Sunday, September 19, 2010

Amateur

Reclaim the word:

 

To be a lover of.

An enthusiast of.

 

When did you become the oxymoron that stands before me,

meant to belittle me.

meant to separate me.

or even shame me.

 

Reclaim the word:

 

To be a lover of.

An enthusiast of.

 

I am your admirer and devoted friend.

 

You are not my profession

You are my pleasure.

 

Much more than a past time or a paycheck.

 

The day I stop loving or even liking you is the day I stopbeing an

 

Amateur.

 

©ChristopherF. Brown 2010

Sunday, September 12, 2010

The Past Few Weeks

Eman On
I think I over did the canopy but I still am proud of this

Lovers
This one, OMG i could not take a good pic of this one for the life of me but today for some reason this one came. Still not the best pic but its post worthy

The Bridge
I really like this one I have to put it somewhere because I keep wanting to do stuff to it.

As always let me know what you think. Good or bad it all helps. Just be constructive

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Friday, September 10, 2010

Educated Fool

It’s just times like these that really get to me.

usually when it’s one after another.

 

I see you in the sparkle of an eye,

the corner of a smile.

 

I see it in the swagger of their walk

and hear you in the melodic way they talk.

 

I know it’s you,

 

or

 

At least I think it could be.

 

And there

right there

 

is the problem.

 

I’ve learned not to force or fake you.

It never ends well.

 

so I wait

 

Not expectantly.

Not eagerly.

Almost ambivalently.

 

I’ve really been happy without you.

In contrast to all the hurt I had with you.

 

It’s just times like these that really get to me.

usually when its one after another.

 

I see you in the sparkle of an eye

the corner of a smile.

 

I see it in the swagger of their walk

and hear you in the melodic way they talk.

 

I know it’s you,

 

or

 

At least I think it could be.

 

And there

right there

 

Is the thought that makes my soul shudder.

 

The same ole thing all over again.

 

The only thing new is the clothes you wear.

The same blood that poisons me still pumps through your veins.

That was a little too negative so I’ll take it back.

 

The few times that were good were really good

 

Just

 

They never compared

or out weighed

 the bad.

 

For some reason.

You have this hold on me.

I can’t seem to shake you.

 

The older I get

The less frequent I even notice you.

 

It’s just times like these that really get to me.

usually when its one after another.

 

I see you in the sparkle of an eye.

the corner of a smile.

 

I see it in the swagger of their walk

and hear you in the melodic way they talk.

 

I know it’s you,

 

or

 

At least I think it could be.

 

And there

right there

 

I question;

 

How could one search for a thing and never find it?

While others have the very thing rain down upon them as they seek shelter from it.

Others run from you.

Others flat out:

reject,

deny,

and loathe you.

 

I do not sit up at night crying over you.

Anymore

 

or

 

Look for you behind every corner or door

 

I wish you would have taken this last bag with you.

It hurts to be reminded of you.

 

The you I never had and always wanted

The you I tried for and never got

The you that lives happily ever after with those whom

detested

and

cursed

your name.

The you that I don’t want to want.

 

Like I said,

The older I get

the less I even know you are there.

 

It’s just times like these that really get to me.

usually when its one after another.

 

I see you in the sparkle of an eye.

The corner of a smile.

 

I see it in the swagger of their walk

and hear you in the melodic way they talk.

 

I know it’s you,

 

or

 

At least I think it could be.

 

And there

right there

 

I remind myself

it’s the same old hurt called love again

 

You upset me too much

You take up too much time and energy

 

Scars and wounds that barely heal are what I have to show of you.

 

I cover my ears,

close my eyes,

shut my mouth,

and repeat to myself,

 

“It’s just that same old hurt called love again.

I won’t be bothered with you anymore.”  

 

I shut the door,

close the window,

and swallow the key,

 

But

 

Just like the tenacious little ant you are.

You always find your way in.

 

Maybe

Just maybe.

 

You’ll do right this time.

 

It’s just times like these that really get to me.

usually when its one after another.

 

I see you in the sparkle of an eye

the corner of a smile.

 

I see it in the swagger of their walk

and hear you in the melodic way they talk.

 

I know it’s you,

 

or

 

At least I think it could be.

 

And there

right there

 

I let you in.

 

Praying you’ll be different.

Praying that it wasn’t you.

Praying that it was some evil twin.

Praying that my heart has enough strength.

Praying to remember and forget everything from the last time.

 

I remind myself

 

I know you

 

And I wait

 

Time will reveal all

 

Once again.

 

©Christopher F. Brown 2010

Monday, September 6, 2010

Sheep Dog

You’re worse than the people

you think

you are different from.

 

You see the external forces driving the mentality of the heard.

You strike left.

You strike right.

Whichever is opposite.

 

You become opposite of the heard

to be different

to be separate

 

Not

 

Because it is what you like or even desire.

 

You rail against one thing one day

another the next.

only  to accept them all when you actually try them.

 

At least the heard

in their mindless obedience

is true to themselves.

 

They like what they like

dislike what they don’t.

Even if they are beguiled to do so.

 

You

 

You wait for them

 

Only then can you make your mind up.

Only then can your feelings speak to you.

 

Only then can like what they don’t

love what they hate.

Instead of trying to be different just be you.

Instead of following the left or right path make your own

 

At least then the truly original would respect you

At least then I could look into your soul and see

 

You.

 

And not just the inverse, opposite of everyone else

You claim not to be.

 

©Christopher F. Brown 2010

 

Wednesday, September 1, 2010

Stranger’s Eyes

You timidly linger

before you pass me by.

 

Wanting to know the pleasure of your company

you only leave me the slightest

most timid

of glances.

 

Your eyes say many things

yet your lips only smile.

 

I would wager your voice beautiful

your  kiss divine.

 

Yet

 

You timidly linger.

 

Only leaving,

 

“What if?”

 

Behind.

 

©Christopher F. Brown 2010

 

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