Yes, I’ll Have Cherry Pop

Brings a tear to your eye or a hammer to your heart but kind of the author to go first with all of her poetry as short as it was, but if you’re expecting here comes the sun, well Moses saw a burning bush. Yes, I’ll Have Cherry Pop

Maybe I should say I’ll have a “coke” before my southern roots finally disappear; I was born up north near Boston, and while I’m not a huge tea drinker and I’m further from England now, the books are still pretty good indeed. One such book is “Cherry” by Courtenay S. Gray, and this book of poetry is more than a cherry pop I would say this is a cherry bomb and no not like that.

Four out of five stars, with poems that range from sweet to tart, from a somewhat unknown writer, I found her by accident, to be honest, sort of like Moses seeing the burning bush, and I wonder how the rest of the world isn’t hearing her yet. Maybe she’s like the first cherry blossom blooming, and soon we’ll all be getting rained on by her words as I believe this is only her second book but speaking as a fellow writer we all start somewhere. I don’t know where, to begin with, her words though if I just had one word to define the theme of her work somehow, then that word would have to be… one guess *ahem* LOVE.

I can see that she loves her work but where there is love there is also hate, and I couldn’t begin to tell you the demographic for her work, you’ll leave it with your conflictions of love and hate. She’s also a person that seems to be crying out for love, the thing is, does she want it for herself or does it come as a desire for someone else, trading her broken heart for something new, because she may break your heart? Maybe it’s more of an affair; there’s even a poem called “The Two-Month Love Affair” but no worries you can finish the book in one sitting and isn’t the point of a one-night stand, okay maybe an hour to make sure all parties are honestly satisfied completely?

Yes, this book will fill you up, but I’m not sure if it’s with wisdom, the nostalgic feeling of a broken heart or a taste of Nightlock… The Hunger Games, anyone, okay a touch of poison. It will probably be a bit of all three and a whole lot more; with Cherry, you’ll feel like a kid again to a senior in no time flat.

I can’t begin to tell you which was my favorite poem of Courtenay’s though I found myself highlighting a few passages here and there that go from lovely to downright depressing and speaks about “Things That Make You Go Hmmm.” Now I’m still trying to find out who would be the right fit for this book, other than a guy who happens to be searching Goodreads or Twitter at just the right time of day.

The first line of “False Gods” which I found to be inspirational for some reason in a do you step or do you leap XBOX type of way, and who am I to say what the author was thinking, other than risk. Her work “The Last Farce” had me looking at her bio, she’s probably the youngest author I’ve read as she’s twenty years old and once you wrap your head around that a lot of her work makes a smidge more sense. “Blue Moon” and “Many Strings Attached” are tied for highlights and had me parodying Peter Griffin when he spoke of Lionel Richie’s “Hello”; you wonder who’s more in the wrong, the girl doing the chasing or the guys that she is chasing.

Speaking as someone who knows a few broken hearts I can relate, anyone with a broken heart will, and maybe that’s who should read this but don’t look for solace or consolation here, I think this is for the author alone. It doesn’t have that I’ve known such hurt and now here I am standing tall empowerment that most women are into nowadays, this is an acknowledgment of pain trying to escape in these words. Now, this probably will sound quite sexist but maybe this was written for her lovers to see and understand, she’s apparently angry in The Two Month Love Affair, but still in love, no question there.

If I were to tell you every poem that spoke to me, that carries such pain or longing, hell a few even turn me on, meaning I might be like one of the guys she talks about which is a bad thing but I still bought it didn’t I? Without a doubt, I’ll be buying her next one, and I still need to buy her first one, call me curious, was she already hurt then or will those be more sunshine and rainbows, highly doubtful.

Four out of five stars easy only two things keep it from greatness and should brevity count as one, that’s just me being a writer I guess, I could crank out a hundred poems and a book by tomorrow which is probably why this is so unheard of now. There is also let’s say the promise that the author makes to the reader, again I’m a guy, getting turned on doesn’t count but what about ladies who pick this up?

I keep going over in my head the purpose for this book if the author was trying to console herself or inform those who hurt her, why take it so far with this book; honestly I think that the world should see this and there are plenty of unknowns just waiting for their discovery. In 500 Days of Summer, I heard “to get over a girl turn her into literature,” and I guess it works with getting over a guy but the purpose of this is not to get over but to never be forgotten. Maybe it was only a test run, and if that’s the case, I might want my money back; yes, I enjoyed the book, but it was over so incredibly fast.

As for the promise that the author says this collection seeks to unearth your deepest desires; I see a tiny bit of the erotica I read but if that’s the case, what is it you’re looking for, young love but most women might be too mature for this. I can see a mom buying this for their daughter and every dad eyeing any potential suitors suspiciously but hoping this keeps their kids locked in their rooms. As the song goes how “it’s only love.” Will this author find it professionally or dare I say personally? In both cases, I do have high hopes for her, but he better be a million times smarter than whoever she’s writing about in this.

