Monday, January 31, 2011
Thursday, January 27, 2011
The Colors of Life
Brown is the color of a young man's skin.
Green is the color of a jealous eye.
Yellow is the color of a cowardly soul.
White is the color of skin filled with hate.
Red is the color of blood spilled one dark day.
Blue is the color of a mother's broken heart.
Brown is the color of soil that grows life.
Green is the color of grass beneath my feet.
Yellow is the color of the sun that births life.
White is the color of the clouds that bring rain.
Red is the color of a beautiful, fragrant rose.
Blue is the color of the clearest of all skies.
Nature is filled with all colors.
She does not discriminate.
Why should we?
Green is the color of a jealous eye.
Yellow is the color of a cowardly soul.
White is the color of skin filled with hate.
Red is the color of blood spilled one dark day.
Blue is the color of a mother's broken heart.
Brown is the color of soil that grows life.
Green is the color of grass beneath my feet.
Yellow is the color of the sun that births life.
White is the color of the clouds that bring rain.
Red is the color of a beautiful, fragrant rose.
Blue is the color of the clearest of all skies.
Nature is filled with all colors.
She does not discriminate.
Why should we?
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Prophecy
In an instant a prophecy was given to me
And I could suddenly see what others could not see
A flood spewed forth and covered that tiny mountain town
But none of them perished nor did they drown
They came together that very same day
And raised their hands to God, but strangely they were gay
They gathered their things and set them out to dry
And not one face did I see with a tear in their eye
For they were grateful that all of them were spared
And for what they lost, they seemed not to care
For their Lord was alongside them holding their hands
And as one community of people, strongly they stand
© Pamela N. Brown
And I could suddenly see what others could not see
A flood spewed forth and covered that tiny mountain town
But none of them perished nor did they drown
They came together that very same day
And raised their hands to God, but strangely they were gay
They gathered their things and set them out to dry
And not one face did I see with a tear in their eye
For they were grateful that all of them were spared
And for what they lost, they seemed not to care
For their Lord was alongside them holding their hands
And as one community of people, strongly they stand
© Pamela N. Brown
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Time Machine
If I had a time machine,
I would fly it right to you.
If I had a time machine,
I would never again be blue.
If I had a time machine,
I would forget about the pain.
If I had a time machine,
I would never be lonely again.
If I had a time machine,
I would be sleeping next to you.
But I have no time machine,
So right now will have to do.
©Pamela N. Brown
I would fly it right to you.
If I had a time machine,
I would never again be blue.
If I had a time machine,
I would forget about the pain.
If I had a time machine,
I would never be lonely again.
If I had a time machine,
I would be sleeping next to you.
But I have no time machine,
So right now will have to do.
©Pamela N. Brown
Monday, January 24, 2011
I See
I see children dying from hunger and illness,
While criminals get free health care.
This is the country we live in.
I see murderers walking free and getting rich from it,
While good people can’t make ends meet.
This is the country we live in.
I see decent families living in the streets,
While child molesters walk them.
This is the country we live in.
I see Americans without freedom,
As criminals scream for their rights.
This is the country we live in.
I see uneducated people everywhere,
While inmates get free college educations.
This is the country we live in.
I see all good people living in fear,
From children to the elderly.
This is the country we live in.
© Pamela N. Brown
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Saturday, January 22, 2011
I know
I know the world revolves around the media
I know murderers are set free
I know prisoners have all they can ask for
I know wealth buys innocence
I know war kills
I know the loss of family hurts
I know children starve
I know there is no real news
I know real problems do not matter
I know floods drown
I know hurricanes kill
I know tsunamis devastate
I know communistic rule
I know the poor die
I know good people are left behind
I know hell is upon earth
I know murderers are set free
I know prisoners have all they can ask for
I know wealth buys innocence
I know war kills
I know the loss of family hurts
I know children starve
I know there is no real news
I know real problems do not matter
I know floods drown
I know hurricanes kill
I know tsunamis devastate
I know communistic rule
I know the poor die
I know good people are left behind
I know hell is upon earth
Friday, January 21, 2011
Nightmare
My mother screams
My blood steams
My passion streams
It all makes sense to me
In my sweet symphony
My sweet dreams
©Pamela N. Brown
My blood steams
My passion streams
It all makes sense to me
In my sweet symphony
My sweet dreams
©Pamela N. Brown
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Tease
She stared with sultry eyes,
Inviting him
Her pale skin glowed the moonlight,
Enticing him
Her crimson lips reflected the stars,
Wanting him
Her long hair swayed in the breeze,
Beckoning him
Her dress clung to her body,
Arousing him
Her scent danced on the air,
Intoxicating him
She drifted with the breeze,
Forgetting him.
©Pamela N. Brown
Inviting him
Her pale skin glowed the moonlight,
Enticing him
Her crimson lips reflected the stars,
Wanting him
Her long hair swayed in the breeze,
Beckoning him
Her dress clung to her body,
Arousing him
Her scent danced on the air,
Intoxicating him
She drifted with the breeze,
Forgetting him.
©Pamela N. Brown
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
I Am
I am a goddess
I always will be
That, I will never
Let you take from me
I am a woman
With sensual demands
If you don’t oblige,
I’ll be in another’s hands
I am a spirit
Empowered by love
Before all the rest,
I must be put above
I am a soul
That feels life’s pain
Cherish me forever
My life you will gain
I am a body
For a touch I long
Close your eyes to that,
I will be gone.
© Pamela N. Brown
I always will be
That, I will never
Let you take from me
I am a woman
With sensual demands
If you don’t oblige,
I’ll be in another’s hands
I am a spirit
Empowered by love
Before all the rest,
I must be put above
I am a soul
That feels life’s pain
Cherish me forever
My life you will gain
I am a body
For a touch I long
Close your eyes to that,
I will be gone.
