Archive for the Bradley Mason Hamlin Category

Edge of Wheel by Bradley Mason Hamlin

Posted in Bradley Mason Hamlin with tags on December 3, 2017 by Scot

 

the other day
I watched a woman
throw
a plastic
drinking straw

out
the window
of her Camry

after
almost
clipping me
with
her car

her hair
held
up
super tight
with a
synthetic claw

one hand
holding
a smoking cigarette
the other
clutching a squawking
cell phone

how
the hell
she was driving …

I just
didn’t know

maybe,
the kid
riding next to her
had her hand
on the edge of wheel
or maybe
she’s using elbows
to work it
out

either way
the pedestrian
lady
she almost
nailed
in the parking
lot

didn’t seem
to notice
or miss a beat
pushing
her grocery
cart

distracted
by
her own vices.

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Three poems by Bradley Mason Hamlin

Posted in Bradley Mason Hamlin with tags on September 22, 2017 by Scot

Cat Piss & Vodka

Listening
to “Disco in Moscow”
by the Vibrators

I find
a matchbook
on the floor
in my office

I discover
many strange
things
on the flooring
of my headquarters

but
I don’t smoke
so
I picked it up

smelling vaguely
like cat piss

not me,
the matches

from
Black Sparrow
with a Bukowski poem
printed
on the backside

about
running
with the hunted

well done,
and this poem
won’t be as good
as that one

but
Hank isn’t able
at the moment
to drink
iced vodka

and
not quite
give a fuck.

____________

Bukowski Haiku

 

Bukowski beaten
but better than Kerouac
beaten but not beat.

____________

California Jungle

Listening
to punk rock
on the backyard
patio

she
soaks up the shine
in a polka dot bikini
while drinking
a beer from Chico

45 Grave
soundtracks the sun

as I read
Tarzan and the Golden Lion
(our Bengal kitten
stalks the veldt
of our lawn …)

just
as Burroughs
cries forth with epic
cruel world passion:

“… he placed one foot
upon the carcass of his kill
and raised his voice in
the terrifying victory cry
of the apes of Kerchak.”

the kill
in this case,
a lion

as
the jungle cat’s claws
chased
a crazy sexy hot
jungle princess

an
evil wicked beast
deserving of
the spear of destiny

if only
every
kill
could be so
clean

never destroy
that which doesn’t
need destruction

simple, right?

like,
totally, deep
thoughts …

from
the brown bottle
bottom

and
on this warm California
summer day,
north of Tarzana

you’re welcome.

 

Drawing Down Lightning by Bradley Mason Hamlin

Posted in Bradley Mason Hamlin with tags on June 20, 2017 by Scot

 

 

I like it
yet
it causes

the chaos

I hate it
yet
I miss

the tornado

she wants me
to
drink
with her

she hates it
when
I get drunk

the kids say
I’m an asshole
when I don’t drink

yet
hate monster
arguments
or inter-dimensional
reasoning
from bottle bottom

my doc says
don’t worry
he likes his wine, too

then mad sciences
my blood
and says cessation
may be wise

but my six-pack
of readers
will tell you

this
is a sober poem
lacking
the larger
brushstrokes

of unglued ecstasy

I can hear
a bluebird outside
my window

tweet-fuckin’-tweet

what
is his secret
message?

