Tuesday, December 13, 2016

Broken Yet Beating

Broken Yet Beating
By Brian Ernest Brown

I've always known
I'll die of a broken heart

Shattered like glass
It was preventable and yet inevitable

Only thing worse
Than a fate such as this

Is most assuredly
Living with a beating broken heart

Thursday, June 30, 2016

So Many, Too Many

So Many, Too Many
By Brian Ernest Brown

So many wounded people.
So many ill people.
So many frightened people.
So many sad people.
So many frustrated people.
So many angry people.
So many lost people.
So many hiding people.

Many. So many. Too many.
Lord, in your mercy, hear our prayer.

My petals have drooped a little today
Even as my prayers have risen.

Tomorrow's a new day.
Bless it.

Thursday, January 7, 2016

If I Ever Said I Love You

If I Ever Said I Love You
By Brian Ernest Brown

If I ever said I love you
I mean it even now

If I ever held you in my heart
I hold you even now

Love never gives up 

Saturday, December 5, 2015

The Glassblower's Heart

The Glassblower's Heart
By Sarah E. Skwire

It is not stable. It has never been.
It's fifteen thousand brittle, jagged shards
Which impersonate a whole. Innately marred,
It could explode at any time--just when
You least expect it, like as not.
The threat of loss and injury is all too real.
You have to heat it. You have to anneal
The work you've made.
If you don't you might get
By for days or weeks, but destruction looms
Unavoidably. Make the choice yourself--
Place it in the fire. Leave it on the shelf.
Cause pain and save it, or spare it for doom.
I am not stable. I am not entire.
Heal me. Anneal me. Thrust me in the fire.

Sunday, June 14, 2015

Word Painting

Word Painting
By Brian Ernest Brown

It is often said,
a picture paints a thousand words.

It is also true,
that words can paint a vivid picture.

Albeit sometimes,
the phrase, fuck my life, says it all.

Monday, May 4, 2015

Good Intentions

Good Intentions
By Brian Ernest Brown

11 March 2001 

Oh, how my good intentions
swirl around me throughout the day.
Like ghosts they seem to haunt me,
but they never fly away.

Those gossamer threads they lead me,
down a well worn path in life.
A path I've taken too often,
a course that’s wrought with strife.

Oh how they do collect,
Until I don’t know where to start.
And my strength they seem to bleed,
like leaches on my heart.

Too many things I mean to do,
Too many people I need to see,
It’s so very much to accomplish,
Maybe today, I’ll just leave them be!

Friday, April 10, 2015

Hoping For Resurrection

Hoping For Resurrection
By Brian Ernest Brown

on the back of an ass
riding into town
faint praise
turns to criticism
all too often

in a garden of woe
lies are the seeds
and betrayal
is the perennial bloom
thorns are treacherous

hanging betwixt
heaven and earth
suffering and forsaken
lost and alone
crying out

love and grace
the only gift to give
dying to self
and hoping
for a resurrection