Category Archives: Poetry

Eggs Won’t Spoil and Sperm Won’t Rot

turkey baster

Not so long ago
before prenatal vitamins,
turkey basters,
and petri dishes
the birds and the bees
the mommies and the daddies
needed clean air
healthy trees
clear water
and
vibrant soil
to make babies
along with a pinch
of horniness

When the ingredients
didn’t work
no worries
their bodies rotted
back into the ground
and the baby making
process
starts over again

Mmmmmmmmmmm
salmon baked with garlic,
olive oil,
basil, and lemon juice
an herb arugula salad
glass of red wine
next to the wood stove
in a log cabin
overlooking a mountain lake
oh yes
and a pinch of horniness.

Baby making moments
created by
earthworms,
rainforests,
goat poop,
glaciers
and dandelions
now harvested from mother earth
by the diseased, aged, cancered and impotent
to keep sperm from rotting
to keep eggs from spoiling
to create a stylish Martha Stewartish
air conditioned reception area
for cozy People magazine reading
while the fertility specialist
keeps the baby making
waiting.

After the credit card transaction has cleared
little test tube baby
comes home
feels loved
falls asleep
in a plastic cage
Momma
holds baby up
to her fatty breast.
the baby latches on
slurps in the paint thinner
toilet deodorizer
cosmetic additives.
When baby is full
Dad draws a bath
and lays it in
warm gassy fracked water.
When baby is clean
Momma will lean down
with fast food breath
leaving red animal tested
kisses

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The Bench

Yesterday in his pocket
he had
friends, Neil Diamond concert footage, the constitution, nude women, pac man, conspiracy theories, the stock market,
and streaming Rush Limbaugh.
His pocket was never boring.

Today in his pocket he has a tube of chap stick, a set of keys, and a wallet.
Next to him
my dog sniffs and squats.
By the time the dog finishes its crap
the man’s lips are moist,
and he has Iooked at the one photo of his family
and one photo of his cat.

He tries to engage me in conversation
about the shapes in the clouds
and the weather.
I motion to the Angry Bird game on the iPhone in my hand.
He starts petting and mumbling to my dog.

I wonder if he’s insane, stoned or retarded.
All this makes me nervous.
Then I remember
this is what people with boring pockets
do.

“Cambria Doesn’t Stink” says my Nose

unhappy stressed out nose

Dear Brandon,

I have an unhappy nose. It has become resentful of the rest of my body. My nose recently pointed out over the last several years:

-my legs hiked the Pacific Crest Trail.
-my eyes got to see works of art at the Louvre Museum in Paris.
-my brain went to the Smithsonian in Washington DC.
-my belly and tongue tasted the Portland, OR food truck scene.
-my arms and chest went on a sea kayaking trip in the San Juan Islands.
-my heart went on a weekend date to Atlanta, ID.
-my toes regularly go to the beach.
-several times a month my fingers go to the petting zoo and recieve a manicure.

Physically the jealousy has manifested itself into stress. Besides my nose being unhappy it’s now ugly. Covered in blackheads. I have promised my nose a vacation. Please help me by answering a few questions.
-Does the BSI use cleaning products with misleading smells that might confuse my nose by making it think it’s in a rainforest?
-Does Cambria have oil refineries, pulp mills, 8 lane freeways, and feedlots?
-Do the ally’s in Cambria smell like piss similar to SF’s ally’s?

Thanks in Advance,

Francisco De Lovely

Hello Francisco,

No, to all the above.  I too forgot I had a nose. One day I had no inspiration. I went to Moonstone Beach to sit in solitude and listen to the small voice found in my heart. That afternoon on the beach my heart whispered nothing profound. However my nose breathed in the smells of Cambria and sniffled out this song. Below are the lyrics and a recording of the song. I now follow my nose instead of my heart.

See you soon,

Brandon

What’s that You Say Nose?

What’s that you say nose?
It might not be good
to live, eat, drink and fuck
by that fuckin smell.

Little baby isn’t cute who wears a smelly diaper.
Hot woman with inflamed tonsils has a smelly kiss.
The man with gangrene has a stinky leg.
Spoiled milk has a pungent smell.
The smell of moldy lentils makes me want to hurl.
My nose has taught me
to stay away from these bad smells.

What’s that you say nose?
It might not be good
to live, eat, drink and fuck
by that fuckin smell.

Cigarettes are smelly.
Agro business is smelly.
Polluted rivers are smelly.
Cheap perfume tested on animals is smelly.
Bombs and blood are smelly.
Growing up I was told my nose has smelled wrong.
They say breathe in the smell of progress.

What’s that you say nose?
It might not be good
to live, eat, drink and fuck
by that fuckin smell.

A performance of What’s that You Say Nose?

I Need a Virus to Slow Down

The Pacific Coast Highway and Main Street in Cambria are a never ending source of creative inspiration.

I Need A Virus To Slow Down
 -Inspired by the flowers smack-dab in the middle of Main Street-

To make a road safer
You don’t –
Widen
Install
Repave
Repaint.

You fuck up the road!

