The following collection of poems have all been written to the daily prompts posted by Robert Lee Brewer for the Poetic Asides November Chapbook Challenge.



    The opinions you serve up
    miss the net and fall short of love.
    Each volley you strike
    puts me out. You have set me up
    to play your game, even though
    you hit me with your backhand smash.
    You have the advantage
    and think you hold all the aces.
    It’s not my fault that you let
    me hang, that baseline was too far.
    I was all in for mixed doubles,
    but apparently that just wasn’t your racquet.
    So, be assured. I will rally, and find your
    sweetspot (I believe I have the balls to pull it off!)
    This is set point, and the match is at stake.
    It was an honest mistake. Give me a rematch,
    or I’ll get all McEnroe on your ass.


    Poetic Asides with Robert Lee Brewer – Day 1 November Chapbook


    with a spark.
    Striking is what sets
    you aflame, and it’s a shame
    your pyrotechnics last
    just so long. But
    when first lit
    your heat
    is strong,
    alas you
    f i z z l e
    when it
    dr iz zl es
    or your fing-
    ers are bre-
    ached. So
    have no fear
    there’s an-
    other right
    here and I
    will keep
    t h i n g s
    b r i g h t
    a s l o n g
    a s t h i s
    other match
    l i g h t s !

    Poetic Asides with Robert Lee Brewer – Day 1 November Chapbook


    Where could it be?
    I cannot see.
    That blasted sock
    is hiding from me.

    It looks like this one,
    but not as worn,
    the color’s faded.
    I’m so forlorn.

    It took a scamper
    from the hamper
    it needed washing
    a chance to pamper

    all the fibers
    it was knit with,
    this missing stocking
    is a nit wit.

    Beneath my shoe,
    my feet are blue,
    these little piggies
    sure miss you!

    My feet are cold,
    without protection,
    oh wooly foot mitten,
    wither your direction?

    I’m running late
    you reprobate,
    I need your function;
    I need your mate.

    I have no time,
    the point is moot,
    I’ll put another
    on my foot.

    These mismatched argyles,
    lacking style,
    I think I’ll hide
    this pair a while.

    If it returns
    by some odd chance,
    I will cease
    my barefoot rants.

    Poetic Asides with Robert Lee Brewer – Day 1 November Chapbook


    The Bard once asked, “What’s in a name?”
    By any other, a rose would smell the same.
    From our birth, names were assigned
    to keep things straight in our minds.
    But what is truth if called a lie?
    Would folks still see things eye-to-eye?

    Take the beleaguered platypii,
    as funny looking as their name.
    In the clearing they will lie
    duck-bills facing all the same.
    What is it they have on their minds
    with that label they’ve been assigned?

    Throughout the day we’re faced with signs,
    though clearly written to the eye.
    They sometimes seem silly to the mind,
    but heed these signs, be true to your name.
    For in the end, they’re all the same
    and we play our hands as our cards lie.

    Fond of my own name? I won’t lie,
    from my father and grandfather, it was a sign,
    that our three names would be the same.
    I could stand to man their chins or eyes,
    but I was saddled with their name.
    Sure, I could have done much worse in my mind.

    Don’t get me wrong, I really don’t mind,
    but I want to make my own name! I can’t lie,
    it has afforded me some fame; this name – my name,
    as if emblazoned on a sign
    eight miles high into the sky
    or 3 x 5, it’s all the same.

    My name and I are not the same,
    I am unique (in my own mind).
    Stuck with this heart and poet’s eye,
    I see things skewed and write that lie.
    And under the title someday I will sign
    a pithy passage o’er my name.

    A Name is a name is my name all the same.
    For in my mind, it’s what I’m assigned
    and through these eyes, I’ll let sleeping fish lie. What’s in a name?

    Poetic Asides with Robert Lee Brewer – Day 1 November Chapbook


    Everything one-to-one.
    Mirrored, similarities same.
    Both alike. They are duplicates.
    Replicas are they. Things overlaid exactly.
    Copy-to-copy, face-to-face. Things matching.
    Front to back to front,
    Matching things. Face-to-face, copy-to-copy.
    Exactly overlaid things, they are replicas.
    Duplicates are they, alike both.
    Same similarities mirrored
    one-to-one. Everything

    Poetic Asides with Robert Lee Brewer – Day 1 November Chapbook


    How strangely still the night sky seems.
    For it holds the hopes and dream of lovers
    lost in the romance of this bright night.
    Hands clasped, sighs gasped to fill each other
    with the breaths that love has placed within.
    And in the moment they embrace

    They are warmed by the moonbeam’s own embrace.
    It highlights her face and has him bursting at the seams
    not able to contain the emotion within.
    It is in that fleeting flash that they are confirmed as lovers
    and the clearness of that thought pleases each other
    to no end. They find the allure in the brilliance of the night.

    This is indeed a lover’s night.
    A night where their closeness makes their hearts race
    and the depths of souls so blessed, touch the other
    deeply and unconditionally. Traditionally focused, it seems
    nights like this should never end, this night for lovers.
    For the moon had brought them together to begin with. In

    the gentility of this lunar lucidity resides within
    true love’s way. It is that longing that drives this night.
    The full moon is the clean slate upon which lovers
    inscribe the promise of the future’s passionate embrace.
    He loves her; she loves that he loves and seems
    committed to secure and protect her. Others

    had graced her threshold on other
    nights as this. But the expectations she carried within
    were never fully realized. This moment seems
    different; there is something enchanting about this night.
    It is this moon that holds them in its arms, an embrace
    that this night offers often to lovers.

    And she loves him in this moonlight, as he loves her.
    They find logic in these feelings that others
    had found through the ages. It is the full moon they embrace,
    the constant over time that pulls these emotions from within
    and exposes them to the scrutiny of this love strewn night.
    How strangely still the night sky seems.

    It seems lovers find their clear path
    in the fullness of lunar lucidity. A night unlike any other
    embraces them in the comfort of love possessed within.

    Poetic Asides with Robert Lee Brewer – Day 2 November Chapbook


    Heaven bound orb
    you draw upon our hearts
    and high tides.

    To the moon and back
    man has traveled.
    One giant leap for mankind.

    “Est luna plena”,
    in latin
    you are as lovely!

    Full moon howling.
    While Werewolves of London bay,
    Warren Zevon sings.

    Shine on harvest moon.
    it is soon
    that winter arrives.

    The moon comes,
    rising over the tree silhouettes.
    The stars relent.

    Goodnight Moon and stars.
    My eyes close
    yet your fullness glows.

    Poetic Asides with Robert Lee Brewer – Day 2 November Chapbook

    (George Bailey’s Intent)

    “Buffalo Gal won’t you come out tonight?”
    I’m giving you the skies.
    The multitude of stars above
    reflect your soulful eyes.

    The sway of treetops mimics you,
    the breath of wind repeats,
    the sound of crickets still remains
    but you sound just as sweet.

    The night holds your seduction,
    the skies possess your grace,
    this evening strings my heart along,
    in the moon, I see your face.

    Untie my heart for one brief dance
    as I sing your favorite tune,
    “Buffalo Gal won’t you come out tonight?”
    I’m lassoing the moon!

