The poetry & poetic prose of Brandon Gene Petit

Posts tagged “dreams in the womb

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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?


A Woman Beyond Your Wildest

Piercing the mists of audacious dreams with a blasphemous air of clarity… nude in presentation of nature’s newfound glamour that it practices now with skillful veneration… A woman beyond your wildest imagination, beyond your wildest dreams and desiring hours, lies mock-vulnerable on her back in a field of dream-made flowers.

 

Her hair of interweaving hues of gold… spread like an enflamed Rorschach of angel wings, or Chinese fans, to frame her face with a call for silk-lusting fingers to hold. Her eyes gleam of sea-dyed blues and greens, though wincing slyly as if in reply to a subtle breeze. Her breasts, like two pods of honey-colored flesh at rest… half-sunken into her chest as she lay back on a mattress of floral debris.

 

Rose petals tumble across her skin… propelled by a phantom gust to scamper across her firm, golden belly and part the fingertips of the coy hand that caresses it. She beams with encircling sin… but the sin comes from you, for her body is as pure as the goddess who blesses it. This precious body, bronzed in hue, glistens… no matter whether with body oil or sun-shower dew.

 

And she listens, listens for the song of Heaven to resume… to call her back from among those floral plumes and return her to tropical dreams and their sensual ivory dunes. Even as my desire is bursting at the seams, the lure of my lyre of wooing cannot call her back from the palm leaf shade… where in minnowed shallows bronze calves wade under spells of chastity with no undoing.

“A Woman Beyond Your Wildest” by Brandon Gene Petit

Taken from Dreams in the Womb

© 2012-2013 Brandon Gene Petit

Author’s Note: Another prose-poem inspired by a woman’s photographs. There’s not much else to say about this one… but see if you can spot the subtle rhyme interwoven throughout!

Dreams in the Womb is an eclectic mix of prose-poetry and more traditionally structured verse, and also explores my romantic side with a variety of dreamy and sometimes even erotic images. Copies of the book, in 6 X 9 softcover, are available on Amazon and Barnes & Noble, as well as several other online retailers. Chances are you can even order it from your favorite local indie bookstore, even if they don’t physically have it on their shelves. The Kindle edition is also available, and subscribers to Amazon Prime can borrow the Kindle version from the Kindle book lending library for free.


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La Dame Verte

Her smile a notch above a frown,
The subtle way she drags her gown;
Drifting to the garden tub,
Slipping off her black lace gloves.

Evening of unwinding wrath,
Absinthe and a bubble bath;
Ignorant to clock-hands turning,
Sleeps content with candles burning.

Velvet curtains brushed aside;
Sleeping, soaking, Devil’s pride;
I find her in a sultry moat,
Asleep where lotus candles float.

…Where that trail of petals led,
In the room where dress was shed;
I thought I heard her hum a hymn,
Escaping through subconscious whim.

Her eyelids twitch above her smile,
Her hair descending to the tile;
For her thoughts I’d offer pence,
Red lips hushed in confidence.

Her marinated body froths,
In body oil and castile broth;
Half asleep, beneath her breath,
She tells me romance isn’t dead.

“La Dame Verte” by Brandon Gene Petit

Taken from Dreams in the Womb

© 2012-2013 Brandon Gene Petit

Author’s Note: I thought I would post something besides prose, considering I haven’t posted a plain old poem in a while. This was inspired by a female friend of mine, who told me on a late night phone call that she had spent the previous evening taking a bubble bath while drinking absinthe and eating M & M’s (needless to say, I took out the part about the M & M’s).

Dreams in the Womb is an eclectic mix of prose-poetry and more traditionally structured verse, and also explores my romantic side with a variety of dreamy and sometimes even erotic images. Copies of the book, in 6 X 9 softcover, are available on Amazon and Barnes & Noble, as well as several other online retailers. Chances are you can even order it from your favorite local indie bookstore, even if they don’t physically have it on their shelves. The Kindle edition is also available, and subscribers to Amazon Prime can borrow the Kindle version from the Kindle book lending library for free.