It’s worth the price but know what you’re getting into or look her up on Twitter, honestly, I hope I’m helping her because “Cherry” is so good, and now that song she’s my “Cherry Pie” is playing in my head, don’t I wish. She’s still a bit of a “new” author, and we all know another word for that don’t we, so I think maybe Yes, I’ll Have Cherry Pop.

Lesson 087 ~Poor Pasts Poetry Protests~

What do I am the NFL have in common… not a thing but many have chosen silence to make the loudest statement, almost illegal to be black or even an American you, know those not backing the KKK, the Nazis, or the Confederacy. Poor Pasts Poetry Protests

Tuesday, September 26, 2017

Lesson 087 ~Poor Pasts Poetry Protests~

Hey Lady Lu
No Fear but as you can see plenty to say though I don’t know how much I’ll get t, one day I’ll have all the time in the world but as I told “Indiana Gone” my future simply revolves around a lot of money. Am I that poor in everything else or that rich, the more things change the more they stay the same; I still think money will fix everything, more to the point power will.

Past and present Lady Lu, I was reminded of “The Harm of a Cookie” now was that free speech or me being a pervert, personally a little bit of both but what was the harm? Yeah I know I was being pretty bad back then but who have I ever harmed, well besides myself, we’ve had these conversations about freedom, art, rage, somewhere in our eighty-seven conversations together and what does it all mean? If I say I’m trying to find myself that just makes me sound a whole lot worse truth or not and maybe today I’m trying to find something to stand for or kneel as the case maybe nowadays, remind me to tune into “The Daily Show”.

Knights kneel and then rise, swearing to protect a better world and these days the world is crap so how can anyone be asked to rise and serve it, these protests *sigh* did soldiers die so that Trump can destroy all they have sacrificed for. Nazi flags displayed prominently, the Confederacy celebrated, the rich getting richer, the poor being villainized, and it is a song that gets everyone riled up and they don’t understand. I’m not politico mastermind Luna but my poetry was/is my protest against my own silence, some of it anyway and like everything about me, it just wasn’t right, and my point?

Yeah I probably should have thought more about that but in this country, it’s damn nearly illegal to be black and I’m more concerned that it is illegal to be me, what do I always say, impossible, immoral, illegal, and insane? Men rose and fell to defend freedom and now there are those who stand to deny it for some if not all, while others kneel in defiance of this country, perhaps world gone mad.

What have I learned today, other than I finally have a reason to respect the NFL, personally I’m still letting some words get to me and not speaking, thinking, feeling my Poor Pasts Poetry Protests?

When Rules Yield

When does it become a rule, advice, some idea, a belief that suddenly becomes something that can’t be broken and then again all great leaders break the rules, only to bring about new ones and the like? “When Rules Yield”, time to make rules

How high do you want your crown to be?
A big head, hopes, dreams, wishes, or a word to the sun
that everything it touches belongs to me
So let it be written, so let it be done

As I will go the distance
without exception, excuse or edict
Where truth has always found admittance
Read it, See it, Believe it

Like you were stoned by God himself
Or she wasn’t a princess, an angel, a goddess but a girl
who could fly as high, and was as deep as any nuke in the Commonwealth
And yet the world

Is hers, yours, mine… am I a fool
Weighed, and measured, found wanting to rule

Copyright © 2017, Will A. Bradford Jr. All rights reserved.

First Slam Problems

I was arrested when I was a kid so you would figure being an “adult” would give me some appreciation of freedom in this big wide wonderful world and yet I spend most of my time in a box. First Slam Problems, and second, third

Will it be chicken, sausage, maybe ham
all three and even more
but I really should get out the door

as I’ve never seen a match, a game, athletes on the lam
that some would call tradition
or tell me that wrestling is fiction

And I could always claim a traffic jam
I don’t walk or run, I’m allergic to the sun
Excuses I have a ton

So what’s one more slam,
when I’m here and free
Just not to be me…

Copyright © 2017, Will A. Bradford Jr. All rights reserved.

Think In The Change

What time can be a chain as much as anything else and I didn’t have time to pick up any on the way to the house. “Think In The Chain”, I’ve been wrapped up, tied down, some freaking heavy lately.

Chains can command, conquer, control, Believing
Hoping, that one can be Relieved
At the prospect that with Enough
Intertwined that what we desire may be ours, always And
Never enough but with release will we Know…

Copyright © 2017, Will A. Bradford Jr. All rights reserved.

A Glass of Will

Choking on my own spit, on my own tears… well let’s not go that far but I still feel pretty bad about the things I couldn’t say yesterday and the things I know today but of course there is no one to tell. A Glass of Will, courage is within.