    Poetic Asides with Robert Lee Brewer – Day 2 November Chapbook

    (with a nod to JWLaviguer)

    The beat pulses,
    Billie Jean refrains,
    Fedora pulled to
    shield your eyes,
    your pelvis goes insane.
    You grip your crotch
    a time or two,
    to make sure it’s still there,
    underneath your sheathed hand,
    the sequined glove you wear.
    You spin, you twirl,
    you screech, you whirl,
    you fling your hat
    (imagine that),
    your feet retreat
    a backward slide,
    a treadmill run amok.
    You perfected this maneuver
    at least that is the talk,
    quite the fluid mover
    with that manic, “bad” moonwalk!

    RIP, Michael Jackson (Tee, hee, hee, SHAMON! OW!)

    Poetic Asides with Robert Lee Brewer – Day 2 November Chapbook


    An ode to the permanent vertical smile,
    the boys let you out once in a while.

    It truly shows their lack of class
    every time they show they’re crass!

    It’s best to leave you in their britches,
    you look like you need a thousand stitches.

    They think you’re an expression,
    butt showing you will teach one lesson.

    A few more beers and they get bolder,
    giving you air will make you colder,

    and you will turn a shade of blue
    (not the most attractive hue).

    So smarten up, pull up your pants,
    or your Blue Moon won’t stand a chance!

    Bom, ba, ba, bom ba, Bom, ba, bom, bom ba
    Dinga-dong ding, Blue Moon!

    Poetic Asides with Robert Lee Brewer – Day 2 November Chapbook


    Fly me to the moon
    sometime before June.
    Jupiter and Mars just can’t compare!
    And hopefully, we’ll play up there
    and we can be in tune.

    That rendezvous would be a boon,
    a chance for hearts to meld and swoon,
    and live our lives without a care.
    Fly me to the moon.

    The song that “Blue Eyes” used to croon
    about that “crazy, coo-coo” moon,
    is right for me and my lady fair
    orbiting the earth up there,
    and hopefully we’ll take off soon!
    Fly me to the moon.

    Poetic Asides with Robert Lee Brewer – Day 2 November Chapbook


    You take my air
    leaving me breathless, gasping;
    stepping cautiously so as not
    to disturb your orbit. But the gravity
    of you is held in my heart,
    it is the ballast that keeps me,
    the anchor that grounds me.
    Without your love I drift into the darkness
    weightless and useless, less the man
    who holds your heart. We will start
    to levitate if we let each heart go,
    so hold on tightly, rightly so!

    Poetic Asides with Robert Lee Brewer – Day 2 November Chapbook


    I watch the moon
    and I am phased by its brilliance.
    It starts its lunar dance
    keeping time with the music of night.
    Its face is bright, a right glowing
    globe hung on a sky-hook,
    looking down on me as I watch.
    The moon is full, sated
    by the darkness that feeds it.
    Shadows play upon the surface
    of great light; a beauty of a sight to see.
    And me? I watch the moon.
    My imagination exploring what I
    had been ignoring for years.
    A soothing light on starlit nights,
    burning bright since my first sight.
    It hasn’t changed in all this time.
    I can see it in my mind, long after
    daylight rises. There are no surprises.
    I watch the moon.

    Poetic Asides with Robert Lee Brewer – Day 2 November Chapbook


    Life is a crap shoot.
    “You rolls your dice,
    you takes your chances.”
    Not everything will appease you.
    If it scares you, it will not please you.
    Gory scenes are meant to haunt you.
    Skin tight jeans are meant to flaunt you.
    Sexy dreams are meant to taunt you,
    but they can’t really hurt you.
    So seven-come-eleven, aim for heaven,
    but don’t be afraid to raise a little hell!

    Poetic Asides with Robert Lee Brewer – Day 3 November Chapbook


    The unknown is feared.
    And we step on eggshells wondering
    when the first of many shoes will drop.
    You stop to catch a breath or two,
    and you continue on your way –
    curious or furious that your fear
    consumes. Our collective dooms
    are assured. But we pray for a cure.

    My mission is my focus, for
    no “Hocus-Pocus” can change the hand
    that I’ll eventually lose. I can choose to
    curl up, be fetal and remain fatal –
    or I can decide to not hide and face life
    and the fight it offers, filling my coffers
    with a richness never expected.
    All fears are rejected in its stead.

    So I keep this thought in my head
    and hope my hands can translate
    what has been the debate within.
    Mission after commission after remission,
    keeps giving me the chance to dance unfettered
    and expressive, an excessive splay
    of verbal vitality, and a mentality to fear no evil.
    Dark valleys be damned. He has my back.

    Poetic Asides with Robert Lee Brewer – Day 3 November Chapbook


    The Grim Reaper is in the rear view
    as this year speeds toward another end.
    And if Nostradamus’ words are true,
    disaster awaits around the bend.
    I don’t obsess over Madame Fates’ touch,
    I laugh awkwardly and say “You don’t scare me… much!”

    And when I hear, “You don’t scare me… much”
    I think I’m missing the whole view.
    My knees knock – my hands quake and a touch
    of sweat comes weeping through. It never ends,
    my machismo melts and I feel like I have the “bends”.
    Decompression will not do, suck it up and burst on through.

    I won’t say nothing fazes me; I can get spooked it’s true,
    there’s not a lot that scares me… much,
    but I have noticed certain trends.
    A penthouse with a vertigo view?
    A swarm of birds that never ends?
    A cadaver with an ice cold touch

    all have their ways to stir my nerves (especially the ice cold touch).
    I suppose we all have our foibles, so true
    and my nervousness might meet its end.
    But that’s not the thing that scares me… much,
    when I face my fears and bring them into view,
    their hold o’er me will break, not bend.

    So I’ll be hell bent
    …on deflecting Freddie Kreuger’s touch,
    … veer my eye from a treacherous view,
    Macabre tales that are not true
    certainly don’t scare me… much,
    but I’ll hold my breath right to the end.

    So listen, heed my story friend,
    and send your worries ‘round the bend.
    Do not let things to scare you… much,
    Handle life with a caring touch.
    Trust in your reality; it’s true.
    And keep those terrors out of view.

    For in the final view, at the very end,
    if you bend this statement to make it true
    you’ll never fear the reaper’s touch… much!

    Poetic Asides with Robert Lee Brewer – Day 3 November Chapbook


    She talks of her mate, a Good and decent man,
    the love of a life well lived.
    She talks of her Lord, a Good and caring God
    who brings love to her life well lived.
    She speaks of her Zosia; her baby’s baby
    her pride and joy and treasure.
    She speaks of her “partner” like he’s her
    guide and teacher, but who learns as much from her.
    She tells of her Buckeyes (and the proud state with the O’s)
    her home and favored land.
    But she flies under the radar, a stealth heart
    that loves and supports and speaks from that heart.
    A Good and loyal friend.

    Poetic Asides with Robert Lee Brewer – Day 4 November Chapbook


    Grace and gentility,
    their mobility exudes all that.
    The plate glass pond reflecting
    the beauty of the mallards
    at leisure. Your pleasure is
    in admiring their calm of
    this early autumn day.
    Just beneath the surface
    the impression transforms.
    Flat webbed feet pushing
    the underwater wetness
    to self propel. All above serene
    in splendor; all below chaotic as hell!

