For the last month or so--give or take a few weeks--I've mulled over the thought of self-publishing A Trip Down Brody Lane once the publishing rights are reverted back to me this coming July. It seems like a great way to delve into the self-publishing world. So, I decided to look through some of my old poetry, saved on old disks and stored away almost 7 years ago.
Well, I found some old rhymes that I thought I would share. I'm not sure where my mind was when I wrote them (somewhere in never-never land most likely), but nevertheless, I feel like they should at least see the light of day once. Let me know what you think.
______________________________________________________________________________________
Go Home
What a surprise to wake up dead
With a gun in your hand and a hole in your head
Completely alert, but totally gone
A bloody old mess on your own front lawn
You’re in disbelief and you’re in denial
But Death stands on your roof and looks down with a smile
So what do you do in the midst of the unknown
But get off of your lawn and go into your Home
What a surprise to wake up dead
With a gun in your hand and a hole in your head
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Looking Through a Schoolroom Window
Two world’s collide
But each to their own side
One comfortably warm and quiet
One loud and in full stride
Inside, four corners
And twenty-four chairs
One voice to fill the gulf
To counter empty stares
That stem from lacking interests
The philosophies, a simple bore
Tick-tock, the clock it turns
Another second--open door
Outside, expansive stress
The crowded road a mess
A muddy pond so close to sleep
Awakened by mere unrest
The heavens breathing briskly
Chilled to icy dew
The goal of destination
Expectant to push on through
The looking glass contains to both
The quiet ins and hectic outs
Two worlds so close together
But the window leaves no doubt
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Beauty
For one to truly understand friendship
He must first be alone
And to fully appreciate family
He must first lose his home
Without the clear contrasts in life
Where can one clearly draw a conclusion
Without a yes and no or right and wrong
Is life but a simple illusion
For instance, take the life of a lawyer
Where ethical dilemma lies in every choice
Right and wrong is only replaced
If relativity is given final voice
But to be “absolutely” relative
Is to give up all sense of absolutes
Yet I can choose to disbelieve relativity
And absolutes become my truth
Philosophy is a feeble thing on such a matter
Logically one can make the claim
That if everything is relative
Then what is there to gain
So with a very abundant confidence
Man can “absolutely” question universal relativity
True is true and truth is truth
The truth is true with all certainty
Remember this clear fact
When “life” is what we are addressing
We live, we die, we wonder why
Providential means—it’s worth investigating
But time is not always our friend
It can be an enemy in times as such
When belting out the intricacies of life
And these intricacies are much
So clear the mind of presuppositions
And feel the freedom to “get out of sync”
Let this language filter through you
Free the mind to think…
Life is about finding beauty
Under the breadth of the stars
On a warm summer’s night
Lying on the hood of your car
Holding the hand of another
Not because of lust or passion
But for sharing the constellations
Together, a common confession
Life is about inhaling the warm air
Like steam from a mug of coffee
Filling your senses with sweet aroma
Understanding the delight to breathe
Just for a moment of refreshment
For that one second of euphoria
It may be a tiny glimpse of satisfaction
But it can forever live in memoria
Do we ever see life in such a manner
As to narrow it down to such beauty
It’s not easy for scientific humanity
Unless one makes it a duty
But this true beauty lies in the smallest of packages
Like a floating speck of dust
That travels for miles in stranger lands
From pink dawn til’ purple dusk
It may begin its journey in warm humid air
Where the sun sets over an ocean
And land in the frost of the South
Unable to travel farther--frozen
To bring one’s mind to such miniscule objects
Is a wonderful, yet simple task
None should never hide themselves from the little miracles
In “grander” or “superior” masks
But so often we do it without knowing
Searching for that which is not a bore
Beauty is not some theory or hypothesis
Not some idea that leaves us begging for more
Beauty is an absolute
And I can be “absolutely” certain with that
Feel free to debate this Truth
Destroy my argument and I’ll tip my hat
But to question the very motive of this idea
Would be to question Truth itself
Beauty is “NOT” in the eye of the beholder
Beauty is in the beholder himself
As philosophically tedious as it may seem
Concrete evidence may not be so “evident”
Your philosophy is your religion
But where will your eternity be spent
I know not why presupposition steers us away
Or why the life of a man is so “intellectual”
But my calling is not to make an attempt at thinking
My calling is only effectual
And to claim that beauty is…what it is
May seem foolish to some
But if I can “feel” (not see) Beauty just once
Who cares when my life is done
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________
I hope these were at least enjoyable in some form.
