The poetry & poetic prose of Brandon Gene Petit

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Embedded Tweets – what people are saying

New Book Reviews

Sarah Ann of @Dreamworldbooks Tweets:

“I’m having a hard time finding the right words to describe the genius that is Dreams in the Womb by @BGPetit for my review. #toogoodforwords ”

Well, she did finally find the words she was looking for. To see the full review she ended up posting for Dreams in the Womb, click on the link to her blog below:

http://www.dreamworldbooks.com/2013/06/dreams-in-womb-by-brandon-gene-petit.html?spref=fb

…And follow her on Twitter at @Dreamworldbooks
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Mina De Caro of Mina’s Bookshelf also shares her insights and her favorite pieces here:

http://minadecaro.blogspot.com/2014/02/dreams-in-womb-writings-and-verses-by.html

Don’t forget to follow her on Twitter at @MinaDeCaro

Looks like these two book bloggers were deeply moved by the lovelorn and muse-centered pieces in the book. Funny how a mention of the power of muses can connect us all! What pieces stand out the most to you?

Spoken Word: “The Wiccan Dove”

The Wiccan Dove

Young demigoddess who so coolly ignores my angst, queen of autumnal avenues dipped in golden twilight, won’t you show me the path to nature’s purest ventricle? I want to learn your pagan passion, and be part of your amorous druidism… I may have stemmed from the light but the more I learn about you the more the dark holds my attention. You are the source of spell, the mother of rebirth. Winter, fall, spring and summer are all one within you, for you breathe life into every realm that I am sentenced to endure. You are memory incarnate; you take me back to places that I thrived in, and without you those places are lost forever. Heiress to the mid-warm night, I am lost inside your Wiccan ways… and I have come to the conclusion that the mind that allows itself to forget you is doomed to ignorance without bliss.

You are synonymous with the smell of fire on a winter breeze, and the crunching of leaves beneath the footsteps of a lonely bard. Well rehearsed incantations flutter through your head, and the dust of sacred parchments powders your fingertips. You have the evasive wit of a fox, the mystique of a wolf and the gravity of a raven… When you are silent you have the solemnity of a grave, and when you are outspoken you are blunt like a waterfall’s hiss. The consequences of your existence have a severe impact on my life; without your birth my life would never have been the same. I need you, not as a lover in the traditional sense, but as a portal to a more thorough nourishment of the senses. I am jealous of your deftness in traffic with ghosts, and your audacity in spiritual exploration… I long to be by your side on those graveyard walks and dark forest outings too bold for the meager spirit, but it is all just a fantasy in more ways than one. May I worship you from afar, and utilize you as a symbol for my high-fevered longing? I promise I won’t interrupt your precious planes of enchantment, though I want to be a part of them so badly… The least I can do is translate your world into a world of my own.

You will never be true love; you are my obsession, my fascination. My love for you is childish, but grievous, and it rivals the restless longing that calls to the migratory birds when the seasons are in position. I smell the winter winds and wonder where you are, in the same manner that I wonder what archaic poetics decorate your book of spells. The inspiration I crave grows wild in your broom-hazel eyes, and the unique shade of salvation I require resides only in the aura you have created. But if it were possible to cage you, you would wilt upon capture… for you belong among the moonlit reeds where the night sky is your chapel. The wilderness is your only spouse, and I am in no state of mind or soul to compete with that! I am just as content with being blessed with your image as a tool for my mind; may it lead me on to braver pastures long after death’s curtain falls.

© 2012 Brandon Gene Petit

Spoken Word: “To a Girl with Green Eyes”

To a Girl with Green Eyes

Watchful beacons fierce and free

The kind so green as verdant sea

Of mint and clover sentiently…

Wrapped around your pupil be

 

Etchings on a radial gem

Echo to my deepest whim

Crystal carvings never dim

Further from thy pupil stem

 

Glistening gaze of dampened jewel

Strings along the avid fool

Not so kind, but not so cruel

Instead a different kind of school

 

Luscious is the teary glaze

That gifts me just beyond the maze

To gently whisper sensual praise

And rival my most treasured days

 

Subtle flits of dashing green

Shifty, charismatic sheen

Piercing through prosaic scene

Coaxing me to intervene

 

Sights aligned with passion’s will

Sting me with thy lover’s quill

A woman, lest my heart be still

As she moves in for the kill

 

Iris twin; an emerald pair

Tell of field and forest fair

Gradient of goddess stare

I wonder what thoughts may be there

 

© 2012 Brandon Gene Petit

Spoken Word: “She Awaits”

She Awaits

Eyes aflame with sapphire grain, my sultry mistress ebon-cloaked

Witch’s queen and lover’s vice, her hair reminds of raven’s coat

Her crimson lips boast thicker spells, my incense-perfumed spirit tease

In wait for me in amber light, midst pyromantic luxuries

 

Dressed in shadow-melding cloth, her form sylphlike yet hard to draw

Shifty in the flickering light, her flux offending natural law

Her skin is neither pale nor dark; polite to touch as dewy fruit

But never cross her path with spite; beware, my friend, her soul is brute

 

Her beauty shines when sadness looms, her tragedy devours as flame

Restlessness consumes her bed, a full moon I am glad to blame

She tends to an erotic lair, a curiosa wonderland

Lit by slanted window shades and kissed by oriental fans

 

Flightless fairy, clad in black, her voice divinely resonates

Requesting me to drop my guard and lend my heart out to the fates

She slithers through the velvet sheets, a French composer in the air,

Lending out a finger curled, commanding with a demon stare

 

Labored with nigrescent opals heavy on her neck and wrists,

She opens up her curtained arms to soon begin this sacred tryst

Breath of cloves with hint of mint, a fragrance that soon greets my face

Her lips the color of her heart, her hair the scent of pillow lace

 

Time is not a rigid service, meaningless within her vault

Hours pass, so fleeting, as her tears and sweat reward me salt

Torch-flames tremble to the passion; vaulted roof, two lovers under

Unity of souls ensues, entwining to the song of thunder

 

Then she shows me opiate visions clad with necromantic zeal

I swallow them with wormwood wine; drunk, I question what is real

Her fingertips caress my cheek; strokes me with her dainty claws

She stimulates my weaknesses and enters through my mortal flaws

 

Her pulse resounds within my chest; my mantis lover takes control

I’m weakened to my very knees, unstable like a newborn foal

She leads me down a stairwell where the edge of darkness titillates

I follow her to drunk abysses, faithfully, where she awaits

© 2012 Brandon Gene Petit

gather round ye ghosts 2

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new meme 713-3 copy

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Poetic Descriptions of Wombs

I noticed more than a couple of times that people have used the search terms “poetic descriptions of wombs” or “poems about being in the womb” in order to stumble across my website. My suspicions suggest that some of these people might be college students searching for poems applicable to a topic they have either been assigned or chosen themselves. I’d hate for them to feel frustrated by seemingly arriving at my site in error, so I decided to post a couple of womb-related pieces on my page in hopes that they would search again and possibly find these posts of some assistance in their project.

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