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In Praise of Long-Lived Love

It is more than the mustiness of old, familiar furniture having graced many a tired photograph… more than the tinge of floral pattern curtains so often romanced by evening pipe smoke… more than the huddled, dingy hues of decorative gourds in their baskets, or the unpolished brass of various equine statuettes that garnish the place with a love of horses.

 

It rests in that room like an ottoman cat, or a fireside hound, content in slumber at the end of its journey. It is the mark of fate having completed its duties, satisfied with the pairing and parting of a couple that at least fulfilled their promise to grow old together.

 

It all started with so much park bench romancing, such quaint eye-to-eye entrancing, so long ago in a world claiming immunity to change. It was a time when chivalry was alive and well, and frequented the sidewalks and cafés despite the looming shadow of economic hardship or the occasional presence of war in posters and monochrome television screens.

 

Baseball heroes echoed their triumphs across the amber waves of grain, reaffirming the confidence of soldiers returned, and petals were pulled as young men in love counted their chances. One man, I am sure, tested his chances… handsome with the reins of a horse in one hand and a soft spot for crooners latent in his throat.

 

He knew the keys of a piano… the inner workings of a car… and he painted more paintings hung in that house than he would admit to his grandchildren before they reached a certain age. She knew the beauty of God beyond the rhetoric of the Bible… the strange wonder of owls… and the importance of books even beyond the premature demise of her schooling.

 

A pyre of steaming tea between longing eyes of crossed lovers’ gaze… An arm-in-arm stroll over elfin bridges on days of wind and raining flowers… A lingering, statuesque kiss on a park bench amidst sparkling fountains and puddle-tramping geese… these are the images that celebrated a shared, sunlit youth, now sealed and tucked away in velvet-lined jewelry boxes, sepia photographs and scribbled poems on soft-veined paper.

 

To me, there is no sound more majestic than bagpipes at a funeral… I would have liked to have heard them that day, but there was only the ambience of birds, cicadas, and a calm spring breeze. But I am always okay with that shade of silence… those are the kinds of sounds that go with anything; universal like the color black. Oddly enough, we did not wear black in attendance, though our solemn respect was unmitigated.

 

Now, in this elegantly comatose room, clocks tick from nearly every wall and shelf; echoing to each other, diligent albeit entranced. Many of them have stopped and started through the years, either resurrected to rejoin the race or left to sleep ornately in a silent conversation with the eye. There are porcelain teapots and shelf-banished china, propped up and glistening even in the dull light. The light is warm as the soft crackling of a vinyl record, and every conversation over coffee seems to mumble just as quaintly… only a little more thinly in timbre, now that one familiar voice is missing.

 

Peace arrives with parting kisses between a ghost and a woman’s beating heart, sugaring the sadness so that it may never ill to misery. There was destiny with hello, and closure with goodbye. Two hearts were introduced, fulfilling betrothal and igniting parallel paths, and this leg of their journey is now boastfully complete. Love was created… and fate has done all that it set out to do.

 

“In Praise of Long-Lived Love” by Brandon Gene Petit

Taken from Dreams in the Womb

© 2012-2013 Brandon Gene Petit

Author’s Note: This is a prose-poem that was directly inspired by my beloved grandfather’s recent passing, but also by my interpretation of the life he and my grandmother had lived while growing up together and falling in love. I tried to include elements of both of their characters, including my grandfather’s many talents as a young man, be they openly expressed or partially concealed. There are also several scenic elements which are directly taken from life, such as the dim lighting and decorations of the home they lived in when he passed (and where she still resides) and the small outdoor funeral service we had on a sunny spring day.

Dreams in the Womb is an eclectic mix of prose-poetry and more traditionally structured verse, and also explores my romantic side with a variety of dreamy and sometimes even erotic images. Copies of the book, in 6 X 9 softcover, are available on Amazon and Barnes & Noble, as well as several other online retailers. Chances are you can even order it from your favorite local indie bookstore, even if they don’t physically have it on their shelves. The Kindle edition is also available, and subscribers to Amazon Prime can borrow the Kindle version from the Kindle book lending library for free.


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