Ryan Brodesser Poems

The rising moon means many things, as it floats above the sky
And references many themes
A time when dreams flitter as they fly
Onward to their sleeping hosts on feathered wings with silvery seams
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A boat is ever meant to roam

and a wave will always meant to go out to sea
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as I stare into the dark and dim
I know my chances are at best slim
if I don’t jump, if I don’t get off the trail
my life's goanna hurl off the rail
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A man, wrinkled and old
Was sitting on a corner, begging by the grange
Wrapped in threadbare blanket shivering in the cold
Isn’t that strange?
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1.In shameful resignation the flower droops

2. Its proud head nodding in the pouring rain
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I don’t know what land our battles that man will man fight on
but the next world war will be fought with sticks and stones
And I know not what our conflicts will dawn
But we will fight, with clubs, and chew on our neighbors bones
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Do you hear those robin sing?

listen to the the rustle in the trees?
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The bells ring a dull tone

the bells ring with a vibrant moan
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The mountain stands tall


along with the king of the mountain with his hall.
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The forge burns hot when stoked up high

Fumes and flames reaching the sky
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