    Poetic Asides with Robert Lee Brewer – Day 4 November Chapbook

  19. TEXT ME?

    Words less expressive in an abbreviated form,
    it is not my norm of saying what I mean.
    Conversation is a lost art, and if you start
    to text me repeatedly, you’ve lost me for sure.
    We never have time to speak our mind
    anymore. Technology has set that back.

    Besides, you never text me back.
    You throw out your blurb, but in bad form
    you leave me hanging for your reply. Would you mind
    pushing the little phone thingy and let it ringy? I mean,
    the time it takes you to text me, our station is assured,
    my every word is heard even before your thumbs start.

    Right from the start
    I knew this text crap would send us back
    to beating on logs. Smoke signals were less sure
    when the wind blew, but you use fewer characters to form
    your contention, and I mean,
    you’re truly driving me out of my mind!

    I know what I want to say, and my mind
    has it straight. I say what I mean, but when a text starts
    my thumbs give it no inflection. All caps can get mean,
    but emphasis is NOT ANGER! The danger is, it comes back
    To bite you. They’ll fight you because they’ve formed
    misconceived notions, you can be sure.

    Amended: Conversation is NOT lost. It is dead!!!! Surely,
    with texting, and IM and tweets by twits our minds
    shrink; don’t think of the right word because we’ve transformed
    them to the minimum. Don’t get me started!
    Dumb down a heart-to-heart and we’re back
    to not speaking again. My silence does not mean

    I’m mad either! It’s just that I’d rather SAY what I mean
    and then you’ll be sure
    of my intent. Bring the ability to converse back!
    You may think it cool to be so “hip”, but my mind
    doesn’t get it. That’s why I quit it before your thumbs get started.
    I’m not hard-hearted, I’ve just been transformed.

    This “new” form to communicate means
    I have to start to learn a new “language” that’s for sure!
    Would you mind giving me a call back so I can hear you LOL?

    Poetic Asides with Robert Lee Brewer – Day 5 November Chapbook

  20. FML

    Save the self-pity for someone with a shittier life that you.
    So your mother made you clean your room.
    Dad said you can’t use the car until you learn
    that dreaded “R” word. You heard “Jammer” got
    the new iPhone, iPad, iWished ihad that latest gadget too,
    and your entry level job actually expects you
    to work for that paltry paycheck. Yeah kid, you have it bad.
    FYL and FU2. Wait until you “grow up”!

    Poetic Asides with Robert Lee Brewer – Day 5 November Chapbook


    Close and closer still,
    nestled and comforted
    by a love hard earned.
    I’ve learned that the grass
    isn’t really greener, but
    just variant shades.
    And in the end, the friend
    that she began as, has
    taken every length
    to find strength in my malady.
    More of a lady as I’ve ever deserved,
    the best is reserved for when times
    get bad, for better or worse,
    sickness and health,
    various stages of wealth;
    there is love right there.
    I smile knowing I have her
    right here where she wants me.

    Poetic Asides with Robert Lee Brewer – Day 6 November Chapbook


    A refrigerator full of meals
    days in the eating and making,
    taking a little of Monday’s
    meat and Tuesday’s pasta,
    lotsa vegetables in green,
    I make a mean mash-up
    of stuff we haven’t finished yet.
    My bet is that my daughter
    will roll her eyes and mutter
    like she did the other time
    I had served this. Hit or miss.
    If you’re hungry enough,
    you’ll eat it. Never defeated.
    Leftovers will be served.
    Don’t look on it as doom.
    Soon comes Thursday,
    Tacos loom! Yum!

    Poetic Asides with Robert Lee Brewer – Day 6 November Chapbook


    Right brain vs. left brain.
    The division is well defined,
    in the opposing functions of our mind.
    The right brained seem expressive; creative,
    displays emotion, a music devotion,
    color and images come to the fore,
    and intuitive like nothing before.
    This is the left brain, in the final analysis,
    logic and language are this sides’ emphasis,
    Numbers come easy (eh, go figure).
    Reasoning makes sense whence
    done with the left side. But I beg
    to differ (I’ll state it with pride)
    that poets seem to join the two,
    they think with one mind
    and when they’re through
    they’ve created a part from
    their head and heart that
    is expressive and full of emotion,
    sings like music, and paints
    an intuitive picture with their words
    as their medium. The tedium comes
    when revision occurs analytically
    speaking they tweak their words
    so that language is logical
    and indeed quite “poetical”
    Almost mathematical (and
    mostly so reasonable).
    Right vs. left, here’s the disclaimer,
    why make a choice; it’s a no-brainer.

    Poetic Asides with Robert Lee Brewer – Day 6 November Chapbook


    The band has re-assembled, and it’s the right
    time, and the write time to perpetrate poetry.
    Here, where the spirit first moved some of us to that end,
    the dissection of words and rhyme have filled our time
    and when we’re finished, what’s left
    will be emotive, evocative, expressive and fine.

    Here, where the line in the sand is as fine
    as the poets who amass here, and it is right
    that we come back together despite our quirks, left-
    over muses used to touch hearts and soothe souls. Poetry
    becomes the magnet that draws our mettle, and this time
    as always, we pen without end.

    Twisted rhymes and mangled meter that we bend
    to placate our peculiarities of poetic license; the levied fine
    is never excessive as long as we stay expressive each time.
    For we write, whether wrong or right
    and fight for the cause of poetry
    making sure that no thought is left

    behind. It is the mantle that has been left
    to us; the banner that has been given to us. The end
    justifies the course we take in the production of our poetry.
    No matter the form, or meter, or rhyme, we are fine
    with our choices, we are voices to be heard; a chorus right
    for our ears. We will have our say over time.

    Many of the poet wanderers come back in time.
    However, we will miss the friends that have left
    for reasons we respect and understand; it was their right.
    They are no less talented or poetic friends,
    for their worded wonder remains true and good and fine.
    They are minstrels all, with the lyrical rhymes of their poetry.

    Here, back where we started to hone these skills poetic,
    writing until it is our time
    to pass that grail to hands less frail and refined.
    Our words will linger long after we’ve left
    this poetic plane, remembered until the end
    because what we’ve written will be held up as a beacon bright.

    It is right that we return again to write poetry,
    verse that will stand until the end of time.
    Left for the eyes of future generations; our work will be fine.

    Poetic Asides with Robert Lee Brewer – Day 6 November Chapbook


    Good days come.
    Bad days linger
    and I lose control
    of most of my fingers.
    Some days find me
    incoherent, not so
    apparent when it’s done,
    not recognizing my voice
    and none of the words
    Translate great on the slate
    of a blank page.
    Can’t blame age,
    I’m not that old,
    but I’ve been told
    I carry myself thus.
    When the tremors can be seen
    it is a mean trick to play
    on a poet poeming
    a poem-a-day. But today
    seems a good day.
    I seem to be coming around,
    and when I do, I won’t slow down!

    Poetic Asides with Robert Lee Brewer – Day 7 November Chapbook


    It had been a good day which has eased into an equally decent night.
    The skies have taken their pall and is covering all;
    a cloak to cover you until the morning arrives.
    But, you insist on this clamor with the pounding and yelling,
    there is no telling what the neighbors will think,
    such a rage. You’re tired, we’re all tired but this din
    must be stifled. You’re being a trifle dramatic aren’t you?
    Shut the bloody hell up, you’ll wake the children.
    Go gently, it’s been a good night. Don’t spoil it now!

