The Mid-War Sessions
By Christopher J. Bradley

Completed: Wednesday, August 07, 2002


Thank you for reading, in advance, seriously. In light of the fact that fewer people are reading or voting these days, it is important to remember that the First Amendment should not be taken lightly, and that every person who has an opinion should learn to find their voice. I hope that my voice is loud enough for even just one person out there who might not be fully represented.

At present, the United States government is in a War with Terror. When will this war end? It is unlikely we will know soon, is the answer we have been given.

With the knowledge that we are all now given a global platform to speak our minds, I encourage you to share this work internationally, and to translate it. Perhaps by sharing in this way we might meet someday, in some words from Oasis as I spoke with a soul named Eva this evening “In a Champagne Supernova in the Sky.” I am looking to you for parcels of truth, just as you are seeking them from me.

Please join me in celebrating the life we live, even given the restricted freedom we have had in these carefully measured times, and let us all give thanks to those who have guided us toward spiritual enlightenment, in any peaceable faith known to man.

And for those of you who just like my ranting about the women I would like to meet,

“Make Love, Not War!” It works! Seriously! How do you think we ended aggression in every other circumstance? The time has come, for a booming echo of the booming echo. Let’s put on some Lenny Kravitz and “Dig In…You Know You’ll Have Yourself A Good Time!”

-Christopher J. Bradley

From The Fallen Rubble an Olive Branch Trembles

By Christopher J. Bradley

8/1/2002 6:34:24 AM

From the Fallen Rubble

An olive branch trembles

In the grasp

Of the tear streaked eagle.

After the moment of calamity

Remains the silent voice of the enfuried survivor

To croak and groan in one voice

“Our war has begun yet it is not the answer.”

Tanks Amphibious Transports and Aircraft

All Are Loaded and Barrelled

The Treads grinding on bare earth

With Wings cutting Blue Sky

And Battlements Adrift on Dark Sea.

Beneath the waves are the Tridents.

Locked in Def-Con Synchronization

Prepared to fly given the command

“May God Keep NATO in Line.”

And yet the spirit lives on

In the corridors of corporate offices

In the audiences of the blockbuster screens

In the baseball fields of the Niagara suburbs.

In the smile of a happy engaged waitress

In the shoe stores and the outlet malls

In the Big and Tall Men’s shops

On the well lit Boulevard at dusk.

In the Blues Bars and Subways of Manhattan

In the Science Museums where the children run free

In the galleries of Art and Nostalgia

Through the radio and television networks.

In the International Space Station’s Labs

On the global wilderness of the Internet

On the tips of the tongues of the new millennium academic

In the grade school teacher’s lesson plans.

In the endless vending of cigarettes and prescription pharmacology

On Every dime or Quarter put toward a soda pop.

With Every bag of Microwave popcorn

And at Every Chippewa Sausage Stand.

It could be said that some boxes had been better unopened

John Denver’s little ball called war might never have been bounced

But as with every harmonic frequency

Friction will reduce the rippling

As the oceans of tragedy subside

And the Kingfisher finally discovers

A perch on which his branch

May finally come to rest.

Chi and The Art of Kawasaki Ninja Investments

By Christopher J. Bradley


They've tried to put me into reform school a couple of times.

I enjoyed the experiences immenslely

The fights over cigarettes

The stolen silverware

The whole shebang.

But I took a lesson from Chingachgook and the like

In silence to take my time

And in loudness to hammer the target with the whistling arrow.

They think you are stoppable when you move with slow feet

But they don't consider the weight too often.

Three hundred and sixty pounds creates a lot of momentum

A light car weighs only fifteen hundred.

And so I am a walking freight train

A wordmith with keys that lay down like hammers in the forge.

My sword will fit the gloved hand of a Marine

As well as it will fill that of any rogue poet.

