to see if I could be
quiet enough for the barred owl
or the pileated woodpecker
to turn his beaded eye
towards me
I wish I could
do more than type keys
that stand for letters
that add up to words
that tally up to meaning
in the early evening,
surrounded by browning leaves
as I also age
on solid ground
Play 'Stay'
by Jackson Browne
for sentimental reason
at 2 AM when I don't want to go home
This is living in 'Our Town'
by Thorton Wilder
Emily's monologue
is always worth a listening crowd
"Good-by to clocks ticking....
and Mama's sunflowers"
Don't forget "hot baths"
because if you never had one
you just wish for water
I didn't say that,
Jackson Browne did
I'm not talking about music,
rhyme, or suicide
Isn't that just three
simple words
for what I cannot
wrap my mind around?
Ben, I won't tell you
now
that I came to the edge once
too
sometimes tomorrows
don't feel
like possibilities
I consider the view from the top
when breathing can sometimes be
the hardest part
Would air run wild to hold me
if I let go?
Does a passionate end
make an average life
worth reconsidering?
"Does it ever get easier mom?"
You might ask me in ten years
I'll tell you (the love and bane
of my existence)
"No, but its worth
multiplies"
Thank you, Jackson Browne,
and somehow "I get the joy
of rediscovering you"
Thank you, Journey,
and I am 'Faithfully'
learning the lines
of the highways of life
"Wheels go round and round
in my mind"
I will "sleep alone
tonight"
this poem of various songs
will not translate
to tangible meaning for you
the men I love
stopped listening
to my poems and songs
I did and didn't write
but continue to dance to
in silk skirts from consignment
stores that make me feel
like a success story
or an extra in a movie
I have quarters to my name,
cheap jokes and receipts
J.B invited me
to "stay, just a little bit longer"
and my "mother don't mind,
and the union don't mind"
and "please, please, please
say you will"
I have half an hour
to be self-indulgent,
and romantic
How long do you have
to play?
Went to a concert last night, across town,
To see an old favorite of mine, Jackson Browne.
We slogged through a downpour of thunder and rain,
Where the opening song had a “deluge” refrain.*
The show was amazing; the singing so fine
That years fell away with each lyrical line.
The fans were enamored; we clapped and we cheered
As our younger selves, as if by magic, appeared.
For more than three hours, the music fulfilled
The crowd’s expectations, with most of us thrilled.
Yet still, there was texting on cell phones a’light
From various seats, which just didn’t seem right.
It put a slight damper on what was, to me,
An evening as special as any could be,
For certain performers tap into the past
With a power that, over the years, seems to last.
*”Before the Deluge” by Jackson Browne
From my broken heart a deep wound bleeds,
The crimson tears fall like falling leaves.
My life has become a page of sorrow,
Pain and sorrow have become my tomorrow.
My shattered dreams have faded away,
The future I once saw is now grey.
My heart is like a broken glass,
That no one can ever hope to mend.
My love was so strong and pure,
But now it can't be found anymore.
I try to pick up the pieces,
But my heart remains filled with creases.
The hurt I feel is too deep to comprehend,
My broken heart can never mend.
The pain of losing you's too hard to bear,
From my broken heart,
I can't repair.
Written in August 2023 by davina browne
Single for life
Alone I stride in life contented and glad,
No need of love, for it can make one sad
Just me and my mind, never divided we two
Free from worries, that come with being wooed.
False peace and joy in possessions gleaned,
A lonely life brings the chance to dream
Friends come and go, but I am unchanged,
My friends would never try to rearrange.
No angst from arguments, no flaring of the heart,
A life free of love, into that I take a start
Just me and my cat, we take to my bed of flowers,
No angst to cloud my hours.
Lasting friendship with no fear of betrayal,
That’s the life I’ve elected and never can fail
I’ve picked a life of single pleasure and content,
The chance of love I’m never meant.
