Elements of Style
Posted by Brian Dan Christensen in Humor, literature, Poetry, Prose, Uncategorized, Verse on July 21, 2015
I don’t use emoticons
Or exclamation marks
And I don’t capitalize words
To make them brawl and bark
I use italics sparingly
Like fish sauce or Danish Blue
Lest my paragraphs become
Potpourris or cheese fondue.
Language is like music
With precision, grace and mojo
Exaggeration makes the world
Pocket-sized and so-so
From Shakespeare to Updike
They never needed an air hammer
The real power-tool for the job
Is a little thing called grammar.
Prayer
Posted by Brian Dan Christensen in Humor, literature, Poetry, Uncategorized, Verse on June 10, 2015
I pray, dear Lord,
To draft and scribble
Until the day You say, “Quit!”
And summon me to
The main library halls
To reassess my writ
Oh, let my work
(Wherein I praise Your creation)
Find grace when your angels read it
And let not St. Peter
That grouchy librarian
Stamp it A WASTE OF SQUID
Small Poem Filled With Hope, Rain and Biblical References
Posted by Brian Dan Christensen in Humor, literature, Poetry on April 20, 2015
In New York
It’s raining
Cats and dogs
But it could be
Exodus 8
And frogs.
Limerick of Grass
Posted by Brian Dan Christensen in Humor, Poetry, satire on April 13, 2015
There was a writer named Günter Grass
Who knew all about der, die und das
His ethics and morals
Won prices and laurels
As he spent a lifetime rewriting his past.
Spring in New York
Posted by Brian Dan Christensen in Humor, Poetry on April 2, 2015
I thank Thee, Lord, for spring in New York
And for sidewalks scattered with gloves
For three new construction sites down the block
And for strangers to piss me off
For neighbors smoking on fire escapes
At three o’clock in the morn’
Life in a city that never sleeps —
A life of kind-hearted ignoring
I thank Thee, Lord, for the BQE
For buses of tourists hoping to see
Authentic Brooklyn
Which it would be
Were it not for them
(not for me)
Oh, I thank Thee, Lord, for spring in New York
Where writers in their 30s write memories
Eating 30 dollar sustainable pork
And drink Pinot Noir out of Ball jars
I thank Thee for the kids in Underwood Park
Who cry, “Let’s play Barack Obama”
I wouldn’t have experienced that today
If my neighbor had been a dirt farmer
Oh, Lord, one more thing, before I forget
I thank Thee for aerodynamics
What New Yorkers need, time and again,
Is to fly off and assess the damage
Twelve Bar Blues
Posted by Brian Dan Christensen in Music, Poetry, Uncategorized on February 6, 2015
Feed the cat
Feed the birds
Glance at poem
Change a word
Boil some water
Grind some beans
Brush your teeth
By all means
Turn the dial
Morning news
Lover’s kiss
Twelve bar blues
As The World Kept Falling Apart
Posted by Brian Dan Christensen in Poetry on January 7, 2015
As the world kept falling apart
And I had no words of solace to offer
I went to buy roses for my lady
I passed houses being demolished
Houses being built
I crossed bridges of steel
Rivers of ice
And while it was cold
And hostility hung in the air
Like a breath withheld
The bouquet resting in my arms
Turned into a shield of humanity
And then back into roses
Another Old Christmas (Howard Walker’s Christmas Song)
Posted by Brian Dan Christensen in country music, Folk music, Music on December 21, 2014
I’d be such as terrific guest at your house
You don’t have to comb your hair
I’d bring a quart of Old Crow, chocolate for your kids
I’d even bring my own folding chair
And I’d sit by your table, no, I won’t stare at you
That tree sure is decked out in style
And if I don’t make it this time around
I might be there in a while.
I’d be such as terrific guest at your house
Say, who painted that painting over there?
I like what your husband did to the floors
Oh, that fire burns so warm and clear
The smell in this kitchen brings back memories
The apron my mother used to wear
Well, if I’m not there before darkness falls
I might have gotten hung up somewhere.
I’d be such a terrific guest at your house
My cousin has this old Chevrolet
That dress looks exactly the same on you
As it did at Half Moon Bay
No, I didn’t get your letter, no, Jack passed away
I see they’re building a new road through town
The shadows are long, we might see some snow
But you might not see me around.
I’d be such as terrific guest at your house
This Christmas I’ll bring you a book
And sit by the piano and hum a few tunes
If I cry, pretend not to look
Well, here comes the jailer, it’s time for lights out
I‘ll finish this letter some time soon
It’s another old Christmas for me without you
But at midnight, let’s both look at the moon.
Hobo’s Lullaby
Posted by Brian Dan Christensen in Folk music, Music, Uncategorized on November 29, 2014
