Here is a sample of some of my
work, both new and old. Enjoy!
I Lost My Appetite
copyright
© 2008 Mark C. Bradley
No
words have been spoken,
since the waiter left our table,
but among the din of
forks and knives clattering against plates
and the silence between,
an entire conversation ensues.
Her foot whispers to my ankle,
asking it to pass along a message to my hand
so it would sneak under the table to return the favor.
She must be drowsy;
her eyelashes keep fluttering, and
she leans into her hand, gazing at me,
dream-like, as when I first met her years ago.
The sauce from her pasta must be sticking to her lips,
for she licks them every so often,
so I hand her a napkin,
not looking her back in the eye.
She tugs her neckline downward, her face aflush.
The candles are giving off too much heat,
so I douse them with my spoon.
The air reeks of burnt wax.
I need some fresh air,
so I drop my napkin onto my plate and
leave my wife alone.
Open Waters
copyright
© 2008 Mark C. Bradley
The
dam breaks loose,
releasing the rapids stored behind it.
Water I had let pass under the bridge,
now flooding over me again,
sweeping me into the current of memories
and swirling me in an eddy of past emotion.
I fight the crashing waves a second time,
and a third, and a fourth.
The obstacles I thought I had already overcome
rising over my head once more and pulling me
into the undertow.
But I refuse to drown, and I push toward the shore
where I can safely breathe the air of the present.
It Was Written
copyright © 2007 Mark C. Bradley
Fifty eight thousand, twenty two names
That's over a hundred thousand words,
enough to write a novel,
yet never enough to tell the stories
of the ones who died there in Vietnam.
The book spread open for all to see,
etched in black granite,
written in blood and tears.
My fingers span the shiny pages,
drawing me closer to the many
faceless authors unknown to me.
They will not be forgotten.
They are the enduring characters,
protagonists forever engraved in our hearts
and reflected in the storybook of our history.
The Last Chivalrist
copyright © 2006 Mark C. Bradley
Nobody ever throws their coat
over a puddle anymore,
nor do moonlit serenades reach a woman's ear.
Who champions a lady and defends her honor now?
The armor, kept long locked away
in closets hidden from sight,
doesn't shine like it used to.
Besides, maidens don't like to see tarnish anyway,
so I go off to rescue my damsel
in plain clothes, unlike the suitors that woo her
with their fancy vestments and shiny adornments.
I know the real valor lies in the heart underneath
where true chivalry is not dead after all.
Upon Your Departure
copyright © 2006 Mark C. Bradley
The moment you walked out
a ghetto kid was muted
by a stray bullet,
and in a jungle wasteland
an aging elephant went down.
When you closed the door behind you,
a church bell went unheard
by a tone-deaf monk,
while a mother heard the cries
of her miscarried child.
Upon your departure
a thunderstorm raged overhead
pouring torrents of rain,
blocking out the sun
never to be seen again.
Firefly
copyright © 2006 Mark C. Bradley
On a sultry summer evening,
in a field of clover,
I went catching fireflies.
Like collecting dreams in a jar,
I chased the glows in the night.
As I caught one in midflight,
the firefly illuminated the jar,
and I watched, dazzled by its mystery
and its love of light.
But I would not hold on for long,
or the dream would soon fade
into the darkness of memory.
Windchimes In A Breeze
copyright © 2005 Mark C. Bradley
Hear their soft metallic voices calling out,
each melodic tone ringing in the wind.
A song that varies with every gust,
every light tap,
never playing the same melody twice.
The echoes flow seamlessly in the afternoon air
and preach their sweet hymns of peace
and serenity
with every chime...
