OPEN MIC SHORT STORY POEMS
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Filibuster
When hope is finally dashed upon the reef of realities Death becomes acceptable Not as an alternative but as a derivative of what is A calculus formulae an extension of what was and now remains a mere remnant of what might have been Imagined glories strayed Vicarious visions vanquished Missing marks faded tangentially askew floating off into space at warped speed Remembrance of what was once, hoped for what is left? a moment’s regret followed by, “what if”? Branch Isole © 2013 |
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Co-Dependent
Through my perceptions i go about believing the focus of my thoughts to be reality an investment of my emotions to be true applied by action my motivations are ignited by attitude and fueled by faith with portions of the puzzle constructed i am convinced of my limitations and subsequent necessary dependence upon you in order to see the picture i have created hidden in jagged cracks wait excuses for failure and objects of blame for my irresponsibility, all pointing toward you your power exists because i have manifested it to be so. Branch Isole © 2007 |
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Envy
It is in our nature to emulate and upon a pedestal to separate those to whom we look and gaze through a duplicitous myopic idyllic haze, and do we idolize from afar those we label, “star” Unknowing that beneath a thin veneer hidden from adoring eyes are stored the remains and caches of pain under unhealed scars Many a hearts been broken and dreams world wide been shattered When our hero’s humanity is nakedly exposed and their iconic image is left maimed and battered The mask of celebrity lifted The veil of pomposity drawn back Alone in the spotlight left to burn before inquisitors do they twist and turn The objects of our devotion hanging to the glee of catcalls while it is our emotions which choke and squirm |
It is we who suffer the slings and arrows whereby we bleed their pain As a carnivorous world tears apart and laughs, and we look inward to discover the unrealistic expectations we have purposed upon them, were on our own behalf. Branch Isole © 2005 |
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Poison
Trials and Tribulations Excuses and Lamentations Peril and Consternation Caution and Trepidation, We all pick our poison Painting ourselves into a corner Soaring, clearing the bar falling back to earth with a bone shattering jar Decisions and choices we gladly make oblivious to the possibilities that within our ideals and desires are clothed our near fatal mistakes Our lives proceed at our own intentional break neck speed With efforts to fill each day, hour, minute with as much fluff, flash and cash as we can fit in it Through our actions we’ve courted disaster as the fickle finger of fate takes aim directly at us Whereby we throw the blame on others in veiled attempts to keep our irresponsibility covered, just enough |
Believing once again
we’ve managed to avoid reciprocity by keeping one step ahead Until we discover how far we can’t run We all pick our poison. Branch Isole © 2006 |
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Six String
Learned to play while in rehab given an old six string by the girl from the lab Mastered several chords and riffs, made them all tight as a fist Listened to addicts tell tales of woe about scoring hits of horse and blow Put them together one snippet at a time Worked to make each of them rhyme Eight months later, off crack and the bong Came out cleansed, armed with a catalogue of songs Now it’s travel, traveling tours playing one night gigs some small, others big |
To him it makes no matter
how many people show declaring sincerely he’d still go, and play a concert for one lonely soul like me If it keeps him away from those rehab clinic slugs and off all those desirable drugs. Branch Isole © 2007 |
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Posthumously
At issue with the creative mind Too oft it is, ahead of its time Resistance to change no eyes wide open nor blinders off Envelopes pushed by the Avant-garde those with tunnel vision merely scoff Until the masses come to realize Truth had been revealed to their closeted, veiled, and tightly held lies. Branch Isole © 2010 |
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Imperfect Balance
There is only one who delights in our sin more than we, and that is the Devil himself To him the bitter aftertaste of our guilt is as sweet as the anticipation of our own unrepentant commitment When we rebel against the moral directives of the Lord the further our separation from God becomes Unable to establish perfect balance between the two We are ever moving closer to one and farther from the other. Branch Isole © 2004 |
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