Gwendolyn as Lover – by CM Burroughs

We fix you maternally in the mind, orient you in a case of “tut-tut,”
“there there,” and “you’re young yet,” but how many times did
you posture yourself for the broad body of him or him and open

like home — his hands in your hair, your nerves rising kinetically
to the cupola of his palms? Lovers’ propensity for being a keep
and your saying (when you mean it), “I am yours.”

We fix you in the mind as bright-sighted seminar, dipping from
the source all that you know, but how often did your eyes light
in flirtation or fight, working from his getting your dander up to

his oval mouth there, there, your teasing tut-tut in arousing
admonition at what he was after, knowing, as you prepared
to keep him, that you were young yet and gleaning, gleaning.

CM Borroughs

…love this style of poetry…

(image courtesy of pinterest)


did I wake up beneath
toasted cotton clouds

or smeared tears
against the murky eye,

haven’t the birds
alerted of my arrival
for one more day

or did they jerk me
from my empty slumber
as tiny wells as thunder

hasn’t the morning dew
grounded me briskly
shocking my re-existence

or did it soak through
layers of my resistance,
earning distance

at what point did I hear
the infinite breath
that slipped through
branches and fountains
just to kiss me

or did it come too late
before my wake
chilling, as is sometimes does
the blaze to take

and didn’t the sun
greet me with everything
warm and gleaming
blinding snares teeming
joining the frenzy
to celebrate my rising

or does it shine
on the shell
of a nobody?

– B. Brown

(image by JOANNA KRÓTKA)

Play Along

if they’re just a snippet

of the show,


there’s still more to go

just getcha time

and money’s


you may need to learn

more than you


– B. Brown

( via dailyprompt: Snippet )

(image: Rodinia in Black by Sofia Bonati)

Woman of Her Word

when my pages are left

in the wind to fend

for themselves,

after my cursor

has winked itself

into limbo,

during a brawl

of thoughts, fighting

for forefront

before my heart

would utter,

stutter a line

and my eyes

ache to cry,

I deny

it’s hard again

to imagine,

see why I try


then, I know that

I need to

look inside again

I feel that

it’s time

to let go again

I need

that desire

to breathe again

I open

again, unfold

to see again

find a window

a door,

any exit

out of this

limbo, tending

to fend

for myself

when I’ve been

brought to forefront

of His mind

and her eye, it’s why

I need to

cast lines

and pray and hope

for a bite,

and watch it come

swimming in



-B. Brown


(artwork by Loui Jover)




Foreign Courtship

caught wind of my culture
it’s nurtured passions
outgrowing their vase
growing for a natural cause

and after many springs
and falls, here you are,
it’s gall,

a weary traveler
from the north
with skins of fur
that adorn your fervor

with gifts of comfort
and shelter and confers,
I could refer to you…
I waver…

the flood just quenched
the soil after months
of turmoil…

and I’ve warded off poachers
and posers
I just earned closure…

and now it’s time
for another?
another experience, test
another lesson

just as my world
has been granted
you are in question,

I am drained, not in need
what is the purpose
of your conquest?

– B. Brown

(painting by Francoise Nielly)

You Are Not Alone…


there are things I wish I would’ve done

and things I once wished I could change.

I made some mistakes along the pubilshing

process that almost made me faint




one day, I will

be able to look back on this and smile, not cringe

because I plunged

into that icy surface with eyes wide open

and it’s mine (no one can take this)

that’s why writing this was a challenge


this book had no remorse,

the things that it required of me

to withdraw to think

to stop to think

to cry it out to think

to apologize to think

to forgive to think

to accept to think

to open to think

think, think, think…

it took so much thinking…

and that brought so much feeling…


I spent a lot of time in the womb of my mind…

I didn’t know what I would find…

that I hadn’t accepted my mother’s


that God had came down

and stared me right in the face,

my face,

my mother’s face

and that shit takes the breath

right out of you…

I didn’t know she possessed

the majority share

of the air I breathed

I searched and scoured recklessly

(blessedly, my mother provided

a passion for writing

a gift that keeps giving

one that keeps me breathing

even from over the horizon)

until I found my true keep,

until I awoke and saw

life/death clearly

and it’s riveting

if not motivating

(although the constant awarness

is still residing, haunting)


I wanted to conclude

Amnesia’s presentation

to provide you

with a more suitable representation

of it’s creation and

I know I’m not the only one struggling with this

I can’t be

this is a universal


that keeps on


you are not alone,

(and I struggled with this too)

I tell you,

you are not alone…


-B. Brown





Allow Me to Finally Introduce Myself

Good morning everyone! I think it’s time that I introduce myself. My name is Breanna Brown. I’m twenty-six, mother of one and I just started a master’s program for English. Currently, I work as a waitress in the state of Nevada.

