brittany-downer
Brittany Downer is an aspiring neurologist, that enjoys taking up the pen every now and then. She has been writing poetry, since she was 7 years old, and has been writing ever since. Aside from poetry, Brittany enjoys playing the violin, video games, card games, anime, comics and reading. Always and forever a Batman fan.
It was quiet
When the dog went out
into the backyard, he trotted
bravely away from the house
away from safety.
As he touches his nose to the dry soil
The world is alight
A shutter of white soon accompanied by
a roar
and then a shake
and then a cry
and then the tree across the street
is split…in two
with a yelp, he is gone
But if he had remained, and looked up,
rather than at the burning tree
he would have seen
White-blue lightning run across the sky
The rolling and buckling clouds above
The heavens parting and breathing
Gods tearing the world asunder…
But he is a dog.
It was enough.
so he ran back to the house
back to safety
Afraid.
May 14, 2017
May 14, 2017 at 1:17 AM UTC
A blank canvas
was occasionally graced
with the sky and lake
in hues of blue
As the wind pushes
the sails of boats
Outside a window.
Inside a home
An artist in a chair
brings life
Into a still frame
Strangers unaware
Of the strokes that bind them
to an empty page
Here they will lay
for eternity.
Years later, far away
a breeze
seems to sing
a threnody
the tide will rise
and the sun will set
Here lie words
as flowers
An empty chair
No artist here
On a grave by the lake
May 8, 2017
May 8, 2017 at 6:09 PM UTC
Young: dreaming
of impossible possibilities
Unrestrained, untethered from reality
Unaware of the ticking, of the passing
of the seconds, of the hours,
of the years to the end
of eternity.
Climbing
Climbing and
Clinging
to the hope that one can dream forever
and as the feet are swinging
the child, fearless of pain, fearless of the fall, is ever
naive, and never expecting
that one day the dream may end.
For what was once a child is a child no longer
Mature: daydreaming
of the past, yet troubled of the future
Unfeatherd, grounded in reality
All too aware of the arching clock hands
and the hours that turn into seconds
and the days that pass into years
begin to fade into
oblivion.
Falling
Falling and
Failing
to realize that the feet now rest upon the ground
and the child that was once fearless, is fearing
the depths of a future not yet found
forever doubtful yet hoping
To continue to dream at day’s end.
What was gained was equally lost
And with this knowledge in hand
The child finally stands
Holding on to the dreams of tomorrow
Grasping the fantasies of yesterday
Indeed, what once was can never be again
To march forward never to return
What awaits are only questions, what remains are only “ifs”
But what stands tall is neither a realist nor a dreamer
What stands is a child no longer
May 8, 2017
May 8, 2017 at 6:04 PM UTC
She sees the waves ram against the crags, stretching outward and onward to the line that breaks the sky in half, and in doing so it meets the sea in a wholesome piece. The waves crash upon the sand and walking across it is a white horse taller than she; its black eyes capture her in a doe-eyed gaze, and as it approaches she is consumed by a strange fear and in terror she leaps into the sea and is swept away by the white currents that roll her along, throw her, jostle her, swallow her and eventually spit her out only to pound her once more, dragging her slowly, to where the white waves subside and the sky meets the sea.
May 8, 2017
May 8, 2017 at 6:01 PM UTC
The ancient one
sits alone
in silence
Though ages pass
age old bark; strong
to outlast the graying mountains
to outlive the bearded turtle
The archaic author
Time's story etched in wood
before pen
before pencil
before feather and slab
Your body will tell the tale of a
thousand years' journey. hence
Scholar of sage
When all have gone
come and pass
and the hands of time have ticked their last
You will remain, here to stay
All alone, a memento
Of a thousand years' triumph
May 8, 2017
May 8, 2017 at 5:57 PM UTC
A Dream of Summer
From my retreat, I doze
watching white swirls
dance past my windowsill
And counting the growing collection of
Glaciers under my roof
While wrapped in a warm blanket, ignoring the
Bite of chill that clings to my toes, while
Seated in a chair, in front of the window
Yet leagues away from a tree - an oak dead
asleep with the onset of winter,
set to wake at the sight of spring.
