Short stories, blogs, poems, filmscripts, news articles, video journalism, and tramp journalism by Bryan Adrian ... follow this link

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Vol. 7, 2002

Photo of the poet and writer, Bryan Adrian, after nearly 3 days of writing without sleep ...

Photo of the heroine of the poem below, after a night of debauchery .

"nature's beauty"

by bryan adrian

Nature created a little girl
her soft and sensuous red hair
whispers, and never shouts
about her inner purity
there are no doubts

Mother Superior gave her spasms
by 14 she was on the couch
brain picking season
by note taking louts
pulling out her mother
like rotten teeth

She then punked out
pasted onto her face a pout
threw her fist into the air
and shaved her pussy hair

This pearl from the sea
couldn't make the world, however
get down on its knees
only angels protected her
from disease

"Diary diary in my bosom
why has god
not heard me
i'm barking,
up every tree
like a
distempered dog,"
she wailed

One hundred lunar cycles lapsed
the only change?
her ovaries are retreating
folding into themselves
preparing for autumn's frost

Her yearning for a soulmate
that complements the writer
buried in her soul
has not yet been excavated
by a tender touch
nor a published stanza
of her very own

nothing to date
has been tender enough
to make her drop
the large wooden paddle
from her mother's kitchen
that she uses
to spank-slap-stab and punish herself
[seems like forever]

A soulmate was delivered
but she scrawled
with magic marker subway graffiti
cause this bitch
ain't having nothing
to do with love
beyond lip service

She bleached her hair
and her pussy
with pure Klorox
erasing her priceless femininity
that suffuses the world of dreamland
with non-corporeal spirits
oceans wider than the sea,
tidal basins of mediocre women
ride upon her pain

instead of gettin in her way
as she passes by
rushing to drown
in the gay discos
and punk clubs
leaving her real self
her true identity
to wear the face
of a clown

near dead

That true person in there
could inspire
a million poems
if she only entrusted it
to a someone
who truly understood
that she is the witch of abandonment
and not mommy

A someone who feels robbed and forsaken
with every wave of the hand goodbye
even at parades
or even to just say goodnight
... same as her.

wonderful Polaroid portrait of twins by Australian photographer SUELLEN SYMONS

FALL, 2002

The writer-poet, Bryan Adrian, seeking his muse ... she is at this moment nowhere to be seen.


by Bryan Adrian
[ein Hund]

(a word to all pet owners)

If I had a pussy
I wouldn't let no one hold her
of course unless they promised
to feed her whenever
she got good and hungry

If I had a pussy
her hair would always be sleek and brushed
cause a good pussy needs to be rubbed
so that she looks good
when she's out and about

If I had a pussy
I'd keep her clean
cause everybody knows
that a poorly washed pussy
can get real mean

There are many things I'd do
if I had a pussy
but one thing I'd never ever do
You wanna hear it?

The one thing I'd never ever do
is give her to a dog like you!


For a Reprint of poem by


address: Inismor, Arainn, co. na Gaillimhe, Eire; tel. 099-61245

NEW WORLD ORDER ... scroll down further

Click here to read the life of Evariste Galois, the Father of Unified Theory who died at 21 (he united geometry to algebra through group theory, which if he had never created it, the work of Einstein would have been impossible!)

A drawing of the poet Bryan Adrian, in another lifetime


"MARTINIQUE" by Bryan Adrian ... just below

[Painting above by Dorothea Tanning]


by Bryan Adrian

She has the airs of a Queen
although her eyes betray her
during each mincing
minuet of pomp
when the dukes
and the dauphins
hang out at the rump
sipping Champagne

Her thoughts go down
to the floor of the cabin
where her blacksmith's muscles
hammer out precision

For there she oft felt
her buttocks burn hot
held firm in the hands
of her horseshoe man
from the Celtae Lands

(a Huguenot she preferred not,
she hadn't even
one Walloon to her name
for that lot!)

Her royal diet
had been heavy in gold
the sustenance of wheat
was seldom her treat

Like a poor sparrow
fed on such stuff
(she'd been snorting
much too much snuff)
till trapped she became
in this quite silly game

Trains of petticoats
pulled at her waist
yet none of the Court
dared to challenge
her high royal tastes

Or perhaps even show
their true animal faces
(Not even the Picards,
the Condés, nor the Bourbons!)

