Bren's Poetry

The Ant Climber

2011-02-21T23:14:00.000-08:00

An ant fell in my bathtub,

while scaling up the tile,
He lost his grip, and that was it,

he slipped and fell a mile.
A pinnacle of porcelain,

five-nine by class and height,
A mountaineer, free climbing there,

a vast crevasse of white.

They fly to Lukla airport,

from Kathmandu, Tibet,
To start their Himalayan crawl,

a test of tech and sweat.
From camp to camp,

up ice and rock,

they climb through strength of will,
A crane flew by with whispered sigh,

"It's just a bathtub still."

(c) Bren Breithaupt, 2011

Tasty

2010-10-31T09:39:00.000-07:00

Tasty little chocolate bars,
Crispy rice and gummy bears.
Eat them up, my little dears,
Eat until they’re out your ears.

Have your Snickers, Musketeers,
Nestle’s Crunch, and Hershey bars.
Halloween will soon be done,
Then I’ll pick the fattest one.

In he’ll go, my chubby feast,
Taffy apples in his cheeks.
Hear him sizzle in the morn.
Glazed with melted candy corn,

Caramel, he’s browned up nice,
Tender, juicy, full of spice.
My Thanksgiving’s greatest joy,
Is candy-fattened, roasted boy.

© Bren Breithaupt, 2010

The Shredder

2010-03-07T22:57:00.000-08:00

Values crafted skillfully now face the final number crunch.
Secrets nevermore shall pass the lips of whispered corporate spies.
Sources of embarrassment caress the blades of nothingness.
Even disks of docu-trash are ground like fodder in a mill.

Rage against the whining blades collecting every page of life.
Strain against the grind of time, descending to a burn-bag hell.
Treasures rarely face the cart that rolls them to the guillotine.
Bind the time and words therein and publish lest you shred your life.

Crouching Mantis

2010-03-07T22:56:00.000-08:00

Crouching mantis,

Prey in transit,

Snapping dragon,

Bug digesting.

Happy Birthday Dr. Seuss

2010-03-07T20:21:00.000-08:00

I loved the "Cat" when I small,
and heard the fish when he stood tall.
I tried green things, despite their look,
Because you had them in your book.

I learned to read your sing-song way,
and taught my son that funny way.
He laughed the same as when my dad,
made me laugh when I was a tad.

I thank you, Ted, for all you said,
for all the sermons in my head.
For all the kids of any age,
We thank you, Ted, for every page.

Hummingslug

2009-11-18T01:13:00.000-08:00

I think I’m just a hummingslug,
A gastropod trochilidae
For some days you can’t see my wings,
The next, I strain to slime on things.

When flying, I can reach the pole.
When sliming, out of bed’s my goal.
If humming, I clean house with steam.
If sluggish, I can’t self-esteem.

So, if you ever come to call,
Observe me like you’re Jane Goodall,
Be gentle if my slime has run,
Lasso me if I’m too much fun.

(c) 10/2009, Bren Michelle B., San Diego, CA

My Dad

2009-06-23T02:03:00.001-07:00

My Dad
Used to throw me balls,
Used to be so tall,
Used to tell us tales about his childhood,
I remember he was good,
No, not perfect, but my Dad.

He worked harder than I ever thought I would someday,
He provided all we had and taught us what to say,
He made Santa real and taught us how to laugh and play
My dad was the highlight when he came home every day.

Oh, My Dad
Sometimes bucked the crowd,
Sometimes talked too loud,
Liked the opera, rock, and Janis Joplin,
He was hip when hip was cool,
He lived life by Sartre’s rules.

Dad, you’re still my dad today.

A Tadpole's Tale

2009-06-07T21:42:00.000-07:00

A Brother Once

2009-05-21T10:06:00.000-07:00

I had a brother once, but now
his ashes span two ocean shores.

I had a brother once, but now
His silence burned a fragile bond.

I was a brother once, but now
I’ve melted into estrogen.

I had some brothers once, but now
One dead, one gone, and one’s a she.

Lex, A Pro Cold High

2009-05-17T00:15:00.000-07:00

27 chocolate breathing monster mikes at my postal headline
ate my portable actuator.
Headliners lowered it.
Flavors go great with bacon cheese burger.
Mike said so.
Shovel plants
in the beauty of spring.
Movie night is relaxing with aroma therapy.
Hommme.
Dust mites get me down.
Steeam gets things cleean.
What's on my mind now? Hair?
In a museum you never would get old if they hung you on the wall.
Pee your way to famously powerful powder magazine subscription agreements
a genius holes free and rice crispies from Marie calendar
girls night out.
Twelve tirdy wonder
hAMster.
Wow wee fast

Cricket War

2008-08-26T23:57:00.000-07:00

The Chinese find them lucky,
in bamboo habitats.
But, Gryllus Assimilis
isn't welcome in my house.

