Brummet's Conscious Blog

Poetry Time This monthly series began more than a decade ago in an effort to encourage the joys of poetry. Here we celebrate other poet's work, as well as our own. If you would like to submit, simply visit the  ABOUT  page for guidelines & contact information. MY DOOR, EVERMORE Soft, shallow music flowing, Birds whispering their quiet, undemanding love, Lustrous trees bending to the powerful wind That’s just outside my door - evermore. Can’t you hear the music from where you stand? The echoed chirps of love? Can you feel the wind blowing, my friend? Just outside my open door – evermore. Inside the open door Is a small, neat, cozy mat. And on its face clearly written: welcome. To your right is a place for your hat. Inside my door - evermore. Yes, I’ve been hurt, and burned, and stepped on too. And even cried tears, just like you. You are safe inside my door. Look - open your eyes and see. No pressure, no pain, no cutting words. Things to be left in the outside world. Look a...

Poetry Time This monthly series began more than a decade ago in an effort to encourage the joys of poetry. Here we celebrate other poet's work, as well as our own. If you would like to submit, simply visit the  ABOUT  page for guidelines & contact information. In Our Midst How can we justify this life? With every breath that we take, Can we influence this hard world? Is there power in the hands,  Of This boy or this girl? There are heroes in our midst, And you know that they exist, They exist in you and I, We are the heroes in our midst. How can we waste away this life? When every breath is a gift, A chance to choose whatever fits, To make some wrong right, Or ease somebody’s plight. How can we whine about this life? When those who passed before had, Passed through rougher roads and more. And when looked at in this light, The roads we travel are golden evermore. How can claim we’re conscious? When each breath releases anger, Or some rotting hate within. And are we mak...

Poetry Time This monthly series began more than a decade ago in an effort to encourage the joys of poetry. Here we celebrate other poet's work, as well as our own. If you would like to submit, simply visit the  ABOUT  page for guidelines & contact information. CEMETERY AT NIGHT Did you ever stand, on a summer night, In a cemetery, in the cool moonlight? The mind begins to imagine things, You hear the flutter of angel wings, Was it the soft breeze blowing past, Or did a moan escape from the grass? Shifting clouds make shadows flow, They are the spirits of those below Who rest in peace for eternity, Never again to speak or see, Never again to feel that breeze Stirring the leaves on silent trees. On some stones pleasant epitaphs: Do not mourn, remember the laughs, Keep on smiling, don’t be sad, Cherish the happy times we had, He was a friend, we knew him well. And many a tale the stones can tell. A marble marker bearing two names, The date of demise for both the same, An icy ...

Poetry Time This monthly series began more than a decade ago in an effort to encourage the joys of poetry. Here we celebrate other poet's work, as well as our own. If you would like to submit, simply visit the  ABOUT  page for guidelines & contact information. FEBRUARY'S SILENT EMBRACE The waves softly touching desert-like sands... The sea gulls making known their demands... The wind whispering through budded leaves... The water rises as the snow grieves... Familiar birds fly back home, To ready their nests for the unborn. Colours change from grey to green... As the rain washes earth's face clean. The stars shine brighter than before... As the do the eyes of those who adore, The glorious feelings from this wonderful place; Brought by the tides  of February's silent embrace.  Find the Series:  (US)  https://www.amazon.com/dp/B09YMCRVZ3 (Canada)  https://www.amazon.ca/dp/B09YMCRVZ3 ~~~     Follow us & find our Books:   on Amaz...

Poetry Time This monthly series began more than a decade ago in an effort to encourage the joys of poetry. Here we celebrate other poet's work, as well as our own. If you would like to submit, simply visit the  ABOUT  page for guidelines & contact information. Lists I have a book of lists That my life insists I must complete  Before I retreat Down to my room  And out of the sun. I must not desist From doing my list For if I fail And my chores curtail I’ll meet my doom Before I have fun. Not knowing what to do Without that list left by you Has me wandering around  With my head hanging down Although it may seem Very easy for you I am lost without my list of  “ to-do's ”  Find the Series:  (US)  https://www.amazon.com/dp/B09YMCRVZ3 (Canada)  https://www.amazon.ca/dp/B09YMCRVZ3 ~~~     Follow us & find our Books:   on Amazon Visit:   Drum It With Brummet Blog Subscribe:   Brummet Media​ YouTube Chan...

Poetry Time This monthly series began more than a decade ago in an effort to encourage the joys of poetry. Here we celebrate other poet's work, as well as our own. If you would like to submit, simply visit the  ABOUT  page for guidelines & contact information. AUTUMN RETURNS Sullen skies are spilling down Cold October showers, Gardens yield a last display Of summer's fading flowers. Low clouds obscure the hills, Southbound geese are flying, Raindrops rinse dusty leaves And all the trees are crying. Wisps of mist slowly drift Along the river's edge, Gaps of light begin to show In the caragana hedge. In the ranks of apple trees Leaves of ho-hum green Ordered now by nature's brush To flaunt the golden scene. Blades of grass sparkle white With coats of frosty dew, The window of the year reveals November peaking through.  Find the Series:  (US)  https://www.amazon.com/dp/B09YMCRVZ3 (Canada)  https://www.amazon.ca/dp/B09YMCRVZ3 ~~~     Follow u...