    **”Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night” ~Dylan Thomas

    Poetic Asides with Robert Lee Brewer – Day 8 November Chapbook


    It hasn’t started yet and you can bet
    the soft, white grass has lost its hue.
    the sun is right, red and bright
    and the birds bask in the balmy breeze.

    Things may not stay just so,
    Asphalt flowers surely grow
    And Shel my friend, you’re walking
    Too damn slow for my taste.

    We’re wasting time; this measured pace
    Has gotten me all in your face.
    We’ll have to cross the road ahead
    And walk that path a while instead.

    Over where the dark road had bended,
    on this stroll which we’ve befriended,
    the road crew has the street all mended
    but we can’t walk there, the sidewalk ended!

    **”Where the Sidewalk Ends” ~Shel Silverstein

    Poetic Asides with Robert Lee Brewer – Day 8 November Chapbook


    You gonna catch your death of cold!
    How many times have you been told,
    you gonna sink if you think by the river.
    Ain’t nobody gonna hear you holler,
    I don’t care how many times you yell!
    That water cold! Are you high?
    You have a lot of living to do,
    ain’t you thinking about your baby?
    I don’t care how fine that wine!
    I’m gonna cry if I see you die,
    so get outta that river or your ass is mine,
    and your life won’t be so fine!
    You drunk, fool!

    **Life is Fine ~ Langston Hughes

    Poetic Asides with Robert Lee Brewer – Day 8 November Chapbook


    “if you like my poems let them
    walk in the evening,a little behind you”~e.e. cummings

    edward, your works inspire,
    but they move too slow for me
    to keep them in tow.
    why must they tarry?
    i will carry them if you’d let me,
    but that’ll get me in trouble
    if i double up too many poems.
    they have to be in front of me
    so i can see that they stay
    out of the fray. they offer
    persistence in their resistance.
    i carry your poems.
    i carry them in my heart.

    **”if you like my poems let them”~ e. e. cummings

    Poetic Asides with Robert Lee Brewer – Day 8 November Chapbook


    “Set all your mind upon the steep ascent,
    Upon the broken” ~William Butler Yates “The Dialogue of Self and Soul”

    We stand above the abyss and sealed with a kiss
    we take our love for others to another
    level. No angel is right, or devil wrong
    that in our conscience strong prevails; one
    with our hearts and thoughts and the real
    sense to listen to the voice inside.

    There is no one at your side
    to assist you. It’s as if they kissed
    you off, another wretched soul with a real
    desire to ignite a fire under his brother.
    You stand alone, the silent one
    with much to say, but you’re wrong

    if you think they’ll hear you. Wrong
    to feel that all you hold inside
    of you is the one
    thing you cannot articulate. Your heart has been kissed
    by the words of poetic sisters and brothers
    who stand clear of the cliff, poised to reel

    you in if the decision to leap is made. A real
    tragedy when what is right, proves to be the wrong
    choice. Lost within your voice is the chorus of others
    who lift your selfless soul and resides
    within the depths of your caring. A heart kissed
    by the tender refrain of these poetic ones.

    Offer your solution so that every one
    knows your intent. Do not lament or feel
    the need rebel. You know darn well that you’ve been kissed
    by fate’s tender lips. There is nothing wrong
    with standing your ground. Reach inside
    and give from all you have for the sake of others.

    Hold this truth above all others.
    You begin the process; you are the one
    who will share the life you keep inside
    of your loving heart. You can feel
    things changing, and know that right or wrong,
    the abyss cannot consume what love has kissed.

    The kiss of true love is given to another,
    it is not wrong to offer your heart to one in need.
    The real deed dwells inside the truth you offer.

    Poetic Asides with Robert Lee Brewer – Day 8 November Chapbook


    “I’m not a car, I’m a person,
    A man-god, a god-man
    whose days are numbered. Hallelujah.
    ~ Yehuda Amichai “What Kind of Person”

    You are a good-man;
    not a god-man
    possibly a man of God,
    but good as much as good
    is not bad.

    You are a kind person.
    The kind of person
    that is kind to all mankind,
    with a mind for forgiveness,
    and forged in the fires of truth.

    You are a blessed person.
    The receiver of many great gifts
    given by Him who has made you
    the kind of man, the kind of person
    He always expected of you.

    You are a loving person
    who by the nature of your love
    is loved in return. A yearning to be
    what hearts and souls aspire to be.
    Bonded in the love of love.

    You are a giving person,
    a generous man who offers
    his time and mind, his logic,
    his cents (in lieu of dollars)
    and ask for nothing in return.

    And as such, you are a respected man.
    A man who has earned his bread,
    the manna of self worth offered
    to a good man, a kind man,
    a blessed and loving person,

    a respected person in all eyes
    until the day he dies.

    Poetic Asides with Robert Lee Brewer – Day 8 November Chapbook


  33. JOHN

    When he’s gone…

    The reality of his leaving
    will hit some hard; others
    will not be fazed. It’s crazy
    to think that he’s been
    on the brink of death’s door
    for four years or more.
    Stomach cancer was not
    the answer. Not to mention
    dementia. Parkinson’s Disease
    is putting the squeeze of his once
    statuesque appearance.
    His disappearance has been long
    awaited. Fate can be a cruel
    executioner. When he’s gone
    some will mourn, some will scorn
    his selfishness for leaving.
    The cash cow is dead.
    Long live the king!

    Poetic Asides with Robert Lee Brewer – Day 9 November Chapbook


    When she leaves, she always checks to be sure
    that I’m OK. She’d say she was thinking about
    the time we drove for an hour scouring the countryside
    for a place to hide for an hour or so, and we would go
    on for half the day, walking, talking, taking the time
    to find comfort in each other like no other time before.
    There was this place way south of the city. It was
    a pretty serene scene. A spot beneath a crossing bridge,
    a dry stream bed with a trickle of its former self.
    A shelf of rocks and dried logs and bogs of reeds
    poking skyward, She would sit on a trunk of fallen
    majesty, and me? I would snap photos of her contemplation
    in my elation; a celebration of life. Before she was my wife.
    she had become the love of many lives. I can see it clearly
    and dearly miss that place. It puts a smile on my face.
    When she leaves, I believe she smiles as well. I can tell
    how much she has grown. I know she will return,
    When she leaves.

    Poetic Asides with Robert Lee Brewer – Day 9 November Chapbook


    When he’s gone for five minutes, the children
    are still nestled snugly, visions of sugarplums dance
    and you’re still battling sleep. You keep warm and the year’s
    work is nearly completed; energy depleted and you rest,
    for morning comes quickly. Soon the bustle will be heard
    and the first words will resound,. “SANTA WAS HERE!”

    When he’s gone for eight hours, there is plenty of cheer,
    you ply yourselves with steaming coffee, and the children
    are excited. You’d be delighted if the screams that are heard
    were less piercing, and she’d get a chance to dance
    back to bed and complete her rest,
    but the best you can wish for is a sleep-in on New Year’s.

