At Home in the Tempest

Poetry and Poetic Prose by Brandon Gene Petit

"Gather Round, Ye Ghosts" - © Brandon Gene Petit

A trippy little instrumental ballad I wrote on my bass guitar during my late teens.

"I weep at your beauty, cringe at your wrath; Unnerved by your stare, relieved at your laugh; I bring you taboos at your every call; My legs in your chains, I stumble and fall.”… - quote from “Something of a Gem” © Brandon Gene Petit - artwork © by Andrea Benge.

"I weep at your beauty, cringe at your wrath;
Unnerved by your stare, relieved at your laugh;

I bring you taboos at your every call;
My legs in your chains, I stumble and fall.”


- quote from “Something of a Gem” © Brandon Gene Petit

- artwork © by Andrea Benge.

bgpetit:

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

bgpetit:

We measure time only by the impact of each moment…

Time is really no time at all, but only awarded a sum

through the emotions tied into memory.


© 2012 Brandon Gene Petit

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

(via bgpetit)

The Ebb and Flow of Iris

bgpetit:


Bright eyes stare deep into your soul.

 

Dark eyes allow your soul to stare deep into them.

 

Both are beautiful.



© 2012 Brandon Gene Petit

- Taken from Dreams in the Womb, Sept. 2012

(via bgpetit)

bgpetit:

When I described you to others they would say things like, “She sounds so lovely… like some ethereal being; a fairy or fay.” I smiled at this description, and since then I have taken it and ran with it like a kite on a day of brooding storms… for little did I beware the darker side of the allusion.


© 2012-2013 Brandon Gene Petit

- Taken from I Thought You’d Gone, Dreams in the Womb, Sept. 2012

www.bgpetit.wordpress.com

bgpetit:

"Sorrow… sorrow is a tear that would taste good without the salt, but you don’t know how to extract the flavor… and you’ll keep drinking it anyway, because you don’t know of another drink that has that same taste, without the pain…"


© 2012-2013 Brandon Gene Petit

- Taken from A Bridge When We Come To It, Dreams in the Womb, Sept. 2012

www.bgpetit.wordpress.com

bgpetit:

The following poem was directly inspired by the painting above. The painting is by one of my favorite artists, Arantza Sestayo. If you like her art, please check out her gallery at http://www.arantza.info/ To read more of my writing, check out http://www.bgpetit.wordpress.com
"Fallen from his Arms" -
She lay on the leafy autumnal ground, ignorant of any earthly sound save for the subliminal failing of her breath… she is innocent, drunken and beautiful, levitating under life but too spellbound to fall into death. 

 

The strands of her hair fanned like cards but in flowing rivers of gold, spread in a circumference around her sleepy head and cheekbones blushing red-golden bold… a fiery hearth of warmth radiating from her cheeks and precious forehead, falling all too short of a fever for the slightest, prettiest poet-lore said.

 

From the corner of her eye t’along her cheekbone’s youthful rise, the vaguely sticky residue of a long-dried tear, traced by the funneling trail of mascara’s lavender smear… though her eyes show no present sign of sadness, focused instead on the dreamy skies of a heartache passing into blissfully numbing gladness.

 

A victim given to a bewitching apple bite, mournful signature of so many a fairy-tale dangerously trite… she sighs as if exhaling after some devil’s spectral branding burned, easing into helpless peace like a vampire’s trophy, newly turned.Artwork © 2013 Arantza SestayoPoem © 2013 Brandon Gene Petit
- Poem taken from Dreams in the Womb, Brandon Gene Petit, Sept. 2012

bgpetit:



The following poem was directly inspired by the painting above. The painting is by one of my favorite artists, Arantza Sestayo. If you like her art, please check out her gallery at
http://www.arantza.info/ 

To read more of my writing, check out http://www.bgpetit.wordpress.com



"Fallen from his Arms" -

She lay on the leafy autumnal ground, ignorant of any earthly sound save for the subliminal failing of her breath… she is innocent, drunken and beautiful, levitating under life but too spellbound to fall into death.

 

The strands of her hair fanned like cards but in flowing rivers of gold, spread in a circumference around her sleepy head and cheekbones blushing red-golden bold… a fiery hearth of warmth radiating from her cheeks and precious forehead, falling all too short of a fever for the slightest, prettiest poet-lore said.

 

From the corner of her eye t’along her cheekbone’s youthful rise, the vaguely sticky residue of a long-dried tear, traced by the funneling trail of mascara’s lavender smear… though her eyes show no present sign of sadness, focused instead on the dreamy skies of a heartache passing into blissfully numbing gladness.

 

A victim given to a bewitching apple bite, mournful signature of so many a fairy-tale dangerously trite… she sighs as if exhaling after some devil’s spectral branding burned, easing into helpless peace like a vampire’s trophy, newly turned.



Artwork © 2013 Arantza Sestayo

Poem © 2013 Brandon Gene Petit



- Poem taken from Dreams in the Womb, Brandon Gene Petit, Sept. 2012

bgpetit:

"Sometimes I fancy that our thoughts are connected, that we drank of the same potion in a distant past and still ail from some unique shared affliction."


© 2013 Brandon Gene Petit

- Taken from Sidereal Lover, Ab Antiquo, Ab Aeterno, Nov. 2010

(via bgpetit)

"I bathe in the subliminal conversations of thunder, as though they were seismic vibrations sent rippling through the womb… reverberating through the red vein miasma behind the darkness of my eyelids, just enough to briefly illuminate dim corners of my subconscious. Alone in my bed, I graciously receive thunder’s minimalist symphony… the ultimate canvas of the mind… powerful yet gentle urges, distantly murmuring, foreboding indeed but not an immediate threat. My muted sight swims with dark, intangible fluid and my subconscious mind begins to grope through the abyss, exploring the vaults of a quasi-slumber on an evening of skies prematurely dim. I can envision storms approaching from beyond the everglades; herons taking flight as veins of silent lightning splash pale light through blistering purple clouds in the distance. Soon lonely pools and amphibian skins will know the sting of raindrops and their whitewash intonations… in that distant dream, so falsely comforting, but in my true vicinity more aggressively musical in the tones of rooftops, pails and gutters.” - passage taken from “…Then It Rained”, © Brandon Gene Petit
 - image credit to unknown photographer
"Pity on the one who has never sprinted across fear’s playground in pursuit of some forbidden treasure… for it is he who will never experience the most beautiful and treacherous places the winds have ever been."- quote from “Trespassers’ Union”, © Brandon Gene Petit
- image credit to unknown artist
(Last night) In bed, semi-sleepy after catching the latest episode of Hell On Wheels. Goodnight.

It kills me that I have not posted anything new in a really long time… I know my long-time followers are getting bored.

Sad truth is, in this day and age it does not pay to post stuff online before you get it copyright-registered… believe me, I’ve had problems with people trying to claim ownership to my poems before.

I will try to upload some stuff to the copyright office soon, so I can post some new material selected from my upcoming books. Just waiting on some necessary funds, you understand.

In the meantime, feel free to use the “random” feature for my blog, to browse through and perhaps see some stuff you’ve never seen before.