Poetry Time This monthly series began more than a decade ago in an effort to encourage the joys of poetry. Here we celebrate other poet's work, as well as our own. If you would like to submit, simply visit the  ABOUT  page for guidelines & contact information. Ode to Beloved Fur Kids I could not protect you Not from the speeding car Or the searing pain Or the length of time You were a charm A note of beauty Charging me with love And sharing every day... All three of you are gone And though I have mourned And though our home is full again I yearn for you Some days, the haunting loss Nearly knocks me over Knees buckle, chest aches And the dreams... Come again.    Find the Series:  (US)  https://www.amazon.com/dp/B09YMCRVZ3 (Canada)  https://www.amazon.ca/dp/B09YMCRVZ3 ~~~     Follow us & find our Books:   on Amazon Visit:   Drum It With Brummet Blog Subscribe:   Brummet Media​ YouTube Channel​  ​ ~~~  ...

Poetry Time This monthly series began more than a decade ago in an effort to encourage the joys of poetry. Here we celebrate other poet's work, as well as our own. If you would like to submit, simply visit the  ABOUT  page for guidelines & contact information. A SPARROW DIED During the night a sparrow died, I found him lying on my back step, On his back, frozen, in the snow, So close, a mere foot from the door. Perhaps he hoped to get inside If the man would bring him in Just for a while, to feel the warm By a register in the kitchen floor. Then let back out to fly away, To survive another frigid day. It made me wonder - standing there, When a sparrow dies, does anyone care?  Find the Series:  (US)  https://www.amazon.com/dp/B09YMCRVZ3 (Canada)  https://www.amazon.ca/dp/B09YMCRVZ3 ~~~     Follow us & find our Books:   on Amazon Visit:   Drum It With Brummet Blog Subscribe:   Brummet Media​ YouTube Channel​  ​ ...

Poetry Time This monthly series began more than a decade ago in an effort to encourage the joys of poetry. Here we celebrate other poet's work, as well as our own. If you would like to submit, simply visit the  ABOUT  page for guidelines & contact information. ALLITERATION The limpid light lay loosely on the land When Wendel went to watch the washing waves, He brought a bunch of books about a boy And spent the summer sitting on the sand. A mood most mild and mellow moved his mind To tell a tale to twenty traveling teens, In just their jeans they jested, jumped and joked While signing silly songs to set the scene. Wendel wasn't wise in worldly ways, In his humble heart he held that he Could not conceive of coddling cranky cows, And he never knew that gnats could knock their knees. © Frank Brummet  (February 2006) * This poem was written by Dave's father in February, 2008 - who enjoyed studying the art of poetry.  Here he is exploring alliteration, a wonderful tool...

Poetry Time This monthly series began more than a decade ago in an effort to encourage the joys of poetry. Here we celebrate other poet's work, as well as our own. If you would like to submit, simply visit the ABOUT page for guidelines & contact information. Double-locked Vaults I felt myself Thinking and feeling Thoughts of doors Long closed And sealed by Double-locked Vaults. Emotional Vertigo Swayed my mind Yet once adjusted  A side of myself Was revealed And I Understood. © Lillian Brummet, 2008 * This poem was written in the summer of 2008 about the journey of healing from old wounds, coming to a place of peace with the past & discovering I had grown in the process.  It was published in   Rhythm & Rhyme,  the 2nd book of our Playing With Words series.   Rhythm & Rhyme , 2nd book in the  Playing With Words poetry series, takes readers through caregiving, recovery, loss, joys, & finding solace in music & nature.  Ride...

When a reader leaves a review, or rating, for a book it validates the writer's efforts in spending years behind the scenes making that book available. It feeds the writer when times are tough and the inner voices break in telling us we are nothing.  Thank you readers for taking the time to leave a review :)  Poetic Wanderings Poetic Wanderings is a deeply introspective collection that guides readers on a reflective journey through memory, nature, and time. With themes of childhood nostalgia, love, loss, and identity, Brummet’s poetry captures life’s fleeting beauty and encourages personal reflection. Curated by Dave and Lillian Brummet, the collection explores how we navigate the past, hold onto memories, and find meaning in the present. From the outset, Brummet's vivid imagery evokes life's simple pleasures—often overlooked in the hustle of daily life. In the opening lines, "To roam meadows of memory, so far away. So long ago." , he sets the tone for a journey i...