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Beecher B. Brown, Jr.

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Woodbridge, VA, US

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by

Beecher B. Brown, Jr.

I need you like I need to be needed ...
like I want and need to be wanted ...
like only feelings can describe
and in a faith that can only be known
because of the strentgh and fiber
of its existence between us.
Even while we are apart
you are more than memory
and dreams are of a fuzzy substance
I shall never ascribe to you.
You are permanent and taken for granted
but only in the sense that you
make me feel real, secure and focused
and it is in the need to return
such feelings of joy
that I ...
need you.


Beyond Prejudice, Bigotry and Discrimination

by

Beecher B. Brown, Jr.

i think it is
i do not know
who it is i am,
and if it is
you do not know
who it is you are,
maybe
if who i am
and who you are
get together
it won't make a damn
whether either of us know;
but it may be
i may see
a part of you
and you a part of me
and together
WE may come to know
who each of us
is meant to be.


Lovers Family Friends

by

Beecher B. Brown, Jr.

Love is similiar to old and worn shoe laces
to rubber bands
and that is more than tender words
and holding hands.
Love must be united by a knot that is strong
and though it may slip
from the wearing and the pulling
the tension and the fraying
it does not untie.
Love must be flexible enough to withstand
the pressure of being stretched
between the wants, needs and misconceptions
of people
and it must be resilient enough to withstand
the trauma of compromise
Love may disappear in mind, temporarily,
but it is never gone for long
and when it returns
we find it has grown twice as strong
as when it seemed to leave us
all alone.


When I was a Little Child

by

Beecher B. Brown, Jr.

We are artists.
The canvas on which we paint is imagination
where perception is never static
where the strokes and colors of what is intented
are frequently misinterpreted
and when it comes to description Webster's is obsolete.
Translation occurs inside
where meanings come alive and are felt
in love or hate
peace or insecurity
and it is here where joy and pain reside.
When I was a little child
I believed sticks and stones could break my bones
but words could never hurt me.
Now,
I am grown and I have found
words not only hurt
but the wounds they bring about
heal much slower than broken bones
if they ever heal ... at all.


Rehearsed and Recycled

by

Beecher B. Brown, Jr.

Elbows on the bar
drinking, smoking, listening to my heart ...
wondering how we got this far
numbness settles in
as i write the same sad lyrics
to the same sad tune
rehearsed over and over again.
Listening to my heart beating, pumping
working on my mind
knowing how we got this far ...
sadness settles in
as i cry the same sad tears
to the same sad pains
recycled over and over again.
One more time
just like all the other times
it is over again.


Commas, Periods, Question Marks

by

Beecher B. Brown, Jr.

Commas, periods, question marks
life is a series of punctuation marks.
I write sentences, build paragraphs
but unlike the author of a book
I am uncertain where one chapter ends
and another begins.

Asterisks, colons, exclamtion marks
life is a struggle in the placement of the marks.
I outline rough drafts, but it is not until
the final edition is presented to the critic
that final editing occurs,
and frequently additional chapters need to be written
before even I know what was written.

Chapters, volumes, reference books
life is writing on the tic-toc black board of infinity
and in the tic-toc expansion of history.
Each of us is an author.
It may vary in quantity, quality and quoteability
but we write because conception unto itself
is writing.


Building Bridges

by

Beecher B. Brown, Jr.

Let's celebrate the bridges burned, built
and yet to be built.
We must span our separate journeys
with trusts and confidences
to cross our gulfs of doubts and fears
with love, hope and more ahead
than all we lost
when what was so important disappeared
beneath the bridges that collapsed so long ago.
Bridges allow us to go back in memory,
to look ahead in dreams
and there are many many more to be built.
Come.
Go forward with me.
A rose bud cut and watered in a vase
brings beauty and gives pleasure for awhile,
But, planted in the ground
it spans the seasons and the years with rhyme
I want to write
building bridges with you.


Ode To An Old Fart

by

Beecher B. Brown, Jr.

Since way back when everything
was perfect ... ly not what it seemed,
I have been up a lot of downs
and out a lot of ins
to only arrive at where I never anticipated being
from where I never expected to leave.
To have entered and exited only as directed
or to have survived only for the expected
would have spoiled the aging of this wine.
I came from dust to leave footprints
in the wilderness of time;
so as I return to where I came
let it be known
I am a dusty
never
a dirty old man.


