Tanner Brockwell

i remember the first time
by tanner brockwell

i remember the first time
you played for me
your hands danced
as though upon that tiny stage
melodious and mighty
the phrasing sings wordless
toneful and soul lifting.
am i a vagrant heart
thread worn bone chilled
where winds take and release
carry me upon that note
as i stood upon the pier
alone until you touched my hand
fingers warm from dancing
they pulled sparks
the sea is vast and we can compass
any direction but not everyone
messengers amiss tardy though
the word is stopped than go
full of powerful insight
a glance into the heart
refracted in a coloured hue
where doors open silent
red underfoot from cathay
the bales piled high and heady
lost not for orient found
not for trying not for chance
snake eyes fixed bet for the inverse
folding lengthwise the bill would tell
hungry pockets gain
for departing for the old rain
fell in the evening dim
roads still and with sheen
hooves dance upon the cobbles
oil lantern swaying to the time
kept in haste these getaways

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trampling
by tanner brockwell

trampling
stampeded hooves
pounding the gulch
where is the rain
with so much thunder
near the coursing
the current
falling for danger flows
don’t dare don’t
every hand watches
the rampaging brands
a scar a stamp that fiery
dark beneath the sheltering sky
that would not open with relief
the dust rise choking
till these currents mix
of flesh and dust and a deadly rush
that pulsing is cacophonous
and dizzy as the the pulling waves
crash against the faded days

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weeps for the tears that bitter are
by tanner brockwell

weeps for the tears that bitter are
they are not tears of joy
but each drop hot and salty flows
from brimming eyes to show
that passion wrapped around this heart
and though cold inside
it was not that passion lied
or that the feelings felt a sudden died
but they were to grow cold
and forgotten so they are memories
that only now will show from
clear eyes that speak of something
that was deep inside and signifiers though they are
the passion has on spring breezes fled

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to the departed
by tanner brockwell

to the departed
where with the cold winds
the night has become
some monument
and the sky lowering
in the blank dark fretful
too close surrounded and far
into the imaginings
that fill some deep need
or away bouncing the sent
round glass stopped with wax
a small note written on yellow paper
only enough space to write out
be free

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spires and towers too high
by tanner brockwell

spires and towers too high
above the world of bustle
the invisible trails strong
encouraging and persuasive
signifying abject
snuffing the stars
as they rotated from you
rotating into another view
work for an entire year
splendid terror
just then appear
a wake a wave and end
the songbird as flown
coast of tranquility
gliding across the face
salt and fear and tears
gone and gone and gone

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pray do tell
by tanner brockwell

pray do tell
the quirks and feebles
that make you your heartbeat
alive inside willing
to dance the jig
heels up and down
pounding the floor
there is no tomorrow
then that dawn will be
no emptier than begun
or full of life inside
creeping sunlight
fell across the hills
touching the dew
set in the night alight
and gleams crystal strand
upon the webs upon the door sill
where e’en sprites fell
in a mirthful dance
upon the threshold of a doorway
where light bounding fell outside
and the fire in was sparking and warm
take a tipple a sip and shout hoh
chasing dreams in the fading embers

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there is a buzzing
by tanner brockwell

there is a buzzing
in the woven ways
the straw is splayed and played
a circuitous circular
roving oh a go
where in the deep
near certain sleep
the royal seal
on lips is placed
for lidded eyes dream of the rise
of stated ways
for sudden days
and slipping nights
where blue lone is true
and amber kept in keys
golden shone golden toned
gold is almost another world
colors reflecting inside
provisions in store
the mind is one
pulse and breath
and breathe
infuse so suffuse
and feel the stirring of the muse

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ruby lips drawn with a thin pen
by tanner brockwell

ruby lips drawn with a thin pen
and pursed they evoke
the timid spirits
that conjured in like garden
grew between the brook and view
of the once mighty tree
even more mighty see and this stalwart
oaken leaves set to tremble
in a wisp of a wind
that blew from pursed lips
kissed by some honeyed dew
and whispered as only they were true
the sun is whisked
whisked from our view
and we couch our terms in fitting time
that throws a glance
a look unto that verse or phrase
or fancy rhyme
that speaks in volumes of what we find
when reaching
grasping we pluck at strings
and find our hands are full of many things
this banquet this noble feast
for sup as once we sup for peace

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there is a pulse in the room
by tanner brockwell

there is a pulse in the room
in betwixt the strains
weaving a new refrain
spooky shades cannot hide the eyes
music is not why
it travels a weft that listeners hold
and touches strings inside
a jangle now a sudden strum
the long note drawn and run
into a cascade of brass
frettless and taut
low though they filled the room
even with a haunt noisesome
rain filled rained upon streets
far from owns to complete
cleft in some unearthly pall
saving for an edge
that glows and wraps and then
past the towering night
into the open wide

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