I am going to rise above the curse of Hamlet

As I have a steel horse and he didn't

And take my Ninja to the edge

Of the envelope containing the Scrabbled market whips

Unending strips of ticker tape

Rattle unfettered

Beneath my toes

And the Iron Cage

Is truly made of little more than balsa.

For under the Osaka sky

There is a young girl

Who rides at sunset

Into the Banzai of a Chinese New Year

Her palm pilot hugging her leathered breast

With a screen flickering



And the Horizon falls behind her

While the rest of the world

Stuck in a UK panic

Wages war for her kind of freedom

And my name

Escapes her lips

In a warm embrace…

No Legacy for The Mainframe

11/22/01 3:02:53 AM

by Christopher J. Bradley

Oh digital wonder

Your time is going

Far into the past

With the likes of the betamax.

Everything gets smaller

The cellular implants are nearly here

If not already.

And you can carry the Vax of the eighties

In your pocket.


I laugh at you

As I build my way

Into a new century

Where time

Gets infinitely longer

As circuits micronize and binarize

Even your Goliath

Will fall to my David.

Are there parallel universes?

11/22/01 2:39:21 AM

by Christopher J. Bradley

If there are parallel universes

Am I also writing there?

And is it possible to send a letter

To the past me of the present

To let him know that he is not alone?

Does his hand ache like mine?

As he holds the round pen

Scribbling as fast as I.

Has he typed played the piano

Discovered electronic music?

Has he taken photos of rockets

Or danced for five hours at a stretch

While eating oranges?

Who are my parallel selves?
Will they join me in my journey?

Or will I join them in theirs?

And what of our brothers in name

But not blood?

What of them?

May they all succeed.

Discovering A Lost Piece of Boston

By Christopher J. Bradley

3/18/02 4:39:02 PM

It is about 4:39 in the afternoon

And I find myself sitting in an IHOP

An International House of Pancakes

On Maple Road in Amherst.

I was told to look into this when I was here

Before I left for Boston

By Bearded Bob

At the time I thought the world of him.

His description had been dead on

They are clean

And Lively

And a last remnant

Of the pancake houses of days past.

They outlived Perkins.

And appeared here magically this year.

I am glad to have somewhere to come

With good music

And bean town personality.

Even though the power outlets are a stretch from the ground

Looks like I'll have to charge my laptop before coming over

But at least they don't mind it so much

They are one of the few places that don't mind them

And they have plenty of space to work with.

I anticipate I'll have more to say

After I have my Terryaki Mushroom Burger.

Higher State on a Tuesday

12/18/2001 8:32:20 AM

by Christopher J. Bradley

“This Is The Higher State Of Consciousness”

I Listen To Josh Wink As I Type About The Week’s Events.

3 Visits To The Chiropractor

A Flat tire

A New TV

Dinner at the Super Buffet

A Lotto Ticket.

Seatbelted driving

A Trip to Andy’s

A Jack The Ripper Flick

Some Page Building Over DSL

A New Tire Purchase



A Tomato Sandwich



A Chimichanga

Coffee Lots Of it.

Messages On Deja Noise Control and A Worldwide Café

Postings On Everypoet

Problems With Outlook Express and Netzero

Two Well Placed Letters To Yahoo Customer Service.

Complaint Call To New York State Insurance division

Several Calls To National Benefit

No Answer

Fax Attempts

No Answer.

Sleep Lots of It

Corey Hart

Sunglasses At Night

Calls To Andy Scott and Adelphia

No Connection To Any Of Them

Powerlink Signup And Lord of The Rings Happen Tomorrow.

I cannot share my deepest thoughts here.

By Christopher J. Bradley

8/1/2002 5:43:32 AM

I cannot share my deepest thoughts here

Not among the endless cups of boiling coffee

And blues singers wailing on the radio

Not among the cubicles in neat perfect rows.

I look often for a place to bind to

For a companion to comfort me

Someone who’s toenails I could clip

After a bottle of champagne in a warm bath towel.