© Pamela N. Brown
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
The Last Sunrise
A cool morning breeze drifts across the water of the gulf, and the mid-September sun begins to glint on the horizon. Just a little peek of light shimmers across the water from eternity to a few feet below and in front of her. Her long legs dangle from the edge of the seawall, and she slowly kicks them back and forth as she did as a toddler strapped into her high chair.
The black and grey cubed rocks below form a barrier to break up incoming tides. Many are lined with jagged edges not yet softened by the decades of the ocean tide. A fall from this height would surely hurt and possibly break a bone or two but should not maim or kill. Though she is clumsy and scared of heights, her mind does not see the possible danger before her. Instead, she keeps dangling her feet, back and forth above the sharp rocks below.
She’s too excited to breathe in the salty air and to feel the spray of warm gulf waters as they break up on the rocks and shoot high in the air as tiny droplets that fall back down on her tanned skin to worry. Almost instantly, she feels the dampness on her skin and soon her clothing, slightly chilling her.
It is a glorious morning, but any moment, she must cross the boulevard to her father’s small apartment. Today, her things will be packed in the trunk of her small blue Accord. Her journey to the arid land she calls home must begin, and she must go back to where little is green, and the air is blistering; where brown, yellow, and burnt umber are the colors of nature, and where nature is brutal and harsh with spikes and thorns. But for now, she will sit on the peaceful wall and take in the sounds of the gulf.
Traffic is light, for the day has yet to begin. Tourists snuggle tightly in their beds waiting for the smells of bacon, sausage, and eggs to drift silently into their room and invade their nostrils. They can stay in their beds for all she cares. While they slumber, Galveston is peaceful and serene.
Far to the east, the sun slightly rises and an orange glow spreads across the horizon. The horizon is now a beautiful purple, pink, and orange. A faint orange light reaches across the water and touches her bare feet. A large hand touches her left shoulder and she responds, “Good morning,” as another pair of feet dangle next to hers.
“Beautiful isn’t it?” Her father asks.
No response is necessary because there is no beauty like the one that spreads before her, so she just smiles and nods. Fishermen begin dot the briny water parallel to the rocky shore and the sandy beach down further. Still, even further, she can just make out the pier jutting out from the concrete wall.
She moves her hands down on the edge of the concrete barrier and stretches her body forward to catch the spray on her face. The breeze whips around her body and tosses her long brown curls out behind her. Her head lowers, and she notices that the hairs on his pale white feet are as red as what little hair he has left on his head. She wonders why she never noticed that before; and soon realizes that all throughout her life, he seldom went without shoes even if he was just tottering through the house.
After patting it a couple of times, he puts his hand on hers and gently squeezes. Her heart warms, and no words pass between them, but she looks up over her left shoulder at him and smiles. He’s looking out across the ocean toward the sun and golden glowing clouds. She notices there are more lines at the edges of his eyes than the last time she sat with him watching the sunrise. His freckled skin glows in the light of the sun, just as the gulf waters glow purple, pink, and blue. The orange trail of the sun is now a deep red, and the sky shifts from a pale grey to azure. Sol rides the horizon for just a moment before climbing above it. Streaks of gold dance across the waves, and the gulls begin to soar above the earth. They dive back down again and again to capture a meal. In the distance, large cargo ships, tankers, cruise ships, sailboats, yachts, and shrimp boats power out of the bay, forming minuscule dots of varying shapes and sizes on the horizon.
Mist draws up the seawall and engulfs their legs as they sit silently waiting for the day to break the magical spell cast across the sleepy city. Clouds curl, stretch, and ball, as they float toward the mainland, while beams of gold reflect their outermost edges.
Her head drops, and she watches his legs hang in the mist. He’s been ill, but they do not speak of it. Instead, they take in the beauty around them and allow it to wash all of their worries away. They let their pain drift out with the tide and ride the ocean current far, far away. This moment, this morning, is the most perfect they have had in the longest time.
The pinks, oranges, reds, blues, violets, and golds begin to fade as the sun floats higher above the horizon, and the silence breaks with the sounds of engines and blaring horns. Voices of tourists crowd her ears and the smell of meats, coffees, and sweets fill the air. The mist below glides away tugging at the dew on her skin, and her feet dangle on the edge of the seawall. She looks over her left shoulder and smiles.
A warm morning breeze drifts across the cool water of the gulf, and the mid-April sun begins to glint on the horizon. Just a little peek of light shimmers across the water from eternity to a few feet below and in front of her. The sun reflects off the red highlights in her son’s dark brown hair. He will not hang his feet over the edge, so he folds them in his lap in front of him. “Beautiful isn’t it?” He asks.
“Yeah, it is,” she responds as she pats his hand and gently squeezes it. He lays his head on her shoulder when he sees a single tear escape her dark brown eyes and roll down her freckled cheek. They sit in silence as they watch the sun rise.
The black and grey cubed rocks below form a barrier to break up incoming tides. Many are lined with jagged edges not yet softened by the decades of the ocean tide. A fall from this height would surely hurt and possibly break a bone or two but should not maim or kill. Though she is clumsy and scared of heights, her mind does not see the possible danger before her. Instead, she keeps dangling her feet, back and forth above the sharp rocks below.
She’s too excited to breathe in the salty air and to feel the spray of warm gulf waters as they break up on the rocks and shoot high in the air as tiny droplets that fall back down on her tanned skin to worry. Almost instantly, she feels the dampness on her skin and soon her clothing, slightly chilling her.
It is a glorious morning, but any moment, she must cross the boulevard to her father’s small apartment. Today, her things will be packed in the trunk of her small blue Accord. Her journey to the arid land she calls home must begin, and she must go back to where little is green, and the air is blistering; where brown, yellow, and burnt umber are the colors of nature, and where nature is brutal and harsh with spikes and thorns. But for now, she will sit on the peaceful wall and take in the sounds of the gulf.