Ode To An Old Fart

by

Beecher B. Brown, Jr.

Since way back when everything
was perfect ... ly not what it seemed,
I have been up a lot of downs
and out a lot of ins
to only arrive at where I never anticipated being
from where I never expected to leave.
To have entered and exited only as directed
or to have survived only for the expected
would have spoiled the aging of this wine.
I came from dust to leave footprints
in the wilderness of time;
so as I return to where I came
let it be known
I am a dusty
never
a dirty old man.


The Steps To Success

by

Beecher B. Brown, Jr.

The ineffective complacency
of a mind unthinking
is a wilted worthless waste.
Pity those who wander
and never deeply ponder
What? When? Where?
Why? Who? and How?
An unused brain
is like an antique train
chugging, plugging, getting dusty
from the trivial blockade
of a gentle upgrade.
Complex theories spring from minds
not easy to weary.
Progress comes from brains
hardened to strains ...
sweating, swearing, seeking, searching ...
Answering
What? When? Where?
Why? Who? and How?


When I Am Alone

by

Beecher B. Brown, Jr.

When I am alone
I frequently reprimand myself
for not saying
what could not be thought of
until after you were gone.
But then I am reminded
silence is a reservoir
wherein faith, joy and the potential
for sharing are stored.
Also, I recollect most of the regrets
I have known were created
perpetuated
and blown out of proportion
by words
that should not have been said.
So, please,
try to understand my silences.
Words unto themselves
are much too easy to misunderstand.


Beyond the Ordinary

by

Beecher B. Brown, Jr.

Dedicated to Cedar Bluff Baptist Church, Knoxville, Tennessee

In the ordinary worry, confusion, hate and hurry,
many hearts are sorely troubled in the now;
but beyond the ordinary
our weakness and our worry
Jesus comes to help us all somehow.

Beyond the ordinary and because of God above
stands the extraordinary One
in faith, in hope and love.
Our holy Christ Redeemer
forgives us when we pray
and in a love that lasts forever,
He walks with us today.

In the ordinary worry, confusion, strife and hurry,
broken homes and worried minds are in the now;
but beyond the ordinary
when we seek to find the way
Jesus comes again to teach us how.

Beyond the ordinary to catch us when we fall
stands the extraordinary One
with peace and joy for all.
Salvation for the asking
He answers when we pray,
and in a love that lasts forever
He walks with us today.


Glass Houses

by

Beecher B. Brown, Jr.

A sugar bowl is only full
of sweetness
so long as it is filled
with sugar.
Fill it with salt
and it develops
the deceptiveness of people
who must be sampled frequently
before we have any idea
of who or what
they really are.
To presuppose
what love should be
is to build a fishbowl
around our lives
and even the largest aquariums
are awfully small
once we have seen, smelled or dreamt
of the sea.


Spectator

by

Beecher B. Brown, Jr.

Fantasy or reality
Sanity or insanity
at times
I am like a spectator
as the world progresses and regresses
around me.
At times
it is like the pressure
is pressuring another
and I am outside witnessing
what is inside of me.
At times
I wonder
are the basic interrogatives
controlling me?
I know what and why.
I view them as if from a dream
and wonder how?
How to get from here
as reality piles up around me.


Cruising In The Fastlane

by

Beecher B. Brown, Jr.

Cruising in the fastlane
barely touching mainstream proprieties
not knowing where I'm going
not caring where I've been
it is living sensation
and loving aspiration
lost in the dream of the moment.
The words all rhyme
but the song is sung
to an untuned instrument.

Living in the fastlane
tring to forget what cannot be forgotten
shadows deepen, darken
in a sun growing dim.
Here it comes there it went
opposite of intent
lost in the dream of the moment.
Please come.
Be with me.
The Piper calls for payment relentlessly.


Rated X

by

Beecher B. Brown, Jr.

Rated X ... Rated X
my thoughts would be rated X
publicly
but they are private
they are wonderful
they are of you.

Rated X ... Rated X
my love would be rated X
but it is tender
it is warmth and lust
it is for you.

