Like a chorus of angels singing slightly off key
In the chilly morning it builds as the sun rises.
Some mystery passes from one to the next, silent.
Just how, who can say? Their bodies lift in unison.
There is nothing awkward about them.  Poetry!
I was quite unprepared for the glorious spectacle.
Thousands.  Like watching a ballet of slow wing beats.
7000 miles they follow their heritage of millenniums;
And they rest upon the banks of this river.

I'll give you fifty shades of Love
In many brilliant hues

The beauty of a love,
Which is honest and true

My love is unfettered
It has no need to be bound

It reaches through the mind
Until the heart is found

3rd Ward, Houston, Texas; where the ancient layers
Exude the art of living.  Living cheek to jowl,

Hand to mouth, foot to road, bullet to head, head to heart.

Under these paved streets beats a heart of history
Mortared with ground bones, and sweat, and blood.

I call to you Soil teeming with our mothers and our fathers.
There is no rejoicing when I meet you, face-down,

And I am pushed and shoved down by hands of any color.

A bright sun heated this ground and we richly sowed in fertile soil.

Spring was full of possibilities, which we now enjoy in summer produce, so luscious.

Ah, as tasty as sweet melon and as fresh as scent of cucumber love is.

And we have seen that the bounty we receive is equal to the worth of our toil.

Touch
A heightening of senses

Touch
Bristling beneath it

Horripilation
Sweeping up bodies -

From the Latin, horrere pilus,
"to bristle" + "hair" -

The most delicious
Can be the most poisonous

Exploding with each
Touch

Anticipation erupts
Touch

At the very thought
Of such delicious fruit

Touch

The weight of a dragonfly does not break the stem of a flower.

Vestigium, a Latin word meaning "footprint, trace."

Day hides behind a curtain of white,
So hides the night, the fading night.
The fog that descended before the light
Moves and curls around the lights brightly.
The earth is swallowing the memory of the sky.

With pressed-tight lips and dreary-eyed
I am staring into the obscure day, forming
As the fog leaves a footprint, a trace
On objects and roofs, then slyly drips down.
Its soft coolness covers me, as well.

Where is the context of things barely seen?
An ephemeral blanket closes in on us all.
Unsettling until the day is elucidating sight.
The lights all have halos like a holy thing.
At least it gives each one a certain clarification.

Still, the fog is closing in.

We could hack this beast to death
But then the carcass would rot and stink;
Better it would be to tame it
And teach it to be a sheep.

Can you not feel my happy mouth speak?
Reach with your fingertips.  Seek!

Until all the world falls into exquisite darkness
You will remain my spark.

The velvety richness of you next to me
Is like trying to fill a thimble with the deep blue sea.

It is too much.

What is the magic in the sum of 19?
It is not quite 20, in the mind a small enough amount.
It is more than 15, which would make you a cheapskate.
So many really good charities keep asking me for just 19.

You remind me of the woman that I have lashed
Until finally I ran her off.  God, I loved her.
But, she scared me to death!

Crow at my window
Cawing, calling:
Come into the richness
Of the forest.

His call is tempting.

A blood-orange, peeled, bleeds bright
across the horizon, then slips silently
beneath a wave of ruddy light, so sanguine.

Night falls away to a golden glitter
spilling glimmering light above our heads;
a cricket stretches and moans a scratchy tune.  

We drink of this spilled juice,
wear the sparkles in our hair,  
and dance to the tiny violinist's song.

You were all the world to me in this scene.
You were a blood-orange bright.  
You were the sparkle of the night.

You were and are the cricket's song forever in my ears.

"This whole neighborhood
Bad, Baby.  We broken.
Ever week somebody get shot,
Right here!"

Jeffery Brown, reporting the news every night
Looks at the world through multiple lens, and writes
Poetry from a layer of glass glued to a layer of glass
Which has separated slightly.  Magnifications at last
Divided and shared as divvied-out treats.

http://video.pbs.org/video/2365488825/

A man found a spiderweb in the corner of the room.
He brushed it away with his handy kitchen broom,

And then he walked away.

Upon his return, which was actually quite soon,
Not only had the web reappear but it had mushroomed!

This only proved to make him madder.

But, now here is the moral of the story, which is true
Try as you might, no matter what you do,

You cannot remove the results of the problem
And allow the cause to stay.

You must get at the spider of the matter.

Love,
Like some dove
On wing high above;
It is a weightless drug,
These feathers, which I hug
And I rise

"I am a poet"
That is what our ego tells us
What we tell others
What others desire for self
What we desire to hear
So they tell you that you are
Quid quo pro
We stroke one another
Manus manum lavat
When I die I hope "they'll" say
"A poet has left us"
But then as now
I will not know it

I'm addicted, an addict in the night.  A rift, a fault, a weakness,
Something makes me fall.  I crack.  

