Powerless

I can feel it
A burn
An itch
Just under my watch band
The thud of a pulse waiting to bleed
A voice in my head saying
Set yourself
Cut
And set yourself free


They don't know I'm already dead
Just a lost soul tripping through this purgatory called life
A whisper on the wind
A shrinking violet in the harsh sun
Shriveling and desiccating to nothingness
A wilting summer rose in the fall left with only spiny pinpricks
A forgotten memory of a happier time
Cynical, cold, envious
Hateful
Enraged
Powerless

Original Poetry by ©2014 Pamela N. Brown

Our Map

The map of our lives takes us down many roads like a heartbeat in the light
we chug roughly around each bend no matter how treacherous the road
no matter how long or hard, I will always travel it with you

we bullet across long stretches of desert highways
we choke on earth spewed from our tires kicking rocks off caliche roads
we test sharp twists and turns of mesas
we cruise through canopied forests, blind to dangers within
we slam to stops, just to rev up and go again
we rush through busy cities, jumping from one place to the next
we jam up in traffic, white knuckled and sore
we feel fury breathing down our necks when we have no drive
we fly to the tops of rollercoasters only to fall back down again
we stumble over rocky roads and slide across sharp crags
we travel unknown terrain through forbidden alcoves
we find hidden trails with secret treasures
we ponder forks and intersections
we take many u-turns
we've been here before

but, no matter how long or hard, I will always travel it with you

©Pamela N. Brown 02172014

Creativity

I've lost my creativity;

I can't find it;

it's gone.

It gave me longevity,

the vast will to

live on.

No longer there for us to see,

invisible,

moved on.

You seen my creativity?

Bring it to me.

I'm wan.

©Pamela N. Brown

Love Me

I wish to be loved
so, love me
teach me
save me
hold me
move me
make me live.

©Pamela N. Brown

Samuel Taylor Coleridge

The Eolian Harp

composed at clevedon, somersetshire

My pensive Sara! thy soft cheek reclined

Thus on mine arm, most soothing sweet it is

To sit beside our Cot, our Cot o’ergrown

With white-flowered Jasmin, and the broad-leaved Myrtle,

(Meet emblems they of Innocence and Love!)

And watch the clouds, that late were rich with light,

Slow saddening round, and mark the star of eve

Serenely brilliant (such would Wisdom be)

Shine opposite! How exquisite the scents

Snatched from yon bean-field! and the world so hushed!

The stilly murmur of the distant Sea

Tells us of silence.

                            And that simplest Lute,

Placed length-ways in the clasping casement, hark!

How by the desultory breeze caressed,

Like some coy maid half yielding to her lover,

It pours such sweet upbraiding, as must needs

Tempt to repeat the wrong! And now, its strings

Boldlier swept, the long sequacious notes

Over delicious surges sink and rise,

Such a soft floating witchery of sound

As twilight Elfins make, when they at eve

Voyage on gentle gales from Fairy-Land,

Where Melodies round honey-dropping flowers,

Footless and wild, like birds of Paradise,

Nor pause, nor perch, hovering on untamed wing!

O! the one Life within us and abroad,

Which meets all motion and becomes its soul,

A light in sound, a sound-like power in light,

Rhythm in all thought, and joyance everywhere—

Methinks, it should have been impossible

Not to love all things in a world so filled;

Where the breeze warbles, and the mute still air

Is Music slumbering on her instrument.

    And thus, my Love! as on the midway slope

Of yonder hill I stretch my limbs at noon,

Whilst through my half-closed eyelids I behold

The sunbeams dance, like diamonds, on the main,

And tranquil muse upon tranquility:

Full many a thought uncalled and undetained,

And many idle flitting phantasies,

Traverse my indolent and passive brain,

As wild and various as the random gales

That swell and flutter on this subject Lute!

    And what if all of animated nature

Be but organic Harps diversely framed,

That tremble into thought, as o’er them sweeps

Plastic and vast, one intellectual breeze,

At once the Soul of each, and God of all?

    But thy more serious eye a mild reproof

Darts, O beloved Woman! nor such thoughts

Dim and unhallowed dost thou not reject,

And biddest me walk humbly with my God.

Meek Daughter in the family of Christ!

Well hast thou said and holily dispraised

These shapings of the unregenerate mind;

Bubbles that glitter as they rise and break

On vain Philosophy’s aye-babbling spring.