Rated X ... Rated X
publicly
but privately
love is soft, heavenly
it is me, you
and serendipity.


Links of Love

by

Beecher B. Brown, Jr.

Since time exists before birth
and after death
love cannot be confined to just our life times.
We are heirs in a chain of love
forged from passion,lust
rebuilding and longevity
long before our love was born.
We are but connecting links
to be bequeathed to those yet unborn.
So, whenever and however we grow
our love will exist
beyond our momentarily twinkle
in the void of time.


Conditioning

by

Beecher B. Brown, Jr.

Splash a drop of ink
on paper.
Ask another what it is.
Invariably the answer
is about the blotch
the ugly blot of ink
ignoring the surrounding area
where a picture could be drawn
a message written
or poem composed.

Why?

Why is the talking about others
mostly
of their faults?


I Wish I Knew

by

Beecher B. Brown, Jr.

I wish I knew the answers
to all your questions
the solutions to all your problems
but I shall never be so omnipotent.
We are the same
only through God's gift to choose;
so, let's merge our similarities
grow beyond our differences
compromise our individual consequences
and allow one another
individual choice, response and convictions
for it is within our reaction to these
where we find
that which we cherish as unique.


My Nemesis

by

Beecher B. Brown, Jr.

Oh blank and staring pages
Waiting ... waiting
Like a life opening up
Innocent pages
Waiting ... waiting
Impartially waiting
For the sperm of thought
And egg of creativity
To fill your multi-embryos
With pregnancy.
You are my albatross,
An itch looking to be scratched
And the bait to which
My imagination is addicted.
I am your slave.
You are my nemesis.


Mirror, Mirror ...

by

Beecher B. Brown, Jr.

My Id speaks of Mr. America
and of a knight in shining armor.
My recollections are of good times
and peace.

Then we have to part
and every moment of the day
and every mile taking me away
makes my baldness more apparent
and my paunchiness harder to hide.

I take the kidding well.
Kids will be kids,
friends, friends
and enemies I learned to overlook
long ago.

But some mirrors have a way
of being kinder
than the one I gaqe into today.
I survive ecause I know the wrinkles
and weary worn out look will disappear
as soon as I next observe my reflection
through the magic mirror of your eyes.


Got To Get It Out

by

Beecher B. Brown, Jr.

Got to ... Got to ... Got to get it out.
What? What? What?
Push, pull, think ... express ...
Haven't got it yet.
Got to know ... Got to know ...
What's it all about?
Headaches, eye burn
Tears shed ... to be shed
Handshakes, stomach turns, heartburn
Pressure, Pressure, Pressure
Inside, outside
Pressure all around.
Clouds ... clouds ... clouds
Thoughts in fog ... fog in thoughts
Potholes, detours, dirty muddy roads.
Got to know ... got to know
Got to get it out.
Pressure, Pressure, Pressure
What's it all about?


Promise, Mystery, Desire

by

Beecher B. Brown, Jr.

Promise, mystery, desire
Chisel to stone
paint to canvas
notes to music
Pen to paper
can never tell me
what you describe with your eyes.
Concisely, clearly ... directly
You speak through a medium
over shadowing the conversation
we are having.
The invitation
makes worry go away
disappointments disappear
and magic feelings come alive.
Feelings!
My God feelings.
I revel in the touch of your eyes
as they bind me with a spell ...
promise, mystery, desire.


WE

by

Beecher B. Brown, Jr.

Poetry used to be written
for special occasion, special feelings
and it was designed for special effect,
grand design and meaning was illusive ...
something to be pursued.
I could see, but was not seen.
I could hear, but was not heard.
My heart was ill from the fears of pain
cried over and over again.
Now, I know the writing occurs daily
is expressed spontaneously
and life has developed a significance
over shadowing any questioning.
I no longer am bound by vision
or muffled by walls of doubt.
Within the boundaries of you and me
the rhyme and reason of freedom
is found in the strentgh of WE.


Dear God

by

Beecher B. Brown, Jr.

