Entombed

trapped with a salvaged map,

trucking through catacombs

lit white as bone

with flames

that maimed bloodlines

sacred rhymes

made claim

as the only holy domain

he walks over

floors worn scorned

walls caked, torn

and bubbled as the ceiling

crumbles rubble

 

pacing down rumbling tunnels

paranoid

the thunder of stampeding

those roaming freely

 

the fools

with undoubtedly wicked

tools, with spools

of delusions, confusions

prayers impaired

of the ruthless

the others

deserted

by his ruling Spirit

 

-B. Brown

 

(image by Jillian Locke)

 

Cast the Ancient Spells…

My mother’s hand would clasp around mine, grasping the pencil, tracing the letters, I learned the art of word structure through my mother’s insistence. And her persistence was critical, for reasons I did not know until I found myself craving the crisp landscape of paper, with an ink pen as my wand, I drafted spells in countless of journals.

Some of my best, some of my most raw, some of my most pivotal writing was cast during school, during church, during bedtime in a dollar store notebook, a brand new text book, a long awaiting napkin

oh, the magic that I created with these phalanges.

Something happens when we put pencil to paper, it’s our flame to our cigarette, our blunt and our spoons. And when we’re riding that high… oh man, you know what I mean?

I mean, we can get high too from stroking the keys, clicking away, upping the word count, page numbers, justifying that our alignments are edged to percision, uploadin’ that bih, showing the world that you ain’t plannin’ on quittin’…

 

but if I may,

I have to remind you,

um, isn’t there something that you’re forgettin’?

 

Can you remember when that bright idea blossomed in our brains

and we made our marks, carved with rocks, chalks, and calk

got pretty name merry with juicy berries to brighten our bearings

remember that first line, that first shape, that first grouping

that first structure

the first spell we cast?

that spell that seeded language

the spell that promoted pensiveness,

the spell that bound all of us as one

the spell that captures our entire existence

 

and it’s persistence

is always incentive

because it is embroidered

somewhere very deep, somewhere very sacred,

somewhere very ancient, something very primal

under the veils of our minds

that spark us upon arrival

 

when we spell cast with our hands,

these magical phalanges of ours,

that activate significant

concentrates

of our human nature,

of our human drive

of our human souls

from our literary roots

that have come to grow

 

so I thought I’d let you know

that maybe it’s time to take a chance

and envelope yourself

in a primordial trance

and embrace the tracing,

the sculpting

the religious imprinting

of our reality of existence,

put that pencil to paper

remember what it is

to be human again…

-B. Brown

 

Thank you for reading 🙂 If you’ve been spending so much time behind the screen, trying to figure out what to write, when to write, how to write, then maybe it’s time to revert back to more basic measures. Our brains act differently when we write, pencil in hand, versus when we type, tap dancing with our fingers. You can reach different areas of your mind because the action is so deeply embedded in our kind. Don’t be afraid to shake off these contemporary measures and get back to your roots. And it’s probably a good idea to develop a healthy balance between the two, alternate. I hope this post helps. Have a beautiful day 🙂

 

(http://www.educationnews.org/technology/research-handwriting-spurs-brain-activity-typing-doesnt/)

Microwaved

follow to really be in the know

tag if you’re down for the cause

like for the money to flow your way

share to keep the demons at bay

comment for a chance to win happiness

subscribe to help the unfortunate

send a text to bring world peace

honk if you smell bullshit

– B. Brown

 

 

viaDailyPrompt: Honk

(image courtesy of Pinterest)

Stop What You’re Doing…

… it’s time to play. As writers trying to manifest abundance with our gifts, we often forget to have fun. We get caught up with our inner critics, feel the weight of kin’s gifts and get discouraged, push so hard we exhaust ourselves become creatively arrested or forget that our gifts are unique to the sums of our being… a lot of shit happens that can slow our progress.

When I feel stuck, I snap myself out of it and remind myself I’m supposed to be having fun with this. I’m supposed to enjoy this. This is my passion, I am strong enough for this. So I resort back to my basics which is ultimately, just dicking around. Play time. I-don’t-give-a-damn-if-it-sucks-because-it’s-fun time.

The I-need-to-be-a-child-again-because-I’m-sick-and-tired-of-adulting time.

Sometimes I need to jump in some puddles and get mud all over the damn place, or do what I’m told not to do, just to see how much trouble I’d get into, or bother people with a boat load of questions to satiate my curious mind, or break my toys because I wanted to see just how much they can withstand, just to test my own capabilities.

and ain’t nothing wrong with that, I tell you!
It’s liberating, re-centering, therapeutic.

So, want to see my recent finger painting…?