With –
Potholes
Rocks
Planter boxes
Grazing deer.

These obstacles
slow a vehicle
down to a safe crawl.

When a relationship
moves too fast,

Sometimes I need
a snotty nose
to slow down
the Lovin’.

A good virus
to produce
Some chunky phlegm
To dribble down the lip.

Something a
condom can’t protect against.

Something to press down upon
the horny brakes.

A pause to make me ask,
“Am I really in love?”

Continue reading

Mechanistic Lover part 3: The Rewards of Fast, Disposable, Convenient Culture

A Brandon Follett and Bob Neal collaberation

A Brandon Follett and Bob Neal collaberation

Mechanistic Lover Part 3
The Rewards of an of a Fast, Disposable, Convenient Culture
previously published in The Arbiter

The microwave has nuked
my sex life.

Always thought
I could keep my eating habits
separate from my love making.

Veronica started to throw out comments like
“Aaron you treat me like a piece of meat.”
I’m a herbivore.
It didn’t dawn on me
that I really treated her
like a veggie TV dinner
until it was too late.

Our bedroom troubles began
when I bought a microwave.
Out went the homemade pizza.
Out went the sex.

Only after, she left me
I realized
how much I begun to mimic
the rewards of a fast, disposable, convenient culture.

I noticed:
I didn’t kneed the dough.
I didn’t gently wash the tomatoes.
I didn’t spread the creamy garlic sauce
and mozzarella cheese
from side to side
top to bottom.
I didn’t wait for the oven to heat up.

Eating has become gorging.
Sex has become fucking.

After another Veronica comment
I heard myself saying,
“However, I’m sure you’ll agree
doesn’t my penis feel good
like the feel good taste
of an instant Tony’s Pizza?”

She did not agree!

So I traded in Veronica
and all the things my 5 senses
cherished most about our sex:
sweet moans, tasty kisses, gentle touch,
sex smell, and visual curves
for a world of me me me

fast food,
convenient rest homes
disposable plates
fast orgasm
convenient internet dating
disposable cameras
fast cooking
convenient child care
disposable friends
fast sex
convenient microwave
disposable Tony’s Pizza.

fast
convenient
disposable

I’m now married to instant gratification.

Vegetarian Pizza Recipe:

THE DOUGH
1 cup of warm water
1 tablespoon of active-dry yeast
1 teaspoon of salt
1 teaspoon of sugar
Let it sit approximately 5 minutes
Add 1 tablespoon of olive oil
Mix well
Add 2 cups of flour
Work the dough with your hands and add  half to 1 cup more flour.
The dough should be easy to handle and little bit sticky.
Spread the dough on lightly buttered cookie sheet.

The SAUCE:
Olive oil infused with garlic, red pepper flakes, and basil.

The TOPPINGS:
Tomato, basil, garlic, red onion, mushrooms, pine nuts, mozzarella cheese

God in the Field


God in the Field performed by Veronica and the Mental Foreplays
Brandon Follett on vocals
Josh Kindelberger on guitar and bass

lyrics by Brandon Follett
music by Josh Kindelberger

Might have saw god in the solitude of a field.
Might have felt god in the grass between my toes.
Might have seen god in the undeveloped skyline.
Might have heard god in a blue jay’s chirp.
Not sure if I do believe in god
but at least I feel at peace.

The next year
a church had been built
in the field
where god might have been.
There I met a loud, guilt-driven, reincarnated Adam Smith.
He collected dollar bills
that read, “In God We Trust.”
He calls them testimonies of faith.

I told the preacher about the field
so he took me to the gift shop
and said, “You’ll find all that peace
in this consumer Jesus doll for $5.00.”
So I bought it.
He then proceeded to pray,
“May this Christ-like bobbling head
forgive your sins,
corporate salvation save your soul.”

Not sure if I believe in God
but do know I’ve been swindled.

Let’s Play Kill Em Baby

Baby
how many have you pretended
to kill
in your imaginary
mind?

I hope all your bullets
are smart
and colored red, blue and
white.

Instead of society thinking
your sick
they’ll just call your coloring
cute.

momma dresses
baby like a killer
she calls him daddies little
soldier

momma says
if baby’s ever scared
daddies got a big old
gun

momma says
if baby’s ever bored
draw daddies enemies
dead

Sea Ranch Chapel

There is no man dressed
like a politician
prancing
like a grade school teacher

no images of death and torture
no bowing crowd pretending to eat flesh
and drink their saviors blood

Kneeling in the silence and colors I had this thought

Wouldn’t it be grand if
The priests can have consensual adult sex
The evangelical pastors can’t make enough money to feed their greed
The latter day prophets are medicated
The Jesus militias finally find love

The poor burn the crosses

salvation becomes
warmth

The only remnant of christ
can be found in beauty

The Sea Ranch Chapel is located 110 miles north of San Francisco on Highway 1.

Brandon Follett: Narcissistic Jesus (video)

 

Inspired by the art of Mother Mary praying at the foot of the cross.

Brandon Follett: I just Want to be Pretty (video)