5000 years ago
the shamans and the medicine workers looked into the fire

they saw me and you
you and I
They saw us

They called us gods

smoking cigarettes
They thought we breathed fire

getting in and out of cars, trains, and planes
They thought we could move between the realms of living and dead

using computers,
watching tv,
talking on cellphones
They thought limit was the thing not within our understanding

the fire of the future showed them
what they thought were gods
they couldn't hear our flaws
They couldn't smell our decay

Through the fire
They saw gods

in the mirror
most only see rot

in the mirror
most can't see past misplaced shame.

ⓒ Christopher F. Brown  2015

water in the desert
fire in the tundra

Trust
unlike anything else that claims to be such

is precious
is rare

So much so that some have
never seen it
never heard it
never experienced it

to them it's myth and fairytale
little more than a half happy lie

Trust
to them that know
It's more fickle than a candle flame
It's more stable than helium

if you have it
treat it as the rare gift it is

if you have it
know that its strength depends on yours

if you have it
know that it has you
if you leave it
know it leaves you.

©Christopher F. Brown 2015

I'm ****** that I once thought
maybe

you were, in my eyes
worth every
sun
moon
and star

In yours
non existent

invisible like radiation
indivisible from the magnitude of the void

I'm ****** that you use to shine
so brightly
causing my eyes to look your way

Siren song
was your voice to my ears

Ambrosia
was the thought of you
your image upon my mind

Moses
was your form to my lips

Now I am here

Othello
seeking not your death but my own

Knowing it was not a trick
it always was what it was

you were never liken to Desdemona
you were always my personal Iago

You remind me that I’ve never known you

That is the pain and comfort

The closest ive come to knowing you
Reminds me of the most pain
Summer clouds in the desert

some hope
ive come to question your existence

You and I know
you’ll yield no rain

You are a reminder of intangibility

There may come a day when it rains
hell even snows
in the desert

but until then
you are not hope

you are a mirage.

©Christopher f. Brown 2013

I turned it off

When I found out
Physical form meant more than
spiritual substance

When I found out that
Age matters when you have too much
Looks when you don’t have a certain one

When they meant something different
something estranged from my previous understanding

I know my body is not me
only a part

they wanted that part
without wanting only me

I turned it off

They all wanted something much less
far cheaper
than I am willing
was willing
to give

You do not understand the meaning when I say
you are beautiful

Namaste
Ashe
Amen

I turned it off

You are not able to fathom a comprehension when I say
I love you

Namaste
Ashe
Amen

I turned it off

Life has instructed
give it to self always
to the ones called family
the select few that are called friend

Show it to the world
but don’t let the world abuse it

But in that concentrated way
where two become one

I turned it off

Its disrespectful to the concept
for me to treat you according to the concept
when I  see
when I know
before it all started
before your scent first touched the air
you have no awareness of the concept

There are about six degrees of separation from
what you think it is
what you thought it was
what you have been shown it to be
what you attempt to offer me
and that which it actually is

that which I was willing to offer you

I don’t believe there is a single one
there is the one you make it work with

That one
must also be willing and able to make it work with
you

For now
for me
you don’t exist

I realize now
you never did
square pegs forced into round holes
mistakes all listed above

I turned it off

Only a truly naked self
has any right
any ability
any authority

to turn it on.

© Christopher F. Brown 2013

When you look in the mirror

know

It is not yourself that you see
you are not the image
reflected and cast upon the jaded glass

what you see is light

captured by the eyes
interpreted by the mind
processed by the soul

if any of those three are not right
neither will correctly understand
the image
reflected and cast upon the jaded glass

you are not what you think you see

you are light reflected

everything else
jaded glass

©Christopher F. Brown 2013

If there was a such this as
perfect

it would be found in the
simple

A child’s smile
a mother’s love
a father’s protection

if perfect
could be theorized philosophically
placed into linguistic terms
there could be no words
no label grand enough
no construction simple enough
save only laughter

if perfect
could be understood mathematically
it would be either be a 1 or a 0
no other representations yields the same
universal and instant ease of understanding
that children instinctually grasp the idea

yet

the same children
when grown
could spend  their life exploring the complexities


If perfect
could be known on a spiritual level
it would be that moment one realizes there is a god
ascending to level of worship and devotion
others mistake them for the god they serve

or

it would be that moment when one rejects all divinity
professing that all in creation is not of creation
but of nature and nurture
the only guiding force is the will to survive  

If perfect
could be expressed in dance or music
there would only be
one motion
one note
maybe none
stillness
silence

If perfect
could be expressed on canvas or in stone
it would be such that the work would
never be started
untouched
maybe never completed
unfinished

