At Home in the Tempest

Poetry and Poetic Prose by Brandon Gene Petit

Writer Problems #754

A dating ad said “Never drink alone again…”

I said, “Don’t you threaten me!”

thethreadofawe said: Thank you for noticing my return to writing... :)

My pleasure! It was some really well-written erotica, refreshing to read. I’d like to revisit it from time to time, so I clicked the heart. :)

…from “Paroxysm”, one of my earlier poems. - Brandon Gene Petit

"A woman such as her has been designed solely for worship from afar, and I am doomed to remain a student of the cruel lessons that encircle her aforementioned beauty. She belongs in her throne of eugenic riches even more than she belongs in my open-eye fantasy… I am no knight to rescue her from a world she need not be saved from."


© 2012 Brandon Gene Petit

- Taken from Forgive Me for Dreaming, Dreams in the Womb, Sept. 2012

http://www.bgpetit.wordpress.com

"There are times when I doubt tears as they run down my cheek, no matter how warm and real they are. There are times when my laughter seems false; sometimes even imitating the laughter of a friend, like some form of involuntary satire subconsciously trained to trigger on cue."


© 2012 Brandon Gene Petit

- Taken from A Dance of Mirrors, Dreams in the Womb, Sept. 2012

http://www.bgpetit.wordpress.com

"Some say that for one to dream of the ocean proves that they have subconscious desires with loose, flailing ends, and perhaps even demons gnawing at bones in the dark. Some say it is the female side of the psyche, crying for attention and begging for you not to be threatened into her oppression. I comply to some degree… but the ocean is not my female brain, lingering behind my ego like the moon’s dark shadow… no, the ocean is my mistress, and at night she greets me on those starlit coasts and pulls me into braver quests with siren hands assuring."


© 2012 Brandon Gene Petit

- Taken from My Mistress, Ocean, Dreams in the Womb, Sept. 2012

"I descend upon those shoulders like a phantom and clasp my hands around her waist, painting a kiss across her tilted neck as the curtain of her hair falls on one side. She then turns to meet my lips and, melting to the passion of the kiss, lies down on the bed with her arms free to brush the headboard and pillows in a motion not unlike an angel spreading wings."


© 2012 Brandon Gene Petit

- Taken from Fireside Theatrics, Dreams in the Womb, Sept. 2012

"Go on and seal yourself in quietude; my loins yearn for sirens, not angels, and my heart yearns for wanderlust, not salvation. Do not wait for me to break out of the dark forests of illusion, and leave the bread crumb trail to the bellies of birds… I’ll be here, still picking the lock long after the door has been opened for me."


© 2012 Brandon Gene Petit

- Taken from Riddles, As a Rule, Dreams in the Womb, Sept. 2012

"Banisters lined with shark teeth, twilight corridors of fungal forest and staircases made from a fusion of lustrous tan marble and half-chiseled fossil… all of it left only vague, black-fringed impressions on my memory upon awakening; for such wondrous things at their center must be left undiscovered, even if they are permitted to spend nights in a museum kept only by time-keeping angels and other beings with divine clearance."


© 2012 Brandon Gene Petit

- Taken from A Private Museum, Dreams in the Womb, Sept. 2012

"I can see that her diamond-blue eyes are glossed over with residual tears; I hesitate to dab them because the dampness makes them shine. Instead I move in towards her tear-stained cheek for a light, salty kiss and a whisper of remorse."


© 2012 Brandon Gene Petit

- Taken from Her Fair Share of Tears, Dreams in the Womb, Sept. 2012

"My interest is in gods, not the literature they leave behind… for the words of scribes cannot do them justice, and when I seek out wonders I seek them at the source, not in the tales that drift farther from them everyday."


© 2012 Brandon Gene Petit

- Taken from At the Ankles of Gods, Dreams in the Womb, Sept. 2012

"With a howl we descend from the hill, a battalion of white fleeces, spreading like a plague through the trees… kicking clouds of snow, slush and dirt and panting desperate breaths of visible frost… strings of drool flinging from black lips and jowls glistening, crowned with feverish hellfire pyres for eyes. A stern-faced god rumbles beneath the chains of the Earth, answered by a restlessness in our hearts. Though our pools of passion share a vein with man, we are never to forget what we really are."


© 2012 Brandon Gene Petit

- Taken from Among Wolves, Dreams in the Womb, Sept. 2012

"We must bid farewell to our beloved pleasant memories, to free our arms to embrace the novelty of newfound experience… The revolving door of our hearts and minds has no pity for the fool left behind."


© 2012 Brandon Gene Petit

- Taken from Bound to Forget, Dreams in the Womb, Sept. 2012

"So we allow the vague fringes of childhood memories to blur with the clouds of dream; wistful, misted recollections often questioned by the conscious sages we’ve become."


© 2012 Brandon Gene Petit

- Taken from Bound to Forget, Dreams in the Womb, Sept. 2012

"At that moment the man realized that she was doomed to remain a fleeting vision of surface beauty, not destined to become a regular character in the theatrical display of his life. Still, for what it was worth to his eyes, she served her purpose well and pulled him back from the brink of abysses uninspired. It was as if his heart was tethered to her heels… those sylph legs pulling his chain taut as she headed towards the door, leading him on until he had no more romantic feelings for suicide; funny how a woman can alter lives without slipping a single word between her lips. Today the man blessed the cosmetics of God’s everyday creations. Today… the man was alive."


© 2012 Brandon Gene Petit

- Taken from A lovely Passerby, Dreams in the Womb, Sept. 2012