Lullaby

Silver sun and platinum skies

remind my eyes to see

Oh, what I wouldn’t give

to be a bird in flight

in unseen winds

whistling melodies from heaven.

Where does the wind hurry off to

as he tickles the leaves?

Trees blush as he rushes by

trying to make it home before the sun sets

and the street lamps come on

We seem to have lost our sight

blinded by artificial light

Our minds refuse rest

shunning sweet sleep

Foreign to us is life’s wonder

The stars of Sagittarius

and the twinkle of Orion

God’s galaxy

has been hijacked

by Samsung’s Galaxy,

iPads, iPhones, and iWatches

as our eye watches

what can never bring us true sight-

true light

So I choose to turn it all off

and fade to black

I listen to sweet nothings

whispered in my soul;

A lullaby written just for me by the setting sun

 

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BE

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A Piece of God–Mother’s Day 2015

This poem is dedicated to my mother, Gale Evans.  Happy Mother’s Day, Mom!!!

 

When life is dark and there’s no sign of day

I feel for God in hopes He’ll light my way

It’s difficult to see how far I’ve trod

But in you I always see the light of God

 

When happy thoughts and memories flood my heart

I think about the things you did impart

You sacrificed so I could have a chance

To make my mark and boldly take my stance

 

Your love has been a rock that’s tried and true

As for holding things together, you’re the glue

I’d never be the man I am today

If not but for your love and God’s great grace

 

I often think about the times I’ve failed

The moments where it seemed my hopes had sailed

I suddenly saw before I lost all faith

In you God placed Himself upon display

 

Mother, you are my  gift from God alone

More valuable than any precious stone

Whenever I can’t see what’s pure or true

I’ll always have a piece of God in you

 

© 2015 Brian Evans. All rights reserved

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BE

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Morning Rain

Spring rains fall swiftly

as  the green leaves sweat rain drops-

The earth’s thirst is quenched

 

© 2015 Brian Evans. All rights reserved

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BE

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Where Roads Once Were

This poem was inspired by a chance sighting of two couples during one of my daily lunch breaks.  One couple was visibly in love as they were engaged in an embrace during their lunch date.  Moments later, in the same vicinity, I witnessed another couple that seemed to contrast the first in every way, as a public argument ensued between them.  The contrast was quite poetic as I pondered the journey from one end of the love spectrum to the other.  The following is the resulting muse.

There once was a road named “Forever”

traversed by love-ladened drifters

burning with blissful abandon

entranced by the fragrant figment

of a fairy-tale ending

Their fingers intertwined

into a lover’s knot

reflecting the contents of a lover’s heart

The road so smooth

The path so clear

No cracks, no bumps, no potholes near

But lovers become strangers

as the sands of time

turn the “tic” of bliss

into the “tock” of burden

the pant…

of…

passion…

slows

The road named “Forever” dead ends

neglected by the feet of fidelity

Streets of gold

fade to dirt roads

fraught with the souls of arguments

that died in antiquity

being conjured up repeatedly

now haunt the contemporary

Love whispered in its infancy

“i’ll never hurt” you

“i’ll always love” you

But as love grows older

it tends to grow colder

shouting over and over

“YOU NEVER LOVED” me

“YOU ALWAYS HURT” me

and before hands can heal the wounds

words wound again

siphoning fresh blood from year-old scars

The pain decays but never really dies

as the golden vow lies

in the dirt

where roads once were

 

© 2015 Brian Evans.  All rights reserved

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BE

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Ripples (Haiku)

Warm, quiet waters

ripple on the lake’s surface-

the fish leaps up high

 

© 2015 Brian Evans.  All rights reserved

Original Haiku in observance of National Poetry Month

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BE

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Devil In Me

She clutched her purse with fear as I passed by

And took her blue-eyed baby by the hand

As “Come to Mommy, Dear” was her command

I wondered why this fear had gripped her eye

It seemed as if the Devil had come nigh

Straight from Hell, that God-forsaken land

I looked around and tried to understand

But when I saw no one, I realized

In truth I bear, it seems, the Devil’s stain

Upon black skin, a curse for all to read

Though I carry in my soul God’s resumé

And in my heart I hold angelic seed

But to the blue-eyed baby that fear has claimed

It will always be the Devil she sees in me

 

© 2015 Brian L. Evans.  All rights reserved

Original Petrarchan Sonnet

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BE

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Editor: Jaime Evans

 

My American Dream

Tip toeing on tight ropes

taut from the tension

between weathered hopes

and tattered dreams

I teeter

 

inches above Hell

and miles from Heaven.