Traffic is light, for the day has yet to begin. Tourists snuggle tightly in their beds waiting for the smells of bacon, sausage, and eggs to drift silently into their room and invade their nostrils. They can stay in their beds for all she cares. While they slumber, Galveston is peaceful and serene.
Far to the east, the sun slightly rises and an orange glow spreads across the horizon. The horizon is now a beautiful purple, pink, and orange. A faint orange light reaches across the water and touches her bare feet. A large hand touches her left shoulder and she responds, “Good morning,” as another pair of feet dangle next to hers.
“Beautiful isn’t it?” Her father asks.
No response is necessary because there is no beauty like the one that spreads before her, so she just smiles and nods. Fishermen begin dot the briny water parallel to the rocky shore and the sandy beach down further. Still, even further, she can just make out the pier jutting out from the concrete wall.
She moves her hands down on the edge of the concrete barrier and stretches her body forward to catch the spray on her face. The breeze whips around her body and tosses her long brown curls out behind her. Her head lowers, and she notices that the hairs on his pale white feet are as red as what little hair he has left on his head. She wonders why she never noticed that before; and soon realizes that all throughout her life, he seldom went without shoes even if he was just tottering through the house.
After patting it a couple of times, he puts his hand on hers and gently squeezes. Her heart warms, and no words pass between them, but she looks up over her left shoulder at him and smiles. He’s looking out across the ocean toward the sun and golden glowing clouds. She notices there are more lines at the edges of his eyes than the last time she sat with him watching the sunrise. His freckled skin glows in the light of the sun, just as the gulf waters glow purple, pink, and blue. The orange trail of the sun is now a deep red, and the sky shifts from a pale grey to azure. Sol rides the horizon for just a moment before climbing above it. Streaks of gold dance across the waves, and the gulls begin to soar above the earth. They dive back down again and again to capture a meal. In the distance, large cargo ships, tankers, cruise ships, sailboats, yachts, and shrimp boats power out of the bay, forming minuscule dots of varying shapes and sizes on the horizon.
Mist draws up the seawall and engulfs their legs as they sit silently waiting for the day to break the magical spell cast across the sleepy city. Clouds curl, stretch, and ball, as they float toward the mainland, while beams of gold reflect their outermost edges.
Her head drops, and she watches his legs hang in the mist. He’s been ill, but they do not speak of it. Instead, they take in the beauty around them and allow it to wash all of their worries away. They let their pain drift out with the tide and ride the ocean current far, far away. This moment, this morning, is the most perfect they have had in the longest time.
The pinks, oranges, reds, blues, violets, and golds begin to fade as the sun floats higher above the horizon, and the silence breaks with the sounds of engines and blaring horns. Voices of tourists crowd her ears and the smell of meats, coffees, and sweets fill the air. The mist below glides away tugging at the dew on her skin, and her feet dangle on the edge of the seawall. She looks over her left shoulder and smiles.
A warm morning breeze drifts across the cool water of the gulf, and the mid-April sun begins to glint on the horizon. Just a little peek of light shimmers across the water from eternity to a few feet below and in front of her. The sun reflects off the red highlights in her son’s dark brown hair. He will not hang his feet over the edge, so he folds them in his lap in front of him. “Beautiful isn’t it?” He asks.
“Yeah, it is,” she responds as she pats his hand and gently squeezes it. He lays his head on her shoulder when he sees a single tear escape her dark brown eyes and roll down her freckled cheek. They sit in silence as they watch the sun rise.
Original Photography by ©Pamela N. Brown
Dedicated to my father and children. Daddy, you are truly missed. My sons, I will always be with you.
You
You are the sun
A bright light
That shines deep
Within my heart
A lucid warmth
That brings forth
Hope of a new day
You are the wind
A gentle zephyr
That blows against
My cold skin
A warm breeze
That slowly dries
My tear stained eyes
You are the moon
A sparkling light
That shimmers bright
On cool nights
An amazing beauty
That shines alongside
The brilliant stars
©Pamela N. Brown
A bright light
That shines deep
Within my heart
A lucid warmth
That brings forth
Hope of a new day
You are the wind
A gentle zephyr
That blows against
My cold skin
A warm breeze
That slowly dries
My tear stained eyes
You are the moon
A sparkling light
That shimmers bright
On cool nights
An amazing beauty
That shines alongside
The brilliant stars
©Pamela N. Brown
Monday, January 17, 2011
War
Bombs drop
A child dies
Explosions erupt
In simple minds
Burning metal
Enters another's heart
A war abroad
Tears our homes apart
©Pamela N. Brown
A child dies
Explosions erupt
In simple minds
Burning metal
Enters another's heart
A war abroad
Tears our homes apart
©Pamela N. Brown
Sunday, January 16, 2011
A New Life
I surrender my soul to the truth; and with this in mind, a new and wonderful life will begin.
Out of the shadows and into the light,
I take my first step toward a good life
I have struggled, I have fought
I will no longer let myself be bought
I will no longer hide from fate
It is time I took an about face
I am a whole person not half
I should be happy for all I have
I am a woman, gentle, but proud
I will do what it takes, even scream aloud
"Today, I take my fateful stand
I grab my life with a strong hand."
© Pamela N. Brown
Out of the shadows and into the light,
I take my first step toward a good life
I have struggled, I have fought
I will no longer let myself be bought
I will no longer hide from fate
It is time I took an about face
I am a whole person not half
I should be happy for all I have
I am a woman, gentle, but proud
I will do what it takes, even scream aloud
"Today, I take my fateful stand
I grab my life with a strong hand."
© Pamela N. Brown
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Paint for Me
Paint me a sky of brilliant blue,
And I will gaze upon it.
Sing me a sweet lullaby,
And I will write a sonnet.
Tell me about a magical dream.
A fantasy you will give me,
Of fairies and a rosebud’s bloom.
I will close my eyes to see.
Tell me a story of yesterdays gone,
And I will confide in you.
Then give you a dream that I have had,
And we will be one not two.
