It’s already Thursday and
I haven’t written a poem all week
It’s not like I haven’t been inspired,
It’s more that I don’t want to be

Sometimes inspiration interrupts life
It pulls you out of your rut
When you would rather wallow
Cold and wet

That’s been my week thus far
Far away from salvation
Shying away from the muse’s hand outstreched
Needing to be alone in me

I hear her calling to me
And I cringe
I hear her whisper to me
And I cover my ears

My spirit hears her, too
My soul longs to reach out
And seeking escape by any means
It finds an open tear duct

Like a Dam bursting gently
Freedom comes suddenly
An angel brushes face softly
A hand reaches out slowly

It’s Thursday
And I’m writing again

© 2006 Will C. Brown, Jr.

Grandma Alice

by Harry Lafnear

Peeking from behind my grandma’s arm,
I couldn’t understand just why she laughed
As the little Zuni doll crept room to room,
Keeping under shadow
But to flash a saw-toothed maw
As hostile as the carving knife
It took in trade while in the kitchen–
Stole in trade of its tiny toy-like spear–
The little demon leaping out
To my horror and surprise,
A rival to its victims’:
The lady on the screen.

But even grandma’s laugh turned nervous
With me clutching at her side.
And as the rampage grew between commercials
To a frantic, panicked roar,
I could hardly see by way of
My face buries in her side,
And then not at all by closing up my eyes,
With that manic Zuni chanting
Slashing–fiercely hacking–
Sinking to the hilt inside my mind,
Until even grandma stopped her chortle,
Leaning back to me
When the evil burning spirit
Leaping from its prison undefeated
Took our happy little ending to its doom

In my favorite memory of my grandma,
Our guilty pleasure sharing terror
All alone in the dark evening
With just the eldritch glowing
Of our magic 12-inch screen.

Remember Me

Drifting off to sleep
My dreams are filled with the sounds of salesmen pitching their products
To the work weary insomniacs looking for the next new thing
And I’m listening intently

Locked inside the timespace between deep sleep and being fully alert
I soak in the incessant influx of information about pasta cookers, excercise machines
And girls gone wild

And I remember the days when the programming would run out
And sounds of static would fill the air waves
Waking me in late evening
Reminding me that it was time to sleep

And With a youthful sigh I would turn over to
Turn the television off and as I twisted the switch
It would protest with a quick, loud, burst of static
As if I was breaking up a deep understanding

It has been too long since I have heard the static
Since I have felt the static break through to my subconcious
Wrenching me from the purgatory of information in my life
Thrusting me back into a reality free from what THEY want from me

And I’m missing it intensely

© 2006 Will C. Brown, Jr.


These days do not seem right to me
The hum drum drone of the daily grind
The mechanical ticking of life’s moments
Like a well-tuned clock

Life is not meant to be so
So perfectly out of sync with chaos
So perfectly in-tune with itself
To the tune of monotony

These days I search for a wrench
To throw these inner-workings amuck
To bring back chaos to the normal
To make imperfection perfection

Life is not meant to be so
So perfect that we strive for perfection
Instead of striving to know ourselves
At the cost of losing our selves to the pursuit

The perfect life is the life lived on the edge of chaos
Teetering ever so closely to falling off but
Fully in control of your destiny
Fully in control of the ground crumbling at your feet

The universe was born out of chaos
Life exploding from nothing and hurling across nothingness
Becoming stars and planets and rock and life
Birthing us and exploding into us its greatest creation

Yet we dare to try to harness life and wonder why we’re miserable
We try to push that power into our perfect routine
Burning our hands as we seek to harness its energy
Not realizing its not ours to own

We must love chaos to love life
We can NOT settle for the pursuit of perfection as life’s goal
Perfection drains life of its essence and of its purpose
Life is fully meant to be lived in chaos

On the edge of chaos is where you’ll find me

© 2006 Will C. Brown, Jr.


I’m running out of time, so this will be quick, strong and to the point
Strong because you’ve forced me into a place I don’t want to be and yet I’m comfortable
Quick because the pain is less painful when it is not expected, so expect nothing less
Listen closely to these questions I ask out of a strong love broken

Who do you think you are?
What do you want from me?
Who do you think you are?
And what do you want from me? Come on tell me.

Now do not be so surprised that I surfaced these feelings so surpressed
Surpressed pain becomes diamonds sharp enough to cut the mirrors you’ve held up to me
Judge not less ye be judged are the words I remember hearing echoing
Now these shards of mirror reflect back at you the brokenness you spoke to me

© 2006 Will C. Brown, Jr.

The Old Mill Buildings by Robert G. Parent

Walking by the old mill buildings,
copper lights shine my scene,
my thoughts drift
from history to the future.

