Monday, December 31, 2007

Tenacity



Tenacity


One decrepit apple
wrinkled and brown
steadfastly clasps
its bough.

Wailing winter winds
marched in like a lion
and April’s showers
could not dislodge it.

Its tiny dilapidated body
once plump and crisp
and honey scented
now, as delicate as
ancient parchment
as tenacious as time.

Lindsay Riggs Brown

Sunday, December 30, 2007

Penny Arcade



Penny Arcade

If I were a pinball machine,
all my buzzers
would be buzzing;
all my lights
would be lit up,
and your name would be
written in flashing lights,
“high scorer”
across my face.
But, that’s only
if I were a pinball machine.


Lindsay Riggs Brown

Impressionistic Lines



Impressionistic Lines

Running up her colors
she paints a prairie sky.
Snapping, cracking in the wind
her domestic colors fly.

Billowing like a ship's sails;
if she could sail away.
Spread a little canvas
across a perfect day.

Every timber creaking
she pulls in on her line
unfurling every paintbox hue
beneath prairie sunshine.

Lindsay Riggs Brown

Saturday, December 29, 2007

Gravity



Gravity

Like an Albatross,
you rose heavily from the water.
Droplets falling from your talons

Your weighty grayness
lumbered above the silent granite slabs,
and you were gone.

I look for you
every time I pass that way.
I have never seen you again

Lindsay Riggs Brown

Friday, December 28, 2007

Libri



Libri

Crack
and
you are open
the world pours out
with that strange
new scent
like an
inky bud
seeping into my
skull
knowledge
dreams
escape
and
experience
collide
and
leave
me wanting

Lindsay Riggs Brown

Thursday, December 27, 2007

This Must Be Love



This Must Be Love

I am a selfish creature.
Yet, I have made space on my book shelf for your books.
In my cluttered closet,
I have pushed my black clothes aside
to make room for your primary colored threads

I am a stubborn thing.
Still, I find I am able to let you make dinner plans
and wield power
over the remote control.

I am a doubting Thomas,
always questioning authority.
Yet, I believe everything you say.
Even when you are wrong.

Even your dirty socks,
left crumpled and orphaned
on the bedroom floor,
fill me with a sense of tenderness.


Lindsay Riggs Brown

The Emperor Has No Clothes



The Emperor Has No Clothes

The Emperor has no clothes.
An entire nation,
we wait.
We wait…
holding our breath.
We wait for him to see
what we see.

The Emperor will not admit
his mistake.
He attempts to disguise his nakedness
behind stars and stripes.
It was his intended costume
all along.

We are the naked ones.
An entire nation,
we line the streets.
We watch the Emperor’s parade.
We wag our fingers,
we stare,
horror stricken.
We change nothing.

Lindsay Riggs Brown

Wednesday, December 26, 2007

Anything But Free




Anything But Free

(A Story in verse)


Standing in the sand alone;
Looking out to sea;
Wretched, bitter to the bone;
He is anything but free.

He hopes his wife and child are dead,
And lying in their graves;
All their suffering over, ‘stead
Of living life as slaves.

Feeling such joy yesterday;
Beside him stood his child and wife;
Now his future looks so gray;
He’s taking his own life.

His only desire is but to die;
He hopes his end is near;
From his lips escapes a sigh;
For ones he held so dear.

His life without them, meaningless;
To carry all that shame;
For to himself he must confess;
He is the one to blame.

Had he but been there;
When the slave ship touched the shore;
His family might still be here;
Guilt cuts unto the core.

He cannot himself forgive;
For being on a trip;
When to his home there did arrive;
A dreadful British ship.

When from the hunt he then returned;
Those who survived did tell a tale;
Of how their huts were burned;
How they fought to no avail.

Named the Monarch of the Sea;
The ship came with the heavy rains;
It took his friends and family;
Shackled them in chains.

Loved ones missing from the village;
Brothers, sisters, families lost;
After white man’s plundering, pillage;
Oh, how their greed has cost.

So many tribesmen taken;
Families torn asunder;
As if they’d been forsaken;
Their world pulled out from under.

When this story he did hear,
His heart broke into splinters;
He had never known such fear;
Though he’d weathered thirty winters.

When he was but fourteen;
He married for tribe and family;
He could never have foreseen;
How much in love he’d be.

