Some Sweet Writing Tips

Start with the small goal of writing one sentence a day, and you’ll write a thousand. Simplicity is the best form of writing, and the only way to be a writer is to sit down and begin with that first word. Said is not dead. Using the word very is lazy, but most people are […]

via Writing Tips — Lonely Blue Boy

Some days I feel like I need all the tips I can get. This is a nice post that’ll remind you of a couple things you might have forgotten as a writer.

Does She See Me Too?

so there’s this girl… she just showed up one day on earth, and breezed by me with a warm smile but haunted, flickering eyes. i didn’t pay much attention to her until she made an effort to speak kindly to me. her voice brought a smile out of me, as if her pleasantries were code for, I’m hurting too, but look, we’re trying and we both deserve some recognition. and she remembered my name after days and called me beautiful. call me a hopeless romantic but that’s just beautiful, and so where her glacial blue eyes once i looked a little longer. and she’d died her hair about ten shades darker, i still wonder if she’s brilliantly blond or mahogany brown just like my skin. and she covered hers with power about ten shades brighter, her eyebrows were natural but tame and she always wears lipstick that mirrors the flame of my curiosity, she prances boldly but speaks softly and sometimes i hope it’s just for me but i know a girl like her was meant to grace the world not just the wounded soul that sometimes seeps through my skin, i don’t even think she knows how aware of her i am, adoring her from a distance, wanting to prove to her how holy she is, how the moon follows her where she goes, shining a safe and silent light. this girl is something else, and i hope i’ll eventually get to know her

B. Brown

 

 

 

Franky

drained, strained and manacled

pumped with liquid restraint

her leaded veins

keep her trained

a clouded mind

keeps her sane

– B. Brown

(art by Francoise Nielly – Inside me)

Down

i write this now
as my brain swishes
beneathe by crown
as my vision sways
with the teetering room
i miss you
now
i missed you
then
and i’ll probably miss you
when my mind comes back again
because there’s no amount of booze
that could get rid of you
or your laughter
or your grip
but i take another sip
or two, or three
cause you know me
i was never the one
to give up easily

– B. Brown

Woke

from no where
a gust of humid air
to stick to my hair
to weigh my head up
    allowing much to see
so much heat
from a refreshing spring
within a hideaway
within glacial caves
that numb and refract
    after hailing waves
at high altitudes
snatching my breath
the purest oxygen
to arrest me
    to stop and listen
pressure of the sea
to push me to depths
thousands of leagues
through trials and toil
    towards ancient soil
rise to rip my eyes
and all I feel are beams
piercing overcasting
dreams that deceive
    though I do not sleep

– B. Brown

(art by Lesya Poplavskaya)

Devils

what holds you here
tethered
and scared of your own dreams?
where are your lashings?
you cry victim hood
you’re burning
but what keeps you standing?
what keeps you planted
tall against distant screams
how long have you been here? lurking?
what have you been thinking?
what will it take to get you running?
and to keep running,
never looking back
at the snaking chain
itching to snap
who holds you here?

B. Brown

(image courtesy of Pinterest)

 

 

Childhood Treasure

it wasn’t a doll,
though I had plenty,
or the cars or blocks
lost in my memories

I had teddy bears
from wall to wall
even footballs
and basket balls

she wanted me
to have it all
all she never did
but mostly what I miss

are the hardcovers
and paperbacks
she’d read aloud
with me in her lap

– B. Brown

(image courtesy of Pinterest)

Memory

your skin was liquid amber
to one day encase my existence
to preserve my essence
to show the world
I once breathed air

– B. Brown

(image courtesy of Pinterest. Protofeather fossils discovered entombed in amber from the Late Cretaceous era)

Assemble

mass production
a dollar per the dozen
controlling output
rerouting input

await for approval
from algorithms
that rule…

only the clones
can fake it through

– B. Brown

(image by Axel Sauerwald)

Fearless

now I spit out

the bloody tooth

and smile

nothing scares me

I’ve already seen

my death

come on, that’s it

what else you got

for me?

– B. Brown

This poem is from my book, Amnesia. Sometimes I have to go back and look at earlier poems to find my place again…