The poetry & poetic prose of Brandon Gene Petit

Posts tagged “poetry

Embedded Tweets – what people are saying

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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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Hearts without Quarrel

I picture my days most fruitfully spent with a woman acquired from some foreign outing in a land of high culture; I lock with her eyes from a Venetian boat as she smiles from the concrete spires of a busied riverside walkway, lowering her camera upon realizing the advent of our initial chemistry. She is wise beyond her years, dainty in composure but brute in wit; she speaks of art both Apollonian and outlandish, outdoor cafés on overcast days and books of which I’ve heard but only now wish to own. Together we embark on exotic travels without the hindrance of a second thought, forever adding to our experiences and embellishing the tale of our growing affection.

 

A vacation home planted in white sands waits for us to grace it with our auras, probed by temperate gusts that spill through open glass doors and visit the modern sculptures from room to room. After a day of tourist indulgence, my woman enters through the foyer, lays her keys on the table and quickly thereafter transforms into a goddess evening-gowned… a form that accepts me graciously in front of a hearth’s humble blessing, and accompanies me on a patient walk upstairs into the care of satin sheets. After a night of instincts aflame – arguably the product of a moon-bridled lunacy shared between beasts no longer repressed – the next day eases in with the sounds of the bay soothing the cinder of forgivable sins, an ambience signified by the sigh of palm-tree ferns being fondled by the ocean breeze.

 

Sated is the bed where the cool sheets contrast the warm body of my lover, our legs overlapping as we sleep in dream-tickled serenity. Clutching our pillows, faces smiling obliviously to the sun as it creeps in through the gaping bay windows, we are close though we face opposite walls to allow space for comfort… a symbolism of our bold independence that remains wild even as our relationship tightens. Our love proceeds with tantric patience, a cunning passion which brandishes the blade that is our life in each other’s hands… an alliance destined for the spectrum of eternity.

 

Our days are filled with pigeons, fountains, buildings in the blinding sun and waters sparkling from beyond the wharf… our nights are filled with velvet pillows, champagne corks, and the curvature of glassware shimmering in light subdued. The evenings smell of wine and candle fire, the mornings smell of breakfasts sunning on the balcony. The waiting arms of Athena could not gift me a better ally in eroticism, and desire could not devote its sweat to building a better structure than that of our union. Gracious is the luck that entwined our paths, and our paths will continue to enfold its blessings. Hand in hand we fulfill a dual destiny; money never an object, travel always an option… the perfect place, the perfect girl, the perfect love.

“Hearts without Quarrel” by Brandon Gene Petit

Taken from Ab Antiquo, Ab Aeterno

© 2010-2013 Brandon Gene Petit

Author’s Note: This is an older prose-poem, from my previous collection of poetic works, Ab Antiquo, Ab Aeterno. This is the first truly romantic piece I did, that didn’t have to do with past incarnation experiences or anything remotely gothic in tone. There are a lot of modern elements in this one, including an underlying and aching desire to break out of mundane routine and travel the world.


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.


Now Available!


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