I don’t know why
the sober bird
sings

maybe
he saw a worm
Watusi
or the naked dance
of secret squirrel

the wild cats
will kill them all
if given
half a song

don’t worry
this isn’t depression
I care too much

about
comics & toys
and their destruction
upon my destruction

saturday mornings
with the blonde

my daughter’s vinyl
collection
still needs help,
I guess

UFO meetings
with older offspring

hell, my youngest
hasn’t seen
Attack of the Mushroom People
yet

there’s always shit to do

it’s almost summer
and vodka & crushed ice
tastes like

west coast jazz

my wife’s pissed
that I’m not building
a patio set

told her not to buy
one of those thousand
piece

Apokolips fire-pit
jobs

but good-lookin’ broads
rarely listen

could be anxiety
the thinking too much
seemingly caring
too much

the fucking puzzle piece
of it all

coming together
right now

poof
let it explode
like dandelion pedals
gone to seed

then reaching out
trying to
put it all
back

in concert
with
nothing more
than
Italian roasted java

I like it
yet
it makes my heart
beat

like
Gene Krupa
surfin’
tribal drums

I hear
the thunder moaning
in early June

growling
like a lion
trapped in a zoo

raging
because we are here
drawing down
lightning

maybe
the earth is flat
or round
or oval

who gives a fuck?

the gods are angry

we create
artists & idiots
magicians
and warriors

madmen
and crazy women
dancing
singing
praying

soothsayers
farmers
teachers
and children
driving tricycles

but
who talks to the clouds?

probably
more people; more often
than we know

we have jazz
we hold that one thing
and lumberjacks
to make the pulp
paper
to cut into

creating
the telepathy
to tell
you

this.

International Women’s Day by Bradley Mason Hamlin

Posted in Bradley Mason Hamlin with tags on March 8, 2017 by Scot

 

If
you’ve never
seen her
bend over
opening
the fridge
searching
for
whateverthefuck

I can’t
help you with
that
but
it’s great

and she says
her face
looks
sunburned
when she drinks
red wine

but I wonder
if she
knows
her Norwegian
ass cheeks
look
just the same
way
when spanked

a little
after
midnight
and the moon
is full.

Perpetual Concussions by Bradley Mason Hamlin

Posted in Bradley Mason Hamlin with tags , on November 18, 2016 by Scot

 

Seems to me
if you were
the grand controllers
of this planet’s
population

the easiest way
to control the masses
is to divide them
into warring factions

via the media
and button-pushed
politics

like
two football teams
smashing into
each other
with relentless
and constant
brute force

and
as we give
one another
perpetual concussions
the shadow
people

laugh
and move
the chess pieces.
11.14.16

by Bradley Mason Hamlin

Posted in Bradley Mason Hamlin with tags on November 7, 2016 by Scot

After the Cabernet

your
wild brown chocolate
marble eyes
the very first
distraction

the attraction
I miss
the most

when you close
them

at night.

 

____________

Beyond Black Belt

It
doesn’t take
a great fighter
to
win a fight

you’ve
got to be willing,
ready
to be a monster

to pick up
the beer bottle

and
break it.

____________

 

As the Grim Reaper Keeps Swinging His Dick

He sang good
played the guitar
pretty
all right as well

but you know
better than all that
he could
write

lyrics and melodies
with the best
of the finest
troubadours

badass sonofabitch
incarcerated some days
intoxicated the next

on that highway
with Bonnie & Clyde
and a Fender Telecaster

he
didn’t make no
party out of lovin’
didn’t wear no
raspberry beret

but
he and Willie
hallucinated once
or twice

you
didn’t wanna
get
on the fightin’ side
of Hag

hell,
he was married
five times

but
the things he felt
like barroom brawlin’ for

just as
American
as
milkshakes & fries

a little
after midnight
when the lights
dim
and
the headlights
hit
the road.
–April 21, 2016

 

Shoelaces on Fire by Bradley Mason Hamlin

Posted in Bradley Mason Hamlin with tags on March 21, 2016 by Scot

Heaven
feels like
a one-armed bandit
waiting
to roll dice sideways

snake eyes
and
will she be there
the angel of mercy
already
undressed
of earthly baggage
selfishness
of self
stripped naked

open arms
at mystic gates
will she tell you,
you did okay
not perfect
but no one is …

or will clouds float
just out of reach
ghost breath
filtering past fingertips
slip fall
you trip
falling

as
great golden gates
smash shut
dead
like prison doors
crashing
and echoing
as you fast fall
eternity
ends
hitting bottom
where you belong

shoelaces on fire
as demons
take you by the hand
whispering,
never the luck.