My name is Janice Brabaw and I am submitting the enclosed poems, "Broken Pendulum" "Five Dollar Wine. A Sip," "A Snippet," "Bottom" and "Bongos" for your consideration for publication in (A Brilliant) Record Magazine.

I am a poet from New York City and recently published my first length collection entitled Universe, Disturbed. My work has also been featured in Poesis, The Toronto Quarterly, The Cartier Street Review, and Ophelia Street and reviews of my book have appeared in Doug Holder's Boston Area Small Press and Poetry Scene and Barbaric Yawp. I run a reading and music series in Brooklyn called "Stained Glass Confessional" and have read at the legendary Bowery Poetry Club as well as the Library Lounge at Telephone Bar, The Cake Shop, and Otto's Shrunken Head.

broken pendulum.

broken pendulum
how absurd
your strange new twists and turns
but still you swing
a haphazard left to right
never bothered or daunted in your life
still you measure out the hours
your punctuality unmatched
in your lonely nook
at the end of the hall
if you can whisper
tell me your secrets
I don't think I'm as strong as you
my life is just a mere tick
in your eternal tick-tock


Five Dollar Wine. A Sip.

You breathe me in deep
note the hints of pine and ash
gently, you examine me, jostle me
to watch me tremble
detecting the blackberry briers
the fresh sweet grass
dandelions, tiger lilies, April lilacs
with great nobility and respect
you ignore my plastic cork
that does not split under
the weight and force
you apply.

snippet.

I wish it was snowing outside
something interesting, meteorological
I wish I could see something
besides rusted antennae
I hold my breath
something catches my eye
a Key Food bag caught in a tree
even the leaves in NYC
are plastic

Bottom.

You pat my bottom
As I climb the stairs
I shriek and spin
Whirl of raven and wool
I tell myself it's a compliment
A friendly reminder
Of a growing sentiment
But blood flush blush
Cheeks abloom
And I walk slowly, surely
Hoping the hem of my coat
Hides everything you can see
Anyway

Bongos.

this woman's voice sounds like mine
but I don't play the bongos
my hands don't slap like that
and I lack the bravery to sing