R. Bremner

R. Bremner has written of incense, peppermints, and the color of time since the 1970s in such venues as International Poetry Review, Paterson Literary Review, Jerry Jazz Musician, Climate of Opinion: Sigmund Freud in Poetry and eight books/chapbooks. He has won honors four times in the Allen Ginsberg awards.

Eruptions (Poem)

When silence rears its broken nose

Yellow clouds fall from the sky

Where an airplane licks tomorrow.

A question of ignorance was swallowed

When politicians ate brass knuckles

That had rusted from acid rain.

A woman carried a solid gold diaper

And a see-through hammer under her arm

Seeking shelter from the storm

Her minister told her was coming.

Doorbells squat on an exercise mat.

A doctor challenges my house to a duel.

Crossword puzzles bleed without warning.

Serious strangers await a decision

A courtroom erupts in cheers.

A judge sits on a hypodermic needle.

A plumber inspects judicial robes for leaks.

Untitled (Poem)

“Something wicked this way comes,”

foretold Shakespeare’s witches in Macbeth.

Sweet, my love, but surely you know

that not everything is wicked in this world.

Kindness sometimes does prevail in some domains,

and it is known to spread its roots in life-affirming rains.

But when an outburst of floodwaters of hate happens

and mass destruction reigns,

hope goes down the street drains

The intention to rebuild cannot resolve the loss.

A lack of trust in humanity increases the cost.

Scars remain that simply cannot heal.

Survivors have hurt that they still can feel.

I have come through the worst,

and I don’t know if I’m a survivor.

Trouble is my companion, Trouble, still prevails,

a sing-song epic of insufferable travails.

Don’t save your tears for sweet revenge to brighten up your day.

Before you, my life was a hollow bone,

lacking pith and marrow.

I was caught in a piercing snare,

trapped by the uncaring claws of eagles.

Every moment accounted for:

minutes wasted, hours of repetitious boredom.

I smile, but my emptiness is still showing.

All about are poseurs, faking every other move.

Someone tell me honestly, why am I here? Or am I here at all?

Are you there?

The darkness calls to me.

I often am not sure that I ever lived at all.