Autumn left today
Spoke no farewell
Offered no excuse
Leaving only memories
Scattered across my yard
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Named after my cat, Miles, and a line from one of my favorite Robert Frost poems, Miles2Go is simply my way of releasing my creative energies and my opinions on the world through the medium of poetry. I hope readers enjoy my work.Statistics for Miles2Go
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By: J. Brian Broome,
on 12/22/2011
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By: J. Brian Broome,
on 8/4/2011
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The French Quarter Trumpet Player
His music – faint or far away—
is carried on the night breeze
along with the smell of jasmine, strong coffee,
French bread, and alcohol.
An unaccompanied soloist, playing to the night.
Some notice, most do not. They are too busy
having finished with some pleasures, off to find more
before the sunlight comes and chases these things away.
His soulful notes cry out, an echo to all
who have ever loved, or laughed, or lived.
Especially for those who have lost
something or someone.
Yet, somewhere in the pre-dawn French Quarter
the trumpet player bares his soul
a bloom in an otherwise seedy place.
And in the early hours of the morn
he writes poems with his horn.
© 2011 by J. Brian Broome
By: J. Brian Broome,
on 7/25/2011
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Dare to be different!
And be the norm?
I’d rather roam
On paths and trails
Ride boats with sails
Than walk just where the sidewalk goes.
I’ll climb in trees
I’ll climb up high
White clouds I’ll ride
And pretend that I
Can almost fly
By: J. Brian Broome,
on 5/27/2011
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Trim the bushes,
Mow the grass.
Water plants and
Sweep the path.
Edge the driveway,
Prune the trees.
Clean the grill.
Watch for bees!
Tend the flowers,
Weeds excise.
Clean the gutters.
Fertilize!
The reason this must all be done?
Summer time has now begun.
© 2011 by J. Brian Broome
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By: J. Brian Broome,
on 3/31/2011
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Spring
Winter has passed
And the day looks
Empty
Like an artist’s easel
Before the creative thought comes
That’s when God walks by
Palette and brush in hand
And dabs color
On the canvass of my yard
© 2011 by J. Brian Broome
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By: J. Brian Broome,
on 2/17/2011
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Tall and proud
the trees stand
at the corner where
the town and the
school are
one.
They have always been
a part of the town
a part of the people
and a part of the students
empty though proud
in times of loss
full and flowing
with every victory.
Silently they have
passed the time
watching generations
like seasons
come and go
and pass beneath
their gentle shade
1 Comments on The Trees on the Corner, last added: 2/18/2011
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By: J. Brian Broome,
on 2/3/2011
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Autumn’s festive splendor
Winter’s piles cascade
Springtime raking, bagging
Summer’s cooling shade
© 2011 by J. Brian Broome
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By: J. Brian Broome,
on 1/22/2011
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Through my winter window pane
I see the snow, the freezing rain.
I watch the gray clouds dropping sleet
Making slippery, icy streets.
Through my winter window I
Can see the geese as they fly by.
They cannot see me here below.
I hear them honking as they go.
Through my winter window now
The world is gray and through the cloud
My breath has made upon the glass
I guess the days the cold might last.
Through my winter window will
I see the snow melt off the sill?
And see the green return? And then
I’ll know that winter’s at its end.
Through my winter window time
Goes ever on and surely I’m
Awaiting what one day will bring
When my winter window turns to Spring.
© 2011 by J. Brian Broome
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By: J. Brian Broome,
on 1/7/2011
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Miles, my cat
Just had a nap
And now he starts to stir
He stretches out
And moves about
Then sits to lick his fur
He looks at me
To ask if he
Can have a bite to eat
When I fill his dish
To grant his wish
Again, he’s fast asleep
©2011 by J. Brian Broome
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By: J. Brian Broome,
on 1/7/2011
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I have two friends who walk with me
On mountain trails or by the sea
In parks, on streets, down dusty roads
Through grassy fields, on cobblestones.
They never mind which way I go
Up or down or fast or slow
They walk with me, they skip they run
In dark of night, in bright of sun.
They’ve never said they wouldn’t go
On walks with me through slush or snow
They both have tongues but never talk
My silent friends on all my walks.
So when I have the urge to roam
To wander far (or not) from home
These two best friends I’ll always choose
To go with me, they are my shoes.
© 2011 by J. Brian Broome
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By: J. Brian Broome,
on 1/6/2011
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Do Weeping Willows really cry?
Do Pine Trees really yearn?
Some things don’t make much sense to me.
And I really want to learn.
Do Hedgehogs look and smell like pigs?
Do Turtle Doves have shells?
Do other birds believe the things
A Mocking Bird might tell?
Do Dogfish bark beneath the sea?
Do Jellyfish like toast?
Will someone someday figure out
Which Catfish meows the most?
Do Water Buffalo own canteens?
Do Yaks just love to talk?
Do Bats like playing baseball games?
And what’s a Fly that walks?
Has any cowboy ever seen
A Seahorse rodeo?
I guess some things are left to faith
‘Cause we may never know!
(c) J. Brian Broome, 2011
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By: J. Brian Broome,
on 11/18/2010
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Miles, my cat.My name is Brian Broome and I like to write. I have been putting words together for a long time. Over the years they have merged together to form newspaper stories, a few magazine articles, etc. I was a featured columnist for the Altoona (Pennsyslvania) Mirror for a couple of years and have also been a guest columnist for The Atlanta Journal-Constitution and the Savannah Morning News. Most recently I have begun writing fiction and poetry. The purpose of this blog is to share some of my work with folks who like to read.
Cotton Fields of Mississippi
The cotton fields
of Mississippi
fill the gaps
between the
small hills
where the highway
twists and turns
over and around
them. And early
in the mornings
I love it!!!!!