Food for Thought-I’m Worried About Local Warming

I’m Worried About Local Warming

I’m worried about local warming,
that’s because this morning,
I went outside,
and without any warning,
discovered my skin was burning,
my delicate pale hide,
was starting to sweat,
one could take bets,
as to when I would go inside,
to find a cool place to hide,
but my stomach was churning,
though my head was yearning,
for a hat or a fan,
all I did was stand,
like a fool,
anything but cool
though one moment soon,
I’ll take hold,
of something cold,
something really nice,
like ice,
or an Icelandic professor,
maybe a compressor,
or a frozen Mason jar,
even A Klondike Bar,
then I’ll be worried from afar.

–Richard Bryant

Food for Thought-I Need A Fan

I Need A Fan

Dammit man,
I need a fan!
there’s something,
about this stagnant sand,
if I controlled the world,
I would make the wind whirl,
directly on me,
except when I pee,
because that would be gross,
people wouldn’t host,
a preacher who smelled of urine,
though he knew all about Martin van Buren,
the 8th and greatest president of all,
Old Kinderhook is OK,
just like this humid day,
a day needing more of breeze,
so the insects may not bite my knees,
they might text instead to their friends downstream,
Tap, tap, tic, tic, buzz, buzz, wee, wee,
which is dragonfly for,
you vant velive vhat ve see down vy viver side,
the dragonfly sounds like Count Chocula I know,
but where else could a bug with such a large head go,
perhaps Sesame Street really is off Light House Road.
and Mr. Michael Bangouro of Nigeria will give me a call,
about the money I let him hold,
in that bank in Senegal.

–Richard Bryant

Food for Thought-James Foley RIP

James Foley (RIP)

Beheading is a crime,
which betrays the sky,
it denies the beloved,
the right to die,
in their own time,
and forces them to lie,
among a pool of hate,
the blood of vengeance
mingles with the blood of fate,
here we wait,
for tapes to speak,
and twitters to tweet,
to know what we already seek,
the world is full of those who claim a name,
God, Allah, Yahweh, it’s all the same,
they kill, rape, murder and maim,
like some X-box video game,
about a bloodthirsty deity who gives a damn,
not about people but how many heads you can slam.

–Richard Bryant

Food for Thought-A Back to School Poem

A Back to School Poem

My Chuck Taylor’s costs $35.00 plus tax,
Momma used coupons to the max,
My music may be loud,
But be in no doubt,
I got the fly-est All Stars hanging about,
School Road is like a broken brake light,
Thumping out my jam,
You’ll find my crew keeping in tight,
Like a Jeter Grand Slam,
First World Problems greet my feet,
Not when I’m nice, neat, cool, and sweet.

–Richard Bryant

Food for Thought-Remember the Silence

Remember the Silence

There is no silence,
In shame,
There is no shame,
In silence,
Let go of the blame,
Without words,
Life isn’t the same,
Live between the letters,
Exist without James Crow’s fetters,
Wipe off the sticky residue of fear,
Embrace the humanity which is clear,
Grab a consonant and take a vowel,
Smash them together and make them howl,
Give your life a voice,
Ignore the neutral choice,
Scream if you choose,
Or whisper this news,
We will remember the silence of our friends,
Not the words of those who frightened us again and again.

–Richard Bryant

Food for Thought-A Shakespearean Scene Meets Matthew 15:10-20

A little sonnet I was working on combining Matthew 15 themes with some other ideas.

They are not pleased with what I teach today,
Nor are they soothed with any word I say,
Tell me teacher, if that is what ye be,
What is it that defiles; food, wind, or sea?
They say the pots cleaned in the kitchen too,
Or what’s in the bottom of the priests’ loo?
The dirtiest muck runs not in the street,
Nor does it cross by your uncovered feet,
It walks and it climbs from your open mouth,
Where the words of your heart go north and south,
To harm and do evil in all direction,
Stabbing souls with verbal insurrection,
Love wounded by merely the smallest words,
Foul, foul words render me mute not absurd.

–Richard Bryant

Food for Thought-I’m Real

I am real,
Yes,
That me,
The person you see,
The one with no hair
And knobby knees,
That’ s me,
Sometimes I stink,
In the mornings,
I smell sweet,
Like canned man,
While right now,
It’s more like,
Sleepy cow,
That’s me,
I’m real,
As I can be,
When you meet me,
I’ll be that guy,
You met two days before,
And on Sunday morn,
The preacher who says
Hello at the church door,
That’s me,
In glasses,
Sometimes smudged,
From eating molasses,
But I promise,
I can see you,
If you can see me,
I’m moderately nice,
If my tea has enough ice,
No, I’m always me,
Even if my tea isn’t real,
If it’s instant and hot,
I’m still me,
Full of vinegar and snot.

–Richard Bryant

Food for Thought-Everyone Farts

The gas I pass,
Has the similar effect
Of the police’s tear gas,
Those around me start to cry,
The elderly just might die,
Soon you must open a window,
Or some of your kinfolk might become widows,
The ghost of dinner past,
Onions and peppers seem to last,
Their lingering effect are quite tart,
I admit it, everyone farts.

–Richard Bryant

Food for Thought-Friday Morning Breakfast

Friday morning breakfast,
Sweet tea and toaster-strudel,
Made by a 10 year old,
Puts my sweet tea,
In a grown up,
Sippy cup,
While she says to me,
Have a good day at school,
Be nice to your teachers,
And don’t play the fool,
While you’re printing bulletins,
Try be cool,
That’s real hard,
When it’s just me,
And the mice,
The bells,
And the organ that plays,
Jesus Saves,
And I sing that song,
My favorite to hymn to hum along,
But sometimes,
It’s spooky to be at church,
When you’re all alone.
The wood creaks,
The floor squeaks,
And the mice say,
Repent before next week,
Preach on Pentecostal mice,
From your wooden perch,
Deep inside my Methodist church,
As you scurry by my desk,
Might you find ice tea in your search,
To return and quench my thirst?
If so, I be pleased.
If not, away with you, while I sneeze.

–Richard Bryant