Poetry

Sounds rhythmically moves

Around and round

Conscious groove

Beautiful vision presented

Herself in dancing ecstasy

~

DBrown Fisher

© Jan 2005

I have been

Called

So many

Names

Rarely

My own

~

DBrown Fisher

© Jan 22, 2005

What a fabulous crime to sacrifice art

Ridiculous to dispute the excuse

Even with words

Art is the disease and the cure

Balanced and obscured

Spirit calls for stillness

Quiet ranting laughter

What a fabulous claim to sacrifice yourself in art

The nature of being alive or is it an excuse

Ridiculous to dispute, to even use words to say

Art is the disease, don’t you know the lies

To keep you in kind, wrapped up in your mind

Believing the muses to be

On your side

Spirit is calling you to simply be still

Shut up for a minute and breathe out

Ranting laughter to shadow and confuse

Shit-eating grin in fine passive-aggressive

Fashions co-dependent minions

To art they prey

Wrapping themselves around you

Constricting your flame

They dare not snuff out the fire

That fuels their fun

Keeps them in harmony

Sacrificed to the numb

Idea that there is meaning in art

Who cares not for form or content

Thought in our human brains

This serial captor, to art let the flame

Burn yourself away until the cure has freed

Soul from art and its distracting disease

~

DBrown Fisher

© Dec 2004

It seems to us you’re just fueling up your bus

That carries only your possessions

No room for anything else

You’re full of it

Loaded down with all your deceptions

There is no question of front or back

Today Ms. Rosa won’t have to ask

Ain’t nobody riding on this bus

It’s just full of shit

With this driver up front

He won’t stop for anything but his greed

If it’s what he needs

That bus will screech to a halt

Gobble everything up

And leaving nothing behind but the bill

Of rights and wrongs never to balance

This bus just keeps on truckin’

Fueled by us

We build the roads and wave on the sides

Hell, we built the bus for us to ride

Unknowingly it seems we perpetuate this dream

That we may someday ride for free

But don’t you see

He will never stop for us

Because he don’t want us on his bus

He just wants to fuel it up

On our energy

~

DBrown Fisher

© Dec 31, 2004

I feel the stare over my shoulder

My back has the blade left by another

Day in me as I grow older

I feel it creeping in

On every side again

Stealin’ away my love

Taking my sight

Puttin’ out passion

Snuffing the light

The darkness is stalking me silently

The cold screams on my nerve endings

Gone in the taste and smell

Of the burning remnants called my hell

All these senses are frozen fast

When the cold darkness falls at last

Burying me forever ‘neath the ground

Lower than dirt, this life is bound

Lower than dirt, is where I’m found

~

DBrown Fisher

© Dec 2004

When I was young and relished moments unknown

The doubt of self without a drop of vinegar

Fearful drought as tears rolled down

Did not quench this thirsting hunger

Thriving within the berry briars of age

The smallest delight is a journey periled

Where unknown desires the required epiphany

Naked truth pickled by human condition

The sour fruit plucked in blooded palm

Relished by youthful reverence gone

Considered a banquet to this starving soul

~

DBrown Fisher

© Nov 2004

As the world’s oyster, you make the pearls

Rhyme and reason to unfurl

From your heart in melodies

Singing your songs to set us free

From the dark into the light

Such contradiction in so much strife

Explode the horizon and let it shine

Dawning mind in our time

And here I am just a grain of sand

Waiting for your pearly gland

When the sun melted me

Into this glass bead

Now I wonder if you can

Coat in pearl this bead like sand?

~

DBrown Fisher

© Nov 2004

Caught between two extremes, with no compromise in sight.

Love and hate, free-willing fate opens the gates, and boxes you in.

Sword and pen lend no help, to the great stakes piled on the table.

Cards dealt, from deck’s bottomless chance, and your life as anti.

Your soul for a bet, now you’ve been raised, with nothing you’re left.

It’s all on the table, the whole nine yards; no one is here to lend you anymore.

And the cards are changing, without your knowing, even the dealer

Isn’t showing the same hand or face, everything’s changing at a blurring rate.

The pace is light speed; anger and greed are calling, for your hand.

The cards have changed; you better check the same, before making any more claims.

To the pile on the table, where everything lands, all of our beings,

Stacked in redeemable rows, and stocks locked up tight.

Depending on, which side of the table you found, yourself gambling,

With the muses and fates, gods and angels, demons and devils,

Line up to take a stake, in your willingness to shake, on the deal.

In order to steal the pot,

Spend the rest of your life free,

The gambling table turns over

Because the game is rigged.

Still think you can win?

You’ll figure it out

In the end.

~

DBrown Fisher

© Oct 2004

For whatever reasons

In this life

We have come together

Let us rise above

In unison

To relief of strife and burden

~

DBrown Fisher

© April 2004