Emptiness took over
and drained her face pale
the powder and talc
like bread had gone stale

her heart ached daily
until growing quite frail
she craved new sensations
dirt caked
on every fingernail

At last her blacksmith
did something real fancy
he crashed through the ballroom
and crumpled the pansies
(they fought back
like jabbering dandies)

His exit a thrilling
and virile abduction
without the slightest suggestion
of staying for luncheon

Once away
from the castle and gardens
and into the fields and forests untrodden
he deflected a spark
with his big hammer's bite

(her petticoats widened
her thighs floated like kites)

The flames
of her belly
vast freedoms
emptying her brain
of scruples and shame

Naked she sang
her song with the doves
filling his cabin
with echoes of love

For eons she blessed him
with legions of babies
the nobles reacted
as if they had rabies

The Orders alerted their
alchemists and priests
to assemble their armies
and raise up the Beast

Their plagues and their bloodbaths
their rats and their tanks
The ant armies
and parasitic wasp
Hymenopteran orders

Forged artificial life
via electron accelerators
skip popping
cyclotronic furies
gamma vector worries

The blacksmith's bracelet
bared the letters


His companion's luscious,
and lustrous orifice
erupted in radiant flares
decoding an ancient and encrypted snare

The whole galaxy
clung like magnets
united at once
in a delirious
and quite delightful
cosmic dance sequence

The Orders defractionated
leaving behind
only a minuscule
aluminum chip

On it the number 666
had been
laser inscribed
on a forsaken radius
(yes, this is not only true
but a Thule expatriation)

their unbroken, immense
and measureless,
from Heaven.



"NEW WORLD ORDER Revised" by Bryan Adrian

Civilization stood up
but fell
to its knees
and radioactive
free agents
unruly fleas

Sewers and streams weep
spewing out
tears run in rapids
and pools
recombinant militia

Earthquakes and ozone
knock at the door
of the pretty
plate glass houses

Plagues and pollution
at the bodies
of the poor

A struggling champion
of an unlucky race
he asks no pity
as he lifts his face

to the walls
of the crystal city
(then dances madly
as his heart
swells and bursts)

Birds fly at random
in frenzied circles
heedless to the
muted songs
of the seasons

They summon
their Phoenix
while against air
their wings chop
and smash into bits
when their beaks

Finger deformed
mutant monkeys
unable to swing
from trees
now lie on their backs

and stare at the moon
their psyches crack

A woman covered
by miles of misfortune
curses the rulers
that bred
her untreatable cankers

A rib dislodges
from her sunken chest
and falls before her
in an ironic jest

She laughs at the lessons
packed into holy books
"woman be submissive,
and do what you're told to"
("and don't give me that look!")

"A very high price,"
she snickers
as she picks off a tendon
"wouldn't it be great
if justice arrived late"
(better late than never)

The cult of the consumer
makes religion a joke
as Trade Lords continue
to covet
their throne
"über alles"

Nature has to die now
that's the troublesome thing
she doesn't give a damn now
of her favourite spots
to sing

Not as great liberator
do our industries progress
but as subjugator
and controller
a replicating pest

(what more
could we expect
when we dirty
our own nest?)

Sometimes bold prophets
women and men
drop into our pockets
the forces of Zen
unleashing the divine
through telepathic transfusions

the Old Order
much much more
than the
nuclear pensions
and immuno-suppressions
left selfishly
at our door

If badly outnumbered
these prophets are snapped
in two
eternal slumber
reaching a hand out
to each "me" and "you"
("bye-bye" Isis and Osiris?)

Contagions and canisters
modern mushrooms
of death
within the Body
and without

Wise men say
with a tinge of doubt
that technology
is the loom
of our doom
weaving its way
through the tapestry
of misdirected inventions

Neither our
free market jockeys
nor the famed horsemen
of ancient lore
can stop
the Machine

It will defeat
he plays
his own team.

click here for a riveting online FILMSCRIPT ... "Rape of the Sabine Women"


Read these poems to your children like the mother above, Christine!

titled: "LEAVING HOME", by Bryan Adrian


by Bryan Adrian

As I voyaged on, I met a friend, newly found yet quite familiar
His was supposedly a shocking personality, a unique blend

This end of the galaxy sings of similarity
I ask you, friend, have you the feeling that I am what you are to me?
Are you a concept or are you a pen?

A pen, ink and point, an instrument of the Supreme Will
I sense that you agree with me, even though you do not speak
What is it you're doing now?

The way you glimmer, prance and preen,
suggests to me ... you?
... a Queen?

Queen of what?!

You are my imagination
Your are my love

You are all there is



Historic photo of bedeviled oil workers at Marietta, Ohio

by Bryan Adrian

Fighting and fractures and plundering
Ho hum

Man strives for money and energy
Dump truck

Tyrants burp loudly annihilate

Congress embezzles another year
Duck speak

Poultices sanitize hi-tech wounds
Chin up

Hospitals sanctify overdrive

Music drones listlessly out our lives
Top ten

Somewhere a mystic's chants mesmerize
Slow down

Industries profit with additives

Peaches and cream are for everyone
Oh rot

Stop stop stop Stop stop stop Stop stop stop
Why not?


[Painting above by Dorothea Tanning]



JARDIN D'ETE by John Michel from his June/July 2001 outings in Provence, France


Short stories, blogs, poems, filmscripts, news articles, video journalism, and tramp journalism by Bryan Adrian ... follow this link