19th Century mill worker
walked these streets,
traveled from work to home,
contemplating life’s meaning.

The business
of 21st Century life
takes her people to the edge,
contemplating life’s meaning.

The river that runs through
the mills community
as people eat lunch,
contemplating life’s meaning.

I travel time’s river
and see same struggles,
not the differences,
contemplating life’s meaning.

Walking down the brick walks
among the mills,
the copper lights shine,
as we contemplate life’s meaning.



Constructing critisisms has never been my forte
I put together words like the ancients build dwellings
With mud and hay and sweat and blood
Concentrating on the brick while envisioning a temple

You ask me what I think of you, so
I pause to pick up my hard hat
I pause to examine the dirt at my feet
Which I must use to build these words

These words, if mixed right will settle on your soul
Will build a foundation on your heart
Will build you into a better person
A glorious king

I kneel at your feet
Taking up a fistful of soil
Letting it sift through my fingers as I think…
Taking a pinch between thumb and index
I touch it to my tongue and taste

It is good

I taste the grittiness of seven years of brotherhood
The pungeant oder of a friendship stretched to excess
The chaff of fool-hearted innocence discarded
The salt of a bond preserved through the coldest of winter

Boldly I look into your eyes and speak
Molding brick after brick I speak
Laying brick upon brick I speak
Sweating blood and tears I speak

You shook my hand and thanked me
You walked away with a smile and peace
You looked a little taller a
Little bit straighter a
Little bit more at ease

Constructing critisisms has never been my forte, but
Today was a good day

© 2006 Will C. Brown, Jr.

Sky Blue

Did you ever notice
That you notice the sky, blue the most when you’re not
Did you ever notice
That you notice the sky, grey the most when you’re blue

What if…
What if on your grey-day you made a point to look at the sky, blue
What if you noticed the pure beauty of this creation on your darkest of days
What if you took one moment to lift your head to the sky, blue and stare…
Just stare at the life of it
At the purity of it
At the completeness of the moment
What if…

I have yet to try this myself
But I vow to the next time I’m blue and there is a sky, blue

What if…
What if at that moment the blue of my spirit and the blue of the sky became one?
What if I looked up at my moment of worthlessness and stared
What if I demanded that my mind take a different route than what I had originally planned
What if the two blue hues construed a color new
A shade I had never dreamed I’d seen
Just because
Just because I chose to lift my head up on my grey-day
From my blue mind
To the sky blue

© 2005 Will C. Brown, Jr.

Soul Circle

I sometimes wish that the soul of man was not so hollow
Foolishly filled by ill will and selfishly evil desires
Yearning to burst free with the effervescence of a life fully absorbed
A life fully realized

My soul aches tonight
It has tasted the freedom that so many desire and have died for
It knows the secret of a life immersed in wholeness complete
And it misses it

It misses the fullness of a breath breathed in to perfection
No longer needing to breathe in life because it has life everlasting
It knows how it is to have an unecessary heart-beat pumping life not needed
My heart cries out for it

Like a mother in a flood who loses a child through wet fingertips
And lies muddied and trembling on solid ground; weeping
So my heart speaks to me

The preacher says that we all have a God-shaped void in our soul that
Can only be filled by Jesus
Mine has been filled but now lies shattered in broken pieces
Lord release us

I pray now that my soul finds wholeness that is wholeheartedly holy
Not man-made happiness filled with emptiness like the calories in a jelly donut, but
Filled with the trinity of hope and love and peace; these three make life complete

So, my soul remains whole, yet cracked and broken
I see my mirror image walking along the streets of the city
Its such a pity

I reach out with my soul hoping that brokeness can heal brokeness
Because brokeness knows brokeness and that
Those who have been hurt know how to heal heart
Or is it that misery loves company

I have hope for the dark of man to be brought into soul-light
To be mended like the broken mud of a dry riverbed at first rain
Thirst no more
Cry no more
Be healed once more

© 2006 Will C. Brown, Jr.

Trees for Haiti

I wish that I could
Plant a tree for Haiti
Not that it would do any good
For I would need a million more
before the gift would be understood

Barren land of barren hearts and
Broken spirits of broken lives
All intertwine within the roots of
the Mapou last standing
All fighting for shade under its mighty branches
Bringing comfort
Bringing hope

Strenghten this land
Hold together its soil
Stop the floods of water and despair

I’m going to plant that first tree for Haiti

© 2005 Will C. Brown, Jr.

Too Easy

The silence has become
Not having to speak is
Separation creates
Separate vectors
Parallel lives
Two individuals bonded through
Separate universes
Knowing but not recognizing

© 2005 Will C. Brown, Jr.