Food for Thought-There Is A Dog Under My Desk

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There Is A Dog Under My Desk

There is a dog under my desk,
adjacent to my feet,
I feel her nasty breath,
she is staring back at me!
her wee little head,
looks so sweet,
when she tries to smile
with her canine teeth,
my toes while smelly,
rest comfortably on her belly,
she looks at me like I’m crazy,
I tell her she’s lazy,
life is never boring,
when Ruby is in your story.

–Richard Bryant

Food for Thought-Who’s At The Door

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Who’s That At The Door

Who’s that at the door,
was that Ruby’s snores?
Should I turn on my light,
I heard the fish bite at night,
I know it’s nothing very nice,
perhaps the Howard Street Mice,
a press gang of sea-faring rodents,
who take you without notice,
to their wee little ship parked at sea,
where I’ll be forced to eat day old cheese.

– Richard Bryant

 

Food for Thought-Sunset on the Island

Do you know what the waves said to me,
As I watched the night descend upon the sea,
It’s ok to feel this way,
It’s not trite to be cliche,
When you realize how small you are,
How large the ocean seems,
When you consider the metaphors,
One almost feels redeemed,
Able to decide forevermore,
To live as if this is no dream,
Because,
It’s ok to feel this way,
It’s ok to see the unknown,
It’s ok to wait for the dark,
It’s ok to come back home.

–Richard Bryant

Food for Thought-Off the Wagon

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Off the Wagon

Little did I know,
when I told The Lord
let’s go,
he’d put me on the wagon,
take away my happy pills,
and try to cure what sin ills,
now over empty bottles of gin,
my redeemed vehicle from sin,
a 52 black Dodge with a busted front end,
I’m living out of control,
in one hand a Bible,
the other my soul,
now I’m driving at night
without any lights,
down dangerous roads,
in places where rednecks and drunks won’t go,
asking Jesus if he’ll tell,
was Dante right,
cause this place is cold as Hell,
just hoping I won’t get flattened,
next time I’m thrown from the wagon.

–Richard Bryant

Food for a Thought-Mayakovsky

What circles have I come,
The ragged manipulations I’ve run,
Bright suns racing toward the metro platform,
Running past Tajik imams preaching reform,
Soviet yellow walls wail past those who fall,
Masters crawl seeking margaritas who are tall,
While the piano plays everyday I’m away,
Mayakovsky remains comfortably numb in his grave.

–Richard Bryant

Food for Thought-The SemiColon

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The SemiColon

My precious semicolon;
your vertical period,
a comma stolen,
resting on a myriad,
of independent clauses,
denoting dangling theories,
participles of the past,
that force me to pause,
to look beyond one idea,
and consume with applause,
what lies inside your verbal Ikea,
right angles of existential guffaws,
scooped around mental gallerias,
illuminated by my typographic faux pas.

-Richard Bryant

Food for Thought-My Lucky Hat

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My Lucky Hat

I was nervous as a cat,
on that gloomy morning,
when I could not find my lucky hat,
I was always loosing that stupid thing,
one time a puma,
stole it in the rain,
last week,
I was full of pain,
when a ruthless hooligan,
grabbed my cap,
while I traveled,
partially back,
from hearing the fans clap,
for my favorite band,
Acoustic Tuna Fish
and the Delusional Sweat Glands”,
the Sweat Glands played,
ridiculously long sets,
of fugitive Nigerian reggae,
I can easily recall how much I began to fret,
when I heard “Shell Oil is Dancing Too Close with My Baby Today”,
then I realized my head was getting wet,
my lucky cap had been whisked away.
what lunacy, I say!

–Richard Bryant

Food for Thought-How to Pray

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There’s just something about
Sitting down to pray,
When you let go,
With nothing to say,
Be there and listen,
Forget the stupid day,
Block out the world,
Keep the wolves at bay
Contemplate what’s around you,
The b flat harmony on nature’s page,
God told Jacob to take a nap,
Find holy rocks upon which your head can lay,
To see the angels walk,
There’s something about,
Laying down to pray,
Stand up, sit down, or climb a tree,
To pray requires no special way.

–Richard Bryant

Food for Thought-A Poem for a Funeral

I’m conducting my first funeral in my new parish tomorrow.

No More Dread

Tomorrow I’ll stand,
Dressed in a tie,
To mourn the dead,
Whose mortal remains,
Will for forever lie,
Scattered beneath,
Ocean and sky,
I’ll say the prayers,
Which must be read,
Those words of scripture,
Are always in my head,
Ashes to ashes and dust to dust,
Will indeed be said,
For he who knows,
No more dread.

–Richard Bryant