© Pamela N. Brown
Monday, January 10, 2011
Would You Remember
Life is always so very short to let it pass us by
And if for some reason tomorrow should I die,
Would you remember the smile I keep upon my face
Or how I handle problems today with great grace?
Would you remember my laughter heard within your ear
Or how your love touched my heart, this love I hold so dear?
Would you remember how I play with my childlike side
Or how I hold my head up for family filled with pride?
Would you remember the person that now I have become
Or how I have kept my heart now and forever young?
Would you remember that my soul has grown very strong
Or how I hold my kids, so tight and for so long?
Would you remember that I rarely wear a frown
Or would you just remember that once I let you down?
© Pamela N. Brown
And if for some reason tomorrow should I die,
Would you remember the smile I keep upon my face
Or how I handle problems today with great grace?
Would you remember my laughter heard within your ear
Or how your love touched my heart, this love I hold so dear?
Would you remember how I play with my childlike side
Or how I hold my head up for family filled with pride?
Would you remember the person that now I have become
Or how I have kept my heart now and forever young?
Would you remember that my soul has grown very strong
Or how I hold my kids, so tight and for so long?
Would you remember that I rarely wear a frown
Or would you just remember that once I let you down?
© Pamela N. Brown
Sunday, January 9, 2011
Peace
Rainbows fall with brilliance upon the earth
They bring beauty to a life that would otherwise be bland
Sparkling light shimmers across a sad face
Bringing a smile of love to a broken heart
Storms brew inside an angry mind
Only to be washed away by the brightest sun
Hope and joy can be found in the toughest world
And peace will finally come to all that desire it
©Pamela N. Brown
They bring beauty to a life that would otherwise be bland
Sparkling light shimmers across a sad face
Bringing a smile of love to a broken heart
Storms brew inside an angry mind
Only to be washed away by the brightest sun
Hope and joy can be found in the toughest world
And peace will finally come to all that desire it
©Pamela N. Brown
Saturday, January 8, 2011
Undone
I’ve come all undone
threads broken, memories ooze from the wounds
deep gashes, shining ivory beneath, sparkle bright
skin shed, drifts in the howling wind,
high pitched screams echo in my ear.
Drums have burst, deaf to only me.
From my chest slips my heart, shattered on the floor,
dreams taken flight far from my grasp.
Raging fires no longer burn,
snuffed by mourning skies,
slipped away all aspirations,
only shadows dark, powerful, high-handed remain.
©Pamela N. Brown
threads broken, memories ooze from the wounds
deep gashes, shining ivory beneath, sparkle bright
skin shed, drifts in the howling wind,
high pitched screams echo in my ear.
Drums have burst, deaf to only me.
From my chest slips my heart, shattered on the floor,
dreams taken flight far from my grasp.
Raging fires no longer burn,
snuffed by mourning skies,
slipped away all aspirations,
only shadows dark, powerful, high-handed remain.
©Pamela N. Brown
Friday, January 7, 2011
Tree
A tree, nature's back rest
Reaches up towards the sky
A thing of so much beauty
And the secrets within it lie
A bird forages within it
For a branch as its nest
A squirrel scurries on an arm
Entertaining I do confess
The roots reach down
Deep beneath my very feet
A spider spins its web
His limb cannot be beat
A caterpillar inches by
To spin his small cocoon
A secret hidden deep inside
To be revealed someday soon
A trail of ants march up the side
To scavenge some food
Then they march down again
Once they have found what is good
A tree so peaceful now
Solitarily stands
And many more like it
Reach across fertile lands
©Pamela N. Brown
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Stepping Stones
Stepping on the stones
That lie beneath my feet
My life was given
As a gift to me
Turning blind corners
Each and every day
Never knowing who
Will stand in my way
Pushing them aside
To find my happiness
In this great world
All I can do is my best
Controlling my own life
My own destiny
I will let no one
Stand in the way of me
©Pamela N. Brown
That lie beneath my feet
My life was given
As a gift to me
Turning blind corners
Each and every day
Never knowing who
Will stand in my way
Pushing them aside
To find my happiness
In this great world
All I can do is my best
Controlling my own life
My own destiny
I will let no one
Stand in the way of me
©Pamela N. Brown
Perfect
I dig down deep in my heart to find answers about love and life in general. I dig down deep into the dark recesses of my soul. All I can find is one common thing. Love is not perfect, and I am glad for that. The answers are not always there and I am glad for that. Life is not perfect, and I am glad for that. Most of all, I find that I am not perfect, and I am also glad for that. Perfection is not a goal anyone should work on. Perfection is an unattainable goal. If life, love, and I were perfect, then what would be the point? There would be no point in trying for me, for anyone. Trying is what makes life great. Trying is what makes love great. Most of all trying is what makes me great. It is what makes me happy. It is what makes my friends and family happy. Trying makes my children smile. Trying makes my husband love me more. Trying is what makes me, well, me.
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Chrysanthemums
Foolish And Alone!
she’s Lying
Eyes Open, Wide-Awake.
Waiting For Lost Love,
she Once Had,
But Never To Arrive.
Gently Fading To
Yesterdays,
Once Lived, Now Pass her By.
Into The yellow
wallpaper
Too Soon, Will she Succumb?
…Or A Muted Brown
chrysanthemum,
Once White, Wilting Away?
Once Beautifully,
Brilliantly,
Shining For All To See.
No Longer Useful,
Needed By
Once Insatiable Crowds.
she Wonders… Was plath…
Was sexton…
Truly Right All Along?
A Symbol Of Strength,
she Presents
For Others To Gaze On.
Yet, Still Fading As
chrysanthemums
Of Yesterdays Long Gone.
©Pamela N. Brown
she’s Lying
Eyes Open, Wide-Awake.
Waiting For Lost Love,
she Once Had,
But Never To Arrive.
Gently Fading To
Yesterdays,
Once Lived, Now Pass her By.
