I am no-man.
