Treasure

By Grace M. Brodhurst-Davis

To him, it seemed he had to stumble from

The shy observatory he stood upon

To seek that secret soul's pleasure

To be everyone's idolized treasure

He opted for the liquid measure

Tasted highest bliss in his endeavor

Down murky halls he slithered anew

After drinking the witch's bold brew

Atop the smoky, jumbled heap he drew

Crowds of kindred spirits to woo

'Mongst age-old musical souls he crooned

The musky notes of a jazzy blues tune

Written for T.S. Poetry/Every Day Poems/Tweetspeak Poetry - June Jazz - Found Poem based on "O Solitude! If I Must With Thee Dwell", by John Keats

Featured at: http://www.tweetspeakpoetry.com/2012/06/18/june-jazz-dance/

Señor Jazzid

By Grace M. Brodhurst-Davis

Crowd swaying

Tumbas tapping

Tribal chanting

Tension building

Smoky, thrilling

Drinks a’ spilling

Sax a’blowing

Timbre growling

Señor Jazzid

Pork-pie hatted

Latin lizard

Acid jazzing

Oxford Comma

By Grace M. Brodhurst-Davis

Oh! Such dilemma!

Over Oxford comma

Old country of mine

Says,

‘Lose it not!’

Others say,

‘In the gutter!

Too much clutter!’

Haters love the brevity

Lovers, the history

Or perhaps utility?

This serial comma,

Such an innocent fella,

Breathes such life

In naysayers,

Yet breeds

So strongly

Among players

This English mystery,

To everyone’s worry,

Is still very much alive

In World’s ever-changing drive 

For T.S. Poetry contest using "O" (#Oxford)

http://www.tweetspeakpoetry.com/2012/06/12/oprah-summer-reading-list-14k-gold-giveaway/

Posted by Grace Brodhurst-Davis at 11:31 AM 0 comments

The Candy Jar

By Grace M. Brodhurst-Davis

She stands tall
Atop the console in my entry hall
Vessel for candied contentment
Sweet childhood memories
Now my posterity’s
She is a regal lady

Her mermaid-like gown
Flows gracefully from
Her buxom-bodied phial
Fecund with sweet treats
Proudly displayed for trial

She’s entertained many varieties
From lollipops to lemon drops
Facilitated certain balance
Between upstart ‘Red Hots’
And indecisive ‘Sweet Tarts’

Though she’s been packed
And traveled quite a lot
She’s been bobbled and toppled
It’s a wonder she’s still intact
She remains a regal lady

Written for T.S. Poetry Press/Every Day Poems - April Candy Theme; Featured at:

http://www.tweetspeakpoetry.com/2012/05/01/the-kid-in-the-candy-store/

Matador

By G. M. Brodhurst-Davis

She sat, eyes blazing

her limbs’ embers awakening

awaiting her matador

Impossible passion

a bubbling volcano

lancing through her door

Her thoughts blistering

trumpet inflaming

blood moon turns to the Moor

Her matador gleaming

in gold-trimmed vermillion

his modus operandi, an art

Eyes focused on triumph

cape rising, taunts piercing

the beast, on red plate…flailing

The hot crowd’s approbation

signals her aspiration

Yes!  My Maestro is borne!

Written for Every Day Poems/T.S. Poetry's "Red" theme; Featured at:

http://www.tweetspeakpoetry.com/2012/02/28/from-blush-to-fiery-passion/

Skeletons Unsheltered

Nine skeletons in his open trailer

Thoracic cages stand to order

Not unfamiliar, but reminding what was

A funeral beckoning a new day’s birth

Does he not bear our silent uproar

at his drive-by, blackened bone yard?           

Heads turned, frozen in glares

Our next-to-nothingness shared

Nine sets of calcified structures

leaning against his trailer frame trellis

He must have painted the bony bowl heads

Were they models? Were they not?

He takes off, tarsals and metatarsals,

carpals and metacarpals a jiggle

My eyes, doll-like, clacked open,

enslaved in robotic procession

Nine lives reduced to bits

Souls long gone to somewhere else?

I could not fight a crawling shudder

Did they have families? Did they not?

He gives them a start, abruptly stopping,

cages rittle-rattling rigidly against wires

Skulls bob-bobbing in concurrence

with the mournful-manner, the bony bowl-headed,

rib-caged, dangling danglers were transported

as the pitter-patter of drizzle sprinkled on the spectacle

My comments about this poem: 
On my way to work one morning, I saw a truck pulling 9 skeletons (painted black) being hauled in a trailer. I wrote this poem based on my journal entry of what I saw...

Destiny

By Grace M. Brodhurst-Davis

Outside of myself

I can see how

The wind blows

Breath into me,

But can’t seem

To see how

Breath in me

Can erase the cacophony

Of deep-hued memories

Of my being      

Though knowing

Such breath,             

I pulse towards

My innermost calling

To free myself to be

For T.S. Poetry contest using "O" (#Outside)

http://www.tweetspeakpoetry.com/2012/06/12/oprah-summer-reading-list-14k-gold-giveaway/