Autolux - Asleep at the Trigger

Outside of Catalina

I have developed a façade of puka, conch shells and mother of pearl
I tossed myself into the waves outside of Catalina Island in hopes of making my way onto your shore
If you come close and listen closer you can still here the ocean in my voice
And when I close my eyes to dream
I watch the iridescent shimmer shake like your tail feathers do
and like you do for me, I wish to lull you hypnotically
Into a false sense of security
©2010   j. k. bradford

“you were always my favorite drug..even when we used to do drugs” scott wieland

Read more: http://authspot.com/poetry/untitled-174/#ixzz13usqpasv

James 1:23-25 The Mirror Forgets

I have to remind myself of what is confirmed as factual

Not that I doubt or question it; I simply allow the phlegm of life to

To create a slippery slope of forgetfulness

I have to keep firm in mind that over and below, from another to the other side are the waving hands of passerby’s

Claiming greener lawns under false pretenses

Jail cells hidden behind house facades with white picket fences

But, I have given that a try, and it is a vehement lie

I see the banner flags of standard folks

 A worldly menagerie of malignment and self plotted confinement

Tossed about by misery; inkling for companionship and camaraderie

A single real moment of unfettered intimacy

I have forgotten before, and then in an instant remembered

Dodging the deceiver’s machete wielding; hungry for dismembering

As before, I kicked myself and quickly huffed upon the burning embers

That nearly flashed out of existence without my constant attention and persistence; to what needs be done

How we forget, when we turn away from our own reflection

Where our allegiance lies

How quickly we can come undone

Even with the mentorship of the Christ; Jah’s only begotten Son

So, I say to myself: This is to be expected

I must take a hold of the tools made available and read, study, reflect

And speak to Him, share with Him everyday

And then

Make an assessment of my own engine;

Is it in working order: Check

Oil: Checked.

An evaluation of wear and tear; Check

 Tires kicked; Check

I have to remind myself of what is important; righteous and therefore true

I wish I could stay firmly tied to the anchor of action

When I sequester my will but still my imperfect person breaks through

And its 1 step forward, and sadly backwards 2

©2010 J. K. Bradford

Broken Social Scene - Lover's Spit

Copper Penny

I have always been your proverbial cinnamon penny

Not worth much, but I will shall shine and spend only for you

I fear in your silk purse of coins I am frankly one of many

Still I would like to believe that it simply isn’t true

For a tickle there is something that strikes me as funny

Although the idea of it leaves me dejected and blue

If I told you I knew of your poor conduct and misbehavior

Would you claim my words were meant to batter or bruise?

Because I have always been your personal copper penny

Not worth much but I willingly give you a penny’s luck

If I could I would love to venture elsewhere

But in the corners of your purse lining I always seem to be

seductively…stuck

Read more: http://authspot.com/poetry/copper-penny/#ixzz12GrEBbe4

Stay Tuned My Love, Stay Tuned

You wondered what new blunder I could muster that could possibly render you aghast and asunder?

Stay tuned I will let you know

You question what of any of the many lessons could like a meal be fed into your head for quick digestion?

Stay close and I will let you know

The years of slip and falls into the arms of one another, shielding the other from the storm and the thunder

When outside it was freezing cold

So

Now you presume I would disclose what just may loom behind the roses, sweet talk and perfume?

If I told you I fear you would go

So stay tuned; I will let you know….eventually

©2010  J. K. Bradford

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iY4APDrl66s&feature=related

Broken Social Scene - Lover's Spit

for Delaney

The race runs shorter than you know

With age comes wisdom of such things

Like gulls that ride the warm gulf stream

Life can quickly takes to wings

I wish that I could have been  good

A better Father who was there for you

But time may have run out now for me

And therefore little that I can do

The race is coming to an end

And I come in second behind my shame

The only thing that I give to you

Is painful memories and my name

Life can quickly take to wings

And fly above this world so cruel

I wish that I had been a better man

Instead of a now dying fool

©2010  J. K. Bradford

Tiny Vipers - Dreamer / THEY SHOOT MUSIC

Freeway

A poem about the journey instead of the destination.

I hate driving on the freeway
No distractions
Just cell phone criminals
skid marks and carpool swimmers
These days,
I tend to drive in the slow lane
Which my mother hates
I guess it is because subconsciously
I want to exit the freeway
As soon as possible
Like body language signals when you cross your legs
Towards  the exit signifies being uncomfortable
and wanting to leave
Freeways represent everything that is cancer in our society
Instant gratification;
or as close to it as is possible
Not enough hours in a day
and too many people with hypertension
I hate freeways because it brings out the worse in people
The power trippers
and the control freaks
the kings of the road
and the blissfully oblivious
Having two people in the car

doesn’t oblige you to occupy the diamond lane
and being in the diamond lane
doesn’t give you license to claim it as yours exclusively
What ever happened to stopping and smelling the flowers?
I appreciate time constraints
and work related complaints if we are behind the proverbial 8ball
Still,
Why can’t we take the road less traveled whenever possible?
Enjoying the scenery
and lowered blood pressure
Amaze yourself at what you learn about your community
Eateries and architecture
and alternate routes to all places relative
Getting lost can be a way to find new trails to destinations
Surprise revelations and epiphanies
So instead of laboring day in and day out along the 405, 5, 10 and 91
Pop in an audio book of Robert Frost and investigate that street you always wondered about
or take the streets to work for a change
©2010  J. K. Bradford

Read more: http://authspot.com/poetry/freeway/#ixzz11Q5pEzD2

Ignoble Dreamer

It seems to me that your memory, seamless slips easily in between

Barriers unseen to overwhelming oceans of envy in green

For those who hide the very things that I constantly try to glean

It seems to be that your misery easily whips the cream in between

Carriers being presented as friends, acquaintances e’en

And who truly want you to come clean; here is what I mean:

You are my attention and Lydia tells the tale

and I

I gather the listeners and bewail the plot as it fails

To thicken and did I bother to mention the wind in my sails

stops blowing me away long enough for the ocean to drown my love?

For the ocean to slowly drown my love in briny soup and wistful gales?

But there is still Lydia, and me wishing the song forever to last

Sweet sonic Lydia and Margot with the So & Sos,

As Tall As Lions to blast, while I for once and for all sit empty; crying

Mourning your almost love and my almost not a fool

My heart felt beauty poured out in meanings viewed as crass

Again I fall apart at the seams

As I think of and ignobly dream of the past

~2010 j.k. bradford

The Heligoats--A Guide to the Outdoors

Your Heart's Winter Coat

Mystery, it is just me

In the whisper of your own wit and winsome logic

I am here for a second nestled in the lining of

Your memory

And intertwined in the lint of your hearts

Woolen coat pocket

A half eaten snickers bar and a haphazard

Hypnogogic half hearted

Mystery it is just me

Disappointingly

Dull and downhearted in the nap of your carpet

I am here careening out of control still in love

Pathetically

And co-mingled in with the tobacco stained

Fingers and thumbs

That runs through your locks as they shine in the sun

Mystery, it is just me

But you knew that when I offered my false apathy

Then retracted and replaced it tragically

With a long overdue act of responsibility

What could it mean?

That I have become some how a less worthless human being

Than you remember from previously?

Maybe, it is a mystery

©2010  j. k. bradford