Bernhard Emil Bruhnke III

Rookie - 13 Points (07-19-1984 / Louisiana)

Intangible Sparks - Poem by Bernhard Emil Bruhnke III

'I said to the almond tree, 'Speak to me of God'. And the almond tree blossomed.' - Hubert Selby Jr.

Where is it?
...The opening thread?

The muzzled breath
of our fruitful beginning.

It is Time:
The bounteous intrusion,
an illuminated spark,
whimsically growing
with undetermined consequences.

A dream purposely manifested
to scour with blind intention...

..just as the air that frolics lost
in the daybreak,
unbeknownst its wild
destiny, spawned by an elusive

constantly penetrating itself.

(I smile with an echo of providence,
knowing this lonely breath I nurture
will swim through your body and one day escape you)

A quilted flame,
decorating the shivered spectrum.

Phantasmic and dense
boquets of color,
dressed buoyantly and boisterous
as a love stricken song bird;
the spring
with solitary echoes.

It is the quiet voice
that nibbles at the cinnamon back
of uncertainty.

Casting a perennial wave
that stirs the liquid
foundation of this avenue
of transparency.

This hummingbird reality of
infinite stillness,
the inertia of mortality
that silently ascends:
...............a heart bathed in shadow
...............a world dressed in the
thin gown of morning dew; relishing the nude awakening.

(The dawn is a golden bride;
uncovering her fertile tapestries
and unlocking her hair of August rivers and
the cream eyes of Don Quixotes Lace,
veiled in webs of virgin crystal)

...............a word that grasps
a magenta shield and passively tracks
the frail enigma of humanity...
..and its arbitrary scope.

For all days are an affair of pearl tongues,
violently wilting forward
through the mermaid sky,
contemplating the shallow turns
that leak through the
curtains of smoke.

Wondering how this voice seeps
through an evaporating window.

Wondering why enchantment
rhymes with sorrow.

Wondering what avalanche
of sparrows will
shovel through the tar canvas.

A day is born...
..showering a melodious
vesper through the unread

Rinsing the sins of yesterday (for sin carries us with phantom wings)

and soaking our emptiness with prominent wonder.

Multitudes of light glisten
over my weatherbeaten
my eyes stumble open
to a silver kaleidoscope,
withering into focus.

The wounded fireplace shakes
loose its former dynasty
and the final stand of strawberry

....a nimble ghost of smoke
rises from a lipstick
while her wax blood
is lingering a final stretch
towards the bronzle mantle
and the graying hardwood floor...

Peering into the gleaming
as the grass
glimmers with the
garnished moisture
of a bed soaked
this magnificent vibration overwhelms me with
a plethora of light..

and in this vagrant epiphany lives a
trembling door...

And i unfold...
into the fresh
of symmetry.

The blinding orb,

cascading the purple
benevolence. The last strands
of the infant daylight,
smearing into the peach horizon.

To pierce the infinite sky
and the shimmering dough clouds.
To scoop
the emerald sea.

To cover my face
in the ripe plaster
of stone.

To skip the pebbled stars
over the ocean of night
and watch myself echo.

To dine on a forest of mirrors.

To drink from a Jasmine
cup of
Spanish Daggers.

To dive into the of

....To see my Grandfather again....
His winter hair and
bifocals of buried

Dancing on a teal mountain
with a silver grin,
laughing at the
of men...
With their straw bishops
and clover knights.

Taking his limestone fingers
and skeleton reverberations..

Dissecting the heavens
with a flooded stare
and his unhinged imagination...
While spilling a
coral whisper
that swallowed my ears.

'To die is to believe
there is nothing more.
To live is to
untie the mask.'

(I always knew there was more when I left your chilly grave,
only to return and see a wedding of heart lilies)

A courtship of prayer
and solitude.

A wine of footsteps.

An unmeasurable chime
singing a transparent
sharing the unwoven magic
that entwines us all.

To live:
To scour through the
field of machetes.

To walk through
the vale of
constantly reopening

To drift in a
boat of shadow,
to search for the
seed of light
planted in the
valley of your soul.

To unbury a tree
and rattle
its roots for
the unpolished thirst
swelling in
the dry harvest.

To ceaselessly fire
the arrow
into the starving night.
Hunting for the
death of

To ring a bell
that weeps
in a storm of unmarried collisions,
hoping to rehatch a sound.

To stand over
the edge of memory...
and leap
into the unknown mist.

Perhaps our truth
is to excavate
the labyrinth of the subtle wind chimb,
to stand quietly
overtaken by our fruitful endeavors.

To whisper aimlessly
beyond the sun,
for hope of a
distant echo.

Perhaps it is best to tremble
in the elegant wave
of our minds
and bask in the parade...

If it is true,
then prosper quietly.

I will be on the other side of eternity...

unfolding a stone...

Comments about Intangible Sparks by Bernhard Emil Bruhnke III

  • Chinedu DikeChinedu Dike (11/6/2019 8:49:00 PM)

    Beautiful piece of poetry written with clarity of thought and mind. An insightful work of art. Thanks for sharing, Bernhard. (Report)Reply

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  • Sarwar ChowdhurySarwar Chowdhury (10/11/2008 1:48:00 PM)

    Ammmmmazing thoughtful composition! The style of expression fine/tasteful!
    yea sure 10++++++++

    0 person liked.
    0 person did not like.
  • Dhruv Gaba (10/4/2008 11:28:00 PM)

    nice stuff wats the inspiration? ? ? (Report)Reply

    0 person liked.
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Poem Submitted: Saturday, October 4, 2008

Poem Edited: Sunday, October 5, 2008

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