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Local, International Poet - Fitzgerald Brown                                                                                     

   

MEET Fitzgerald Brown, Poet and Author  

© Copyright 2005. All rights reserved.

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The Song of Trees (5 Poems)

The Truss
Lost in Knowledge
History
Prudence
Songs of Trees

 

 

The Truss

 

When, will you be free bound men of your earthly passions?

Warriors, scholars, clergymen, musicians, artisans,
Poets and politicians
Athletics brought to truth
First understanding justice
Then just “us”
Excluded now from the game of fair play
Finding no fixed reward

When will darkness surpass light?
And, bring forth life?
Never, answers the earthly mother
Who knows to wait on God

Plant dreams to be the one destined to grow
From the tacit notes of nature
Let Mother earth instruct sons and daughters
In the way they should go

Be mindful of man’s rebellious nature

Be mindful of the greedy and the ignorant

Be a gift to yourself and to others

Forgiving yourself and then all others

Learn Compassion and know

Freedom

Listen, don’t listen
It’s getting closer

# # #

 

 

Lost in Knowledge

A choice has been given
to unite

can you hear it?
Its moving closer

What’s right when fear and manipulation
Clouds the minds of school children and daily
Commuters among all TV’s pop/rock culture of
Wonna be new kids generation made confused
By war and Xbox makes history a thing of the past
As one man discovers creation or another
Black hole, unexplored and dumb
With knowledge submerged in darkness
Exists the unknown possibilities
Extraordinary but yet
Familiarly unmeasured

However something pulls the searching soul back to The common place
Heaven and Earth touches and we either lose or Win/Play serious we then learn to grin through pain and then we lose youth and life gracefully knowingly sweeps in a Sweet refrain – that’s life

The cycle of the living death
Free of poverty and greed
Filled with the mists of emotions
Romantic or Tragic
Truth and justice now reflects joyous little regrets
Bubbles then moistens in the boiling mind
Molten volcanic eruptions form and the idea
Inside of man is born

His thinking we question, we analyze
To reveal the color
A school of green fish, all in a hurry to show their gold
But what’s on point, but the rare?
But I’ll have mine well done
Thank you!
So common is choice
shall I continue?

He thinks of forms and signs to fill the empty
Space, the black hole, the mind
Lost in knowledge
Drowning in truth
Who are we no longer important
The question now is who the hell are you?

To be a sign is formed into being out of molten rocks
Like dreams spiting coal from the red mines with Diamonds caged in hearts, unpolished, raw and Spectacular

Brilliantly bright he begins to move between borders
Across fences guided by past truths, revelations
Amazing personal discoveries and “I can” affirmations
To ease the streaming mind like traffic road signs
The wise takes notes of life happenings, records changing, green lights, children playing, beating hearts, the pulse, the finger and the tongue

The weapon or the tool uses the wise and abuses the fool hearted everywhere
Everything is beautiful; we all dispatch it, package it and then
Manufacture it off to a Mother and or friends far away out in space

A black hole of sorts out in inner space the lonely space rider seeks the camera, the photographers, the stage, the painter, the writers, teachers, doctors, lawyers
Muslims, Jews and Africans are just ordinary people hoping to be

Should the armies stay or showed they go
How is it possible for any one man to know?
Heavy is the weight of the world on any man’s shoulders even to the great artisans whose history reveals a need for intense focus on happiness
Your Inner happiness, your inner peace
less the ego that calls to fleshly needs of war

Can you hear it?
It’s getting closer

# # #

 

 

HISTORY

If history could talk

There’d be no room for blame

No falling satellites
No arms race
Ran in vain

There would be
No need
For war memorials
To commemorate the
Fallen,
The Dead

No more weeping mothers
Children would know

Love
The completion of my hopes
And dreams

Songs
The expression of my hopes
And dreams

Dance
The passion of my hopes
And dreams

Father’s would leave neglect

Joyful their earthly
Ways

If only history could talk

# # #

 

Prudence

Prudence
Is of the soul
Keep the soul alive
Boris kept the soul alive
Smoking/stroking
Stoned expressions of jazz
And Cool
Green Poets
Fresh as Fish
 And
Little girl blue

No ones going to
Marry
Go Rounds
Open doors, windows
Strike, poise
SHINE
Like the Black Angelfish

Reflect a glance
Through the shadows of
Soul’s darkened by fear
And Pain

A Writer’s group
To tame the
Un-tame-able makes
Him wonder dreams
Undone

To chart the uncharted
In his mind he conceives
A tale of glory to distract
Or
Deceive
To Chopin U up
With Axes, hoes &
Poisonous pens
His venomous
Potion

With words of daggers that
Cut through truth
Like trunks of trees
And Elephant’s dung
Drops disastrously
In Africa’s mind

Talks of Red and Black
When really he is Blue
Is Child abuse
Sister/Brother
Heaven abuse
And
A mother nurse’s no more

Float Fly
Your words
The ink
The cosmos makes
“Friends” an angry
Play

No hope, No joy
Lovers-in-shit
Are just “dreamed”
Words and vines
No reason

Prudence comes from
The soul
Keep it alive
Fan the fire
With rain songs of
Boris and little girl
Truth

# # #

 

 

The Songs of Trees

Its all one big musical this merry go round circus of lies and truths
Well-meaning thugs and thugettes, lovers and going to-be-friends among
Tall green trees

I walked into a garden of heavy dark green trees and mist
Secretly I took in its meaning and found everything as it should be beneath.

I stood there in the threshold of Paradise and for a moment that fork in the road
That moment of choice they all talk about was not only visible to me, but had
Somehow overshadowed the false, empty, shell of a world I had created as was
Necessary, for what is necessary is always available or not?

I had journey too far, I was at the proverbial moment of choice
Behind me were worlds of promises; ahead of me were green trees
The true masters of meaning, their aroma and fragrance filled my senses
Comforting and coaxing me beyond the point of exhaustion I became
Exhilarated by the ease and purpose before me
 I am planted; singular then in unisons they sung the songs of trees

I am Planted, and Here will I thrive
From the Creator
I will be shelter to those who need
I will be nourishment to those who need nourishment
Like my roots, I am forever grounded here in
This truth, I am tree.

# # #