Into The yellow
wallpaper
Too Soon, Will she Succumb?
…Or A Muted Brown
chrysanthemum,
Once White, Wilting Away?
Once Beautifully,
Brilliantly,
Shining For All To See.
No Longer Useful,
Needed By
Once Insatiable Crowds.
she Wonders… Was plath…
Was sexton…
Truly Right All Along?
A Symbol Of Strength,
she Presents
For Others To Gaze On.
Yet, Still Fading As
chrysanthemums
Of Yesterdays Long Gone.
©Pamela N. Brown
This poem is dedicated to female authors who have felt suppressed from a male-dominated society:
and the many many other suppressed female authors. May our voices be heard.
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
Sands
The sands of time haunt all of us.
They lead us in the direction
in which we will follow.
They guide us through the daily nonsense
we all must muddle through.
They lead us down paths
we would not desire to go.
The sands of time haunt all of us.
©Pamela N. Brown
They lead us in the direction
in which we will follow.
They guide us through the daily nonsense
we all must muddle through.
They lead us down paths
we would not desire to go.
The sands of time haunt all of us.
©Pamela N. Brown
Monday, January 3, 2011
A Special Bond
I was lying on the bottom bunk asleep on a cold winter's night. The frigid air drifted around the crusty dry caulk barely holding in the French cut glass windowpanes. I lay there tucked safe and cuddled tightly under my thick blanket and quilt. From the other room, a scream escaped from the throat of my mother's cousin and jolted me awake. The next sound was a music box that my great-grandmother had given to my mother a few days prior. Just one verse repetitively played, "…sleeping in heavenly peace…" My seven-year-old mind assumed that music boxes were like vinyl records and could skip just the same. No other sounds broke through the chilly night air; so again, I closed my eyes only to be disturbed from my attempt to slumber once more. The old black rotary phone rang loudly. I listened as my mother answered, "Yes, this is her. Oh no! Oh my God! Yes...yes...I understand...yes, we will be there." She hung the phone up, and exhausted, I closed my eyes once more.
The next morning after I awoke, my mother called to me. When I approached her, she sobbed with tear-filled eyes and told me of what she had learned just the night before. "Your great-grandmother has died. We will be going to her wake so we can say good-bye to her."
I was in shock, stunned by what she had said. Images of sitting in my grandmother's lap as she told me stories of her life haunted me. I had just seen her and could not believe that what Mother had told me could be true. The tears filled my eyes as I felt the sense of loss in my saddened soul. My great-grandmother would be surely missed. With the matriarch of the family gone, a new era would begin. I would never see her again. Never again would I gaze into her beautiful black eyes as she told me stories of her hard, sad life. Never again would I hug her frail, tiny body and kiss her good-bye. Never again would my hand brush her soft, thin, dark skin. Never again would I tell her how much she meant to me, and I felt truly alone. There had been a special bond between the two of us every since my birth. As a babe, she had saved my life. Though I was far too young to remember the story myself, I knew it by heart.
My grandma was taking Great-Grandmother to visit her older daughter in Kermit on the way to New Mexico. Though she protested and put up a good fight, the plans had been made and the trip was inevitable. Grandmother told Grandma, "I cannot go. My new black haired baby girl needs me. She is not well."
Grandma had just returned from the doctor's office with my mother and me. The doctor had told them that I was just allergic to the milk, and he wasn't worried despite the two-pound weight loss since my birth.
Grandmother disagreed and protested. When no one listened and insisted the doctor's opinion was valid, Grandmother started quacking like a duck letting them know how she felt about the white man's medicines and doctors. "I never saw one of them in my life, and I am ninety-two years young. You don't see the white man living this long." Grandma just waved her off in response.
When Grandmother refused to pack, Grandma packed for her. However, Grandmother's stubbornness was infamous. She unpacked as Grandma packed. Grandma finally walked away and waited until Grandmother napped to pack the bags and load them into the trunk of her white Ford Fairlane. When Grandmother woke, Grandma appeased her by taking her first to see her tiny black haired "Great."
Grandmother held my tiny body in her arms and cried her tears on my face. If the spirits knew how much I was loved, they would hesitate to take me. My small gown was turned backwards, so the spirits, who did not care, couldn't see me. As Grandmother handed me back to my teenaged mother, she spoke, "Your baby is very ill, and her body is withering away. Do not listen to the doctor you see because he does not listen, and he does not have the healing touch. Take your girl to one with our blood. Take her to one you can trust."
Unwillingly, Grandmother entered the Fairlane and was whisked away to the older daughter's. Minutes before arriving to her destination, Grandmother woke in a start. "Pull over, daughter! Find me a payphone. If Granddaughter does not take my great now, the spirits will take her away."
Grandma knew enough to trust Grandmother's premonitions, which never should be taken lightly. She found a gas station with a payphone and dialed Mother's number for Grandmother. Though Mother was skeptical, Grandmother gave her a start. The hairs stood up on her arm as chills rushed through her body. She could feel that Grandmother was right. Mother tried to rouse me from my sleep, but my body limply flailed, as I could not muster the strength to rhythmically jerk my arms to my sides. My cry was but a squeak no louder than a mouse, and no tears rolled from my tiny black eyes. My skin puckered and wrinkled with each touch, and had paled to an ashen grey from the pale red brown since birth. I was fading fast.
The seventeen-year-old mother of two wrapped my tiny body in the quilt that was once hers and took me to the next town over. The black haired dark skinned doctor in the Stamford Memorial emergency room immediately performed a cut down procedure on the inside of my left ankle for an IV before he rushed me to a surgeon in Abilene. Once an upper gastro-intestinal x-ray was performed, it was determined that I had pyloric stenosis, a birth defect passed from my father to me, and before me, a birth defect that only affects male infants. Once the surgery was successful, the surgeon told Mother the doctor in Stamford saved my life. He said that waiting just an hour longer would have certainly meant death. What he didn't know was that Mother could not hear my cries as I tried to wail, and had it not been for the phone call from Grandmother, she would have never woke up in time to rush me to the next town.
