Best Brined Poems
Blackberry bushes barricade the background
of your immature stature.
Braided chestnut hair rests gently
on weakly shoulders
as your hazel eyes beam a child's rippling wonder.
Bee-glazed berry juice permeates your smiling cheeks.
The taste streams alive as I gaze upon you
with your burgundy splashed denim jumper,
which belongs in an art museum,
but remains in my heart.
Your quarter full pail fills with sunshine brined time.
In search of the best, you request my help
to reach the hierarchy of treats,
those that brush the sun's ripening wonder first.
A perfumery of sweet harvest freshness
tickles my nasal cavity with nostalgia.
Your imprinting hand hugs mine as
my prime pickings are exchanged for smiles.
I can almost hear your laughter,
scattering impulsively throughout my longing.
In this photograph, for only a moment,
I can almost bring you back.
2/25/2020
Tossed into the stormy ocean
when life struck another blow
brined, devoid of all emotion
lost child from Land of Goshen
drowning in the ebb and flow
dragged to depths by undertow
Blind eyes were opened to the past
of stains, blemishes carried long
feint with sorrow, my fate cast
gasping for air, I breathed my last
Lyrics pealed from Savior's song
absolving me for rebellious wrongs
Gentle hands touched my feet
binding chains of sin were broken
Satan bellowed and roared in defeat
"Taste blood's wine until replete."
Was the Son of God who had spoken
to me on the beach when I had woken
Life rescued by the kind mercy of Him
cleansed when I'd been washed ashore
He whispered to me, "You can swim."
Angelic voices rose in requiem
Echoes from above, then nothing more
Naked, but for the robe of white I wore
April 21st, 2017
Rattled into action,
I’m no damsel in a tower.
I’m Sleeping Beauty, grown—
not rescued,
just rested.
Wrapped in gratitude,
a quiet kiss waiting.
So I crush every mistake,
every “no,”
every moment I felt less than—
they were the broth
that brined my spine,
seasoned my soul.
I do not recount sorrows
steeped in regret.
I do not carve my psyche
with clever metaphors.
I do not dance
through the dust of broken dreams.
I bask
in the brilliance buried
beneath defeat.
Not lost.
Only redemption.
I sip from the same scorched cup—
the bitterness now dulled,
the burn made warm.
I steep old wounds in truth,
brew them into wisdom.
Every ache a root
pushing me into new life.
Every silence
a seed I didn’t know I’d planted.
The knowing always strikes first—
a hush pierced by sirens,
pulse breaking in the bones,
a hunger without a name,
a reaching
for something that does not yet exist.
Even the thorns I cursed—
named after lovers
I mistook for home—
became compass needles,
pointing me back to myself.
I do not recount sorrows steeped in regret.
I do not carve my psyche with metaphors.
I do not waltz through wreckage.
I bask—
in the hush after heartbreak,
in the shimmer beneath scars,
in the beauty that bloomed
when everything broke.
Not lost.
Not ruined.
Only—
becoming.
And still,
I bask.
Diminishing virtues stripped away
From the flesh
By the fierce brined rods that freely
Course thy hot crimson blood;
Dry cracked lips attempting to
Fashion broken words of compliance
That so must needs to be spoken...
But...Ohhh, Meretrix...
My foolish and innocent child -
If you but only could!
Consider, Meretrix,..humility!
To which pleasure one thus
Submitted
Guiltily discovers:-
The joy in the act or posture of
Lowering oneself in relation to
Others.
For in your anguished dis-repair
You will find strength to endure and
Embrace:-
The acceptance of all your defects
And ultimate seduction
In the power of your:-
"Submission to Divine Grace"!
I will adorn you in the yellow Toga
Of the Vestal virgins,
They whom wise Augusta did abhor;
Burden upon you with an Imperial
Tax
Imposed by perverted Caligula:
Whither all Matronly protestations he
Didst dismissively ignore;
My Tribune forcefully exact -
When employing you in the
Degenerated role
Of my most reluctant Whore!
Clasp jeweled anklets abouts your
Shapely bones,
Decorate upon you like fired and
Painted porcelain figurines;
Whilst all the while, as your lost mind
Bemoans,
Choking between involuntary gurgles
And low-pained, stifled screams,
The gagged mouth bites down
Amidst salivating sounds
Borrowed from the hurtling
Nightmares
Of your darkest dreams!
For I will lift you higher than the
Tallest mountain peak...
So you may gaze with awe over all
The innumerable Kingdoms and their
Proud tyrant Kings;
Of the many differing species of all
Mankind type things...
And of the immeasurable riches
They so endlessly seek.