Seven times his wife gave birth;
Six precious babies died;
A seventh child brought so much mirth;
When she mercifully survived.

They named her for his mother;
Feeling so much pride and joy;
After the loss of her big brothers;
The grief of losing their sweet boys.

As he trudges on ‘neath blistering heat;
Memories fill his head;
Dust covering his calloused feet;
To his own death he is led.

His reminiscences are all good;
He’d never live them again;
He was starving himself of food;
All life’s happiness had been.

His body needing water;
He will never again drink;
He thinks about his daughter;
And what of him she must think.

Food is what his body needs to live;
Alas, for repast he has no desire;
Only love and family give;
Life passion and sweet fire.

She would have felt so terrified;
She must have called his name;
His soul for her sweet safety cried;
He could not bear his shame.

Had he been somehow closer, nearer to his home;
He’d have heard them when they cried,
They wouldn’t have been alone;
Maybe he’d have saved them; at least he could have tried.

If present, he’d perhaps still have failed to save his kin;
But, with them now at least he‘d be;
Chained to the vessel’s overheated cargo bin;
Bodies packed tight upon that ship at sea.

Sailing to a life of chained captivity;
Some thankfully would not arrive;
Black corpses dumped into the sea;
Better they should not survive.

Many would not survive;
The Middle Passage so ceaseless;
Many lost their very lives;
To horrible diseases.

When ones skin was black,
Beating was a common thing;
Too many a naked back,
Felt the cat-o-nine’s sting.

If you did not do as you were told;
If you did not obey;
You couldn’t dare to be so bold;
And see another day.

He thinks about their fateful trip;
With horror and great shame;
He sees them on that frightful ship;
And carries all the blame.

He’s heard such horrid tales;
Of women used for white man’s satisfaction;
He’s heard of human beings for sale;
Lined up in human auctions.

He is all alone now;
From shame he’s left his tribe;
He doesn’t even know how;
To want to stay alive.

One question circles round his brain;
Like a vulture in the sky;
Around and around goes the refrain;
Oh why? Oh why? Oh why?

When one’s life has been stripped bare,
When everything’s been taken;
There’s nothing left to love or care;
For the heart alone, forsaken.

Nothing’s left to make life just;
But to find a place to lay his head;
A place to lie down in the dust;
And stay there ‘til he’s dead.

As he breathes his last labored breath;
Life departing, for he knows not where;
He has no desire to feel past death;
In a world so cruel, unfair.

He could never truly know,
That he was not at fault;
For persons sunk so low,
They traded human beings for salt.

Although we can now look back;
Too late, and with despair;
To own someone because they’re black;
We know to be unfair.

We have all moved on now;
We know each human should live free;
We’ve all begun to wonder how,
It took so long to see.

In this world, unfortunately;
Freedom is still not here;
There are those still in captivity;
Passing through this life in fear.

We must keep on striving, seeking peaceful ways;
To ensure from sea to sea,
The changes of the days;
‘Til every soul is free.

Although he lived with all the pain;
He didn’t live for naught;
He lived for precious knowledge gained;
So that, a message should be sought.


I hope that we have learned;
This lesson that is taught;
A person’s freedom is not earned;
And human beings can’t be bought.


Lindsay Riggs Brown


Dali’s Dream



Dali’s Dream

Candy red apple
crisp, tart
kiss, pucker, pop.

Cold legs
in black boots
buckle in, back up.

A percussionist’s pounding
thump-thumping on a pirate’s chest
of ruby jewels.

Fried egg alarm clocks
tiptoe silently through my garden
so as not to disturb my dreams.

Lindsay Riggs Brown

Insomnia





Insomnia

Lies like fire-flies
spark from your piano key-board smile
settling
like ferocious bees
into geometrical honeycombs in my mind.

Later,
in my sleepless bedroom
they return
teeming
from their buzzing hives
they swarm
and sting my softest places.