When I was a child my mom called me a hard head
See I don’t want to lie
or didn’t you know I bleed red
No, because I’m not like you, so you deny
this body will someday die
while you’ll still be talking out your ass
If I could speak to you, I’d say, I’d try
My Jaw’s not made of glass

As my eyes have said worse things instead,
could I be ever so wise
to keep secret, the things I do in bed
because I don’t look like those other guys
Better to be the friend, not gay, but nice and shy
Ask forgiveness than permission, yet I was crass
Now ask me why?
My Jaw’s not made of glass

Though my words may be brittle and led
by desire, greed, my story no Pulitzer prize
more the lyrics of “Right Said Fred”,
I’m too sexy to chastise,
too sexy for… shoo flies
don’t bother me, when “Suddenly”, “At Last”
I cry
My Jaw’s not made of glass

“Eyes Wide Shut” mouth open wide
Apologies have long passed
stuttering My, My, My
My Jaw’s not made of glass

Copyright © 2017, Will A. Bradford Jr. All rights reserved.

Mind The Soylent

Heavy the head that wears… well, I have no crown to speak of as of yet but my mind is more than full of things that I can’t let out, truths that no one can feast upon and as if those ideas are eating themselves. Mind The Soylent indeed

Always keep a stiff upper lip
or a smile to zip
the answers to all the things you said,
all the things you said as if I ship

this crown that I pursue
like theses, white walls grew
to encompass the world and universe too
but the pillows on my bed

say off with my head
in league with the red queen
making me wish Soylent Green
was people, to stop a good old fashioned killing machine

which I had in mind

Copyright © 2017, Will A. Bradford Jr. All rights reserved.

The Good Sip Anger

If anything I’m angry that I had to censor this or that I felt I had to censor this, I think I need a drink, but of course, I have never been a big drinker anyway. The Good Sip Anger, to put out this fire or to make it manageable.

Smoke coming out of my ears
A dragon’s tongue goes unheard

Never freed, as a mind is a terrible thing to waste
Just like a really good beer or tea
Bought by, for, about some beautiful stranger

The best you’ll never have
Happiness, joy, rapture, bliss, but who always wins the race
Tears for fears, a deal if you please
But I’ll go home to anger

Copyright © 2017, Will A. Bradford Jr. All rights reserved.

Consider It A Wind

There are so many storms in life and I take my shelter upon the page but yet some storms are stronger than others and it helps to remind myself to be grateful for some things. Consider It A Wind, words can be so much stronger than any hurricane.

When it’s not rumor or speculation a blend
of lies, cult fiction, the insane
that happens to be the norm.

Or that chill that leaves you deformed
and shows how your backbone has thinned
but you are not lame.

In fact, you eat and claim
plenty, while the food is warm
as you tell a few or your best friend

You can’t wait till your name ascends
into the spotlight, pages heights, and some librarian to blame
because your book transformed

a woman into literature, from perfect to misinformed
to lost and torn, a dream of sin
only every day is exactly the same

Even if your name is mud, you’re scared or in pain
ashamed, name on a blog, but not on a news crawl, saying the storm,
hurricane, death toll, no I’m back again

“Considering It A Wind”, and it will be a win
Really, when I forget your so vain
your every loving name; for a new obsession, I just printed the forms.

Copyright © 2017, Will A. Bradford Jr. All rights reserved.

Yes My Ear

You never see the monster until there’s time to make the trip to that upper room but then again I’m probably going to Hell as often as I keep my head down. Yes My Ear, someone told me to play it by ear because to see what’s coming

I’m “Alive”!
Black or white, in living color, “Live!”
or so the heart appears
in the eyes, on the touch, in the beat of another
Always undercover
Ashamed, it remains unclear

if I am running or hiding
Do I have what it takes to keep surviving
Yes, my feet persevere
Only I can’t look down, I won’t look back
Because I don’t know if I could handle that
Whenever people come near

Am I a sheep
a lion, who’s roar I must keep
like any secret near and dear
Better to be a live chicken than a dead duck
Wanting to scream… what today I’m out of luck
as the fear

makes me into a Mime
I look at my watch thinking it’s time
To have a voice, like Shaka Zulu and his spear
So I have but a pen
with but to write every virtue and every sin
words that won’t disappear

Though if I were to write the future
there would be fewer
bombs, “Hurricanes”, Kamikazes here
And of Rocket 69?
Well I’m not blind
Suppose I should cheer

the fact I have not seen Elysium
entered Heaven at a premium
Oh to be like Katniss and volunteer
My tribute to courage, to live brave and best
Just say yes
Play it by ear

Copyright © 2017, Will A. Bradford Jr. All rights reserved.