So sad to be so intelligent and, yet, to be so stupid.  

In the middle of night you say to me, that "it just is."  I am blind and I am deaf.  
I cannot know what "it is" if I cannot see it, feel it.  

It just isn"t...O, love!

I once knew a brilliant young man who put a piece of wood under his chin
And played beautiful music.  

I wish that you were him.

Flowers whisper your name,
A breath that hangs around my face.
I want to press my nose against you,
Inhale you deep, exhale your gold dust
To color a moonlit way with the essence.
Love has placed stepping stones, which we follow,
A path, leading into the bower of our night garden.

Early to bed
Never to rise,
Circling around a thought
That keeps me paralyzed;

Here,
In the womby-tomby
Safety of my coverings
I begin to realize;

I don't want to remain unborn.

Absolute magnificences
Held in richly woven garments
Arrayed in opulently fine linen
Washed in the light of ages
Adorned with sliver and gold
And they look upon you

Happy rhythm.  I
Dance with myself.  Forbidden
Pleasure is most fun.

I stare into supple beauty,
Shudder Sweet Man
And worship Luscious Woman.
Hard feather, smooth pleasure,
Arouse heavy morning,
Tremble breast and glisten full bloom.

You cannot survive on dreams of hope
You must have hopes to dream,
Dreams to survive.

Sun burns away the day, Night is born,
Wrapped in blankets of clouds, handsome lad.

Tell the stars that I am jealous of the moon,
For with the dying of each new day;

Crystal orb with swaddling of mist and light,
Nursemaid that she is-

She attends, O precious delight,
The infant Night!

Her burial place is in the records.
We have her lovely name.
She was a benefactor of the friary,
Thus, a prominent soul.  Agreed.
Her story, lost forever.  O, what a shame.
Nothing more is known of Emma.
Here's her 5 minutes of fame!

She wanted to wash the man out of her hair
But the scent was too strong and the braid was too tight;

The sun cannot shine from beneath a rock;

So she cut it.

Burnt orange is beginning to softly paint the sky
Soon the sunrise will shine full light into my eyes

This is when the midnight blue that was above
Is starting to turn that shade of blue that I love

I am sitting, sipping, waiting for the full light of day
Coffee in my cup is still warm; I'm waiting for the first ray

This poem can be read 2-3 ways.  Read the whole poem.  Next read only the ones.  Finally, read only the twos.

1 You are beautiful
       2 inside and out
1 And you were gifted
       2 bone and sinew
1 Muscle and brain
       2 within your mind
1 You can find all
       2 the strength

I want to roll down that grassy hill,
Again in Mississippi bare-footed
In my ‘petticoated’, polka-dotted flouncy dress,
Sashes hanging untied down the back.

And walk through the fragrant gardens
Of brogan wearing old-maid great aunts;
Hiding half-way behind her dress,
Clinging to the wrinkly flesh of my Granny’s arm.

Spring cannot be far-off.  
The Spring Peepers have sung.

Let the greening have its start
For flowering has begun.

Soon the bees will flit about
And sweetly start to hum.

Spring simply cannot be far-off
For the Spring Peepers have sung.

Where would I be without your touch?
Your memory is stunning.  How you respond to me.

And I love tapping your screen!

Bully: one habitually cruel to others who are weaker
Justice: the process or result of using laws to fairly judge and punish crimes and criminals
Police: 1) to control and keep order in (an area) by the use of police or military force 2) to control (something) by making sure that rules and regulations are being followed

Either side -

It is not your job to punish.  Please, remember that.

Neither predator nor prey,
I lie here while morsels slowly filter down;
Loving every greedy minute, getting fat.

I am really getting tired of marketers and others who are phishing Hello Poetry.  Let this serve as a warning, I will not answer your messages.  So, don't waste your time.

Like the breath of an infant
Blooming new each day
Sweet toiletries
Fresh fragrance
Life unfolds before us

Natural bounties
Fruit bearing
Baring flesh
Sensory experiences
Gifts given, again and again

Never prosaic
Supreme variety
All for me, for you
We must remember
When taking, to give

It fell from heaven
The tree adjusts its own height
Wet roots make for growth

When I was a teen you Texas two-stepped me around the floor
When the family went to Eddie's Country Ballroom.  
You insisted we learn to dance.
"Just relax.  Follow me." you'd say "1-2-3, 1-2-3, see?" And I did.
When older, you walked me down the aisle of Grace Episcopal Church.
As we slowly stepped in metered step, we moved down the aisle in a kind of a dance.
"Just lean on me." you said.  And I did.