For never guiltless may I speak of him,

The Incomprehensible! save when with awe

I praise him, and with Faith that inly feels;

Who with his saving mercies healèd me,

A sinful and most miserable man,

Wildered and dark, and gave me to possess

Peace, and this Cot, and thee, heart-honored Maid!

Kubla Kahn

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan

A stately pleasure-dome decree:

Where Alph, the sacred river, ran

Through caverns measureless to man

Down to a sunless sea.

So twice five miles of fertile ground

With walls and towers were girdled round:

And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,

Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;

And here were forests ancient as the hills,

Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.

But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted

Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!

A savage place! as holy and enchanted

As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted

By woman wailing for her demon-lover!

And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,

As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,

A mighty fountain momently was forced:

Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst

Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,

Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail:

And 'mid these dancing rocks at once and ever

It flung up momently the sacred river.

Five miles meandering with a mazy motion

Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,

Then reached the caverns measureless to man,

And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean:

And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard from far

Ancestral voices prophesying war!

The shadow of the dome of pleasure

Floated midway on the waves;

Where was heard the mingled measure

From the fountain and the caves.

It was a miracle of rare device,

A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice!

A damsel with a dulcimer

In a vision once I saw:

It was an Abyssinian maid,

And on her dulcimer she played,

Singing of Mount Abora.

Could I revive within me

Her symphony and song,

To such a deep delight 'twould win me

That with music loud and long

I would build that dome in air,

That sunny dome! those caves of ice!

And all who heard should see them there,

And all should cry, Beware! Beware!

His flashing eyes, his floating hair!

Weave a circle round him thrice,

And close your eyes with holy dread,

For he on honey-dew hath fed

And drunk the milk of Paradise.

I have always enjoyed Coleridge’s poetry. I like the imagery that Coleridge used in these two poems. Coleridge paints a beautiful picture. There is a dark undertone to his poetry as well. From what I have read, all Romantics have that particular element.

Coleridge sees himself as a priest-like visionary with a connection to God. Coleridge feels it is his responsibility to share the vision of God to the people. Like Wordsworth, Coleridge’s vision of God comes from nature.

“And that simplest lute,….Is Music slumbering on her instrument.” (lines 13-33)

Coleridge sees the poet as the lute, and the breeze is his muse. She gives him songs of beauty and God. These songs were meant to uplift the soul of man. The poet must translate these songs for the rest of us to hear, so that we all see the light. If the poet does not translate the “Music” or the message, then the message will never be heard.

“And what if all of animated nature….At once the Soul of each, and God of All?” (lines 44-48)

If we all were poets, our words would mean little. The rational or “intellectual breeze,” would change the meaning of nature, the meaning of God.

“On vain Philosophy’s aye-babbling spring….Peace, and this cot, and the, heart-honored Maid!” (lines 57-64)

Coleridge tells us that while he is in nature, down by the spring, he is with God. Coleridge goes on to say that he was “a sinful and most miserable man,” but because he found peace in his God, he has peace and beauty in his life.

“A damsel with a dulcimer…That sunny dome! those caves of ice!” (lines 37-47)

The narrator saw a woman in a vision. She sang a song that filled him with peace and happiness. Her song told the narrator that he must help to rebuild a paradise. The paradise should be well balanced.

Unlike Blake, Coleridge sees himself as more of a translator or priest-like visionary than a god-like prophet. Blake says, “Hear the voice of the bard! Who Present, Past, & Future sees;…” In other words, Blake is saying, I am all knowing and all seeing. Coleridge is more subtle with his message. In “The Eolin Harp” he says, “And the simplest lute…” This can be translated as I am just a simple instrument which nature uses to spread her message.

William Blake

Garden of Love

I went to the Garden of Love,
And saw what I never had seen:
A Chapel was built in the midst,
Where I used to play on the green.

And the gates of this Chapel were shut,
And "Thou shalt not" writ over the door;
So I turned to the Garden of Love,
That so many sweet flowers bore;

And I saw it was filled with graves,
And tombstones where flowers should be;
And Priests in black gowns were walking their rounds,
And binding with briers my joys and desires.

London

I wander thro' each charter'd street,
Near where the charter'd Thames does flow,
And mark in every face I meet
Marks of weakness, marks of woe.

In every cry of every Man,
In every Infant's cry of fear,
In every voice, in every ban,
The mind-forg'd manacles I hear.

How the Chimney-sweeper's cry
Every blackning Church appalls,
And the hapless Soldier's sigh
Runs in blood down Palace walls.

