Sunday, November 29, 2015

Party of the third Party


If you are going to love a dreamer

 

You can not be controlling

You can not be manipulative

 

their spirit

their passion

would be sacrificed

because of their love for you

because of their love of you

 

it would be because of you

love ultimately fermented into resent and hate

dreams turned to nightmares at the very mention of your existence

 

You can not be weak

You can not be moveable

 

Their fire

their vision

would juggernaut the mightiest of the weary

tears shed in the quiet of the dark

desires whispered in the secret of shadows

would never be known to them

 

The dreamer is Blind

not deaf

not dumb

 

If you are going to love a dreamer

 

You must be courageous

You must be adventurous

 

To love a dreamer is to bed risk

To love a dreamer is to set a permanent place for gamble

the acknowledgement of chance

the acceptance of failure

 

Loving a dreamer is to know

the only place of honor

is not with them

is with the dream

 

Loving a dreamer is to know

the only pedestal

is not for them

is reserved for the dream

 

Loving a dreamer is to know

they will love you

position their lives around you

but their purpose

their only purpose

is the dream

 

© Christopher F. Brown 2015

 

Friday, November 27, 2015

Birth Place

 

I want to know more than one

Haitian

 

I want to know more than three

Jamaicans

 

I want to meet Nigerians that speak

Igbo

 

Kenyans that laugh at the Swahili I learned in Berkeley

Ugandans that correct my Mandarin

Tanzanians that teach me how to say it in Cantonese  

 

I want to tour the holy city Ile-Ife

trace the pilgrimage path of Mansa Musa

then circle back to Timbuktu

 

See the reminders of Aksum

See the remainders of Kmt

 

Touch the Earth and envision the buildings that my ancestors constructed

thousands of years before they were invaded thousands of times

leaving the still standing walls that others never believed were thousands of years old

till their, “science” said so

 

I want to board a barge in the south and flow north with the Nile

I wonder what eight others will join me

 

I want to walk the same trail

that was the first trail

compare my foot print

to the first foot print

 

The vision I see

The things I want to do

The escape I want to take

 

Isnt one that is new

 

Its one that is old

so old that its in the blood

in the very fabric and design

of all that claim

 

Human

 

What I want is a realization

no

a reawakening

of my genetic inheritance

of my ancestral birthright

 

What calls me is the land so old

its true name

its original tongue

is the only

can only

be labeled

 

The First

 

There

that is what calls to me

There

that is what pushes me

that is the very intangible force that pulsates my heart

pumping the blood through my veins

 

That place that is forever older than old

yet

In a constant state of

Reconstruction

Recreation

Revelation

Renovation

Revitalization

 

Revolution

 

I want to breath the air in that place that is always in a state of newness

I want to feel the frequency in that place

where there are as many words for new

as there are people to speak them

 

That is the place

That is the space

That is

 

© Christopher F. Brown 2015

 

Wednesday, November 11, 2015

Accidently Whished Upon A Star

 

You scare the shit out of me

I know

I've said this before

 

So many things

about you

 

just like new

 

So many things

about you

 

just like old

 

There is enough mystery

about you

to where I am reminded of lifetimes

before you

Them's, We's, Us'

before you

 

There is enough mystery

about you

to where I can not foresee how this could end

 

but I know that is the lie I want to

I always try to

force into being truth

 

I haven’t learned not to like that yet.

 

The cards keep giving me

moons, chariots, and wheels of faith

 

I just want to see the lover

 

It could be that

I know it’s not

you

 

It could be that

I want it to be

you

 

so I'll just leave it up to

you

 

©Christopher F. Brown 2015


Assassination of Sight

 

In this world

Weeds are worshiped as beautiful

Roses are cast to compost as a vulgarity

 

In this world

Worms matter the most

consuming roses

one of their favorite past times

one of their favorite foods

 

The greater the weed’s ability

to choke the rose

the greater the weed’s glory

 

In this world

Roses are hated

especially their thorns.

 

 

©Christopher F. Brown 2015

Sunday, November 8, 2015

Crazy For Me

The so called, “Negro Spiritual”

invented on hot fields of cotton and tobacco

birthed of blood, whips, and sweat

tears served no purpose.

 

The, “Blues”

came with freedom

that wasn’t really free

that could be taken at a moment’s notice

that wasn’t guaranteed

only those that were actually

free

could even understand

could even care

 

“Jazz”

Jazz is funny

Jazz came into the world

smiling

in the rain.

 

©Christopher F. Brown 2015

The African American is Dead; Long live the African

The African American

has had their time

has had their place

 

They have bled out every drop of blood

They have emptied every duct purposed for tear

 

They have broken

every bone

constructed and combined to form a back

 

The African American

has long dreamt dreams

days yet to come

days gone by

 

The African American has to awaken to their reality

die to their fantasy

 

We are:

 

Africans

in

America

 

Africans

in

The Diaspora

 

Africans

We

Are

 

©Christopher F. Brown 2015

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