We would talk

And I would tell her how she hasn’t been

The only one I’ve ever cared for

But that she was the first to ride

By my side saddle in the new Mustang.

But somehow I think

The fantasy of that whole stanza

In the greater work of my ultimate comedy

Cannot be fate or destiny

For as I improve I find myself seeking

After something more tangible

An individual who can be all of these

Wild urban debutante Jennifer Lopez fantasies

But that yet I can trust.

The Horse Shoe Crab

By Christopher J. Bradley

11/22/01 2:44:50 AM

Dedicated to Robert Bradley

There were fish swimming everywhere at the Aquarium

All different kinds of fish

Spiny Alien Zebra fish like you would never see

In the Saint Lawrence by the docks.

And there was a seal who did tricks

And balanced a ball on his nose

To throw to the dolphins in the big central pool

Of the big blue circular building.

And an electric eel that shocked

My Dad and I

In the darkness

On the hour.

The event that I can still feel in my spirit

Is my encounter with the touch tank

Where I had a chance to play with the starfish

And the big shelled and spiky tailed

Horse Shoe Crab.

Creating and Organizing Lists

By Christopher J. Bradley

11/22/01 3:08:56 AM

I never would have thought

That organizing lists of items

In virtual space

Could be so interesting.

I have recently collected

A list of message bases

And lists of movies

And Recording artists

To place on-line

To enhance the value of my database.

As my library gets larger

Strange new opportunities might unfold.

I am already beginning to find fans in strange places.

One of them is a German racecar driver.

Who knows what is next?

Maybe I can get Gates to look down here

If I keep working at it.

The House that Jack in The Box Built

By Christopher J. Bradley


Dedicated to all of the would be couriers

Jack was a humble craftzman

He wore his Jester's cap

And Danced among the crowd for weeks

He tested the vibes of the product

And he liked it.

So he decided he would share it with his friends

And then found that they all wanted it

More people than he thought he knew

Started coming to him

So he started buying wholesale

And forgot about Peter

And the wood stacked up against the wind

But silicon was beneath him.

The market grew steadily

And after a while the house had a roof

Then running water

And a speaker section.

He had a Mercedes to get from home to the office

And a digital satellite radio

And the tunes vibrated at the edges of his ray bans

And the house was finished and sturdy.

Until the water came up the beach

And the Electricity that wasn't up to code

Blew the walls out in a blast of blue flame

And Jack's sports car exploded in the garage.

To see the look on his face

From across the ocean

As he wrestled with the sides of the box

Was like watching a mouse spin a wheel in a Habitrail.

And the music plays again

With each step

In the same boxes

On the same beaches.

Vaporware v. 1.0

11/22/01 2:32:41 AM

by Christopher J. Bradley

From the gas station to the Bookstore

Or somewhere in between

I lost a pack of cigarettes

And now I want to scream.

But somehow in the midst of this

I've almost made my mind

Decide they're not the Ritz of it

Someday soon it's quitting time.

Potato Chip Breakfast

By Christopher Bradley


How many times have you

Found yourself

At 5 am

Munching on an open bag

Of Lays potato chips?

An interesting question.

French Onion dip is a delicious food

When you can find it on-sale

And someone doesn't get to the refrigerator before you do.

The container and the bag

Are perfect for snacking

When you don't have to worry about that troublesome extra person

That only seems to confuse you anyway.

Chips for one I say

In the darkness of early morning.

Let the paperboy earn his keep

And when he arrives tip him well

But don't give up the best kept secret

That one day he too will end up

With a bag a bowl and a nice big television.

Rediscovering New England in A Time of War
by Christopher J. Bradley 3/24/02

And so today is the beginning of the new dawn

Of a time where the search for New England has been answered.

Quietly and with patience

I have discovered it.

It is hiding in the bank across town

And the church toward the river

And the café with the smoking lounge

And the bookstore with it's volumes upon volumes of common text.