At the funeral, I grew angry toward my sister and brother due to their behavior. I felt I was the only child that grasped the gravity of the situation, and it weighed heavily on my tiny shoulders. My siblings laughed and played, as I sat there crying. Now as an adult, I understand that my brother was too young to realize what was going on, as was my sister. Though she was older than me, she was only eight. I was the child Grandmother called "an old soul," and I was the only child she rooted our Creek heritage deeply in. I was the one who cried on the trail that was only a distant memory to all but her. I was the one that felt the pain of her being severed from her own mother's arms and never returned. I was the one who knew how the fleeting memories and stripping of her Creek name left Grandmother wandering throughout her lifetime searching for her own identity. I was the one who carried the burden alone, and I was too young to hold the weight on my own.
Over the next several months, the loss of my great-grandmother weighed heavy on my heart. Life at home was hellacious; my body constantly riddled with bruises. My parents' arguments grew more and more frequent. My heart, too, was bruised and sank down deeper with every thought of my great-grandmother. I truly missed her and wanted to see her once again. Once again, I wanted to be in her arms as she rocked in her hand woven chair. I wanted to hear her sing the songs her mother once sang to her. I craved the sound of the forbidden Creek verses that I could not understand. I longed for the whispering of secrets in my ear. Sometimes, when I crawled up the branches of the old mulberry tree she planted so long ago, I swore I heard her whispering her secrets on the sweet breeze rustling through the leaves. Once again, I wanted to be with her.
My family and I went to Possum Kingdom Lake for a day in the summer sun. The heat beat down on the earth, but the water was cool and inviting. My mother warned us to stay close to shore, for there had been a drought and the lake was low. Since Possum Kingdom is overrun with underwater caverns, Mother told us, "If the water starts to get cold, turn around and come back. Cold water means deep water."
We played close to the shore, filling each other's bathing suits with mud. I am at a loss as to what triggered it, but I suddenly I began to think of my great-grandmother. My mother and sister continued to play, but I turned my back to my family and headed away from the beach. The water grew colder with each small step. I began to take one more step, and I felt there was no ground in front of me. I knew I had reached the drop off. I turned around and looked at my family one last time. They were still playing, all but my father. He lay on the beach drinking a Coors. The snow-white styrofoam cooler sat next to him in the sand. Daddy couldn't swim.
I turned back around and took that final step. My body sank like lead down to the bottom. I did not fight to get back to the top. I let out my breath and allowed my lungs to fill with water. The pain was immense. My chest tightened as I gulped the water in. As the sour water replaced air, bubbles floated to the surface of the lake. The bursting blood vessels pinpricked throughout my body and behind my eyes. I felt someone grab for me and try to pull me back up. It was my mother, who I tried to fight off. I battled, kicked, scratched, and bit until all turned black. Before me, I saw my great-grandmother. I reached out for her hand, and she grabbed hold as I told her, "I want to be with you. Let me stay here."
Grandmother replied, "I cannot let you come with me. You have to go back. It is not your time to go."
I awoke coughing the water from my lungs. I opened my eyes as the sun peered into them blinding me. The hot sand burned my back and cut tiny gouges in my skin. I knew I was alive with each painful retch of water from my lungs. I knew I was alive when I looked around and saw my family all around me. I knew I was alive because heaven could never hurt like this. Either I was alive, or I had gone to hell.
I don't know to this day whether I actually saw her or if my subconscious was telling me to fight. My last thought before blackout was of her. Could my subconscious have projected my need to fight in her form? No one may ever know. I like to think it was Grandmother, and she is my guardian angel. From that moment on, I have always felt that she is here with me.
The next morning after I awoke, my mother called to me. When I approached her, she sobbed with tear-filled eyes and told me of what she had learned just the night before. "Your great-grandmother has died. We will be going to her wake so we can say good-bye to her."
I was in shock, stunned by what she had said. Images of sitting in my grandmother's lap as she told me stories of her life haunted me. I had just seen her and could not believe that what Mother had told me could be true. The tears filled my eyes as I felt the sense of loss in my saddened soul. My great-grandmother would be surely missed. With the matriarch of the family gone, a new era would begin. I would never see her again. Never again would I gaze into her beautiful black eyes as she told me stories of her hard, sad life. Never again would I hug her frail, tiny body and kiss her good-bye. Never again would my hand brush her soft, thin, dark skin. Never again would I tell her how much she meant to me, and I felt truly alone. There had been a special bond between the two of us every since my birth. As a babe, she had saved my life. Though I was far too young to remember the story myself, I knew it by heart.
My grandma was taking Great-Grandmother to visit her older daughter in Kermit on the way to New Mexico. Though she protested and put up a good fight, the plans had been made and the trip was inevitable. Grandmother told Grandma, "I cannot go. My new black haired baby girl needs me. She is not well."
Grandma had just returned from the doctor's office with my mother and me. The doctor had told them that I was just allergic to the milk, and he wasn't worried despite the two-pound weight loss since my birth.
Grandmother disagreed and protested. When no one listened and insisted the doctor's opinion was valid, Grandmother started quacking like a duck letting them know how she felt about the white man's medicines and doctors. "I never saw one of them in my life, and I am ninety-two years young. You don't see the white man living this long." Grandma just waved her off in response.
When Grandmother refused to pack, Grandma packed for her. However, Grandmother's stubbornness was infamous. She unpacked as Grandma packed. Grandma finally walked away and waited until Grandmother napped to pack the bags and load them into the trunk of her white Ford Fairlane. When Grandmother woke, Grandma appeased her by taking her first to see her tiny black haired "Great."
