Biography
Improvisational poetry is my game. Brett Maves is my name. I have been writing for some time, but never got the gumption to put it out there. So here goes...
Clara's Dream
The timer started at the beginning, but she didn’t hear the bell She slept through the night in ethereal delight tossing and turning Sweating it all out They fall to the ground, the trees sway in the wind A cricket dances in the grass, the grass grows a little long The song is a little mute The dead dance down the hallway feeling the air The scrumptious, the reason for the season The Bernadine’s are all gone She felt it in her legs, the wearing of the bells The bells ringing in the winter morning light A new day, a new way The generated funds were squandered on fun, totally worth it Love trysts in the sweaty nights and again in the mornings A friend in May now sits in the sun, a living cell An organism. Love, family, distribution of confusion Solution is gaining insight into the night “Hear me now!” he shouted “The end is nigh, the end is ever coming. It will always be ether It will always be the beginning. The end is the new, the new is the old. ‘Why me?’ you ask. Because you You are. That’s it Stop asking so many questions The institutions defined the claims And lied about your earnings Welcome to life little buddy” Pt. II Theo’s part was given to the blonde but he couldn’t get it right The detective played by a Malkovich wannabe sold his ring for drugs and ended up odd in an alley He’s Chicago bound ready for the new scene The scene was gone however another bullet made right The might of the sword the might of the pen the might of who you think you are when read The bed is made the lead is gaged now it’s gotta roll down this hill. Hey Marty, did you see him in the sky last night with your Jesus delight your faithfulness and the seven stars, seven churches, seven scars he pulled a mighty sword out of his mouth The clouds part red, gods parted and we went on our merry way. The olden times which were modern times which were future times are now the past. We look back and Jude them all There’s always a little hope on the horizon. We got bored then we ignored the signs slapping us in the face. Legacy and dancing rhetoric prance and dance in the hallways late at night. The diner server drops her plate and cries. Another treat for another year gone by. When will she see bloom again? Rain patters the tiles above as the tv softly shines. He sits on the couch
All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.
Blog entries by Brett Maves
Morning (25/07/2024)
Summer Night (23/07/2024)
Sheila's Moment of Clarity (08/05/2024)
Snack Time (07/05/2024)
Clara's Dream (06/05/2024)
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