There is myth that you have to find in the library

And spiritualism to be found through a maple tree

Or a pint of apple juice while shopping at the super market with your mother.

The apple does not fall far from the engineer.

In the community college the students sway

To the professor's hymns of economics or psychology

Running their fingers ruthlessly through each other's hair

Their joints break-stepping in Latin grooved Levi's.

The women and men and girls and boys

Move among each other in the freedom of the moment

Each with careers to pursue Or toys to trade

Japanese cartoons cards are popular among the children.

And a faintness of the birds and monkeys of Peru

Echo's up from the south via satellite cloud

While a hurricane of data washes the people of the moment

Throughout the Telesphere.

My homeland is slowly becoming a part of me

And I am accepting my place here

Proudly a twenty first century fourth generation Mohawk English

Sharing space with the likes of a spicy broth of brethren and sisterhood.

The ministers are not the only teachers of the young

They are just the most pronounced authorities.

We all learn from each other

And nobody really listens to the television alone.

I know that as I view my digital parchment

There are others awake in the early morning hours

Patiently waiting for their moment to bask in the summer sun

And find that we are all collectively important.

Our patriots triumph

In the playoffs and game of the century

To the parchment of Jefferson

And the pen of our Chief Executive.

If I alone could put an end to the evils to the world

I would make every effort on my own

So I ask Will you help?

And if so Can I shake your hand as a neighbor in good faith?

Finding an Old Friend on The Web

11/22/01 2:23:20 AM

by Christopher J. Bradley

I found Pat's website on WorldTwitch

I was unable to find anything previously

Perhaps because I wasn't looking

I had been previously in my searches

Self concerned and not in expectation

of my friend's potential notorieties.

But now that I know what is possible

I will keep my eyes opened

A little wider

So that I might discover

Some more of my friend's successes

And add links to their publishings

To my list

So they can be there

Even in times when they are not.

How Her Fingers Danced

By Christopher J. Bradley


It was evening in the X-Ray lab

Of St. Mary's Hospital.

The air was cool outside

But I hadn't needed a jacket

For the long walk from the blacktop drive

To the steel cased entranceway.

There was no introduction

Just my name on a card

And some preliminary information about my spine

And within a few minutes

I was face to face

With the girl with dark hair.

She was like out of a memory

Clicking away at the keyboard

And I found it hard to look away

From her fingers

Snapping the Keys.

Individual Strokes to the plastic.

How her fingers danced

A Rhyhmic pounding

That would have been loud like a hammer

If they hadn't been dulled by the fans.

The Infared and medical papers

Swarmed around her as she wrote

In virtual space

Somewhere I hope to be

If this tapping ever ceases.

For a French Poodle

By Christopher J. Bradley


Dedicated to Pierre

Your fur crest

Rested high above your brow

When mom made you up

And you were brushed out right

Several times a year.

I remember how you walked

When your legs were straight

With a high stance

And soft shoes.

You danced

Not unlike Dixie Dust

But with more pride

In a white cotton moment

While the stones of our gravel driveway

Shifted under countless sets of new tires.

I will find you again

Dancing in her arms

When heaven reaches me

And she will introduce us both

To our Maple Tree

Which will blossom with fresh buddings

In the eternal Spring-time

Of Norwood's Winds…

As they race

To The Stars

Slowly Spinning

Above Our Home-yard.

Coreon Surface Pressure

By Christopher J. Bradley


Dedicated to Moby and S. Hannam

For what seems like centuries

You've kept us entertained

In a way that I would have liked to do my whole life

And the tension continues to build

As you leap to catch the five rings

That hold themselves fixed high above even you

In the stratosphere of the global village.

The battle call has been given

Flags fly high in every Nation of the world

And the enemy holds no post

While Jennifer Lopez struts on a passionate USO stage

We know that our struggle is both public and private

And the lieutenants in both sides are unseen.

