The poems of Measures embrace lyrical tendencies as they move through the seasons of a troubled relationship. Both absence and presence haunt the pages of b. l. bruce’s poetry collection, Measures. A one time lover and longed for friend adventures to the water, leaving their companion alone on the shore. Wrinkles appear as if grooved overnight, and the [...]
WHITE LILIES Love me, I ask of you.Press your mouth to mine,I want to say.The contours of our limbsare restless. We throw ourselves from the houseat sundown, wander down the hill,pass the milk-white folds of the liliesyawning and rising along the fence.I brush my body against theirs. At once, the murmur of rainsoundlike a stone [...]
https://vimeo.com/520042921 "As its poems tread through forests, over mountains, and along the water . . . Measures captivates." -- Clarion Reviews "[B. L. Bruce's] newest poetry collection, Measures, by turns elicits tenderness and melancholy, hopefulness and heartbreak--which is to say, the gamut of the human condition. . . . Bruce's collection offers many accomplished and memorable moments." -- BlueInk Review [...]
Luminous and piercing… Lyrical and reflective, award-winning Bruce’s latest, a collection of poems, micropoetry, and American haiku, offers a litany of ruminations on nature, love, and self. “Full Moon at Albion River” is a meditation on the wonders of nature. With her knack for creating intricate emotional textures, Bruce infuses mourning and grief with tangible [...]
In February of 2014, my debut collection of poetry, The Weight of Snow, was published. Now, seven years later, my latest collection, Measures, is here. Now available on Amazon in print and eBook format. In Measures, B. L. Bruce’s third collection of poetry, the author deftly explores grief, loss, the visual measures of time, and [...]
Cachagua Road From the low bridge over the river you spoke,blue lupines rising silently beneath the oaks,weighed with the damp of evening.Your words were carried away downstream,lost to me. I felt a sadness,heavy as stones.I listen—bending of waterover rocks, wind in the armsof the trees. I’ve learned the voicesof the robin, the towhee,thrasher—useless except forthe [...]
RAINSONG What of this winter here?The unhappy song of rain andwind in the bay laurel,rainwater in the fountaina mixing of what is oursand what is not. I go to the meadowwhen the storm has slowedto see what has changed,what unknowable thirst was quenched: the howl and fury in the nightbrought down the tall sequoia,and with [...]
Heavy blooms expose
their fleshy bodies
in such enterprise
among the dunes—
as mine to yours.
Such immeasurable delight:
the pale lips of the iris
curling to the listless sky.
In its assault on the shore,
the throbbing surf
folds again and again.
Somewhere through the mist
a gull is flying low,
Award-winning author and Pushcart Prize nominee, California poet Bri Bruce (writing as B. L. Bruce) has been called the “heiress of Mary Oliver.” With a bachelor’s degree in literature and creative writing from the University of California at Santa Cruz, her work has appeared in dozens of anthologies, magazines, and literary publications, including The Wayfarer Journal, Canary, Northwind Magazine, The Soundings Review, and The Monterey Poetry Review, among many others. Most recently her work has appeared in the American Haiku Society’s Frogpond Journal, The Remnant Archive, Emerge Literary Journal, and Le Merle Poetry…
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MOCKINGBIRD As it often doesmoving by memory,your body finds mine, fitspuzzled into angles and curvesin those hushed hours—were it not for the mockingbirdscreaming into the moonlit,slate-grey sky. I envy you,your unbothered sleep.No torment. No great,stirring voicein your mindscreaming,screaming. c. B. L. BruceFirst published by VisitantFollow Bruce on Instagram @thepoesis and Twitter @the_poesis
DARK STAR I had not expected, mid-life,that already my shining yearswould be behind me, tradedfor more essential things:what it meansto have patience,to wage a war,how to endure. I remember clearer now:the smooth dunes,bare shoulders,my body feeling somehowless bound, belongingto me. You came outof the sea—salt on skin.In a particular way,your face openedbeneath the midday sky.Those [...]