Pollen – A Poem

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I lift my fist,
in allergic opposition
to the pollen all about me,
my nose and eyes
stand in full revolt.
I blow its green dust,
rebuke pollen’s seasonal hold
where it lands
as I look and sigh
the unending mist,
never ceases to be,
everywhere I touch,
and everything I see.

-Richard Bryant

Life God, Life (A Poem)

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I feel, I hear, I know, I think,
that you are real and I am small,
standing here in my bare feet,
I feel my heart,
the rhythm of life pulsing through my simple veins,
with each pump your grace rains,
through the corners of my body and soul,
Life God, Life,
I need more of you,
Take me to where you are!
the rhythmic corners of your beating heart,
on the Street,
where People meet,
the Divine is seeking,
to find and gather,
those who are Scattered,
and All about.

–Richard Bryant

Specific Ambiguous Beliefs – A Poem

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Awakened to specific ambiguous beliefs,
An awkward exhortation for moral proof,
Rattling window panes of middle-class grief,
The thunderous silence of now calls from here,
Barefoot visions do not choose testaments of truth,
Washed in streams of frantic flowing fear.

–Richard Bryant

What Is Prayer?

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Prayer is more than words.

Prayer is more than good thoughts directed toward an intangible, unseen Cosmic reality.

Prayer is more than names on a list.

Prayer is more than good wishes.

Prayer is more than complaints.

Prayer is more than congratulations.

Prayer is more than celebrations.

Prayer is more than a relationship.

Prayer is everywhere.

Prayer is action.

Prayer is response.

Prayer is life.

Prayer is human.

Prayer is divine.

Prayer is now.

Prayer is non-verbal.

Prayer is song.

Prayer is silence.

Prayer is today.

Prayer is tomorrow.

Prayer is in the rubble.

Prayer is on the battlefield.

Prayer is in the hospital room.

Prayer is in the courtroom.

Prayer is out of Egypt.

Prayer is through the Wilderness.

Prayers is in the valley.

Prayer is on the Cross.

Prayer is at the foot of the Cross.

Prayer is the confusion of an empty tomb.


–Richard Bryant

E-Flat Major (A Poem)

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No matter what time of day
I still hear the notes
I cannot play
without the pain
Of the ruler
coming down
upon my knuckles,
the Thumping sound
sharp aches
hurting pride
no matter how
hard I try
I still hold
E flat major
in my soul.
My fingers move
as far as they can,
and I hear the chord
in my hands.

–Richard Bryant

Publicity Photos

I’m just saying,
those publicity photos on the wall,
will not do at all,
I’m just saying,
the 80’s called,
they want their stringy hair back,
the late 70’s called,
those faux dusters still look slack,
the misspelled names department phoned,
the wampum, hawgs, and dawgs have all gone home,
I’m just saying,
these goatees will not do,
the bad facial hair department called you,
you might want to take these down too,
I’m just saying,
the next time they call,
tell them you’re already on the 21st-century ball.

–Richard Bryant


*image courtesy Trip Advisor

The Late Modern Produce Machine


Bienvenue to the
produce machine.
I am broke do tell,
even today,
because I can’t spell:
bale peprs,
hallo peno peprs,
them small blak things,
I confuse with large flies,
that look something like,
Little gray paes with black eyes.

–Richard Bryant

Riding a Smith Corona

These Keys Are Not Black. Feel Free to Grasp the Irony.

Riding a Smith Corona

I am riding words up and down,
the Holy Street called Walker;
sitting atop the shiny Black Keys,
of my only Smith Corona,
until I’m brought low,
and make the turn,
unable to shift and go,
living in lower case,
words seem so wearisome,
uneven and misaligned.
is this a poetic outcome?

–Richard Bryant