    When he’s gone for five years
    The cheer is still the same, but it is here
    where you notice the change. It’s strange that the rest
    of the time you go unnoticed, but the children
    are staring you down and your eyes dart and dance
    from side to side, hoping to hide their sparkle behind a beard

    so cheesy it is easy to spot you. When he’s gone, nothing is heard
    except for the strains of Bing singing , (has it been another year
    already?) Your steps are less steady when you dance
    her under the mistletoe to steal a kiss or two. It is here
    that you linger, a finger alongside of your nose. The children
    recognize this pose and can figure out the rest.

    When he’s gone for twenty years, you’ve become the guy for the rest
    of your life. Your wife can be heard
    snoring on the couch, and the children
    are feigning sleep, and you swear this year
    will be your last donning the suit. It’s a beauty, but here
    is when you realize you like its fit when you dance

    around the tree. You hear Jingle Bells in the distance
    and a hearty Ho-Ho-Ho above, and you know the rest
    of the story. You’ve impersonated him here
    for all these years and your suit and beard
    are a bit tattered from wear. He’s leaving you something this year;
    for you and your children, and your children’s children.

    It will make your children dance with delight.
    Tonight he gives you the suit, for this year and the rest of your days.
    And he is heard to proclaim here tonight, “You are Santa Claus”. Get it right!

    Poetic Asides with Robert Lee Brewer – Day 9 November Chapbook


    The house is empty
    where once we thrived.
    And when he was alive
    the house held love.
    The decline was gradual,
    but it seemed to happen
    in the blink of an eye.
    I try to imagine that place
    without our faces in it,
    but the task is daunting,
    he is haunting my nights.
    So many reminders find
    there way into my soul
    and I start to relive that
    life so distant, yet so close
    to my heart. But he had
    departed, the last bastion
    of our home left standing.
    Our anchor and beacon,
    a man to be admired.
    When he was gone we all
    suffered from his absence.
    He is truly missed.

    Poetic Asides with Robert Lee Brewer – Day 9 November Chapbook


    The heat sears into my chest,
    piercing me like a lance driven
    by the force of ferocity. I yell,
    telling anyone who can hear
    that I am here. Arms splayed
    from my sides, looking skyward
    as air support flies over, strafing.
    My breath is labored, gasps of life
    escaping. Crimson wetness
    spreading, draining and staining
    the ground below me. Sounds
    of machine gun and mortar,
    muted and fading, darkness
    invading my sight, staring at no one
    there. I pray for a quick solution.
    I gurgle to God to end my pain,
    but my brain will not allow my heart
    to die for sometime. Light flashes,
    synapses of life gone by. Silence
    engulfs me. Looking down upon
    myself as I lay unattended.
    All my pain is gone. Mercy
    is given to me. I die.

    Poetic Asides with Robert Lee Brewer – Day 11 November Chapbook

  38. i4-NI

    Apple® presents
    it’s latest release,
    and revenge have never
    been so sweet or so easy.
    It’s a sleazy little tab
    that takes a stab at
    your enemies and
    your friends alike.
    Remember our motto:
    “Keep it between just us,
    one man’s revenge is
    another man’s justice.
    Now, there’s an app for that!
    It’s an i4-NI. Coming in 2013,
    Steve is gone, but you’re
    still getting “Jobbed”!

    Poetic Asides with Robert Lee Brewer – Day 12 November Chapbook


    “Is it necessary for me to drink my own urine?
    No, but I do it anyway because it’s sterile
    and I like the taste.” ~Patches O’Houlihan in “Dodgeball”

    Even good taste can fall by the wayside,
    when expressed in bad taste. To even hint
    at bodily waste as consumable is to
    presume all hope is lost. There is no cost
    I will pay to sip at all that which is meant
    for the urinal! AND DON’T GIVE
    I will not go there, even when my grin
    suggests otherwise!

    Poetic Asides with Robert Lee Brewer – Day 12 November Chapbook


    At last a device,
    a means of prevention,
    not to mention a method
    to not savor the flavor
    of shoe leather. Whether
    intended or no, you should go
    and buy yourself one,
    just a slip between
    cheek and gum, it’s the
    “Pedi-Impeder – meant to keep out
    your foot from your mouth”.

    *(Available in fluorescent green and “In my grill” chrome. Don’t leave home without it!)

    Poetic Asides with Robert Lee Brewer – Day 12 November Chapbook


    Dear John,

    I hope this letter finds you well.
    You said war was hell, and I can tell
    it is wearing on you. And it’s true
    it’s been a few weeks since I wrote you,
    it WAS something you said. I would quote you,
    but then I’d be guilty of your same crime.
    There is someone else this time.
    He’s younger and more handsome,
    has more stamina and agility
    and a unique ability to finish the job
    in half the time as you.
    He has a 21 inch span,
    and the man knows how to use it.
    I do not abuse it, but I choose it
    sometimes three times a week.
    Oh, how that boy can mow!
    That is why I’m selling your green
    and yellow tractor. Please don’t be mad,
    but it’s for the best. Glad I got
    that off my chest. Signed, Louise.

    Poetic Asides with Robert Lee Brewer – Day 13 November Chapbook


    Where have you gone young man?
    Stuck in a place that binds you here?
    Broader horizons beckon and sleep
    does not appease your tired and weary soul.
    You have no control over your destiny,
    the best you can do is stay true and fly.

    Release then from your earthly bonds. Fly
    through the night to the second star on the right. You are the Pan!
    Your heart is young though your weariness seems destined
    to keep you sequestered. You feel pestered here,
    perturbed by the restlessness of your captive soul.
    Fly on, or settle into that eternal sleep.

    For there is nothing to hold you to your sleep.
    Your eyes move rapidly, and you try to fly
    but fall, there is no soaring for your soul.
    You are sedentary; a solitary man
    who writes the words he wishes he could hear,
    to offer support and the confidence to fulfill his destiny.

    Solid ground has its advantage, and destiny
    is only yours if you embrace it, but face it – your ambition sleeps,
    keeping you from letting your fantastic mind escape here.
    Stand tall and crow, let the people know your visions fly –
    the eternal lost boy; Peter Pan in the trappings of man.
    It is that happy thought that releases your soul.

    And nothing rests in the soul
    for that which the heart has passion. They are paired, destined
    to conjoin in the worlds you will have created. Fated as no mere man
    before, for it is your voice that speaks. While their muse seeks sleep,
    yours words are inspired, not tired. Arms spread, spirit light, you fly
    taking that spirit many adventures away from here.

    And so we pen, words and thoughts that are clear
    when expressed “from the chest”. The best the soul
    can offer, filling your coffers with a wealth of love safely
    tucked away to shadow your days. But it is your destiny
    all the same, straight on ‘til morning – no time to sleep,
    Peter Pan lives within the very spirit of this man.

    Man was placed here to give of his being,
    freeing his sleeping and generous soul.
    It is your destiny to fly, you know! And don’t forget to crow!

    Poetic Asides with Robert Lee Brewer – Day 14 November Chapbook


    I write
    therefore I am full
    of thoughts and ideas
    I ought to release to the masses.
    But, my ass is mired;
    a muddled mess.
    I guess that if this were easy,
    I’d have a breezy time
    writing rhyme. Inspiration
    puts the perspiration in my pen.
    But then again, it is
    better than the alternative.
    I could be spent with not a pot
    to poem in. And so
    I begin again, putting pen to pad
    and add another verse.
    It could be worse to not be mired
    long after the muse has fired.

