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Bruce Allan Bressack

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Here's some of my poetry written over the years. I'll be adding more poems in the future so please check back again.
Bruce Allan Bressack

Published on website on August 19, 2015, for the staff at Northeast Rehab. Last paragraph was added on September 10, 2015 just prior to release. Feel free to share the poem as you wish…

The Parade, by Bruce Bressack (c) 2015)

The stare, the glare, the softened speech and monotone riffs, out of tune, out of key, no harmonies exist in a Parkinson's parade.

The mumbled conversations, the blah-blah pronunciations, out of time, out of rhyme, no harmonies exist in a Parkinson's parade.

The righteous wobbly gaits, the stiffened joints that medicine abates, out of balance, out of step, no harmonies exist in a Parkinson's parade.

Candles burning in open windows, flames sputtering to survive, hoping time doesn't take them prisoner, or leave them hopelessly unaware, pitch perfect, pitch imperfect, no harmonies exist in a Parkinson's parade.

But wait, there is a path, it’s big and loud and proud,
tuning up, reaching up, never giving up,
marching strong, marching long,
pitch perfect harmonies abound in a Parkinson’s Parade.

Poetry Through The Years

Enter the name for this tabbed section: 10 Years From Now

10 Years From Now
Swing moves back and forth,
on covered porch,
on rainy summer day,
in melting pot neighborhood,
where cultures come to dream.

Swing moves back and forth,
creaking haunting questions,
seeking unknown answers,
stuck in now, stuck in how,
10 years from now?
10 years from now?

Swing moves back and forth,
stumbling thoughts emerge,
look back in time,
what comes to mind?
that younger me,
get up, work hard, come home, raise family.

Swing moves back and forth,
your story told with grace,
roadway unfolds in front of you,
a quiet time to reflect,
private moments to protect,
no envy or regret.

Swing moves back and forth,
on covered porch,
on rainy summer day,
stuck in now, stuck in how,
10 years from now?
10 years from now?

© 2013 Bruce Bressack

Enter the name for this tabbed section: Rememberance

Remembrance
Remembrance found in tattered, aging suitcase,
overflowing with tears and laughter.

Diplomas, certificates, graduations unknown to us.
Why so secret?
What a surprise you must have planned but never shared.
Were you waiting for the right moment?

Be still, go into the light, do not worry, we are fine.
We are older than you remember.
You are forever young.

Five sons, five lives, five families,
joined together by a tattered, aging suitcase,
overflowing with tears and laughter.

© 2013 Bruce Bressack

Enter the name for this tabbed section: Symphony

Symphony
We live in a world of dissonant chords and imperfect harmonies,
yet somehow,
when we take the time to hear each other,
we create a perfectly tuned, majestic symphony.

© 2012 Bruce Bressack

Enter the name for this tabbed section: What Now?

What Now?
I broke the time-clock this morning,
set fire to my resume,
tore up my business cards,
purged the sediment from my veins (which comes from years of contradictions
and dereliction of self).

Sorry for the mess,
but I was in a hurry to find my life.

© 2002 Bruce Bressack

Enter the name for this tabbed section: To Live This Long

To Live This Long
To live this long,
and have nothing to say.
To believe in God,
but have nothing to pray.

To be confused by wisdom,
unnerved with fears.
To sit immobilized,
with uncontrollable tears.

No souls remain,
just righteous beggars.

No spirits soar,
just random scarlet images.

No time remains,
just unrequited slivers of desire…

tick-tocking away…
tick-tocking away…
tick-tocking away.

© 2002 Bruce Bressack

Enter the name for this tabbed section: Unfinished

Unfinished
Our lives intersect at surprising times;

unplanned,
unpredictable,
without announcement.

We connect to complete our unfinished song;

once joined,
we never fully part.

once touched,
forever remembered.

© 2000 Bruce Bressack

Enter the name for this tabbed section: The Fort Beyond The Hill

The Fort Beyond The Hill
What is closest to us … we distance from,
pushing into the corners the parts of us we can no longer confront.

We rush to remove the memories
of the people that entered us deepest,
that knew us then, that knew us when.

We build our homes with strong brick,
no entrance, no way out,
denying our comforters a moments rest
from the tortured road we paved with love.

We live each day reliving every decision,
every thought, every accident of fate…
I could have changed that, done that,
been there when.

But we can not change that,
we did not do that,
we weren’t there when.

We can only be there now,
before it’s too late,
because we know, more than some,
that late often means forever.

© 1997 Bruce Bressack

Enter the name for this tabbed section: Stare Out

Stare Out
You stood there raucous angel,
smooth street fighter,
split,
ready to recoil.

You stood there raucous angel,
delicate toughness,
shining,
through hints of darkness.

You stood there raucous angel,
slow-motion marching,
fist tight,
stalking the night.

You stood there raucous angel…

but like toothless fossil
of forgetfulness,
time erodes all memory of you,
inch, by superficial inch.

© 2001 Bruce Bressack

Enter the name for this tabbed section: Synthesis

Synthesis
Art is…
synthesis of emotion,
clearly defined,
infinitely focused,
retrospect,
current,
incomprehensible.

Art is…
synthesis of devotion,
forever constant,
segmented solid,
ambitious,
desirous,
inconclusive.

Art is.

© 2005 Bruce Bressack

Enter the name for this tabbed section: I’m Certain I’m Sure

I'm Certain, I’m Sure
yes, I'm certain, I'm sure, I think, let me check, sure thing or bet?

yes, I'm just about sure, almost, am I right, just might, fight or flight?

this is a test, it’s always a test, let me look in the mirror, novice and beginner, starting all over again, again?

yes, that's me, I thought so, but what's that gray hair doing there, and when did that double chin begin?

and when will my sarcasm end?

soon, I think, I'm certain, I'm sure, when hell freezes over, not a minute before.


© 2010 Bruce Bressack

Enter the name for this tabbed section: Private Moments

Private Moments
There were private moments;
invisible.

There were shallow times;
unworthy.

There were feelings;
denied.

There were glimpses of self;
renewed.

© pre-1975 Bruce Bressack

Enter the name for this tabbed section: Glimpse

Glimpse
Love, freeze this moment, hold on to it, never let it go.

Memory leaves me, gone forever, hold on to me, never let me go.

Etched in sunrise, drenched in sunset, glimpse of future, drowning in your arms.

© 2010 Bruce Bressack

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