But most thro' midnight streets I hear
How the youthful Harlot's curse
Blasts the new-born Infant's tear,
And blights with plagues the Marriage hearse.

Songs of Experience

Infant Joy

I have no name
I am but two days old.—
What shall I call thee?
I happy am
Joy is my name,—
Sweet joy befall thee!

Pretty joy!
Sweet joy but two days old,
Sweet joy I call thee;
Thou dost smile.
I sing the while
Sweet joy befall thee.

Infant Sorrow

My mother groand! my father wept.
Into the dangerous world I leapt:
Helpless, naked, piping loud;
Like a fiend hid in a cloud.

Struggling in my fathers hands:
Striving against my swaddling bands:
Bound and weary I thought best
To sulk upon my mothers breast.

And did those feet

And did those feet in ancient time
Walk upon Englands mountains green:
And was the holy Lamb of God,
On Englands pleasant pastures seen!

And did the Countenance Divine,
Shine forth upon our clouded hills?
And was Jerusalem builded here,
Among these dark Satanic Mills?

Bring me my Bow of burning gold:
Bring me my arrows of desire:
Bring me my Spear: O clouds unfold!
Bring me my Chariot of fire!

I will not cease from Mental Fight,
Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand:
Till we have built Jerusalem,
In Englands green & pleasant Land.

Blake shows contempt for society and the church. Blake must have felt that living within society’s boundaries restricted spirituality and individuality.

Struggling in my father’s hands, / Striving against my swaddling bands,” (“Infant Sorrow;” p. 95; lines 5-6) 

Although Blake’s father raised him to conform to society, he found it too constricting. Blake will strive if he breaks free from his rearing.

“I will not cease from Mental Fight, / Nor shall my Sword sleep in my hand, / Till we have built Jerusalem / In England’s green and pleasant Land.” (“And did those feet;” p. 124; lines 13-16) 

Blake warns that no one can stop his mind. Blake’s “Sword” is his pen. He will continue to fight with words. Blake will not end his battle  until the views of England’s society changes.

“I went to the Garden of Love, / And saw what I never had seen: / A Chapel was built in the midst, / Where I used to play on the green. / And the gates of this Chapel were shut, / And “Thou shalt not” writ over the door; / So I turn’d to the Garden of Love, / That so many sweet flowers bore, / And I saw it was filled with graves, And tomb-stones where flowers should be; / And Priests in black gowns were walking their rounds, And binding with briars my joys & desires.” 

The Garden of Love was once a beautiful, peaceful place where one could find God. The church has, now, turned its back on its people and  restricted them to the point of spiritual death.

“O Earth, O Earth, Return! / Arise from out the dewy grass; / Night is worn / And the morn / Rises from the slumberous mass.” (“From Songs of Experience;” p. 88; lines 11-15) 

Blake’s use of symbolism is rich in this verse. Blake calls for spiritual awakening throughout the land. He tells the reader to turn on their inner light. The time for dark times is over. Your inner light will aid in awakening others.

In our media-driven society, it is difficult for a person to show individuality. If a person acts different, doctors are quick to medicate them so they are like everyone else. People far too often use plastic surgery and bariatric surgery to change what makes them different. The media pushes conformity in similar ways Blake’s society pushed conformity.

Whitman and Dickinson

To understand the difference between Whitman’s and Dickinson’s views of nature, the reader must first understand how Whitman and Dickinson view themselves and their individual connection to God. According to Susan Belasco Smith, Whitman “fuses the self to the world” (113). He sees interconnectedness between God, humankind, and nature. Whitman believed we are all a part of God, everything exists in God, and God exists in everything.

In “Song of Myself” Whitman wrote, “I will go to the bank by the wood and become undisguised and naked” (line 19). Not only was Whitman trying to shock the prudish people of his time, but also he was trying to have them understand the body is beautiful and sacred. When Whitman uses I, myself, or me; it must be understood that he does not mean the individual. Instead, he is saying I, myself, or me, who is one with God, all of humankind, and nature.

Unlike Whitman, when Dickinson uses the words I, myself, or me; she is speaking of the lonely, isolated individual. She felt hopeless and powerless in the world. When describing Dickinson’s view of self, Smith states, “the self is ultimately lonely, separate from nature and God, and constantly involved in conflict” (113). Due to her sense of powerlessness, Dickinson’s poetry is often filled with death, pain, and despair. In poem number two-hundred-fifty-eight, Dickinson writes, “Heavenly Hurt, it gives us – / We can find no scar, / But internal difference, / Where the Meanings, are –“ (lines 5-8).