    Poetic Asides with Robert Lee Brewer – Day 14 November Chapbook


    A simple give and take on the surface seems just so.
    But underneath the layers, we have a way to go.

    Sometimes you give me a hard bit,
    when I’m not in the mood to take any shit!

    I give you what your heart deserves
    and then take your heart, a bit unnerved.

    You give me time to do “my thing”,
    you take all I have, except this ring.

    I give you a headache when my mouth’s in gear,
    and you take all you can, but are always right here.

    You give me so much, I take you for granted,
    You take what I mean and give me a slant that

    even I don’t see. I give you my love and your give yours too,
    that’s just what it takes to make one out of two!

    Poetic Asides with Robert Lee Brewer – Day 15 November Chapbook


    There was a day when I’d sing,
    “I agree, the play’s the thing”
    and pen scripts that dripped
    with humor, and tender moments,
    vitriol and pathos. But writing
    to such lengths sapped the strength
    out of my muse and the ensuing
    abuse of my body and mind.
    I had to find the time where I’m
    solely and silently alone,
    not prone to distractions or
    familial interactions or phones
    that go chirp in the night.
    Burning the midnight oils
    well after three and seeing
    double and triple when I’d trickle
    off to bed for an hour or two.
    A sacrifice of time meant for
    a wife and daughters who ought
    to have as much of me as they
    could stand without the demands
    to write all night. A modicum of success
    made a mess of my life, pushing my wife
    to the brink and fighting the battle of words
    at unheard hours. The accolades showered
    were nice, but did not suffice my expressive
    heart. That’s when I started to write poetry.
    Metered rhyme served my time better,
    and it let her get her fill of my presence;
    the essence of my verse was all hers.
    Until my mind wandered with more
    time squandered again. Too many trade-
    offs made without fair compensation.

    Poetic Asides with Robert Lee Brewer – Day 15 November Chapbook


    A great place to start,
    a week before Thanksgiving
    and living what’s left of the American Dream.

    Every day is a new adventure,
    an extension of your hopes for a better life,
    with less strife and a pocketful of goodwill.

    And when that excursion ends
    you take stock of the friends who have stood by you
    to buy you more hope that with which your began.

    It invigorates your heart
    to think that better things await you; it elates you.
    A great place to start!

    Poetic Asides with Robert Lee Brewer – Day 16 November Chapbook

  47. FROM TWO

    That’s just what it takes to make one out of two!
    First, it takes two unique individuals willing
    to spend their lives filling each others’ hearts
    with everything they’ve hoped for and desired.

    It is the fire of love that consumes them,
    it presumes that life couldn’t get any better.
    But, you better not get complacent, because
    adjacent to the good things, the bad resides.

    It hides in the shadows smirking; lurking,
    ready to pounce and make any smooth sailing
    wrought with prevailing winds and thirty foot waves.
    It is that true love that saves you from drowning.

    Commitment and dedication have no separation
    ad that should translate into a great rapport;
    one of trust and communication that keeps
    those feelings growing, sowing that kernel of life

    between husband material and his future wife.
    For as that seed grows, it knows enough to grow strong,
    for the long haul head, instead of offering many weaker tendrils
    of patchy and sporadic emotions. It is in sealing the deal

    that the fruit of all labors gives a true indication of what lies ahead.
    One trunk rooted and grounded instead of two seeds divided.
    One love rooted and grounded from two hearts in synchronicity.
    It is this simplicity that gives love its complexity.

    Two hearts beating without retreating,
    completing the circle of life.

    Poetic Asides with Robert Lee Brewer – Day 16 November Chapbook


    Too many tradeoffs made without fair compensation,
    are never worth it! It’s tough to say what value can be placed
    on situations not embraced. Lead with your heart and you impart
    a sense of sentimentality when the reality rests in your mind.
    Use your head and your heart will follow eventually.
    Never give up more than your mind can handle.
    Never give less than your heart will allow.

    Poetic Asides with Robert Lee Brewer – Day 16 November Chapbook


    Let them bury your big eyes
    in the secret earth securely,
    Your thin fingers, and your fair,
    Soft, indefinite-colored hair–

    ~Edna St. Vincent Millay – “Elegy”

    In the passage of time, life finds the breath to survive
    the loss and ache of the pained heart.
    Where you start depends on how quickly
    the wound of death mends and brings peace
    to one so loved and never forgotten. It is not
    that your vision has burned itself through the eyes
    of this poet’s heart, nor the lack of memory
    that you have crossed the bar,
    it is that your unbridled spirit fills the skies.
    Let them bury your big eyes

    the color of chocolate compassion,
    and let silence seal lips so long denied.
    Do not allow the coldness of your touch extinguish
    The eternal flame that love had ignited,
    Unconditionally and requited; love lives
    In the depth of a buried heart purely.
    Although we have been long since started,
    Conjoined hearts retain their synchronicity
    And it is in this complexity you are sequestered surely
    in the secret earth securely.

    You will live always, in the words my muse chooses,
    Thoughts will bring to bear the heavy burden
    Of your passing. You are the lasting impression
    That seeds my intercession; an obstacle to overcome.
    Each hurdle brings me to an understanding that
    Love is less demanding over time, and it is there
    That the pain is eased. It pleases my sensibilities
    That I can keep you close, yet mostly hidden
    In a loving mind and heart; an accepted dare.
    Your thin fingers, and your fair,

    Complexion had captured me,
    They had been your attraction
    That precipitated the action that lead
    to our coming together. And now that life has given me
    the reprieve of reconciliation, my celebration becomes
    the mantle you have taught me to share.
    And all tender moments hence commence
    In the part of your soul that remains in my heart
    In the mists of memory I will recognize you there,
    your soft, indefinite-colored hair–

    Poetic Asides with Robert Lee Brewer – Day 18 November Chapbook


    A man doesn’t have time in his life
    to have time for everything.
    He doesn’t have seasons enough to have
    a season for every purpose. Ecclesiastes was wrong

    ~A Man In His Life by Yehuda Amichai

    Life is too short
    to dance and cavort,
    Time is fleeting
    and we’re beating our head
    against the walls of reason, coming
    to the realization that amidst all of our strife
    it is our responsibility to live as we should,
    to aid others in works of charity
    having clarity to accept challenges with which we are rife.
    A man doesn’t have time in his life

    to do what he needs to do.
    But his ambition is fueled by the need
    to succeed; a personal greed for acceptance.
    So he strives to fit his flights of fancy
    into little adventures meant to satisfy.
    “Mission accomplished” has a nice ring,
    but the whole gist of his life’s bucket list
    is to try and fit all he can into it.
    It feels good; makes a heart sing
    to have time for everything.