Lower you to the solitudes of the
Grassed floors
That sweep across the sunken
Valleys deep;
Where, besides enchanted streams,
Violated Nymphs quietly weep
For Abels broken schemes;
Now, tragically, all taken apart;
And for the wicked callousness
Of fallen man...
Whose desperate greeds ripped out
His live brothers still beating heart -
Then tore at the living throat of
The one true Gods Holy Lamb!
TO BE CONTINUED...
Sanskrit sweeping bronze and spine
riddled there when you were mine
underneath the spice and sun
cinnamon skin and sleepy rum
Now the wind has blown the words
riddled once and then disturbed
blown to dust and settled seas
salt and brined the lurid breeze.
Who shall purge the earth
O vernum purgatio
Love delayed its birth
Spring lit us with fires
Shooting messages like leaves
Winter wipes away
When the dross is gone
Nothing shall be left but dunes
Without memory
Mulch was once a man
Before the trees were shaken
And gold turned dreams brown
Winds twisting the sands
Has left no landmark for faith,
Trust oasis dries
Yet I drink belief
Not from dry democracy
But in sharing grief
The common pain bonds
Us to the common fear, we
Find the ash fertile
When the fire is gone
We may plant things without salt
That burns the aged wound
Spring is flowers time
And birds singing, not eyes brined
And blind stones with wings
Where is the river
That scrubs the stones white with froth
And wash soils to naught?
The rain raged its flood
Now streets are covered with mud
Clotting up the veins
Can I tell you, love
I do not hope for peace still
It buds from a dream
I'm half cleanse by winds
Prune, and light from dusty moon
Nothing there but rocks.
Vernum purgatio
Visions perish on the tongue
Nothing there but rocks
No bash so far, beats the one in the jar
Emcee DJ Green spins for the jarstar
No ill will to spill, just dancing on dill
When the lid comes off it’s an open bar!
So relish your time and come get your fill
No asparagus juice here, that’s just swill
That’s the best party perk of a gherkin
Gettin’ sliced on garlic, Oh what a thrill!
The sweet ones are in the corner lurkin’
While that gherkins workin’ it and twerkin’
I’m already so brined out of my mind
And the bread and butter kind is smirkin’
I’m so pickled my vision has declined
To kaleidoscopically half blind
Stumble and bump into pals in numbers
A hullaballoo of the tangy kind
Off to our shelf in the door we lumber
To catch some refrigerated slumber
May have had too many vinegar shots
Since yesterday…. I was a cucumber
August 15, 2022
It’s a pickle party contest
Sponsored by Mystic Rose Rose
Brined voids surround my already bounded vision, throwing me headlong into confusion and disarray.
Hesitation in what may be the next correct course is what has landed me, and with much despair, in this current crisis of identity.
It is also what keeps me still.
This sea of doubt, once touched by the poet Alighieri, drowns my senses, casts my sails of logic askew and all at once sends my fluttering mind into a turmoil so grand as to take the attentive and oblivious alike.
Oft in mesmeric trance, the soaked foundation upon which I stumble offers none but fleeting moments of blessed relief. The rotten cored planks creak and shudder with the shifts and contemplations of my psyche, and I feel as though one misstep or overreach will drop me into a depth not easily realized.
And, I fear.
Oh do I fear.
I fear that will be the end. The end of a great many precious jewels which have hitherto been forgotten, discarded, and altogether scorned.
I fear that I will not be mourned, or that I will but be it with half of heart.
I am surrounded by unknown terrain.
Ring-bound journal waiting fond writes;
Feel warm thermal as words now cite.
Small square box lines guide and align;
Sexy thoughts brined in sensuous signs.
Word follows word in jazzy flow;
Strange message heard in cosmic show.
Feel and spice mix as passion moves;
Verse in sure fix to fund bold grooves.
Line after line fond think sparkles;
Rhythm defines thoughts that marvel.
Inner light glows in beauty and plot;
Mind weaves and grows a thousand thoughts.
Good frames better and then hurls best;
Subject matter springs a fond quest.
A tale of verse to fit the times;
Know and observe the pulse of rhymes.
Writing lines here with touch made plain;
Soul funds fond cheer with trust that gains.
Outcomes now ooze page after page;
Feel flavours cruise stage follows stage.
Path of delight in simple feel;
Light primes fine sight with words that heal.
No need to force or pressure time;
Just flow and pause to ink new rhymes.
Sit here and wait with patient mind;
Soul wears a gait that floods sure kind.
Sync mind and heart and body-soul;
Spirit now starts to glimpse pure whole.