Dickinson speaks of a spiritual pain in which one cannot ever escape. Although Whitman and Dickinson had such radically different views on the connection between God, humankind, and nature, it is important for the reader to remember both poets believed in a transcendent God, and they both saw the beauty in nature. It seems, however, their differences lie in the role of humans in the world. 

Smith, Susan Belasco. “Walt Whitman and Emily Dickinson: Poetry of the Central Consciousness by Agnieszka Salska.” South Central Review. Vol. 4.4: Winter 1987: 112-115.

Gerard Manley Hopkins

“God’s Grandeur”

THE WORLD is charged with the grandeur of God.
  It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;
  It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil
Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod?
Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;        5
  And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;
  And wears man’s smudge and shares man’s smell: the soil
Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.

And for all this, nature is never spent;
  There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;        10
And though the last lights off the black West went
  Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs—
Because the Holy Ghost over the bent
  World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.

“The Windhover” 

To Christ our Lord

I CAUGHT this morning morning’s minion, king-
  dom of daylight’s dauphin, dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon, in his riding
  Of the rolling level underneath him steady air, and striding
High there, how he rung upon the rein of a wimpling wing
In his ecstasy! then off, off forth on swing,        5
  As a skate’s heel sweeps smooth on a bow-bend: the hurl and gliding
  Rebuffed the big wind. My heart in hiding
Stirred for a bird,—the achieve of; the mastery of the thing!

Brute beauty and valour and act, oh, air, pride, plume, here
  Buckle! AND the fire that breaks from thee then, a billion        10
Times told lovelier, more dangerous, O my chevalier!

  No wonder of it: shéer plód makes plough down sillion
Shine, and blue-bleak embers, ah my dear,
  Fall, gall themselves, and gash gold-vermillion.

“Carrion Comfort”

NOT, I’ll not, carrion comfort, Despair, not feast on thee;
Not untwist—slack they may be—these last strands of man
In me ór, most weary, cry I can no more. I can;
Can something, hope, wish day come, not choose not to be.
But ah, but O thou terrible, why wouldst thou rude on me        5
Thy wring-world right foot rock? lay a lionlimb against me? scan
With darksome devouring eyes my bruisèd bones? and fan,
O in turns of tempest, me heaped there; me frantic to avoid thee and flee?

Why? That my chaff might fly; my grain lie, sheer and clear.
Nay in all that toil, that coil, since (seems) I kissed the rod,        10
Hand rather, my heart lo! lapped strength, stole joy, would laugh, chéer.
Cheer whom though? the hero whose heaven-handling flung me, fóot tród
Me? or me that fought him? O which one? is it each one? That night, that year
Of now done darkness I wretch lay wrestling with (my God!) my God.

Analysis

To Hopkins, God is the creator and the savior of man. He is the power, truth, beauty, and answer. Also to Hopkins, God is all around man, even if they do not notice Him.

“The world is charged with the grandeur of God. / It will flame out, like shining from shook foil; / It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil / Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod?” (“God’s Grandeur;” lines 1-4) 

Hopkins uses an electrical current and oil as metaphors for the power, beauty, and majesty of God. The power, beauty, and majesty have been infused through the entire world. Most men do not see or feel the “grandeur” of God, though it is there. Because they do not see him, these men ignore God.

And for all this, nature is never spent; / There lives the dearest freshness deep down things; / And though the last lights off the black West went / Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs—

Because the Holy Ghost over the bent / World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings. (“God’s Grandeur”) 

Despite the destruction of the world due to the Industrial Revolution, nature still exists because of God. The beauty and power of God can be found in nature because it is an indication of God’s existence, more like a manifestation. God creates life even in the darkest recesses of the world.

“daylight’s dauphin” (“The Windhover;” line 2) 

Hopkins use of daylight is a metaphor for God. Daylight is known in many cultures as a giver of life, because without sunlight, life cannot be sustained. For Christians, God is the giver of life. Without God, life cannot be sustained.

Why? That my chaff might fly; my grain lie, sheer and clear. / Nay in all that toil, that coil, since (seems) I kissed the rod, / Hand rather, my heart lo! lapped strength, stole joy, would laugh, chéer. / Cheer whom though? the hero whose heaven-handling flung me, fóot tród / Me? or me that fought him? O which one? is it each one? That night, that year / Of now done darkness I wretch lay wrestling with (my God!) my God. (“Carrion Comfort;” lines 9-14) 

Regardless of all of Hopkins’ suffering, he accepted God. His acceptance has made him happy and strong. Though he still suffers and questions his faith, God still rescued him, and beauty is still around him. God is his answer, his truth.

