Thursday, June 21, 2012


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:

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
‘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)


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:


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:

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...

Wednesday, June 13, 2012


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)