Grandmother held my tiny body in her arms and cried her tears on my face. If the spirits knew how much I was loved, they would hesitate to take me. My small gown was turned backwards, so the spirits, who did not care, couldn't see me. As Grandmother handed me back to my teenaged mother, she spoke, "Your baby is very ill, and her body is withering away. Do not listen to the doctor you see because he does not listen, and he does not have the healing touch. Take your girl to one with our blood. Take her to one you can trust."
Unwillingly, Grandmother entered the Fairlane and was whisked away to the older daughter's. Minutes before arriving to her destination, Grandmother woke in a start. "Pull over, daughter! Find me a payphone. If Granddaughter does not take my great now, the spirits will take her away."
Grandma knew enough to trust Grandmother's premonitions, which never should be taken lightly. She found a gas station with a payphone and dialed Mother's number for Grandmother. Though Mother was skeptical, Grandmother gave her a start. The hairs stood up on her arm as chills rushed through her body. She could feel that Grandmother was right. Mother tried to rouse me from my sleep, but my body limply flailed, as I could not muster the strength to rhythmically jerk my arms to my sides. My cry was but a squeak no louder than a mouse, and no tears rolled from my tiny black eyes. My skin puckered and wrinkled with each touch, and had paled to an ashen grey from the pale red brown since birth. I was fading fast.
The seventeen-year-old mother of two wrapped my tiny body in the quilt that was once hers and took me to the next town over. The black haired dark skinned doctor in the Stamford Memorial emergency room immediately performed a cut down procedure on the inside of my left ankle for an IV before he rushed me to a surgeon in Abilene. Once an upper gastro-intestinal x-ray was performed, it was determined that I had pyloric stenosis, a birth defect passed from my father to me, and before me, a birth defect that only affects male infants. Once the surgery was successful, the surgeon told Mother the doctor in Stamford saved my life. He said that waiting just an hour longer would have certainly meant death. What he didn't know was that Mother could not hear my cries as I tried to wail, and had it not been for the phone call from Grandmother, she would have never woke up in time to rush me to the next town.
At the funeral, I grew angry toward my sister and brother due to their behavior. I felt I was the only child that grasped the gravity of the situation, and it weighed heavily on my tiny shoulders. My siblings laughed and played, as I sat there crying. Now as an adult, I understand that my brother was too young to realize what was going on, as was my sister. Though she was older than me, she was only eight. I was the child Grandmother called "an old soul," and I was the only child she rooted our Creek heritage deeply in. I was the one who cried on the trail that was only a distant memory to all but her. I was the one that felt the pain of her being severed from her own mother's arms and never returned. I was the one who knew how the fleeting memories and stripping of her Creek name left Grandmother wandering throughout her lifetime searching for her own identity. I was the one who carried the burden alone, and I was too young to hold the weight on my own.
Over the next several months, the loss of my great-grandmother weighed heavy on my heart. Life at home was hellacious; my body constantly riddled with bruises. My parents' arguments grew more and more frequent. My heart, too, was bruised and sank down deeper with every thought of my great-grandmother. I truly missed her and wanted to see her once again. Once again, I wanted to be in her arms as she rocked in her hand woven chair. I wanted to hear her sing the songs her mother once sang to her. I craved the sound of the forbidden Creek verses that I could not understand. I longed for the whispering of secrets in my ear. Sometimes, when I crawled up the branches of the old mulberry tree she planted so long ago, I swore I heard her whispering her secrets on the sweet breeze rustling through the leaves. Once again, I wanted to be with her.
My family and I went to Possum Kingdom Lake for a day in the summer sun. The heat beat down on the earth, but the water was cool and inviting. My mother warned us to stay close to shore, for there had been a drought and the lake was low. Since Possum Kingdom is overrun with underwater caverns, Mother told us, "If the water starts to get cold, turn around and come back. Cold water means deep water."
We played close to the shore, filling each other's bathing suits with mud. I am at a loss as to what triggered it, but I suddenly I began to think of my great-grandmother. My mother and sister continued to play, but I turned my back to my family and headed away from the beach. The water grew colder with each small step. I began to take one more step, and I felt there was no ground in front of me. I knew I had reached the drop off. I turned around and looked at my family one last time. They were still playing, all but my father. He lay on the beach drinking a Coors. The snow-white styrofoam cooler sat next to him in the sand. Daddy couldn't swim.
I turned back around and took that final step. My body sank like lead down to the bottom. I did not fight to get back to the top. I let out my breath and allowed my lungs to fill with water. The pain was immense. My chest tightened as I gulped the water in. As the sour water replaced air, bubbles floated to the surface of the lake. The bursting blood vessels pinpricked throughout my body and behind my eyes. I felt someone grab for me and try to pull me back up. It was my mother, who I tried to fight off. I battled, kicked, scratched, and bit until all turned black. Before me, I saw my great-grandmother. I reached out for her hand, and she grabbed hold as I told her, "I want to be with you. Let me stay here."
Grandmother replied, "I cannot let you come with me. You have to go back. It is not your time to go."
I awoke coughing the water from my lungs. I opened my eyes as the sun peered into them blinding me. The hot sand burned my back and cut tiny gouges in my skin. I knew I was alive with each painful retch of water from my lungs. I knew I was alive when I looked around and saw my family all around me. I knew I was alive because heaven could never hurt like this. Either I was alive, or I had gone to hell.
I don't know to this day whether I actually saw her or if my subconscious was telling me to fight. My last thought before blackout was of her. Could my subconscious have projected my need to fight in her form? No one may ever know. I like to think it was Grandmother, and she is my guardian angel. From that moment on, I have always felt that she is here with me.
The Greatest Gift
In a pool of blood
I rose up from the floor
I grabbed your picture
And realized I wanted more
To make you proud
Has been my greatest wish
And you’ll never know
It’s in your shadow I truly miss.
To be your friend was
The greatest gift of all
You’d always catch me
When I’d stumble and fall.
From the cradle we grew
To be the closest friends
And when I moved from you
I felt my heart’d never mend
Without you there I sat, alone
For you alone I often cried
My tears built a river
Where my soul had first died
My innocence stripped
And purity washed away
Without you there to hold
My heart began to stray.