In black,

this evening warrior,
tip-toed inside my house.
Then waited for the quietness
To scrape the silence out.

I’d grill this loathsome Gryllidae,
If I could find his lair,
He’s camouflaged a sniper’s nest,
For gatling through the air.

But, with my ear I zeroed in,
My smart bomb on his head,
The din has stopped,

I’ll rest in peace,
Ding-dong the cricket’s dead!

Up Again

2008-04-10T01:14:00.001-07:00

I’m up again.
Hah, you are too.
In wee hours just what can you do?
There’s Carson Daily on the box,
Or sort those pesky black dress socks.
What’s in the fridge? A little snack.
Who’s in the chat room, chatting back?
A hot bath, that might do the trick.
Hot chicken soup? No, I’m not sick.
A book? No, then I’d get involved.
Or take a pill, my problem solved?
Well, maybe I’ll just go to bed.
And nestle in and kiss her head.
There’s nothing left for me to do,
Except to lie down next to you.

Why Try?

2008-03-13T00:10:00.000-07:00

I'm a dull, gray, cliche,
a poem no one wants to read,
a storm people try to avoid,
a tragedy from which they turn away.

I swim the social currents,
and fight genetic inevitability,
but why try?

Not for you, you're a voyeur,
fascinated by the car accident,
but driving on your way.
Not for her, she wishes I would stay
the same old aging warrior,
so why try?

When every prick is set against you,
even God, or so some say,
I'll never find again virginity,
So, why try?

Life is better than infinity.

Now and Ten

2008-03-09T19:02:00.000-07:00

Bren M. B.

Enough

2008-03-09T18:47:00.000-07:00

If terror is our enemy,
will courage give us victory?

If evil doers are our foe,
will righteous doers end our woe?

If shock and awe were not enough,
will blood and guts say that we’re tough?

If Condeleza knows her stuff,
does she know when to say, “enough?”

Dragons and Lovers

2008-03-09T18:46:00.001-07:00

The Lord is My Personal Trainer

2008-03-09T18:40:00.000-07:00

The Lord is my personal trainer, I shall be buffed,
He makes me lie down on padded mats sometimes,
He makes sure I hydrate.
He encourages me when I don't feel like working out,
He makes sure I stay on my training regimen
because He has a good reputation to uphold.
Even when my training regimen takes me to the limits of my strength
and I feel I can go no more,
I don't worry, because I know He is doing it for my good and is spotting me.
Your clipboard and your towel, they reassure me.
You develop a healthy diet regimen for me,
in spite of all the temptations from others to abuse myself with food.
You have brought out the sweat on my brow,
My endorphins are running fully,
Surely aerobic health and flexibility shall continue with me into my old age,
and I will someday become a junior fitness trainer together with Him in His gym forever.

My Cat

2008-03-09T18:37:00.000-07:00

My cat is in the microwave,
She’s soaking up the heat.
I love my cat, she’s almost done,
She’s really something neat

I never have to feed her.
I never clean her box.
She never coughs up nasty things,
Or claws my nylon socks.

Before you think I’m mean to cats ,
She’s just this pillow thing,
That warms my neck when it gets sore,
Oh great, I heard the “ding.”

Feline Eyes

2008-03-09T18:28:00.001-07:00

Dental Terror

2008-03-09T18:26:00.000-07:00

I brushed.
I flossed.
And yet I feel I've lost.
His music can't surround it,
That fountain cannot drown it,
The drilling and the filling of the willing,
Such a chilling awful sound.

Escape?
Re-date?
How long then should I wait?
I hate to be mature,
My medicine endure.
There’s nothing quite as awful as a mouthful
of my smoking tooth decay.

Oh no,
I’m there.
His eye begins to stare.
He’s picking with his scraper,
and my eyes begin to taper,
As his horrid little camera shows in digital display,
The potholes in my molars that he has to fix today.

I know,
what’s next,
it’s in his dental text,
He’ll numb me in the jaw so
he can drill into my maw,
he’s trying to pinch my cheek and tweak me,
so the needle doesn’t prick me,
when it sticks me all the way.

I sit,
here dumb,
My nose is getting numb,
I wonder what he’s doing, giving gas to someone losing
a whole row of lower molars in a marathon of fun?

His girl,
I oggle.
She leans and gives me goggles,
so now I watch a story,
That forever will be gory,
‘cuz I’ll always harken back to
what was happening that day.