Hopkins’ poetry all seems to have the same underlying theme. The three poems assigned reflect man’s struggle with God. In “God’s Grandeur,” Hopkins admits that not all men are believers, and some who do believe, ignore God. These same assumptions can be made about man in today’s society. Paganism and Wicca are on the rise, as is the claims of Atheistic beliefs. These shifts in religious beliefs are evidence of man’s struggle with God.

Villanelle

fair use for educational purposes only

Four Styles of Poetry

fair use for educational purposes only

Fleur-de-lis

Petals float softly toward cold ground
long stems buckle
dew flows down pale irises

Colors fade from wilted budding crown
core walls crumble
rime subdues spray choruses

Claret desiccates to deepest brown
mem'ries humble
fate thwarts metamorphoses

Seeds burrow within vermilion earth
new life umbel
legacy through genesis

©Pamela N. Brown
November 6, 2012

American Dream

I want the American dream
but it is not for me
the color of my skin
impedes all opportunity
BORN IN POVERTY die in poverty

I want the American dream
bound to the land is me
shackled to ancestor’s sin
indigenous bore my nativity
born in poverty DIE IN POVERTY

I want the American dream
I hunger to be free
resistant to fit in
stultified all possibility
born in POVERTY die in POVERTY

I want the American dream
but it is not for me
I was born of mother’s sin
my wealth is my history
I will die NOT in poverty

She Waits

The Mag suggested using A Dinner Table at Night as inspiration for a poem or story. Here is mine.

A Dinner Table at Night, 1884, John Singer Sargent

She Waits

She sits
pensive and waiting
dim crimson lights abuzz around her

She waits
alone and stultified
though her malevolent beau perches near her

She hears
nothing and all things
his lamented empty words fall around her

She drinks
often and quickly
dulling senses as alcohol consumes her

She sees
shadows and sculptures
hopeless faraway dreams elude her

She sits alone
waits for nothing
hears light buzzing
drinks in her dreams
sees no kind soul.

She perishes,
pensive and waiting,
alone.

Pamela N. Brown
© August 6, 2012

Remember

There is a woman inside me
pulling
tugging
gripping.

She whispers gently,
“Remember who you are,”
but her whisper becomes a screaming.

She pulls me to the scalding outdoors
and plants bare feet firmly
to the red ground.

She sings a song of blue skies
billowy clouds
and rustling green leaves.

She sings of thorns on mesquite
mimosa opening in the morn
cactus pads and prickly pears.

Her screaming fell on deaf ears,
but now I hear and see;
my eyes open to green, yellow, red.

I feel the hard red clay
cracked beneath tired feet
the heat of the sun pounding our earth.

I feel the pricks of dry yellowed grass
crushed under rough soles
and the sting of a fire ant.

She screams, “Remember! Remember!”
and I see the past unfold
as yesterday.

I remember the cold of the creek
rippling across tiny feet
tadpoles and minnows slip between small fingers.

I remember leeches stuck
to soft red brown sunwashed skin
and bright red life flowing to the ground.

I remember black soles travelling
across the small town
and purple stains between toes.

I remember feet dangling far above the earth
eyes gazing on hairless chicks
nested on a mulberry branch.

I remember and reach back
to what I forgot, but
life gets in the way.

©Pamela N. Brown

I remember a time when my life felt less empty and more full. It was a lifetime away. I miss nature to the point that I feel stifled and suffocated.

Yoda

Sing to the tune of Lola... 
Lyrics by Ray Davies and modified by Pamela N. Brown

I was just having some fun with the kids and realized that you could sing about Yoda to the tune of Lola.

I met him in a swamp in Dagobah
Where you drink Tihaar and it tastes just like shuura-soda
Ess-oh-dee-aye soda
He strolled up to me and he put me in a trance
I asked him his name and in an ancient voice he said Yoda
Why-oh-dee-aye Yoda yo-yo-yo-yo Yoda

Well I’m not Endor’s most intelligent guy
But when he read my mind he nearly broke my pride
Oh my Yoda yo-yo-yo-yo Yoda
Well I’m not Jedi but I can’t understand
Why he walked an Neebray and talked like a Coway
Oh my Yoda yo-yo-yo-yo Yoda yo-yo-yo-yo Yoda

