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Brooke Mitchell Poem
I was on the run from the sun. Unaware of the fact that WE ARE ALL ONE./ I'd forgotten
where we all come from. And this pathetic writing fuels no purpose; an empty mode of
expression...In and out are the same./ I learned that the day I came into this world. Out of
one mother and into another. My mother earth. I thank god for my ability to give birth. To
create a life worth living, I must get better at the art of giving. And lose my war against
thinking. For only in true surrender does freedom live,/ and in that place lies my ability to
give/ WHOLEHEARTEDLY./ I must continue down the path that my first sacred breath started
me./ The moment my heart started to beat, I became aware of this thing called "me"./ And
when my brain formed,/ thoughts clouded the lense through which I see. And still here I be,/
a walking manifestation of the fact that god means FREE.
Copyright © Brooke Mitchell | Year Posted 2009
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Brooke Mitchell Poem
I am centered./ My mind has charted countless intellectual planes, and has been found
wanting./ Wanting more./ Wanting the divine energy of OHM to penetrate my every pore./
Wanting the raging heat of union to melt me down like iron ore./ Extracting from within me
that distilled portion of perfection the glows metallic in the early evening light../Dissolving
any urge to fight within me, my eyes become open to that light within me./ And that life
within me/ burns so bright./ If fills me with freely flowing fluid verse...
Copyright © Brooke Mitchell | Year Posted 2009
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Brooke Mitchell Poem
I walked across the moon
And found myself face to
Face with an other.
She told me she held the
Secret to creation. I asked
Her to please hand over
This vital information. She
Said, "Breath, my friend,
Is the beginning to every
End."
Copyright © Brooke Mitchell | Year Posted 2009
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Brooke Mitchell Poem
My blood sugar drops./ No longer in tip top shape. In a dazed state, I underrate the truth in
every word./ I wish my song was as beautiful as that of a birds./ And my connection to the
earth, was as strong as that of a worms./ We live our lives afraid of germs: microscopic
beings we can't disturb./ Unable to control that which is not seen./ Irradiating the seeds to
everything green, so that when the heart of a child sings, they won't know what it means./
They've been transformed into spritually impaired sentient beings. In love with superficial
things./ Blinded by the idea that love resides in a pair of expensive gold rings./ Deaf to the
lullaby that mother earth sings.
Copyright © Brooke Mitchell | Year Posted 2009
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Brooke Mitchell Poem
Writing stops fighting./ As we empty the chambers of our minds, streaming raw un-filtered
emotions through the channels of our pens, our brains become clear; fitted with a new lens.
Muddled thoughts become distilled. Violence turns to silence. Trading anger for kindness, and
sight with blindness, in the intention that we may create hope/ out of this fire that we've
stoked./ I hope I haven't spoken out of turn, but this burn in my lungs/ and the taste on my
tongue, full of bitterness, reminds me why I have chosen a quiet mode of communication
over this. Because noise calcifies the mind./ Never to see what lies behind/ the portal of
discovery called the Pineal Gland./ Secreting the sacred chemical of god that baptized you at
birth. The power present then, is the same one in this pen./ And though words create
illusions, and we feel stuck in our delusions,/ down the rabbit hole we must go./ Let your
spirit knead you like a piece of dough. Molding you into the true form you were born in,
through, and from./ When I was nine I built my own drum./ And outer manifestation of my
heart and its ability to beat./ Guiding my feet along the track that they tread./ I will follow the
eternal thread of life that we are all strung from./ And from this pen that pours forth ink, I
lay these words upon some paper/ so that my mind can cease to think.
Copyright © Brooke Mitchell | Year Posted 2009
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Brooke Mitchell Poem
Warm, dark, and
Soothing.
Your promiscuous
Odor lulls me into
A spell
Of nostalgia and
Excitement.
Your rubust flavor
Fills me with a
Voluptuous
Propensity for something
Spicy, and as your
Contagious titillations
Course
Through my body,
My brain becomes
Enveloped in
An euphoric wonderland.
Copyright © Brooke Mitchell | Year Posted 2009
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Brooke Mitchell Poem
I talk in circles./ Pulling you deeper into a well of confusion./ Spinning in this whirlpool of
language/ you remain FIXED,/ as words fall from my mouth in a state of profusion./ This
circular net of language is forever/ flinging your mind out of space, and into the ether./
Rhymes cut like a razor./ I'm sitting in a daze here./ I feel I might go crazed here.../ The
warm wind of reality whips across my face./ I am not a member of this white-faced race./ I
am not a player of this game called hate./ And I will not partake of that animal on your
plate./ Eat some magic mushrooms/ and open up the gates of your mind so you can learn to
see./ My perception is one step short of lunacy./ Inhale into my lungs...the sacred breath of
OHM will set me free.
Copyright © Brooke Mitchell | Year Posted 2009
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Brooke Mitchell Poem
Stories pour from my third eye in an iridescent stream of emerald green light.
CONSCIOUSNESS HAS NO COLOR.
And one day my consciousness will transcend the mere shape of a letter./ The slippery sound
of a sentence slithering snakelike from the space in between your lips. Trading the velvet
vocal vibrations of my throat for silence's silken texture.
Copyright © Brooke Mitchell | Year Posted 2009
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Brooke Mitchell Poem
I listen to
The "thump-thump"
Of my heart.
All words drain
From my brain,
Creating a hollow
Chamber like the
One from which
The first word
Came...
Copyright © Brooke Mitchell | Year Posted 2009
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Brooke Mitchell Poem
This paper is wet./ Allowing the seeds of my words to sprout./ Though silence holds every
truth,/ our brains have closed off to this sayer of sooth./ Forgetting to remember all things
tribal./ Let's open our hearts to an archaic revival./ Reviving our insides; giving them life./
The facts of this presence cut sharper than a knife./ More solid than a dike,/ and shining
brighter than the light/ emitted by the sun./ A warm reminder of the fact that WE ARE ALL
ONE.
Copyright © Brooke Mitchell | Year Posted 2009
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