It’s all I had imagined,
as gritty and as gagging,
the dribbling from my sagging lip
the strings of viscous, acrid spit.
When ever will it end?

Released,
I'm free.
I now have solid teeth to bite
the meat that is my cheek tonight.
I write my ransom check to get my body out of there.

2006-05-14T20:44:00.000-07:00

The Pilot

"As ye are partakers of the sufferings,

so shall ye be also of the consolation."

II Corinthians 1:7b

Once more the lonely boatman took the vacant helm

to guide a fragile craft to sea.

A thousand ships had foundered on the shoals of grief,

but well the pilot knew the way.

His log recorded carefully the voyage of a mother ship,

then one fair sloop and two small craft he steered to distant shores.

And last, his flag ship slipped beyond his view.

With every ship the pilot steers to open seas

his sailor's heart swells up to voyage on the main.

"Ahoy, dear mate!" "Fair winds await!"

The Captain of the deep cries out.

Tall ships, he dreams, but duty binds a deep sea heart

to lesser waters, sand, and shore.

Today he bridges land and sea

to safely launch a treasured vessel on the tide.

When ships have sailed beyond the circles of the globe,

who guides the pilot back to shore?

For every ship that passes through the shoals,

the pilot comes again against the tide.

What solace for courageous men

who face the stinging spray and cresting swell of tears?

And yet, the Keeper of the light saw all,

and nods, "Well done, another ship to sea."

Magic

2006-05-13T01:09:00.000-07:00

To Carole with love

Eye meets eye, confirming all,
Shy meets shy, no techno wall.
Awkward seconds, shall we kiss?
Magic. That first touch is bliss.

Side by side, our time zones knit,
Heart meets heart, we find our fit.
Tuck you in to let you sleep,
Magic. Moments that I’ll keep.

Sharing pancakes in the morn,
Starting out like babies born.
Making plans to spend our days,
Magic. Shared in simple ways.

Dressing up to do the town,
First in tux and then in gown.
Either way we move as one,
Magic. Having so much fun.

Picnics in the flesh and sun,
Turkey shared with everyone.
Going shopping, you and I,
Magic. Who cares what we buy?

We believe, but we don’t know,
How our holiday will go.
Everlasting love may start.
Magic. What is in your heart?

(c) Bren M. B. 2006

Killing Terror

2006-05-13T01:04:00.000-07:00

When will the war on terror end?
When everyone's at last our friend?
If peace and friendship is our goal,
Is shock and awe and death the toll?

"Americans! We're pissed, you see,
So we have made this strategy.
We'll kill the worst of tyrants first,
then kill and kill with gunfire bursts."

"The Taliban's extinct today.
We crushed Saddam in every way."
(But, even as our troops kill more,
insurgents flood through every door.)

"What's going on? Why can't they see
We're fighting for democracy?"
(But when a jihad cry's snuffed out,
another hydra's head will sprout.)

To kill ideas is really tough.
Perhaps, we're just not strong enough.
How can armistice ever be,
When terror is the enemy?

(c) Bren M. B. 2005

Author's Comments: The voices of government and the angry mob are in quotes. The poet's comment are in paratheses or unquoted.

Wounded Love

2006-05-13T01:01:00.000-07:00

I wounded my true love today,
with talk of old bygones.
With rear-view sorrows on my mind,
Instead of driving on.
Forgive me, love.
I wish I'd kept
my tongue in check with glue.
I'd rather eat raw escargot,
than make your heart feel blue.

(c) Bren M. B. 2005

Breasts?

2006-05-13T00:50:00.000-07:00

To my Mom, with a smile

“I can’t understand
why you want to have breasts,
Being flat is preferred,
you may find.
It’s the question I’ve had,
and you want them so bad,
Why the hormones? my God,
are you blind?"

"My dear son,
don’t you know that
a bra‘s not for show,
At some point
it’s just part of the grind?
And the first thing I do
as I kick off my shoes,
Is unhook and feel free
to unwind?"

"You will find it’s not fair,

when the girls all compare,

How their genes have

endowed them or not,

So some girls look at that,

at their glands and their fat,

And they grieve o’er

the bosoms they got."

"Thus, an industry blooms,

for some girls want “bazooms,

”Plumped and pushed up to bulge all the same.

So the surgeons get rich

with their saline bag pitch,

It’s a racket, a silly con game."

"So,

my dear if you must,

have an estrogen bust,

Firm and perky, against my advice,

Don’t you whine or complain,

as though I were insane,

To have warned of

the mammogram

vice."