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



I want to know more than three



I want to meet Nigerians that speak



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




What I want is a realization


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



that is what calls to me


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


In a constant state of









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



It could be that

I want it to be



so I'll just leave it up to



©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


could even understand

could even care



Jazz is funny

Jazz came into the world


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:








The Diaspora






©Christopher F. Brown 2015

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