My own screams

from the prisons

of past decisions

awaken me from

My American Dream.

 

Horizons of happiness

always within sight

taunting my reach

rise and fall

as streams of thought

become tributaries of consciousness.

Will I ever be free to dream

My American Dream?

 

I Guess I’ll brew my own brand of joy.

On liquid wings I soar

to my crystal blue palace

on a mountain top horizon

far from brutality

and Homeland INsecurity

I fly high.

 

But…

evaporating wings

cause flight to fail

as my fall goes unnoticed

I accelerate

to 9.8

meters per second squared.

 

Spiraling from height to depth

from life to death

the ground reaches up to break my fall.

I brace myself

for the impact

of my back upon my bed

GASP!!!

 

“Am I dead?”

 

My heart slows its beat

as brief relief

turns to ennui and grief

when I awake to

My American Dream

 

© 2014 Brian Evans.  All rights reserved

 

This poem was inspired by the events surrounding Jonathan Ferrell; who was shot and killed on September 14, 2013, by Randall Kerrick, a North Carolina police officer.  He was unarmed.

 

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 BE

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Editor: Jaime Evans

 

Synthesis of Us

Were the seas made deep to hold Earth’s showers

Or were the rains of spring made for the seas?

Were the honeybees made for the flowers

Or the flowers made for the honeybees?

 

Were your caramel kisses made for my lips

Or were my lips made to cradle your kiss?

When your curves mingle with my fingertips

It releases the Eros of pure bliss.

 

Was your delicate voice made for my ears

To whose sound I’ll gladly listen all night

And was my fragile life made for the years

that your presence fills with love’s paradise

 

Like flowers to bees, and rain to sea

This is the unity of you and me

© 2015 Brian Evans.  All rights reserved

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Editor: Jaime Evans

The Alchemy of Love

Seduced

by the Siren’s song

we long to sail the seas of love.

The lyrical mirage of

“Happily Ever After”

becomes the captor

of thirsty hearts.

 

Hypnotic heat

caused by a dearth of fathers

produces fallacious figments

of the “birds and the bees”

the flowers and the trees

Love is a beautiful liar

 

who crafts her magnum opus

upon the canvas of desire, and

just when we’re close enough

to feel the fire

it expires

 

leaving us frozen in

the frigid prison of

a journey insignificant.

Yet, the Siren sings

 

until at last we crash

upon the jagged edge

of reality’s rock.

Shattered fantasies and

remnants of what once carried us

now carries us

into love’s true reality

 

Beyond the illusory

Beyond the fantasy

Beyond the “happily”

Beyond the beauty

lies this alchemy…

 

There is no better death than love.

 

© 2015 Brian Evans.  All rights reserved

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Editor: Jaime Evans

Glass Masks

Her open wound,

still leaking liquid life,

bleeds beneath her masquerade.

 

“It’s complicated,” she says.

As she tells her tale,

rife with betrayal,

she drops her mask of glass.

 

Shattered shards fill the room,

as picturesque promises in bloom

fracture upon the floor of frayed fidelity.

 

Love is scorched by the sun of neglect,

Her strength is not made perfect

through the weakness of her tears.

 

Her sisters of similar fate

gather like hens to incubate

the hatching eggs of bitterness,

soon to break.

 

“You don’t need a man,” they say.

 

One by one they break their seals,

to speak of pain their past reveals.

“Strength” and “Beauty” are the names

they give their masks to hide the shame.

 

Lies

 

Like little girls with wide eyes

living in sand castles on salt-water beaches.

Inevitably, the tide will rise.

 

The sanguine print from Romeo’s fist

creates a carbon copy from face to heart

as castles of sand erode.

Love absolves itself of all.

 

To her, love’s scent is like a rose,

Always pretty,

Never guilty.

 

So she stubbornly collects her hypocrisy

and incarcerates her pain

behind the bars of her smile

©  Brian Evans for Wisdom’s Quill, January, 2015

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BE