I want to know more than one
Haitian

I want to know more than three
Jamaicans

I want to meet Nigerians that speak
Igbo

Kenyans that laugh at the Swahili I learned in Berkeley
Ugandans that correct my Mandarin
Tanzanians that teach me how to say it in Cantonese  

I want to tour the holy city Ile-Ife
trace the pilgrimage path of Mansa Musa
then circle back to Timbuktu

See the reminders of Aksum
See the remainders of Kmt

Touch the Earth and envision the buildings that my ancestors constructed
thousands of years before they were invaded thousands of times
leaving the still standing walls that others never believed were thousands of years old
till their, “science” said so

I want to board a barge in the south and flow north with the Nile
I wonder what eight others will join me

I want to walk the same trail
that was the first trail
compare my foot print
to the first foot print

The vision I see
The things I want to do
The escape I want to take

Isnt one that is new

Its one that is old
so old that its in the blood
in the very fabric and design
of all that claim

Human

What I want is a realization
no
a reawakening
of my genetic inheritance
of my ancestral birthright

What calls me is the land so old
its true name
its original tongue
is the only
can only
be labeled

The First

There
that is what calls to me
There
that is what pushes me
that is the very intangible force that pulsates my heart
pumping the blood through my veins

That place that is forever older than old
yet
In a constant state of
Reconstruction
Recreation
Revelation
Renovation
Revitalization­

Revolution

I want to breath the air in that place that is always in a state of newness
I want to feel the frequency in that place
where there are as many words for new
as there are people to speak them

That is the place
That is the space
That is

© Christopher F. Brown 2015

There are so many poems about boys with blue eyes and long brown hair

And I've tried forming the perfect one for you

But I can't seem to get it right

Because no amount of words, let alone poem's could perfectly describe you or what you mean to me and everyone else.
~ *B.H

You scare the **** out of me
I know
I've said this before

So many things
about you

just like new

So many things
about you

just like old

There is enough mystery
about you
to where I am reminded of lifetimes
before you
Them's, We's, Us'
before you

There is enough mystery
about you
to where I can not foresee how this could end

but I know that is the lie I want to
I always try to
force into being truth

I haven’t learned not to like that yet.

The cards keep giving me
moons, chariots, and wheels of faith

I just want to see the lover

It could be that
I know it’s not
you

It could be that
I want it to be
you

so I'll just leave it up to
you

©Christopher F. Brown 2015

In this world
Weeds are worshiped as beautiful
Roses are cast to compost as a vulgarity

In this world
Worms matter the most
consuming roses
one of their favorite past times
one of their favorite foods

The greater the ****’s ability
to choke the rose
the greater the ****’s glory

In this world
Roses are hated
especially their thorns.


©Christopher F. Brown 2015

Brown boys on the beach
All of them are great
So many just out of reach
Because most are straight.
Something close to mocha;
Unbelievably **** skin.
Some of it looks like heaven
And some of it purest sin.

Brown boys in shorts
Just covering bare *****;
Impervious to winks and
Any kind of gay passes.
But I hear rumors of them;
Legends may be a better word.
Gay things have been known
To happen with them I’ve heard.

Brown boys bare chested
Showing off their physiques.
Proud of that they take care of
Best I’ve seen in weeks.
It’s not that white boys here
Are that much less appealing
But there is something about
The way I have been feeling.

Brown boys can flirt here
In a way I have never seen.
It’s flattering without invitation;
Never insulting, never mean.
Someday I will get braver
And ask one of them to teach
How to tell which one is gay
Of those brown boys on the beach.

There are millions of bars in this city
and I found you in one of them
Sitting next to a girl who was pretty
Drinking beer, trying to feel alive again

There are millions of broken hearts in this city
I found a piece of yours left on the stool
You walked out into the street all empty
In the shadows of people that´d never know you

There are millions of cried tears in this city
and I found some in your brown eyes
A mix of loneliness and self pity
Marking every sidewalk before sunrise

There are millions of lost souls in this city
and I found you for a little while
Back then I was naivé and pretty
For a minute we made each other smile

There are millions of bars in this city
and I found you in one of them
Sitting next to a girl who was pretty
Drinking beer, trying to feel alive again

It's been awhile since I've liked anything
New

Pac died

One of the Krazies turned Christian
The sickest of the sickmade is laying in a hospital bed.
They made a movie about nwa
And it made hella money
made me laugh

I remember when they banned them from the radio.
I remember when I had to sneak and listen to my sister's tape
the technique of the immortal one remains strong

On a cloud I called grown
I meditated with my blackness
had relations with the blues
made love to R&B;
accepted Jazz as my personal musical savoir.

still

I never forgot
my first
love

I never fell out of love with
my first
love

yet

everything new
except a few
was just *******

then one day
high up
floating on that grown cloud
I got confused.
I knew what I saw but
I dint know they made sound
One day

I heard a butterfly


© Christopher F. Brown 2015