Lindsay Riggs Brown

Ah Sleep




Ah Sleep

Day ends as it begins
with sleep
ah sleep
that mini death
half sense
half scene

So welcome to the weary
she opens her arms
invites you in
her scent
like fresh air
burnt in sunshine
like the iron left on

Morning brings
more of the same
in between
delicious sensations
in and out
she gently rouses

Lindsay Riggs Brown

Saddest Moon




Saddest Moon

Oh saddest moon long in the heavens
Patiently waiting all sixes and sevens
For a love that will not come

Do you look to earth to find him tonight?
You will not find him here
For he is on the other side of the world
Bestowing upon another his wondrous light
He’s left you all alone my dear
Sleepless in the night

When he departed he kissed your cheek
And left on it his golden glow
So that you could realize
No other’s kiss shall you know

Cassiopeia and Orion are now under your care
You must tend them on your own
Although it be not fair

From here on earth we look to you
We know you will be fine
For you are all alone now
And eternally will shine

Lindsay Riggs Brown

Tuesday, December 25, 2007

Theological Crapshoot

Theological Crapshoot

Brethren, Catholic.
Anglican, Baptist.
eeny, meeny,
miney, mo.
Which, if any,
would you bet
your soul on?
Toss a coin. Call it
heads or tails.
You are called. I’ll see you; raise you; call you.
“Show me what you’ve got,” says the seventh man to the Peter at the gate.
Desperate, empty you buy a ticket for “Holy Trinity” to win, place, or show
Square pegs in round holes, beg, barter, and wager for their souls.
A flutter, the choir sings.
Place your ante in
the collection plate.
Around, and around,
and around, she goes.
Where she stops
nobody knows.
But, baby still needs
a new pair o’ shoes.


Lindsay Riggs Brown

The Death of Marat



The Death of Marat

Quill in hand
Words left unsaid
Tis all too true
Marat is dead.

His message left unfinished
Will ne’er see light of day
We are left to wonder--
What had he meant to say?


His ink-pot dries
The tub will drain
There’s nothing more
To this refrain.

So, he is gone
At peace, at last--
What’s left to say?
Marat has passed.


Lindsay Riggs Brown

Fisher Wife’s Prayer



Fisher Wife’s Prayer

Undulating frothing ocean
Moving wrathful with moon motion
Furiously sliding out and in
Shifting on unnatural rhythm

High upon nature’s tides
Her opalescent crescent rides
In her perfect native form
Calmly she rides out each storm

Then ‘neath waxing goddess’ glow
Ceres’ golden seed shall grow
So to you Saint Elmo’s fire
This of you I must inquire
Should you be out upon these waves tonight
Please guide our men to morning light.

Lindsay Riggs Brown



Troubadour


Troubadour

For Bob Dylan

Squatting in a corner
boot heels, Cuban styled.
Electric socket hair
you have let go wild.
Rhythm, rhyming lyrics
everywhere in time.

Stovepipe, pinstripes
on your chicken stands.
Cigarette burning, long ash,
in your calloused hand.
You can make a song that I
can understand.


Lindsay Riggs Brown

That Thing



That Thing

I beseech thee to protect thy ribs.
For behind them is where that thing lives.
That thing I've given thee with thine.
That thing that makes you good and kind.

I beg of thee, protect thy skull.
Inside of it's that thing so full
of thoughts and acumen so keen.
The likes of which I’ve never seen.

I’m asking thee, please take great care
of all the parts and pieces there.
Of each of them I am so fond.
And could not bear if one were gone.

Lindsay Riggs Brown

Electric Love Lines



Electric Love Lines

“What if I’m really a man?” She instant messaged
“I’m not gay, but I would learn to be.” His answer appeared on her screen.
What if I’m a dog?
“Can I get a license to marry a dog?”

“What if I’m Elvis?
Will you still love me then?” she text messaged.
“Elvis is dead.” he replied.
“Don’t be cruel.” she messaged back.

“You’re perfect,” he said into his cell, “can we meet in person?
“No,” she replied, “you’ll be disappointed.”
“Why?” he asked, adjusting his earpiece.
“I’m just a woman, a human being.” she answered.
“How disappointing.” he replied.

Lindsay Riggs Brown

Berkeley’s Trees



Berkeley’s Trees

The sky is falling.
I am Chicken Little
pecking at your toes,
clucking in your ear.
Is anyone listening?

The ocean is drying up.
Tuck your plastic bib under your chin.
Dig in,
enjoy.
You can worry tomorrow.

The forest is disappearing.
One by one,
Berkeley’s trees are falling.
Is anyone listening?

Lindsay Riggs Brown