Most said she had brown eyes,
Others said her eyes were hazel,
Some even said her eyes were bronze,
But they were all so wrong.

Her eyes weren’t just brown,
They were a brilliant mix of chestnut and chocolate,
The perfect blend of mystery and magnificence,
They were the windows to her soul.

Her eyes weren’t just hazel,
They were the colour of the very earth,
Like copper against honey,
With flecks of molten gold that glowed amber with pleasure.

Her eyes weren’t just bronze,
They sparkled like a ray of light shining through a raindrop,
A soulful medley of cinnamon and caramel,
Overflowing with fire and joy.

Oh her eyes,
They were alluring and enchanting
They hid treasures I wished to seek,
And I drowned in them every day.

We wish we knew you Mr Brown
The lights glow dim in Poets Town
We stand beside Magnolia trees
And pray your soul is fancy free

I read your verse with teary eyes
And hope that I can be as wise
You were a gentle soul of song
The joy you brought is just as strong

I'm glad your verse you did not brave
Upon Magnolias to engrave
Your words of wit are safe with me
For Poets Town is your tree!

Unlike the old Magnolia tree
Poets Town is full of spree
She was a fool to lose your crown
But we'll always love you Mr. Brown!

Blue Eyes
Blue eyes look at me,
My dark skin is defined by the dirt and sweat of the cotton fields,
My skin has been beaten,bruised and burned
The darker I am the more I'm tortured,
The blue eyes are evil,
The blue eyes has seen darker skin,
The eyes has seen dark brown skin women and men,
The blue eyes,
They see where the rage and pain lies within me
They look down at me,
As if I were beneath them,
They see the 300 years of slave and fear captured in my eyes,
I an'it afraid , so don't try me
I hate you and your color,
What you all did to my people,
You ought'a be ashamed
Or maybe I should be

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

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