~Brody
Well, I found some old rhymes that I thought I would share. I'm not sure where my mind was when I wrote them (somewhere in never-never land most likely), but nevertheless, I feel like they should at least see the light of day once. Let me know what you think.
______________________________________________________________________________________
Go Home
What a surprise to wake up dead
With a gun in your hand and a hole in your head
Completely alert, but totally gone
A bloody old mess on your own front lawn
You’re in disbelief and you’re in denial
But Death stands on your roof and looks down with a smile
So what do you do in the midst of the unknown
But get off of your lawn and go into your Home
What a surprise to wake up dead
With a gun in your hand and a hole in your head
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Looking Through a Schoolroom Window
Two world’s collide
But each to their own side
One comfortably warm and quiet
One loud and in full stride
Inside, four corners
And twenty-four chairs
One voice to fill the gulf
To counter empty stares
That stem from lacking interests
The philosophies, a simple bore
Tick-tock, the clock it turns
Another second--open door
Outside, expansive stress
The crowded road a mess
A muddy pond so close to sleep
Awakened by mere unrest
The heavens breathing briskly
Chilled to icy dew
The goal of destination
Expectant to push on through
The looking glass contains to both
The quiet ins and hectic outs
Two worlds so close together
But the window leaves no doubt
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Beauty
For one to truly understand friendship
He must first be alone
And to fully appreciate family
He must first lose his home
Without the clear contrasts in life
Where can one clearly draw a conclusion
Without a yes and no or right and wrong
Is life but a simple illusion
For instance, take the life of a lawyer
Where ethical dilemma lies in every choice
Right and wrong is only replaced
If relativity is given final voice
But to be “absolutely” relative
Is to give up all sense of absolutes
Yet I can choose to disbelieve relativity
And absolutes become my truth
Philosophy is a feeble thing on such a matter
Logically one can make the claim
That if everything is relative
Then what is there to gain
So with a very abundant confidence
Man can “absolutely” question universal relativity
True is true and truth is truth
The truth is true with all certainty
Remember this clear fact
When “life” is what we are addressing
We live, we die, we wonder why
Providential means—it’s worth investigating
But time is not always our friend
It can be an enemy in times as such
When belting out the intricacies of life
And these intricacies are much
So clear the mind of presuppositions
And feel the freedom to “get out of sync”
Let this language filter through you
Free the mind to think…
Life is about finding beauty
Under the breadth of the stars
On a warm summer’s night
Lying on the hood of your car
Holding the hand of another
Not because of lust or passion
But for sharing the constellations
Together, a common confession
Life is about inhaling the warm air
Like steam from a mug of coffee
Filling your senses with sweet aroma
Understanding the delight to breathe
Just for a moment of refreshment
For that one second of euphoria
It may be a tiny glimpse of satisfaction
But it can forever live in memoria
Do we ever see life in such a manner
As to narrow it down to such beauty
It’s not easy for scientific humanity
Unless one makes it a duty
But this true beauty lies in the smallest of packages
Like a floating speck of dust
That travels for miles in stranger lands
From pink dawn til’ purple dusk
It may begin its journey in warm humid air
Where the sun sets over an ocean
And land in the frost of the South
Unable to travel farther--frozen
To bring one’s mind to such miniscule objects
Is a wonderful, yet simple task
None should never hide themselves from the little miracles
In “grander” or “superior” masks
But so often we do it without knowing
Searching for that which is not a bore
Beauty is not some theory or hypothesis
Not some idea that leaves us begging for more
Beauty is an absolute
And I can be “absolutely” certain with that
Feel free to debate this Truth
Destroy my argument and I’ll tip my hat
But to question the very motive of this idea
Would be to question Truth itself
Beauty is “NOT” in the eye of the beholder
Beauty is in the beholder himself
As philosophically tedious as it may seem
Concrete evidence may not be so “evident”
Your philosophy is your religion
But where will your eternity be spent
I know not why presupposition steers us away
Or why the life of a man is so “intellectual”
But my calling is not to make an attempt at thinking
My calling is only effectual
And to claim that beauty is…what it is
May seem foolish to some
But if I can “feel” (not see) Beauty just once
Who cares when my life is done
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________
I hope these were at least enjoyable in some form.
~Brody
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