So on this fifth anniversary

Of my friend's marriage

I reconsider what might have happened

If my car had never gotten stuck in the mud.

And I hadn't had a strange goatee.

On a cool and rainy march afternoon.

I felt like I stood alone in the midst of it all

Yet you were all there

Even those that I didn't know

And the music was still with us all

Vibrating under the tables

In the subways and headsets

Of the pedestrian streets

Of New York and Toronto.

Some say that the new media revolution is over

But I say it has just begun

For the few holding the strings now

Have to pass them on at some time

And what better time

Than when their children are churning up hay

From the muddy ground

On which we once tilled grain.

A piece of corn

Under the Nitrous enhanced lights

Of a summer circus tent

United our circle

And by the grant of the one who has called us to this earth

Will unite us once again.

There will be no regrets when we reach Oz

For the wizard will be revealed

And he will give us a heart a mind and a badge

And we will all find our own way to the place where we were raised.

Resources in a Bookstore

By Christopher J. Bradley

11/22/01 2:35:47 AM

Before I leave this place

I think I'll take in a page

And possibly finish my coffee

Which is larger than expected.

There are volumes here

Containing chapters and pages


And yet I find myself

Making short strokes on legal paper

Considering what the future of the moment

might hold.

March 18th 2002

By Christopher J. Bradley


I don't believe I had noticed before

The drab looks on the faces

Of the college students

Of the region on March 18th more.

It was very noticeable this year.

Imagine the increase in consumption

That reliving that horrible day

6 months and 7 days earlier

Must have created.

Each of them looked like they were stammering

In a slow recoiling manner

As they stumbled on to the campus grounds at 8am.

And I do not wonder

That many still had it on their breaths.

What good would a peanut butter sandwich do

For lunch

When breakfast was at 4AM

In a pancake house

Or from a pizza and sausage vendor

Down near Franklin and Chippewa.

The Toxicity of March 17th

Takes away from the snakes fleeing Ireland

On that fateful day

Under St. Patrick's Stewardship

And I pray

That one day

The snakes will once again

Be cast out

Of the modern world.

MP3 Recordings at Andy's

By Christopher J. Bradley

11/22/01 2:58:23 AM

Andy has a powerful computer

He can run a high speed video game

While downloading music from the net


If I can I will visit Andy

And maybe burn a CD

If Favorites to mix into

Music CD's for my other friends

And family.

I hope he sticks around

To keep me updated on the latest technology

So that we can move forward

As the screens of the world

Become thin.

Cooper's Virtual Forest
 (Last of the Mohicans)

11/22/01 2:14:24 AM

by Christopher J. Bradley

It breathed at me in the opening pages

And the English and the French

And the Native runners

And the daughters of the General took life.

Now I begin Chapter Two

And find that the story

Whose conclusion I know

Has left much unsaid

In VHS format.

I plan to journey into that forest

Page after page

Day after Day

Until I find myself surrounded

In the leaves of the paper

On which I write.

The Doris Day Movie

11/22/01 2:19:22 AM

by Christopher J. Bradley

We turned the film on

On satellite TV

To keep my mother happy

On a day when my sister was leaving.

I found myself enjoying

The garden of Eden joke

And the psychedelic footage

That made the car chase scene

So patently not today.


By Christopher J. Bradley


I can actually remember missing laundry detergent

Having an urge to go out the store to buy it.

There is something in my current marketing class

That I need to understand

Why did I need it so much?

I've developed an innate need for the ridiculous blue colored liquid.

I use it to clean all of my clothes

Regardless if it is the type with bleach or not.

I've grown not to care about that.

For some reason using the crystalline powder that Purex offered

Doesn't fit the bill

Having both I would still choose Tide

And yet I do not understand why?

Ever since I remember washing my own clothes

I remember most using Blue Liquid

As a favorite.

Maybe it's because the crystals stick to your fingers

And all of my Chemistry classes taught me that when water touches that

There can be a reaction.

