SideQuests on Kindle

A poety book I wrote a few years ago is now available on Kindle for a measly 2.99. Not that you should buy it or anything(unless unchecked narcissism and megalomania are major turn-ons for you.)

You can buy it here:

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The Boy and the Painting of a Treehouse

The Boy and the Painting of a Treehouse by Brandon Adamson

This is the true story of a boy
that dreamed up a boy(his imaginary self)
who often stared at
the painting of a treehouse,
a painting of a treehouse, that if only he could have(the treehouse),
he would never come out.
And all of the people would shout
“Wherever you are,
come out! come out!”
There’s nothing out there, he thought.
He would rather stay in and dream of the boy
(his imaginary self) who often stared
at the painting of a treehouse.
All of his friends and family thought
it was bizarre and antisocial behavior. They would
have preferred he moved on to more practical pursuits.
Suffice to say they didn’t approve
of the boy’s dream of the boy(his imaginary self)
who often stared at the painting of a treehouse,
though it’s harmless enough, they thought.
Probably just a phase.
But still it continues on to this day.
At a certain point in the dream,
one day the boy mysteriously disappears,
and no one seems to know where he is.
Assuming he’s somewhere hiding out,
his friends and loved ones begin to shout,
“Wherever you are,
come out! come out!”
They scour the world, unable to find him,
Largely though, no one would notice.
Until finally a young girl looked up and discovered for herself
a painting of a girl dreaming of a girl(her imaginary self)
who often stared at a painting of the
boy in a treehouse.

from my 2008 book, SideQuests

Amidst a Misogynist

Amidst a Misogynist Brandon Adamson

In the thick of the mix
of the blitz of awe and beauty of beauties,
we have it would seem
a misogynist amidst.
Every red blooded man has one,
somewhere, perhaps within reason
and his ability to do so…

a sense of hopelessness
tendency toward bitterness
over the missed and the communications landing amiss,

something arising from the self conscious disdain of the self controlled
for those of the emotions uncontrolled,
the battle of the poised versus the noise for the sake of,
locked in a semi-permanent struggle with one another
are the mild temperament and the child temper.

Out on the town,
in the thick of the mix,
underlies this,
the misogynist amidst,
reluctant to relinquish the quest for the kiss
with the potential to vanquish the anguish
so prevalent
amidst the misogynist.

Acceptance is the Cure

Acceptance is the Cure

I just want someone to accept me
for who I am-
“But you don’t even accept yourself for who you are!”
I accept myself for being someone
who can’t accept who they are.
So I guess I’m looking for an exception,
someone who accepts me for being someone who
accepts themselves for being someone
who can’t accept who they are.

from my book SideQuests

poem of the week

From my book,
SideQuests

Carefully Chosen Words

Feel free
about your feelings
to ramble to your heart’s content
if it is even possible
or even seems a cause worthy
who knows if that vessel is still sea worthy
to reach such a destination.
(I should hope not!)
but for me
when it comes to you
maybe!
It’s one I have already reached.
My response,
though I may seem unresponsive
and may not do so
very promptly
or with what you perceive
an equal sense of urgency,
rest assured
I’m still listening.
In some ways we’re all just too different
an abstraction, a distraction that’s merely
a refracted fraction of my romantic interest,
for purely as romantics
we’re clearly equivalent.
whereas you’re feeling everything
and thinking, thinking,
just substitute foolish daydreaming
and inductive reasoning
again and again
there you have me,
a lifetime member,
of the remembering
if you will,
remember me.
You’re just being,
a human being,
and I can be cold and calculating
like a machine,
sometimes I wonder if I even need oxygen to breathe.
Mechanically speaking,
the familiarity of unreliability
is all too familiar for me.

If there’s a moment of silence
consider this
an indication of your identity
as someone who’s worth
waiting for those
carefully chosen words
the ones I save for
the carelessly woven verse
meant for those who make me think first.
After all this I’m often wrong
sometimes
though my golden arrow aimed
heart and vision same
near perfect
when I don’t see you
I just miss.
So we’ll see.

-Brandon Adamson