No longer happy
A flower once, now wilted
And for my sins
My soul blackened, hilted
But once again you came
To walk along side me
And your warmth molded
Who I would come to be
And your conviction
Helped my weary heart mend
And you will forever
Be my truest and dearest friend.
©Pamela N. Brown
Sunday, January 2, 2011
The Old Mulberry Tree
You were once my sanctuary
Until one day you proved to betray me
You let the wind open branches so they could see
Me hiding among the limbs above in thee
It was then frightening in you, Mulberry Tree
You hide my most sacred memories
You tell not the secrets of what they did to me
Or why I used to hide in that among thee
From nightmares I wake when I dream of thee
That one, huge, old, scary tree
You still stands there from what I can see
On the corner of where I used to be
I want to take you down, Mulberry Tree
Maybe my secrets could die there with thee
And frightened again may I never be
Until you are gone I will still fear thee
© Pamela N. Brown
Until one day you proved to betray me
You let the wind open branches so they could see
Me hiding among the limbs above in thee
It was then frightening in you, Mulberry Tree
You hide my most sacred memories
You tell not the secrets of what they did to me
Or why I used to hide in that among thee
From nightmares I wake when I dream of thee
That one, huge, old, scary tree
You still stands there from what I can see
On the corner of where I used to be
I want to take you down, Mulberry Tree
Maybe my secrets could die there with thee
And frightened again may I never be
Until you are gone I will still fear thee
© Pamela N. Brown
Saturday, January 1, 2011
The Book of Life
Awaking moments open a new page
Every thought is just another sentence
Every hour is a new paragraph
Every cry is a new question - Why?
Every doubt is a new fact
Every laugh is a new exclamation
When eyes close, the writing does not stop
Dreams are branded deep onto every page
As if it were waking moments
Every day opens a new page with new dreams,
Hopes and beginnings
Every emotion adds to this book, even hatred
Hopefully all books will be long
Full of life, love adventure and prosperity
Not all books are long and full
For only death can close any book
NO ONE lives forever!
© Pamela N. Brown
Every thought is just another sentence
Every hour is a new paragraph
Every cry is a new question - Why?
Every doubt is a new fact
Every laugh is a new exclamation
When eyes close, the writing does not stop
Dreams are branded deep onto every page
As if it were waking moments
Every day opens a new page with new dreams,
Hopes and beginnings
Every emotion adds to this book, even hatred
Hopefully all books will be long
Full of life, love adventure and prosperity
Not all books are long and full
For only death can close any book
NO ONE lives forever!
© Pamela N. Brown
2010 Reading List
- Andersen’s Fairy Tales – Hans Christian Andersen
- “Antigone” – Sophocles
- “Arachnaphobia” – Catherine Brophy
- Arch Enemy – Frank Beddor
- Ask and Tell: Self-Advocacy and Disclosure for People on the Autism Spectrum – Ruth Elaine Joyner Hane, Kassiane Sibley, Stephen M. Shore, Roger N. Meyer, Phil Schwarz, Liane Holliday Willey
- Autism's False Prophets: Bad Science, Risky Medicine, and the Search for a Cure – Paul A. Offit
- Autistic Like Me – Jennifer Elder
- Beastly – Alex Flinn
- Beyond the Wall: Personal Experiences with Autism and Asperger Syndrome, Second Edition – Stephen M. Shore
- Black Pearls: A Faerie Strand – Louise Hawes
- Boneshaker – Cherie Priest
- Breaking Dawn – Stephanie Meyer
- “The Bride” – M.P. Shiel
- “The Cedar Closet” – Patrick Lafcadio Hearn
- Dark Carnival – James A. Moore
- Daughters of the Witching Hill – Mary Sharratt
- The Devil’s Rose – Brom
- Dracula – Bram Stoker
- Eats, Shoots and Leaves – Lynne Truss
- Eclipse – Stephenie Meyers
- Emergence: Labeled Autistic – Temple Grandin
- “Encounter at Night” – Mary Frances McHugh
- Fathom – Cherie Priest
- The Finale – Calvin Miller
- “Five Pounds of Flesh” – J.M. Synge
- “Fly Away Finger, Fly Away Thumb” – Brian Moore
- “Footsteps In the Lobby” – Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu
- Gathering Blue – Lois Lowry
- Ghost Stories of California – Barbara Smith
- Green Witch – Alice Hoffman
- “A House Possessed” – Sax Rohmer
- Indigo – Alice Hoffman
- The Last Battle – C.S. Lewis
- “Last Rites” – Neil Jordan
- Little Vampire Women – Alcott & Messina
- Living Dead Girl – Elizabeth Scott
- The Looking Glass Wars – Frank Beddor
- Love Medicine – Louise Erdrich
- “The Man from Shorrox” – Bram Stoker
- Married With Zombies – Jesse Peterson
- The Messenger – Lois Lowry
- “The Miraculous Revenge” – George Bernard Shaw
- New Moon – Stephenie Meyer
- Night – Elie Wiesel
- On Writing – Stephen King
- Pride And Prejudice And Zombies – Jane Austen & Seth Grahame Smith
- Pride And Prejudice And Zombies: Dawn of the Dreadfuls – Jane Austen & Steve Hockensmith
- Ravens – George Dawes Green
- Rip Van Winkle – Washington Irving
- Seeing Redd – Frank Beddor
- The Silver Chair – C.S. Lewis
- The Singer – Calvin Miller
- The Song – Calvin Miller
- A Tale of Two Cities – Charles Dickens
- To Serve and Submit – Susan Wright
- Vampire Stories – Richard Dalby
- The Way I See It – Temple Grandin
- “Will” – Vincent O’Sullivan
- Witch – Candace Savage
- A Wizard Alone – Diane Duane
- World War Z – Max Brooks
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)