Perfect
is as simple as knowing that one can never see one’s own face
what one knows as one’s one image
is only a reflection
what’s more is that a person is the only person that can never see ones own image
yet all they encounter sees them exactly as they are
exactly as they never can

Perfect perfection
is realization
not thought
not contemplation

Perfection is everything labeled imperfect

The only imperfect thing
is the word its self

© Christopher F. Brown 2013

I suppose
If I were better with words
a wordsmith maybe
I could describe the sound

Crafted and carved wood against brass would be like
the first rain
falling upon a parched window

keys once made of ivory and mahogany
sound as footsteps on old and cracked city sidewalk pavement
some mostly young ones dance
avoiding the life persevering through said cracks
respecting
recognizing
seeing
the same youth in the life carving a path for their own roots
as they are told of their own

The older ones
take a moment to be still
to hold a note
to hold their breath
to feel the vibration
enjoy life
until the note has passed

How could one explain the voice of a bass

Maybe

It is the rumble of a trolley
the heft of the slow moving train
the uneasy but understood movement of the subway platform as it is arriving
but has not stopped.

the depth of its pitch causes feet to be ears
one’s chest becomes a resonating chamber

The chirps
The caws
The song of the metal birds
nothing quite like it

Words mimic the notes
vocals mime the tone
but
the horns

they fly

If I were better with words
I could tell you what Jazz sounds like

still

I don’t think I would

The words and melody are already there
for interpretation
for explanation
all I could really do is give you more

No

I wouldnt even if I could tell you about Jazz
instead
id say one word


© Christopher F. Brown 2013

Virgo

The scratching sound the pen makes
as it spills its ink upon the paper

The tension
The friction

The slight resistance and minor show of force
the ink and paper perpetrate against the words
against the writer
as if to
push back

The writer channels his muse
summons his mate
performs and act of love
embarks on an endeavor much more family to *** than he will ever admit
everytime as if it were the first
the writer

creates

© Christopher F. Brown 2013

What I lack in
Monetary means
You
By far
Lack in depth of soul

Your mind is filled with emptiness
Who slapped whom
On that (so called) reality show
How to tell
Real designer labels
From
Fake designer labels

The possessor of everything new
Until a newer one comes out
Regardless if the old new one
still
works just fine

The finer things in life are always expensive
The worth of a man is ALWAYS told by their clothes
Or
The car they drive
Or
The neighborhood they live in

Shhhh

Don’t say this out loud

Even
The darkness of their skin
Or the region their grandparents came in

Yes you
You’ll be young forever
As long as modern medicine can help it

Yes you
You’ll be forever in
As long as you keep company with a certain type of crowd
Agree with the thoughts of a certain few that claim you as
But not really
Kin

Loved by many
You are
Hated by more than what you think are few
You are

What about you

If and when you ever
Seek reflection
Look for me

Sincerely
You

The you
You forgot about

The you
That got you there

The you
That you left here

The you
That keeps you up at night

You

I am
But
I don’t think you’ll understand

You

Haven’t been

Me

In a long time

If you saw
me
I wonder
Would you recognize
All that you try to hide
All that is

You

©Christopher F. Brown 2012

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You think you can define me
Your name must be Webster

Blanket statements

I have more than one gear
Multiple settings
Complex configurations

They are not for you to
Tamper and tinker
With

They’d be simple
If you asked
They’d be simple
If I told

You assume much
Based on
No observation
No study
No inquiry

You assume much
Based on
Someone else

I continue to
Do and be
Me

While you remain confused
Surprised by my actions
Baffled by my words
Perplex by my expression

Since you won’t ask
Since you assume you already know
Ill only say

You never saw me
You only assumed you did
You never heard me
You only assumed you did


You never knew me
You only assumed you did

©Christopher F. Brown 2012

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Some place quiet
peaceful

Preferably
I would like to
Walk
Or maybe
Ride a bike there

If I have to drive
I think too many people might know about it
It has already become too popular
Its purpose
The reason I would have went there
has already been defeated

I’m not trying to give an impression of exclusivity

Sometimes

I just want to be alone

In a place where
I can take a book
Read for hours
I can take a pen and note book
Maybe my laptop
Write for days

I’d bring my headphones
Or
Listen to nature’s symphony
A radio would be too much
Too loud
Not something I would want to carry

I won’t do what I did to my last one
One became two
Two became a few
A few
For me
Became too many

I won’t tell anyone
Ill just leave a note,

Gone fishing

Be back
Sometime between
Now and Then

©Christopher F. Brown 2012

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