We do not question
Beneath canopies, secrets
Deep forests expose

O pleasure, a deep well of nectar your creamy throat
Fluted like a golden trumpet toy.

Your luscious nuggets of yellow dust our hurried feet,
As we become sweetly knee deep.

We buzz a vibrato hum. Carefully, make we our love notes
With each wing beat of gathering joy.

Your graceful tendrils entwined our tiny hearts with gifts.
Complete in our mission with bounty we lift

And homeward sing your praise.

Suddenly you realize

How fragile life is,
Like a heavy Texas flood
Crushing, crashing, gushing
And taking things from you.

Ironic it is that for some
It takes the shortage of turkeys
Or the scarcity of eggs
To make that realization.

Each second, right here, right now, exciting moments are unfolding as if coming into flower.  Breathtaking wonder, its cadence rising,
modulated and rhythmic, making the heart quicken.

Who, for example, can resist a rainbow or not
thrill to the cataract's roar?  Before God died in your eyes,
He wrapped us in the safety of a blanket made of moral fiber;

And set us on our way to look upon this beguiling and buzzing     beauty.  Life in a candy store, ripe for the taking!
This fullness of manifestation is not lost on one looking.

Out in the field near our cabin
I see little tracks in the snow
Leading to the edge of the tree line.

We follow.  Loving the smell of pine
I run my hand through the branches
Snapping a twig to capture the scent.

When we are home, sitting by the fire,
I will say, "Here is the memory of trees
And of our trek.  Smell."

And, you will take my hand in yours,
Gently raise it to your nose; then we will love
Amidst the memory of pines.

Dear pussycat, you clever little beast
To hide the paws that hid the claws
That shred my pretty face.

Feline, fooled as I was to forget
Within your blood wildness simmered
Just beneath the folds and crease;

Of eyes that looked asleep!

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I wish that I could climb up on a roof
On a spring day
And lie
In the shade of a tree

What a refugee that use to be
Just me
And the quietness
Of the day
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Are words harmless?  Can they ever be benign?
Between you and I?-

And, how many times has the Soul mated and re-mated?
Tearing, scarring, and numbing the connection.

Is that how and why, we keep this distance?
Or, Love, is it fear of perfection?

Only the sum of a room,
Just so much accumulated stuff.

Once, I began to fall in love
With a man.  But it was his room,
The sum of his things, which cemented it.

As it turns out, he could not maintain his worth,
His values were papier-mâché;

And the objects in his room told lies.

Winter ended up six feet high and weighing down on us;
With a brief sun came the melt, which only hardened everything.
Now, in the continued thaw, we are washed away.
But spring drinks heartily to gain the roots of what is left;
And we happily give way to its hopefulness.

Try JW dot Org

Have you wondered about the meaning of life?
Is God to blame for our trouble and strife?
Do you have unanswered questions that make you sigh?
Do you ever wonder what happens when you die?

Yes - Life may trouble you
Bad news may trouble you
Questions trouble you as well they might.
If life troubles you - questions trouble you, try JW.org website.

Have you wondered; "Does God really care?"
“Does He listen when we pray - is He there?”
“Will war and suffering ever cease?”
“How can we find inner happiness and peace?”

Yes - Life may trouble you
Crime may trouble you
Questions trouble you as well they might.
If life troubles you - questions trouble you, try JW.org website.

The reasoning is clear - the answers are viable
They always adhere to God's word in the Bible

Yes - Life may trouble you
Doubt may trouble you
Questions trouble you as well they might.
If life troubles you - questions trouble you, try JW.org website.

Life may trouble you
Doubt may trouble you
So try JW.org website.

Try J W dot Org Website Try J W dot Org
Try J W dot Org Website Try J W dot Org
- Brendan Vincent Owens


Have you wondered about the meaning of life?
Is God to blame for our trouble and strife?
Do you have unanswered questions that make you sigh?
Do you ever wonder what happens when you die?

Yes - Life may trouble you
Bad news may trouble you
Questions trouble you as well they might.
If life troubles you - questions trouble you, try JW.org website.

Have you wondered; "Does God really care?"
“Does He listen when we pray - is He there?”
“Will war and suffering ever cease?”
“How can we find inner happiness and peace?”

Yes - Life may trouble you
Crime may trouble you
Questions trouble you as well they might.
If life troubles you - questions trouble you, try JW.org website.

The reasoning is clear - the answers are viable
They always adhere to God's word in the Bible

Yes - Life may trouble you
Doubt may trouble you
Questions trouble you as well they might.
If life troubles you - questions trouble you, try JW.org website.

Life may trouble you
Doubt may trouble you
So try JW.org website.

Try J W dot Org Website Try J W dot Org
Try J W dot Org Website Try J W dot Org
- Brendan Vincent Owens