I have never tried mixing Purex with anything

But I do wonder at times what it might do?

Would it make orange juice fizz?

Not that you could drink it after that

But would it generate some kind of massive release of gas

Due to Acid and Base connecting in an unusual way?

To stay safe I think the best policy is to keep that crystal stuff outside the home

It looks too much like candy

And It can't be good for pets.

Who might get it up the nose.

The Tide has that neat bottle

Which keeps the blue juice upright

In that orange wave of a bottle

And it cleans like magic

Even those gnarly socks from last week.

So here's to Tide

And many fortunes

To It's makers

I'll keep surfing

Until your Wave Crashes Out.

Tangled Arms and Legs

By Christopher J. Bradley


It's been 12 years since that first moment

When I was so exposed

Found in the comfort

Of the caress of my bride to be

And then later

Drawn into the craze of a Canadian punk rock girl

In Red Blue Jeans.

Wearing a White Mesh fabric

That perfectly accentuated her perfect form.

The tangled arms and legs

Of a college summer

Contrasted with an underground winter

And the hamburger job that followed

Left me with the feeling that I'd given up something important

And that missing element then

Were my values.

I have now been able to carefully discern some of what they are.

And I am more cautious now when meeting these delicate creatures with their perfume

For they are not as delicate as they seem

They have their careers to think about

And the nail polish isn't for show.

It's kind of like sharpening your favorite blade.

Which in a sense I guess

Is kind of cool

But I need more than someone trying to get at my love from above

I need a level focus with them

And I need the tangle to turn into a union

With a proper dialogue

That doesn't come to an end.


Whoever you happen to be this time

Let me hand you a rose

And I will remove the thorns

If you will put some Aspirin

Into the water.

Repaying Debts

By Christopher J. Bradley


As I repay these small debts

I wonder if I will become indebted again.

The time slowly trudges forward

And with it the expenses follow.

I have been given so much

And yet I find myself unsatisfied

With sitting in a room filled with life's toys

And furnishings given as gifts.

At a time when I am appearing in the newspaper

The shock value of it all keeps me awake at night

Watching Artificial Intelligence

And wondering about the significance of the quest for humanity in my life.

I was not born machine

And so I believe

If I can become more than an instrument of profit seekers

Possibly I can grow to brighten the world and my self-concept.

And so the question to be asked now is

Who do I begin my lending with?

So that sharing becomes more than

A glowing screen

In the darkness

Of night.


By Christopher J. Bradley


They look like a bunch of people in a Pringles Commercial

Making faces about the fact that none of them can get to what's in the can

When in fact they could more than afford to spend their time buying another can

If they wanted.

They live in rented houses

Where they can smoke drink and do whatever else they please

Yet they have to come out in public

And intrude on the space of people

Who intend nothing more than to attempt to better themselves

Through text.

Damn them.

Those who can afford to live alone

Should be required to

And leave those of us

Who can afford only to live

Under the magnifier of public scrutiny

Out of the photo tube.

Buy yourselves another can of Pringles

And let me finish my damn cup of coffee in peace.

On Getting The Cat Stoned on Catnip

By Christopher J. Bradley

8/1/2002 5:51:34 AM

I sit in the big black leather chair

In Andy’s Apartment on occasion

Watching Entertainment tonight

While he finishes up a video game.

I watch him follow the cat to the center of the floor

And somehow he can innately tell

That the intelligent Grey fur ball is

Asking for its fix.

The small cup on top of the television stand

Is loaded with the stuff

It looks like chewed up Grey confetti

And he takes the substance in his thumbs

And gives the cat a pinch.

The cat’s back arches to the to the floor

And it rolls its’ head and neck in the stuff.

It’s like an electrical shock to his disposition.

He writhes in enjoyment

Licking at his coated patches of hair!

And to think

This very cat

Single handedly

Burned out his

Computer Monitor

With fuzz.