Leon Enriquez
24 Mar 2014
Singapore
HE KNEADED MORE
SHE WAS THOUGHTFUL: THINKING
AND DELIVERING WHAT SHE SAID
WAS THE CHIVOLOGY OF MINCE
WORDS TO DECRIBE THE
SWEETNESS
THE INTISIPATION OF
BEING PLEASED
SUM WON, WHO LARD ME
SUM WON, WHO KNEAD ME
SUM WON : WHO CARES,
SHARE YOUR SWEETNES,
IN THE THOUGHTFULNESS OF LOVE.
THE CONSIDERATION OF BEING LOVED,
APPRECATED AND CARED FOR.
SHE SAID SHE HALF SUM-WON,
SUM-WON WHO
LARDS SWEETNESS.
SUM-WON WHO OMLEETES ME
BE MYSELF.
SUM-WON THAT SWEETEN'S MY HONEY!
I DOUGH FEEL NO WHEY
UNLOVED, MY LARD I AM LOVE.
THE SWEETNESS OF THE NECTAR, WHICH
KNEAD ME.
DOUGH YOU FEEL SORRY FOR ME!
MY BREADS ARE THE DOUGHS OF
TOMMORROW!
AH SOUPPA-STAR MONGEST THESE
RIPENED PEARS.
AKE, MAN!
THE BUTTON MUSHROOMS:
THESE FUNGUS' ARE FIRM
AND RIPE! I HAM ONION
FOR THE MEAT, BRINED FOR IT'S
DELISICOUSNESS!
She bragged about
Enjoying the embarrassment
Of being rich
She spoke of
Opportunities
That were available
To her thru those
Trends that complimented
What she already knew
And wasn't nervous
About doing
Her strengths were
The Reas n she bragged.
Her weaknesses came from
Those fears she kept hidden
Treasures the shame of
Wealth
Those who long for my
Attention are unattractive
And poor
There needs my ability to
Exploit?
Or might I provide service
To help those who need it.
Violino di Capra
The shoulders or
Hindleggs of
The goat shall
Be brined in
Wine, salts, sugars, honey
Cayenne, garlic, onion
Celery's and peppers
Rosemary, thyme, bay leaves
And the rest of citruses
Perched to cure
The Gods and Goddess
Of gossip minds you.
Do I see what I see?
Or can the truth find me?
I sit here with fond cites,
Loiter and linger writes.
Do I know what I know?
Or can my tale now show?
Verse lines ooze as words rhyme,
Random and fragrant chimes.
Do I feel what I feel?
Or can my touching heal?
Dreamy dreamer dreams deep,
Sultry screamer streams sleep.
Do I think what I think?
Or can my thinking link?
Choice of poise finds voice verge,
Watch how stanzas emerge.
Do I sense what I sense?
Or can my touch move tense?
See through aperture clear,
Sparkle quest brined with cheer.
Leon Enriquez
05 October 2017
Singapore
Because this glass jar I call life,
overfills with the unforeseen,
the lid
almost bursting, G-d’s hand
never giving
in to the chaos, always
holding down
the lid.
Because of the glimmer
of sunlight
that filters through my eyelids,
this jar lid,
is
mine
and I vow
that I may savor
the moments of sweet
jam and brined
pickles
equally,
by G-d’s Good Graces.
She bragged about
Enjoying the embarrassment
Of being rich
She spoke of
Opportunities
That were available
To her thru those
Trends that complimented
What she already knew
And wasn't nervous
About doing
Her strengths were
The Reas n she bragged.
Her weaknesses came from
Those fears she kept hidden
Treasures the shame of
Wealth
Those who long for my
Attention are unattractive
And poor
There needs my ability to
Exploit?
Or might I provide service
To help those who need it.
Violino di Capra
The shoulders or
Hindleggs of
The goat shall
Be brined in
Wine, salts, sugars, honey
Cayenne, garlic, onion
Celery's and peppers
Rosemary, thyme, bay leaves
And the rest of citruses
Perched to cure
The Gods and Goddess
Of gossip minds you.
She bragged about
Enjoying the embarrassment
Of being rich
She spoke of
Opportunities
That were available
To her thru those
Trends that complimented
What she already knew
And wasn't nervous
About doing
Her strengths were
The Reas n she bragged.
Her weaknesses came from
Those fears she kept hidden
Treasures the shame of
Wealth
Those who long for my
Attention are unattractive
And poor
There needs my ability to
Exploit?
Or might I provide service
To help those who need it.
Violino di Capra
The shoulders or
Hindleggs of
The hogs shall
Be brined in
Wine, salts, sugars, honey
Cayenne, garlic, onion
Celery's and peppers
Rosemary, thyme, bay leaves
And the rest of citruses
Perched to cure
The Gods and Goddess
Of gossip minds you.