I am tired of walking through the valleys
and of shadows I have seen enough.
I am having a time not fearing the evil
and all that keeps me going is that on me
YOU have not given up.
Without dear Jesus,
I would have no way of knowing this faith
that gives me hope.
Help me
to keep my eyes on the mountain tops.
I have been looking down too long.
I pray to praise YOUR name from way up there
as I have so desperately cried
for YOUR presence in despair.
I celebrate YOU
and pray to linger in YOUR sun
until my time on earth is done.
Though I grow weary and the weight heavier
I'll walk, I'll crawl but I'll go on.
YOU never give up on me.
So, though I plod and falter,
I'll go on praising YOUR name
my Almighty, Wonderful, Caring ... Loving
GOD.


Hindsight

by

Beecher B. Brown, Jr.

In the beginning impression is like
a large gaping vacuum
an empty bottomless pit
or a gigantic black board against which time
and experience can be flung
to hang suspended like stars dotting the sky.
For a long time there is no thought of erasure.
There seems to be no need.
Laughter, love and good times are posted
but,so, too, are tears, sadness
and disappointments.
Shadows come into existence.
The void is interspersed with the light
of dreams and the darkness of fears
and as the intensity of these impressions
shift midst moods, passions and emotions,
things believed fogotten
appear to aid or hinder
the placement of newer experiences
midst a conglameration of paradoxes
which seems to hold no room for more.


Tic -Tac -Toe

by

Beecher B. Brown, Jr.

The most concrete things in life
are those known
inside of and between
people.
They cannot be seen, touched
or smelled
but the proof of their existence
is the strentgh
of the bonds forged
because they do exist.

Tic-tac-toe
you play the x's
I'll play the o's
but in the game of life
it is not who put them in a row
who wins
but that we are together
after the last mark is drawn
and as the next game begins.


Love is...

by

Beecher B. Brown, Jr.

Love is not what others say
and it is not preconceived notion
that somehow just exists.
Love is a melting, a meeting,
a giving, a taking ... sharing.
Love is smiles, tears, happiness and sadness
tinged with both understanding and frustration.
As it unfolds, love grows a comfort
on the other side of boredom.
It is magic lending familiarity
for two people to turn the tried and true
into the extraordinary.
Love is not a keeping of assets and liabilities.
It is a complement to the one
and a supplement for the other.
Love is the common denominator
through which our hearts
grow as separate entities
yet come together as one.


Dried Flower Arrangements of the 20th Century

by

Beecher B. Brown, Jr.

In our flashback recollections,
there are many myopic aberrations
of how we sought to become
who it was we hoped to be.
But in the loving from whom
we have been
to whom we have become
there are many documentaries
far greater than what
they originally were
because we were feelings, passions ...
an accident looking for utopia ...
yet to evolve.
So, now midst
the multi colored memories
and dried flower arrangements of the past
we know
the only thing greater than a dream come true
is another dream coming through.
For what good would there be in dreams
if later on there were not such memories.


April Showers

by

Beecher B. Brown, Jr.

Summer memories - reflections of fun in the sun
merge with the mirror images of shadows on the snow
midst Winter nights' moon glow.

A mother sighs. Close your eyes.
Imagine the embryo growing, moving,
seeking birth from the belly's warmth.

Tic-toc, tic-toc the Obstetrician washes up.
Echoes rebound as the father paces off the tic
and worries down the toc of time.

The delivery room is ready
stirrups at attention
labor pains contract to only pain again.
The brow is wiped
Anethesia applied
The hymen breaks.

Water, water everywhere.

Do you hear the cry?

Mother nature delivers.
Spring is born again.


HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY JERALDINE

by

Beecher B. Brown, Jr.

I stood and stared, read and digested
most of what the pros had to say.
I picked and pulled and flipped the cards
until my head ached.
I compared the adjectives of the women poets
with the mens', who are much better than they used to be
at putting their feelings, dreams and aspirations into words
than they used to be.
But, something's wrong and something's missing.
Where my feet have been and what my myopic eyes have seen
are missing from all the scenarios.
You've stepped on my bunions and been where my belly
now overhangs.
You've taught me what I see might not be what I think I see
and what I know is as much from your interpretation
as ever by any conclusions drawn by me.
So, all I want a message to say is
I'll love you more tomorrow than yesterday or today
and that I need you to share with me
the places yet to be seen
and the words yet to be said.