Looking For The Right Girl To Marry

By Christopher J. Bradley

8/6/2002 7:04:54 AM

The Right Girl For Me

Would Not Be Interested In Substances

Or Shallow Conquest

Or The Pursuits of Fiscal Bondage.

More Importantly

Of She Would Be Actively Seeking Spiritual Enlightenment

And She Would Understand That I Enjoy Consumer Technology.

She Would Be Interested In Watching Major League Baseball

In The Skydome In Toronto.

She Would Enjoy Traveling To Visit Friends

But Her Goal Would Be To Live In Her Family’s Hometown.

She Would Require That I Be Responsible

And Give Me Plenty of Reasons To Stay Healthy

So That We Could Enjoy Long Fulfilling Lives

She Would Tolerate My Many Musings Over Science And The Infernal Machine

And She Would Be Romantic And Poetic

And Enjoy Candle Light Dinners.

And She Would Sing To Me

Just Every Once In A While

Even To The Radio As We Drive

She Would Bake Cookies With Children At Christmas

And I Would Carve The Pumpkin On Haloween

And She Would Have Good Conversations With Me

Not Expecting Me To Be As Intelligent About People As She Would Be

We Would Write Out Birtday Cards Together

And Find Our First Home Together

And Share Moments

That Know One Else

Would Have To Intrude On.

Except of Course The Dog

But He Sheds So Who’s Counting?

Gyros and Dreams about Gyroscopes

By Christopher J. Bradley

8/6/2002 6:58:13 AM

For Each Passing Day

That Passes On and On

I Wish Again and Again

That The Gyros Wouldn’t Be so Tempting.

And While I sit Here

Drinking Coffee And Smoking Marlboros

Given To Me By A Friend

Who Fills Out Crosswords

I Find That I Am Deeper Into

The Mindset Of Studying War Vehicles

Than I Would Like.

And That Every Turn A Veteran or Ex Veteran Approaches

I Am Glad to Know However

That I Am Not Alone In My Musings

Over High Tech Fighter Planes

And Other Miscellaneous Elements of Hardware and Software

I Do Wonder However

Who Will Be Receiving

Their Orders


Which Edge of the Universe?

By Christopher J. Bradley

8/1/2002 6:07:52 AM

Which edge of the universe

Will we travel to from Hollywood this year?
Will we journey into the outer reaches of Vega?

Or will we travel smashing back to Earth on a hurtling Asteroid?

Will we survive the next potential Nuclear Winter?
Or find ourselves in the depths of the Atlantic on a caterpillar drive Submarine?
Will we find ourselves along the fault lines

Of a living Mars?

Or between the Loops of Jupiter?

I believe that these tested markets

Are ready for a fresh perspective

Another Fantastic Voyage

Perhaps among the Synaptic Surges

Of The human Mind.

After all

We are in the midst of the connection

Between Man

And Machine.

Physical Therapy

11/22/01 2:28:14 AM

by Christopher J. Bradley

Perhaps the best thing that could have happened

In this whole travesty

Is the physical therapy.

I am finding myself walking more now

Even though my back is sore

And I am also finding myself

Stretching and excercising more

In an attempt to heal.

My excercises include wall slides

Shoulder pinches

An exercise bike

And stretches on a theraball.

I have been able to lie on my stomach and read

For the first time

In a couple of years.

Walter and The Moon Buffet

By Christopher J. Bradley

8/1/2002 5:59:32 AM

It’s about a year ago summer

And we’re walking into the moon

A Chinese Buffet on Sheridan

My Mother My Aunt and I.

And I spot him there as we are seated

The half Cuban half Puerto Rican Pizza Chef

Back from The Allen Town Days And Sal’s

He’s having a great time with his friends.

I wish I had the physical time

And instance of circumstance to get up

And ask him how he’s been doing

But I don’t.

I hope he doesn’t recognize me


But he remembers

And after all of the Emperor Chicken

And Pork Fried Rice And Mussels

He does say hello to me.