    He will never know the time or place
    and this rat race is an all out chase
    to the finish line, knowing that life was meant
    to be a marathon and not a sprint. But all he is allotted
    is today. He should live life as if it is his first day; his last day.
    The only day to get things right and save
    the good fight for battles that matter.
    To every turn there is a thing and reason
    and to this one thought he is a slave –
    he doesn’t have seasons enough. To have

    time enough is to hold the grail,
    and he will fail if no attempt is even made.
    Every drummer marches to his own parade,
    and if he can juggle his desires
    his life will fire on all cylinders.
    It can be all be had for a song,
    as long as he carries the right tune.
    But, it will be over too soon, so seize life.
    He’ll need to take it as it comes along;
    a season for every purpose. Ecclesiastes was wrong

    Poetic Asides with Robert Lee Brewer – Day 18 November Chapbook


    Once a Huffy Angel,
    banana seat, low-rider,
    sissy bar reaching skyward,
    my father preaching the dangers
    of such a monstrosity,
    and me secure in my pomposity
    riding on the double-forked “chopper”.
    The bald “slick” in the back
    was right for traction action.
    Getting the front tire off the ground
    was the treat. It was truly neat
    until the lugs came loose
    and raised my voice two octaves!

    Poetic Asides with Robert Lee Brewer – Day 19 November Chapbook


    They call me “Renaissance Man”.
    I laughed when friends saddled me with that name.
    I’m the guy they’ve always known, the same
    soft-spoken poet, slightly broken and on the mend.
    But there are a few modifications in the works,
    for this one who in poetic circles lurks.

    Diet and exercise are the thugs that lurk
    in the dark alley waiting for me. Baiting me to become the man
    who is leaner and living cleaner. I hope it works.
    I’d just and soon change my pants size, than my nickname,
    since anything with the word “BIG” in it sends
    me over the edge. But all the same

    it is a necessary adjustment. I’m trading all-beef patties on sesame
    seed buns for a more sensible menu. With turkey lurking
    I’m working on maintaining life on the back of deep knee bends
    and friends encouragement to make me a better man.
    And cancer can kiss my ass if it thinks it will keep my name
    on its insidious “honor roll” any time soon. A return to work

    has my head spinning like a Ferris wheel on speed, I need to work
    on getting my strength and stamina in line. I’m fine all the same
    but I feel tame, not the ferocious fellow, just mellow. I can name
    others more fiery that I, but my desire will not fade, left to lurk
    in the back of my mind. So this time, I will become the man
    who changes all he can and stay within himself. One of those men

    who will battle until all the fight is gone. Still, I’m mending
    the parts of me long in need of repair. It is there where I will work
    on re-inventing who I am, this supposed “Big Wheel” kind of man,
    (no big deal in my mind). I find that I am still the same
    clown who insists on penning poetry and will lurk
    in writing circles where I can reestablish my name.

    What’s in a name?
    Despite all these flaws I plan to mend,
    I will stand strong against maladies that lurk
    in my depleting shadow, and continue to work
    on getting well. You can tell I remain the same
    guy who’s starting to believe he is a “Renaissance Man”.

    Just a man; the same face and name,
    on the mend to become the same kind of guy he’s always been,
    with all new working parts who will lurk around life a while longer.

    Poetic Asides with Robert Lee Brewer – Day 19 November Chapbook

  53. ENID

    You were a bit stodgy for my taste,
    and what a waste that was.
    You were a strange bird – a blackbird
    cracking and cawing.
    Is that all you do is carry on?
    But you had redeeming qualities,
    you better you bet you did.
    Then I met your mother.
    Runnin’ back to Saskatoon!
    I think I left the iron plugged in.
    Who names their kid Enid anyway?

    “Enid” – Barenaked Ladies
    “Blackbird” – Beatles
    “Carry on” – CSN&Y
    “You Better You Bet” – Who
    “Runnin’ Back to Saskatoon” – The Guess Who

    Poetic Asides with Robert Lee Brewer – Day 21 November Chapbook


    We live in interesting times.
    Isn’t life strange?
    But, here’s the deal.
    Baby, I’m for real.
    Brandy, you’re a fine girl
    and what you do to me
    makes me crazy.
    Bend me, shape me
    but don’t break me.
    Come and get your love!.

    “Isn’t Life Strange” by The Moody Blues
    “Baby, I’m For Real” by The Originals
    “Brandy (You’re a Fine Girl) by Looking Glass
    “Bend Me, Shape Me” by American Breed
    “Come and Get Your Love” by Redbone

    Poetic Asides with Robert Lee Brewer – Day 21 November Chapbook


    “Call me”, she said
    but I’d be better off dead to the world.
    I call her and she’s not there.
    She’s NEVER there!
    But she had something!
    The face, the hair, the flair
    for action and the main attraction
    were her “Dead Man’s Curves”!
    Well worth the excursion to Doraville
    Just 17 more miles to go,
    so don’t let the sun go down on me.
    I think I’m lost and she won’t answer the phone.
    I call her, but she’s not there.

    “Don’t Let the Sun Go Down” by Elton John
    “She’s Not There” by The Zombies
    “Call Me” by Al Green
    “Doraville” by Atlanta Rhythm Section
    “Dead Man’s Curve” by Jan and Dean

    Poetic Asides with Robert Lee Brewer – Day 21 November Chapbook


    God rest ye, merry gentlemen
    it seems it’s Christmas time again
    and He has deemed to let is snow!
    There’s still a month before the “show”.
    Still, still, still the flakes descend

    and on the front porch stands our friend
    Santa! Baby, remember when
    you would glow from his Ho-Ho-Ho?
    God rest ye.

    The time draws nigh to start it then,
    and set the tree up in the den.
    How do I wrap my heart up, Flo,
    for Christmas with a month to go?
    Please do not shake it, fold it, bend…
    God rest ye!

    Playlist from my “Christmas” iPod –
    “Let It Snow” – Dean Martin,
    “God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen” – Chicago,
    “Still, Still, Still” – Mannheim Steamroller,
    “Santa Baby” – Linda Edder,,
    “How Do I Wrap My Heart Up (For Christmas)?” – Randy Travis

    Poetic Asides with Robert Lee Brewer – Day 21 November Chapbook


    The sound of you stays with me.
    I see your face here, there and everywhere
    and it scares me to think
    that I’m on the brink of losing you.
    Our battle of words has made me
    a wounded soldier of love.
    Get back and let’s try to work things out.
    My friends say, “She loves you”
    but I wonder now if that’s true.
    I will not roll over. Beethoven would fight for you.
    But then again, he couldn’t hear!

    This was a Beatles playlist consisting of:

    “Here, There and Everywhere”,
    “Soldier of Love”,
    “Get Back”,
    “Roll Over, Beethoven”
    “She Loves You”

    Poetic Asides with Robert Lee Brewer – Day 21 November Chapbook


    There are two kinds of people in this world:
    those who like Neil Diamond, and those who don’t!”

    ~Bill Murray in “What About Bob?

    I’ll admit, you got to me.
    And when you shied away
    I got the feeling (oh no,no)
    that we were through.
    When it comes to love,
    I’m a believer.
    But, when love goes,
    I thank the Lord for the night time.
    A solitary man is better off
    when he’s kept in the dark.
    No one can see his tears.

