Robert Branaman–The Poetry

Her last orgasm

I’m pretty sure
She faked it
Usually she conked right out
Now she wanted to talk and watch TV
O the apocalyptic signs were there
I just don’t want to see them
Denial, Denial it’s not a river
It’s an Ocean
She told me it was over
And
It was like a door opening out of hell
I didn’t want to leave
I had grown accustom being there

____________

I painted over one hundred thousand paintings

I painted over one hundred thousand paintings
Just this morning
When I ate breakfast at two PM
They disappeared

I painted over one hundred thousand paintings
This morning before breakfast.
And I’d like to think they’re still there
Somewhere unseen
Like the rest of the world.

____________

Beautiful Blonde

She said
She just had too much on her plate
(There was no room for me?
How come there was room for me earlier
When she thought I was a heartthrob?)
And I understood
I had known since Monday, this was Friday
Yes
It took me a few days to get the picture
I am sort of slow but I know.
Kept tryin’ to justify it
I knew all along it was all-wrong
Never love a Blonde
Yet I just had to hope
I wasn’t a dope
And
This time it would be
Different.

____________

An afternoon painting

Sometimes it just flows effortlessly
Today I felt I was pushing it
Up hill
Had something in mind
Based of the last few days of work
Of what I wanted or expected to get
Pretty much unsatisfied
Till I gave up completely
Stared cleaning my brushes
Then scene I didn’t care any moor
It was already a frailer
I got back into it
Dripped a few things and let it be.

Now sitting in the back yard
Watching the flowers and butterflies
Sway in the wind

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One Response to “Robert Branaman–The Poetry”

  1. I really like these poems, especially the first one. The whole issue is excellent!

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