As I am smoking in the front

Waiting for the ever resilient ladies

In my life.

The Bubble Tea Café

By Christopher J. Bradley

8/1/2002 6:17:10 AM

At the advice of a couple of

Asian Raver Fraternity Dudes

And A Girlfriend

I Ventured Into The Bubble Tea Café.

The Place Was Very Toronto

Stylistically – Lots of Fashion and Car Magazines

Lining Its’ Racks

And Tables.

For 3.15 I had a drink

Whose name I can’t pronounce

Made by a Thai barkeep

Who told me about the tapioca balls

At the base of the cup.

It tasted like an Iced Cappuccino

With the added benefit

Of the Consistency

Of Tapioca

A memorable taste

That I will have to try again.

A Message From God in Webster

By Christopher J. Bradley

8/1/2002 6:22:36 AM

I drove into Webster on a clear Saturday morning

In my beat up ’99 Saturn.

Hoping to find Jodi

After a Stop for a Juice and and English Muffin

At the Princess.

I successfully avoided a run in with a Pimp there

He was harassing the waitress

Trying to act like he owned the place

And surfing through newspapers with his girl.

When I left cautiously

I headed down Main Street in Webster

Planning to stop at my friend’s home

But on the way there

The voice on the radio said

In a blaring and triumphant voice

From the depths of everywhere

“Mustangs!….$299.00….Webster Ford!”

So I stopped at a Friendly’s along the way

And bought a bagel and got directions.

I was the first customer to drive up

And walk into the showroom

To negotiate.

The salesman was slick and savvy and Italian

From the final price we worked out

You might think I’d have bought a Ferrari

But I am convinced

Every Minute I drive into the future

That the voice of God has visited me

At least once

In Recent Days.

Ambulation in Amherst

11/22/01 2:09:42 AM

by Christopher J. Bradley

After speaking with my therapist

I decided to go for a walk again

As prescribed.

The walk was more relaxing today

There were fewer people

And I thought about Christmas

As I passed the singing Bears of the Boulevard.

I stopped to charge my cell phone

And buy a pack of Milds

And now I sit listening to Bing Crosby

At the bookstore café

With a pen and paper

As I did a year ago.

Holly and Glitter Leaf

By Christopher J. Bradley

11/22/01 2:51:15 AM

People decorate each Christmas season

With Holly and that indefinable metal coated leaf stuff

That hangs at the center of wreaths

On front doors.

And they buy and give candles as gifts

Oh what we wouldn't do without candles

Candles can be wrapped with that silver stuff also

And centered in bunches of evergreen spines.

To be placed on holiday tables

For Thanksgiving and the 25th.

The candle without ornament

Would still symbolize life

But with ornament I believe

Is a designate of our value for life.

May the candles keep alight

And the doorsteps keep bright with tinseled decorum

As we shine through this holiday

Regardless of the whims

Of those who would try to change

Our way of life.

One World Indivisible

By Christopher J. Bradley

8/6/2002 6:48:17 AM

Nation Upon Nation

Democratic or Otherwise

We Are United Under a Common Mission

A Statement That All Life is Worthwhile

Regardless of Moral or Ideological Position

Mindless of Pigmentation or Enlightenment

That No Man Woman or Child

Should be Un-Necessarily Sacrificed

In The Pursuit of Greed for Power or Wealth.

That Every Living Species Both Plant and Animal

Might Be Considered The Most Valuable Contribution

To Our Spiritual Harmony.

For It is not without caution

That we should proceed Ethically

To Preserve The Greater Goods

Of Health Prosperity and Spirituality

For Every Member

Of the Global Citizenship.

We pray to our heavenly advocates

That they might bring us closer to

Spiritual purity and vision to protect

And Nurture Future Generations.

That The Saga of Our Home Planet’s Histories

Might Be Told

Long After we Have Passed Into Spirit!

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