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Brad Ford©1998-2006

 

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ABANDONED
 
a young boy
of 8 years-old
went to the library
and would look
through the shelves
for something to read.
after picking out
one and signing it out,
he discovered
it didn't satisfy his curiosity
and returned the book
without pursuing something
more to his liking
and became a follower.
that price-
you can read it
in his eyes.



AN ANGEL IN NO DISGUISE
 
before my eyes,
this-
my love-
the shroud
of protection
lifts off
as if mystical,
if not venus
induced
at this very moment.
inner beauty-
an antidote
of physical attraction.
these forces
not to be denied.
our worlds
brought us together.
this-
two bodies
uncontrollably
entwined in passion
under the blanket
of a full moon.
skin to skin
discovering the rawness
of experimental love-making-
our breaths racing,
the wind catching
each and every moan
as these wings
of an angel
flutter above
in delight
upon two earthly creatures
melting our souls everlasting
in philosophies
when lips part lips-
it savours the sensuality
of tongues coming together.
this-
our spirits devine-
liberated and unchained-
 
*A N  A N G E L  I N  N O  D I S G U I S E*


THE TRAMP
 
attention getter-
a little mouthy
would be
the best of description.
has a strut
that is eye-popping
and knows a thing
or two
when it comes
to a little action
when dressed up
to the hilt.
this reputation
carries clout,
and when the clothes
come off,
it's all erotic
and pleasure seeking
at wits end-
*G O T  M I L K*

INFLUENCE
 
if this poem
stands out-
a choice of inner thought
can rule in a circle
relentlessly devouring
the word.
impact is every thing
to the poet
leaving a line
to feast on.
the preparation
is about the taste
it leaves
upon your palette
and satisfies
until it reaches
the soul
where I left
an influence.


THE TAPESTRY HANGS BEFORE ME
 
when i look
at the words
woven in the fabric,
love stands out.
but see,
it needs a place
where comfort resides-
a poetic declaration
threaded out of life.
 
tragedies of yesteryear
become explorations
written in metaphor.
sometimes understanding
 
is all it takes.
there is strength,
a caricature-
omnipotent and alive.
 
it needs you
and the work
will be complete.

MOUTHPIECE
 
It is the will of one
To express it
The only way
For the sake of
Making a point.
A little style
With an ebb
That sets the tone.
The word fuck-
Does indeed induce
All sorts of connotations
And nuances.
The sound of it
Alone has assonance.
Its an agent
That carries structural properties
That at times
Exerts with such conveyance
That it adds
A little firepower
With such voice
To captivate the mood.
Do you like the resonance?



VINTAGE SPIRIT
 
Under the moon,
Works all night
Deep in the woods.
This spirit runner
Distills thoroughly in the lines-
White lightning,
Clear as ever
To bootleg
A mighty potent breath
With a little kick
For the poetic folk
That knows the mark
Of the seal of approval
By its distinct quality.
Slam this as if
Its 100 proof
Wilderness moonshine
Burning with fire
As its settles in you
For a little originality
To relax the soul.


30-DAY TRIAL PERIOD

 

I got this email
That said,
Clothes 100 per cent off.
I thought they were joking
So I went to the link
And the screen said,
Enter Here.
I did, and very happy
To see that it indeed
Was valid.
It left my eyes
Roaming the site for hours on end.
And I thought,
Now thats an email
With a clever hook
To view naked women,
And decided,
That is a great business tactic
I could use for my poetry.
Take all my poems
And strut them around
On the Internet
To gain a wide, wide, wide audience.
At the end of the offer,
A little screen pops up
And says,
Your 30-day trial period
Has expired.
For unlimited access,
Click here.
Nothing comes for free!


a memory for two....
 
Her life
Read like an epitaph
From seventeen on.
Wanting to hear the voice
Of the woman
Soon left me on my knees
As evergreens shoulder distant eyes.
But as I begin to follow
The outer edges of the stone
With my shaky fingers,
My eyes trickle like water
Seeping out of a rock wall slowly
Down its face until they land
Upon the soil and is absorbed.
But as the wind whispers from behind,
Feels as if her fingers
Run lightly through my hair
As if here to say goodbye.
I stand up and look at the sun-
The blur just too much.
The tissue left behind
Tears touching her name.

don
Donald L. Carroll
 
resides in Ripley NY. His works have appeared in the Lummox Journal, Babel Magazine, Wanderingdog, and Words, Words, Words. The last three being online literary magazines. He is involved in the local poetry scene in Erie PA, of which has also performed his poetry for the Blue Cat Cubed Arts Festival of April 2004. He is also a contributor to the newsletter staff at his current place of employment. This is his first chapbook.