Type It Up

i tell all my kin,

write it up,
break it down…
type it up…

back it up,
back it up…

print it up,
print it up…

fuck it up,
fuck it up…

now, bring it back,
count those stacks…

Ha! That was fun. Brownie points for whoever knows what song I got that flow from 😀 and even more brownie points if that inspired you to muddy your shoes and get grass stains on your jeans

I hope you enjoyed reading. Thanks for stopping by. Remember to have fun with your gift. It’s yours. You can do whatever you see fit with it.

– B. Brown

(image courtesy of Pinterest)

Vital

-Vital-

am I existing
without truly being? please
allow me to breathe

– B. Brown

Low Key

no, you ain’t seen me on your screen
in a while, I’ve been busy
trying to cop a pile
for a while now

and it’s not that you haven’t
been on my mind, it’s just that
peace is so hard to find

when you can’t think
and you can’t breathe, smothered
by others personalities

baby, I’m still learning me
and I’m digging me, that’s why
I gotta keep it pushing
so I can fly

I need to fly, it’s live or die
and I can’t see the stars
on my toes, from this side

I’ve had enough hysteria
I can’t take the mindless
bluffs, the heartless cuffs

the soulless love
and I know there’s more
out there for me, waiting
calling, longing

so please forgive me for falling
I’m dawning and I need
solitude

but when I reach my peak,
I promise, my shine
will ultimately
come through…

– B. Brown

(drawing by Clara Lieu. You can find more here:
https://www.etsy.com/shop/ClaraLieuFineArt?ref=l2-shopheader-name)

Protection — Lost Ghost

If you are in the darkness, If the shadow is present, Breathe. Remember You are held always In all ways. Remember love is stronger Than any foe. Remember love By focusing everything you have On that feeling. Love. What does it feel like? Not to dismiss the pain But to see there is an Eb […]

via Protection — Lost Ghost

Her words remind me that I can always fall back on love; love for others, love for life, love for myself…

Self-love, an important step towards healing…

Forgive Your Mother

she never had anything good to say about her mother
until she needed help

I know a man who still resents his mother for
abandoning him when he was young

there was another who said she never wanted
to see her mother again

a pair like to punish their mothers by
withholding their children

and there are so many more who cannot see
how important their roles are

even if they did a shitty job at the whole protection
and education thing

even if they did more harm than good, even if they
weren’t there at all

they are still pillars, fillers, millers, eaters, feelers
and oxygen breathers

they are still human, living in the same paradoxical
world the rest of us do

struggling to reach enlightenment just as all of us
were born to do

coping with the evils, pressures and oppressions
that not every one sees

trying to put a picture together with pieces
none of us will ever see

because we are in our own realities, filling,
eating and breathing

and it’s far too easy to shift blame on an
proceeding authority

instead of letting go history
to heal presently

so we can treasure what’s
left with another

peace is rare, not to be plucked
from others

so why grudge, when we can
restore and love our mothers?

– B. Brown

I will never understand what it’s like to be abused, abandoned or ridiculed by my own mother. I can’t fathom it but I know others live it on a daily basis. Chaos, nightmare, hell… I know these words just aren’t heavy enough for those kinds of experiences so then, who am I to tell you to forgive the woman that has become the bane of your existence?

Nothing but freedom awaits when you forgive and unload that heavy burden. You don’t necessarily have to forgive them for their sake (no one is saying you have to be besties) but it’s necessary that you forgive for your own sake. The metaphysical connections we have with our mothers are so integrated that hating them eventually turns into hate for ourselves. The knots that churn in your tummy every time you think about how wrong they’ve done you only fester and expand like black holes, gaining weight by swallowing everything else about your Being. Then, what are you left with? Two black holes fighting for supremacy. Where does this lead? No where but to more heartache.

Choosing to forgive opens up more possibilities in the future. After all, nothing in this universe stays stagnant so why should your heart? Life is too short, our consciousness all too rare and our capabilities are unique only to us as beautiful, complicated, powerful humans. So if you can, with the power, autonomy and strength that the universe has invested in you, try to forgive your mother. Neither one of you deserve to remain slaves to passed mistakes.

(image by David Sketchbook)

Encounter

there was a tether tugged from behind me
awareness hooked and sliding
through a crack in my spine
I turned and he was already looking at me
from feet and feet away
yet somehow the distance
closed with that one glimpse
of anonymous need…

two empaths crossing paths
in an under-dressed fortuity
until he ended up mixing with me
our heat, bubbling familiarity
until I had to look away
before the person of the season
caught wind of our secret converse
our metaphysical traverse
blatant, which only makes it worse
when he comes to stand behind me
to press against me
when the other wasn’t looking
to jump start the passion
even though I wasn’t looking
but I feel him, he knows me
the reason why it’s confounding

he teased the beast I was confining
for the sake of others binding
with me and he left to quickly,
taking his with him while I testified
with an ethereal whim…

I’ve been aching for so long

– B. Brown

(image courtesy of Pinterest)