    “You Got to Me”,
    “I Got the Feeling (Oh No, No)”,
    ” I’m A Believer”,
    “Thank the Lord For the Night Time”
    “Solitary Man”

    by Neil Diamond

    Poetic Asides with Robert Lee Brewer – Day 21 November Chapbook


    Thanksgiving morning.
    The day is dawning and I feel
    this real sense of love.
    A new life given for living
    and loving all that has
    been accomplished
    and resurgence of dreams lost.
    I feel at home. Awakening
    from my familiar bed,
    but the thoughts in my head
    are of days long past.
    The air was different,
    breathing the scents
    meant to comfort and soothe.
    A cheerfulness exuded,
    included in the savor
    of the flavors to come.
    Parades on the tube,
    riveted in wonderment
    until the Jolly Gent
    appears,(an you can hear
    pins drop and thoughts
    redirect to lists and
    wishes for Christmas
    a month away). But today,
    you are thankful that
    Mom and Dad still rule
    the roosted brood, in
    a grand mood, sneaking
    glances and hugs, snug
    in the love so ignited.
    Right now, seated with
    stages of Thanksgiving 2012
    in progress, this simple
    digress brings peace.
    Church and parades,
    and no masquerades of
    a perfect family. Just
    the promise to be better
    people and thankful for same.
    Paradise lost has been reclaimed.

    Poetic Asides with Robert Lee Brewer – Day 22 November Chapbook


    Thoughts pervade, invading
    my memories of youth.
    I learned the truth there
    where the Wood ruled.
    Neighbor kids did the right things,
    being churched and schooled
    together. Learning respect
    and loyalty; treated their
    elders like royalty. Caring what
    happened to this little piece
    of paradise. It was so nice.
    This time of year it is here
    that draws me; home no more.
    But my heart is ensconced,
    Deep in the Wood.

    Poetic Asides with Robert Lee Brewer – Day 23 November Chapbook


    I’ve made a list and checked it twice,
    some were naughty and some were nice.
    Naughty ones could get a reprieve
    depends how strongly they believe.
    I think one more glance should suffice.

    Here in the land of snow and ice,
    the tally kept should be precise,
    I have no reason to deceive –
    I’ve made a list!

    The nice ones never pay the price;
    and the naughty never think twice.
    Excuse me if I sound naive –
    I am Santa Claus; I believe!
    so listen all to my advice:
    “I’ve made a list”!

    Poetic Asides with Robert Lee Brewer – Day 24 November Chapbook


    Blinking, blinking, blinking,
    these stinking bulblets have got me
    flipping. I keep ripping them from the string
    to find the one that is causing me duress.
    I press it back and still no luminance,
    if I had the change I’d toss them out
    but I will not be defeated. Two more
    sets and the task is completed.
    But this little fact give me fits,
    “If one goes out, the rest stay lit”.
    Yet I can attest, without a doubt,
    if one goes out, they ALL go out!

    Poetic Asides with Robert Lee Brewer – Day 24 November Chapbook


    Thanksgiving Day has passed,
    and at last I can look forward,
    toward the holiday that is a blessing.
    And my curse. The weather
    has taken a turn and I yearn
    for the soup that steeps in the kettle.
    I stir and peek out at the snow falling
    calling me to play. Or plow. But, now
    our roles have been reversed. I had
    rehearsed this part from the start
    of my life. But now, my wife
    has taken charge while I
    recuperate. Bundled and gloved;
    a scarf wrapped for warmth.
    Her shovel skills need honing,
    but she’s owning her situation
    and my undying affection.
    I owe her so much more.
    The view from here is clear.
    I’m a lucky man.

    Poetic Asides with Robert Lee Brewer – Day 24 November Chapbook

  64. POEMS

    Don’t we all?
    We write them,
    amassing a mess of words
    left unheard until the spirit moves
    and behooves us to assemble them
    in some semblance that makes sense.
    What recompense does a poet need except
    for some willing audience to read what we’ve penned?
    To that end, collections of poems is what I have, glad
    to share with the world. A chapbook or better to open; hoping for better.
    Read all you want, I’ll write more, (Like you had doubts!)

    Poetic Asides with Robert Lee Brewer – Day 26 November Chapbook


    He stands aloft and aloof,
    the one who makes her heart whole
    the one who breaks her heart too.
    Not the man she thought,
    not the man he wanted to be.
    His cape is smudged and torn;
    over used and tattered worn
    and still, she sees no flaw.
    Tall buildings will defeat him,
    steaming locomotives will out run him.
    Speeding bullets will surely kill him.
    Just a man in the American Way,
    hoping she finds the hero she needs.

    Poetic Asides with Robert Lee Brewer – Day 27 November Chapbook


    Heroes can be defeated.
    Villainous agents can ravage
    the strong and brave, who can save
    the world but have no effect on their own lives.
    Looked upon as virtuous and miraculous, the
    meticulous scrutiny slips past the eyes so awed
    seeing the flawed as more than mere mortal.
    At the portal of despair, it is there that the hero
    serves his best function – to open the eyes of the weak
    and meek to the power they possess; it flows throughout.
    Without a doubt, the heroic are stoic in appearance
    but the strict adherence to hero law is muddled,
    for he stands in a puddle of his own making, shaking
    in his red patent leather boots. The only difference between
    a hero and a victim is that the “hero” is too stupid
    to realize he is afraid. But his decision is made.
    Save the world and glue it together, piece by peace.

    Poetic Asides with Robert Lee Brewer – Day 27 November Chapbook


    The evening star marked it,
    seen from afar it beckoned
    visitors and worshipers alike;
    a chance to witness Love.
    Born is a ramshackle barn
    to two so different yet tossed
    together for the sake of the world.
    Their story, a beacon of truth
    in a world sorely in need,
    amidst human avarice and greed.
    That seed of the heart started
    to give us life the moment
    Love died to be “reborn” again.
    The story of this season,
    the reason lies in the birth of Love.

    Poetic Asides with Robert Lee Brewer – Day 29 November Chapbook


    I was born in Aquarius, the guy that totes the brew.
    The personality traits I have fits it through and through.

    My time in ‘stir’ was uneventful, I bore my mother no ills.
    She did escape the few odd pains without the need for pills.

    The term of laying in gestation was not a day at the beach,
    when I assumed a bad position and came out of it breech.

    There was nothing I could do, my delivery was abrupt,
    I only wish the doctor marked my mother, “This End Up”!

    Poetic Asides with Robert Lee Brewer – Day 29 November Chapbook


    We bury our dead,
    dearly loved and revered;
    held to an esteem of a higher power.
    And we sit minute after hour
    wondering if we will ever find
    within ourselves, the courage
    and drive… the desire to open
    ourselves to the throes of
    feelings and emotions that
    have found their way into
    the covered tomb of despair.
    But, the sun does rise again,
    the sparrows flit through the
    treetops and we awaken from
    a sleep less troubled to find
    that love never dies; love
    is life-giving, your passions
    resuscitated. You live to
    love another day, reborn.

    Poetic Asides with Robert Lee Brewer – Day 29 November Chapbook


    The tender trap.
    Caught in this snare
    and aware of all that
    is required, for in every
    synapse fired and
    every heart beaten,
    there is no retreating from this
    confinement. The refinement
    of what this state is giving
    finds its proof in the living;
    this day-to-day journey
    to our singular destination.
    Amid elation and despair,
    we will find there all that
    we need to feed our survival.
    It is an age old revival that we
    welcome and desire; an internal fire
    that smolders from our first breath,
    until our last gasp before death.
    And in between, we occupy this scene.
    We celebrate its every waking,
    for in it the is joy and happiness
    for the taking. Be in no hurry
    to escape from this strife.
    Squeeze every last drop from this life!

    Poetic Asides with Robert Lee Brewer – Day 29 November Chapbook

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s