Brandon K. Nobles – Yukadame, 2011

0ld homes along
the beach were strewn,
amid the coral reef and stone—
They metal kissed the ship and left—
the corridor of memory gone:
The minstrels sang enchanting songs.

Violins a fountain pens,
a little ways just down the street,
trapped in a maze of
memories.
Some are good and some are bad,
you should love the love you didn’t have.

The rustling of the summer song,
sounded like an old trombone.
a place from which you cannot flee, sea,
forever trapped in memories;
some are good, and some are bad,
a life without your mother;
You trust the love you never had.

At fledgling seas of memory
the houses scattered on the beach
some were taken back to sea;
They left their ghost behind to say,
they disappeared and made their way
for a neon sign read Yesterday.

(They come at night, by day they die.
they ran under a careless sky,
and mother’s jewels of abalone,
left nothing but their footprints gone)

In the Tempest of the storm
The waves that died had been reborn.
the shore the sea our mother’s urn—
ashamed of what her kid’s had done.

Our beacon Sol upon the throne
glistening by abalone
Left them by a glimpse now gone.
And let her child on their own,
to wonder if they’re all alone.

Those amongst the coastal beach,
shoveled water out to keep,
their home and business clean
outside the seeds protected by the leaves
arched toward the day, the sun,
only to the terror as it hides;
the seeds of trees trapped in the breeze
through the smoke of night,
the young day disappeared..
trapped in the memories,
miss Twilight eats and feeds.
,
at that night stole our stolen dreams,
crawled into our ears and head;
Twilight  the boulevards
through the subway cars
and walks between our waking dreams,
the boulevards of mind can see,
¬
Around the neurons firing off,
electrodes dancing in the neon pink
trapped inside a memory;,
who walks through ‘
our dreams, and ears—
the creature in the
When you were young,
when mother sung,
hanging clothes outside to dry,
one long lost cat walked at her side
whose ghost as well was left bejomd
’
Late at night—he lay dead and quiet
the piper led the mice behind him.
The mistress of the Twilight brings,
in the night above all things,
she sat before us the sea
the mistress of twilight did sing,
into the ballroom for a drink,
passing between two stolen beams,
sat the poor actor own the street bed,
The children ran as do the mice,
for cheese something that will entice;
for us it what we don’t know,
our reflection of a world—
that we cannot even go.
When we sleep at night, we dream,
comes on the silent dream machine;
and in that world that can be made,
the past in circles can laid;
bare before the public too,
The Twilight mistress passes through.

she walked amongst our waking dreams,
calmly plucking at her strings.
their ghosts were left behind to stay
a ghost-town before them lay;
through the ghost-towns made their way
they’d wonder in and out, you’d say,
before they disappeared by day.

That glistened a storm of light at night
cascading pink and neon blue
the prism caught between the two
A single silhouette passed by
along the arms of bow-line set;
The sea, the shore, our mother bore,
She dances lively on the shore,
her frayed hair in the wind;
She prayed to God to lose again.

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