Monday, February 8, 2016

A Collection of Poetry by Tempest Brew


if there's a spread
of this disease
of knowing
don't look at me as your
kind night nurse
don't expect me
to be the buxom bride
of deathbed care
for your limited whim


I'm the skin
of a lady just so deep
then I become like
Nietzsche's animal
dream inside
and want to claw
for something more

Middle Ages

as I approach forty
I realize the irony
that we know so little
about the middle ages
and I understand
the need for swords
and tales of dragons

Tempest Brew is someone.  She likes coffee, wine, and books.