Written on a lonely night 1/11/23 by Davina Browne
W E Barrington-Browne
painted rural landscapes& not the town
Famed for his 'Immortal Trout'
a watercolour well worth a 'shout'
“Memory isn’t as good as it used to be”
Cackled Sam Browne, feeling all of his eighty years
Sam drained his ale and conspiratorially
whispered “Here, got tales of woes to tell you young man”
“Now come on Sam” stepped up the sympathetic soul
“Your drunk, I’ll see you home”, but in vain cajoled
“Don’t want to abstain, I was destined for greatness”
Sam was addicted to finding a solution
To finally ridding himself of his demons
Sam mused as they shortcut through the cemetery
The night was moonless and the lamplights dimly shone
On seeing the exit gate ahead the young man
breathed a sigh of relief, eager to get the old man home
Suddenly an icy feeling crept down his spine
extended across to his arms and down his legs
Frightened he looked at Sam who was standing apart
whispering “Free, no longer a slain warrior”
The young man collapsed, appalled “Woe is me” he gasped
Totally now in the grip of outside forces
manipulating all his thoughts, feelings and flesh
8/10/19
Eight Word Challenge Poetry Contest
Emile Pinet
8/10/19
The concert, a singer who’s great,
Is all set for a not-too-far date.
I am sure that the show
Will be wonderful, though
It won’t start until sometime past 8.
Since I often wake up around 5,
By the time Jackson Browne did arrive,
It would be no surprise
If the lids of my eyes
Would be closed with no chance to revive.
So most likely, I’ll pass on the tix,
Though it’s something I’m sorry to nix
But my energy tank
Isn’t shrinking – it shrank!
Sadly, aging and night life don’t mix.
She reads Dave Berg and E.B. White,
John Ciardi and Henry Leigh –
My eight-year-old prodigy.
She sings Ray Charles and Jackson Browne,
Benatar and Robin Lane.
Her confidence will never wane.
She loves writing and drawing,
Painting and dance.
I’m proud to be her provenance.
Sadness is all I feel,
the sadness feeling never goes away.
I fake that smile I greet you with,
when you come home after a hard day.
The love we used to feel,
some how is no longer present in my heart.
I say I love you,
as I know I do, but no longer do i feel it.
Those butterflies have settled in the pit of my stomach. There's no more butterflies wings flurry.
My eyes empty,
dry no tears in sight.
no longer do they represent that sparkle,
That soul.
Empty eyes full of sorrow.
Davina Browne
6/6/17
© 2011 (Jim Sularz)
(Dedicated to my Brother-in-Law: William L. Browne III (1959-2011)
who drowned in the Colorado River when visting family and friends
on a fishing trip. Bill was found 4 months later.)
Let it be known, in memoriam, that he is loved.
And any earthly bonds that shaped his soul,
is now a wide river flowing,
to a distant Heaven bestowed.
He could have walked a much longer path,
and would have paused again, with a hearty laugh.
But, when the river flowed, when the river flowed,
– it marked this hour, for him to go.
Don’t cry for him, with welling tears upset,
but celebrate his fulfilled years, instead.
When the river flowed, when the river flowed,
- it moved his gift of life ahead.
For loving sons, family, friends and beloved wife,
he leaves cherished memories, a faithful man’s insight.
And when the river flowed, when the river flowed,
- it moved him gently, to Everlasting Life!
Poor old Justin Welby
It must have been a shock
To find out that he issued from
Churchill’s PA’s c*ck
Not from the Holy Spirit
Or the fairies after all
Not a babe in a basket under a bush
Down by the garden wall
It was a diplomatic missive
That brought about his seeding
Four dots dash dot dot dash, it said
Destroy this after reading
For poor old Mother Welby
It was just a drunken shag
But Browne had an Archbishop
In his diplomatic bag
And, he really was quite dashing
With his huge unholy *****
You would though, wouldn’t you, so
Let the sinless queue to stone her
Welby ponders wisely
Prays, and has a cup of tea
Questions divine purposes
And how he came to be
And comes to the conclusion
That it matters not a jot
As long as there are biscuits
And his tea is piping hot
For this is Christianity
And though it may seem odd
In the game of ‘Who’s yer Father’
Justin Welby’s Dad is God
by Gail
The cold sensation of metal on my skin.
Street lamps lighten below the moths drawn to their glow.
repeatedly bang into their shades .
For reasons we will never know.
Sweaty hangs slip.
Losing their grip.
Body falling from the railings.
That was placed therefore your saving.
The feeling of peace washes over me.
My clothing sticking to my skin at front.
Flap with my hair in the breeze at the back.
I close my eyes.
Waiting for the impact of the pavement.
That will erase my very existence..
Written by davina browne 15/11/15
I have often felt like my life as no meaning,
Why was I here,
Was it to be a burden on my family,
I feel that's why I push them away,
I know longer call them to see if their are okay,
Maybe because they showed no reason to care,
Things I once loved.
are now just a brutal curse.
Why do I walk apon this earth.
Written by Davina Browne
12/10/15
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