Well we drank Naiana and Juyo’d all night
Under Corellian flame sculpture
He rose me up and hung me in the air
And said Padawan won't you come to Troxar
Well I'm not Endor’s most Jedi-like guy
But when I looked in his eyes I almost followed Master Yoda
Yo-yo-yo-yo Yoda yo-yo-yo-yo Yoda
Yoda yo-yo-yo-yo Yoda yo-yo-yo-yo Yoda
I pushed him away
I ran to the door
My mind became sore
I dropped to my knees
Then I looked at him and he at me

Well that's the way that he wills it to stay
And I always want it to be that way with Yoda
yo-yo-yo-yo Yoda
Jedi will be Sith and Sith will be Jedi
It's a mixed up muddled up galaxy except for Yoda
Yo-yo-yo-yo Yoda

Well I left Endor a week before
And I'd never ever Juyo’d a Jedi before
But Yoda smiled and took me by the hand
And said dear boy I'm gonna make you Jedi

Well I'm not galaxy's most Jedi-like man
But I know what I am and I'm glad I'm Jedi
And so is Yoda
Yo-yo-yo-yo Yoda yo-yo-yo-yo Yoda
Yoda yo-yo-yo-yo Yoda yo-yo-yo-yo Yoda

Time Capsule 2012

A list of slang and definitions including horange and blah

Candles both used and unused

My wrist bandanas

My tie dyed undies

Glitter nail polish

SD card with my best photos

Prints of my favorite poetry: I Never Saw a Moor, The Raven, The Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner, Dogs of War

A playlist with Christian Woman, Love You to Death, A Groovy Kind of Love, Pink Floyd, The Rose, Boats and Birds, Evanescence, Godsmack, and Disturbed

Newspaper clippings of how fucked up this country has become

My journal, poetryå, and blog

Sudoku

Navel rings

Artwork

Scrapbook

Zombie flicks

My Nefertiti candle holder

A peace sign

Feathers

Skull scarf

Grandma’s poetry

Puppy and Teddy ~ may the lovers find peace together

Shaun of the Dead Calendar

My day planner

Books – Coraline, Child Thief, Salem’s Lot, Ceremony

Tarot cards

Incense

Little Big Planet

Photos of my boys ~ potty training, suit and leather jacket

Paint

Ink

Tequila ~ prrrrah-ha

Book on Mozart with music

Dried roses and rose buds

Flip flops (shiny ones)

Hair ties

Whip and crop

Letters ~ even the bad ones

Dream catcher and talking feather

Genealogy

Lotion

Shakespeare Anthology

Picture frames I made

Star Trek ~ TNG collection

Take Me

Take me to the ocean blue
Lay me in the sand
Tell me I'm the only one
And together we will stand

Walk with me on the beach
Walking hand in hand
Tell me your love is true
And this will never end

© Pamela N. Brown 2012

Oblivion

Take me to oblivion
Set wounded spirits free
Allow me to soar above
The malevolent pitch sea

Take me to oblivion
To the place where we were
Too high for grief to touch
Before black secrets heard

Take me to oblivion
Back to where I belong
When my heart once soared
And I believed love songs

Take me to oblivion
To walk close hand-in-hand
Laughter rang through cold air
And wishes never end

Take me to oblivion
Far from abyss so deep
From where no breath can draw
Life to a heart to beat

Take me to oblivion
Where 'was finally free
To be happy and love
You and also me

Pamela N. Brown © 05/29/2012

Disposable

Disposable are the things she no longer needs
All broken, tattered, and frayed
All used up empty shells of what they used to be
Representations of days long gone by

Disposable are the things she no longer needs
Old gems, poems, flowers gone dead
Promises given and taken through her lifetime
Representations of her love's last lie

Disposable are the things she no longer needs
Words ripping through her crushed soul
All wasted syllables do not mean the same thing
Representations of the pleads, dead eyes

Disposable are the things he no longer needs
She's broken, tattered, and frayed
A used up empty shell of what she used to be
Representation of a faithful wife.

Pamela N. Brown © 05/29/2012

Mimosa

The leaves of the Mimosa open
Like outstretched arms
Welcoming the birth of a new sun
The sweet tropical fragrance
Of the blossoms dance across the air
Like the spores of a dandelion
Dancing in the wind
The limbs of the tree stretch
Toward the clear blue sky
Like an infant begging for attention
As the day comes to an end
The leaves close tightly
Like arms holding in the warmth
Of a long loving embrace
As if to dream of the brilliance
Of another long summer's day