My daughter is five, sassy and silly. We own a little red corn snake by the name of Baby Doll and she’s the sweetest little thing. We spend most of our time going out to eat, when we really shouldn’t; goofing off at the park or mall; and playing board games and puzzles.


When I’m not parenting, studying or writing, I am reading poetry or the book I’m currently on: Cerulean Sins by Laurell K. Hamilton. Or, I’m blasting my music and dancing my heart out. Or I’m beading or sewing. Or eating three times my body weight of french fries.

I am a daughter, a neice, a sister, an aunt, a girlfriend and that annoying friend that’s always in everybody’s shit about happiness and spirituality. I love people but I’m a bit of a hermit. Part of it out of being a punk, another is, I’m kind of socially awkward (I’m practicing being brave), and the other, being around a lot of people is just very draining for me.

I don’t claim a religion, although I love learning about them. Hinduism, Buddhism and Voudoo are my favorite faiths. I do believe in God, very much so. He’s been so good to me and we have a very close relationship. Crystals, tarot cards, meditation and prayer is how we keep contact but He’s a constant presence in my life, always teaching, guiding and blessing me.

Astronomy, Physics, Quantum Mechanics, Psychology, Sociology and Anatomy are some of my other interests. I love learning, I have a hunger for knowledge.

I collect decorative skulls, elephants, tapestries, stones, notebooks and pens. My favorite show at the moment is Stranger Things, my other favorites are Naruto, X-files, Will and Grace, The Magic School Bus, The Exorcist, Forensic Files and any show about space, aliens or paranormal investigation. As far as music goes, I love it all but there will always be a special place in my heart for rap music. My favorite artists are Kendrick Lamar, Snoop (and all the other mothers and fathers of rap), Rihanna, Schoolboy Q, Missy Elliot, Prince and a few others I can’t think of at the moment.


I have dreams of becoming the Rihanna of the literary world; readingandwriting is what I live for. Ever since I was a toddler, I dreamed of publishing dozens of books, maybe even some of them becoming movies. This year has been a life changing step towards that goal, I actually have my first book out and at the beginning of this year, I didn’t think it would be possible. There was a time period where I wasn’t writing because I was too busy resisting life and working through trauma. When my passion was reawakened, I felt so grateful to have found it again. It was like I was giving a second chance to do what I came to this planet to do: to live, love and teach through my writing.

I’ve never felt so determined or so comfortable with making sacrifices to achieve my dreams. Like, there’s no other choice, I have a duty. I hope to make myself, my daughter and my mother proud.

I also wanted to thank all of you, again, for supporting and encouraging me. You guys really have no idea how much joy I get from waking up to a wonderful comment on my writing. For so long, I struggled with confidence in my work and ya’ll have been so open, kind and real with your feedback. Thank you for helping me grow as a writer.

with love,

B. Brown

(P.S. The book I mentioned earlier, I self-published my own collection of poetry not too long ago. It’s called Amnesia and it consists of poems about dealing with my mother’s death, my world turning upside down and finding God.

When I started it, it was just a way to try to cope and heal but it took on a life of its own. I didn’t realize I had a story to tell until I had pages and pages of material. If you’re struggling with loss, grief and finding hope, then this may help you. I learned a lot from my experiences. If you want to check it out, and support a sister in a process, then here’s the link: 


A Poe Poem: Alone


From childhood’s hour I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone.
Then- in my childhood, in the dawn
Of a most stormy life- was drawn
From every depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still:
From the torrent, or the fountain,
From the red cliff of the mountain,
From the sun that round me rolled
In its autumn tint of gold,
From the lightning in the sky
As it passed me flying by,
From the thunder and the storm,
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view.

– Edgar Allan Poe

I hope 

… that my blogging family had a Happy Thanksgiving ❤️

Respects Unpaid

Respects Unpaid

I can’t recall
this woman
who’s voice
you need to hear

and the woman
in your photo,
she disappeared
months ago

if I remember
correctly, no,
I know you
wouldn’t show

unless to know
she was
by the leagues

that woman
who’s life
you put
on hold,

I haven’t
seen her,
icy streets

when she walked
still draped
in a crimson

the face
you think
you know,

by miscarriage
of trust
ages ago,
you know…

that woman
who jumped
and ran
and needed

herself to death
waiting for you
still hopes
you’ll cry

for her,
as she hopes
the rest
of them do

– B. Brown

(Image by: Valerie Hegarty – Flower Frenzy)