Quiet, calm and covered in frost it waits
And dreams of an August breeze and the golden suns of June,
showers of April, and flowers of May
mayhap, I am the same
and as I close my eyes
I dream of summer.
Feb 16, 2017
Feb 16, 2017 at 12:52 AM UTC
It is
An apparition
that fades
in and out of the conscious
appearing at the beginning of a thought
and vanishing at the end
To search for it, is to wade through fog
Unclear, hesitant, and indistinct
But to finally catch hold of it
Is to hold the air
Weightless and formless
It sits in the corner, at the very edge
At the precipice of comprehension
As it draws near, within grasp, it is
The rich scent of apple pie
It is the feel of a warm and comforting embrace,
It is the taste of salt upon wet cheeks,
it is the sound of rambunctious laughter,
It is the sight of home…
Sometimes, it strikes
Like fierce lightning, both bright and undeniable
Other times it is the slow recognition
Of a steady sun rising above the horizon.
And yet when it leaves, it fades all the same
Like grains of sand held in one’s hand
Only to be spilled upon the beach, it is swept away by the sea.
Perhaps, one day it may once again
Be pushed upon the shores, to grace the conscious once more.
Jan 26, 2017
Jan 26, 2017 at 12:33 AM UTC
From my comfortable retreat
I glare out at the daring white swirls,
that dance past my windowsill.
I detest the growing glaciers,
that loiter on my roof.
I shiver in the presence of,
that harsh frost bite that chills my world.
But most of all I loathe that naked oak
standing tall within my yard,
dead asleep from winter’s grasp.
Yet despite it all, I imagine that it dreams
of a warm August breeze, of a kiss of June’s sun
of April’s gentle showers, and the blessed greens of May.
So as I lounge in my chair, encased in blankets
I close my eyes and I see
a bright sun above me,
I feel green grass beneath my feet
I dream of summer.
Jan 16, 2017
Jan 16, 2017 at 4:51 PM UTC
Out upon a cold plain
From the view of my coach seat
I see a world coated in frost
The fields are white
The fog is dense
This world is dull, and yet its beauty is baffling
Facing backwards along the tracks
As the world moves in reverse
This must be a dream...
But I am awake.
I gaze upon silhouettes far beyond my reach
Is it a house? A tree? A person?
They are a mystery to me
I wish for them to stay that way.
This world is a stranger to me.
A stranger, yet a friend.
A slimmer of gold breaches through the thick white fog
Over time it grows and multiplies
The fog slowly dies
And in its dying breaths it gives birth to the dawn.
I'm blinded by the colors before me.
Rich browns and greens greet me.
The frost of an early morning still remains
The trees, though leaf-less, reach up towards a cerulean sky
And the sun radiates a gentle hue that castes dancing shadows along my coach.
This world is beyond my comprehension
A world that is a stranger and yet a friend to me.
Jan 22, 2016
Jan 22, 2016 at 10:43 PM UTC
Y’know that moment.
When the air leaves your lungs
That split second of deprivation
That instance in which your body,
Stills in anticipation
For a sweet, delicious, drink of air.
And in that very instance,
You are unwittingly knocked out of homeostasis.
The very nerves within your lungs cry out.
Your muscles tense, and for a millisecond everything freezes.
The world becomes still.
The wind no longer blows, the clouds halt,
The stars watch and the universe trembles.
The noise finally becomes silent
Your agonies and pains evaporate
And you exist in that instance, only you, just you.
So for one moment, just a second, close your eyes
And take in a deep gulp of euphoria
Yes, that’s it.
Breathe.
May 13, 2015
May 13, 2015 at 10:16 PM UTC