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
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
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
This time it would be


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

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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