|
Details |
Lesley Brown Poem
Lightning strikes again
The flames dancing wildly
It crumbles and falls
Copyright © Lesley Brown | Year Posted 2011
|
Details |
Lesley Brown Poem
A drop.
Slowly it grows.
A ring is formed, encompassing the people.
Forever spreading.
Touching and reaching everything.
Finally, it tickles the cattails around the pond.
What a splash!
Copyright © Lesley Brown | Year Posted 2011
|
Details |
Lesley Brown Poem
She sits in the field watching
the sun slowly rise above the hill.
The warm rays wash over
her skin as light fills the sky.
She sits in the field remembering
the pain, reliving that dreadful day.
Those heart-wrenching words
forever burned into her mind.
She sits in the field and raises
her hand to her bare head.
Fingers gently caress the
stubble of hair slowly returning.
She sits in the field wrapping
her arms around her now flat chest.
The most prominent feature of a
woman now lost to her forever.
She sits in the field, the taste of salt
in her mouth and tears staining her cheeks.
The hope of survival sitting
just out of reach.
She sits in the field thinking
of her should-have-been future now lost.
Another prayer fall from her lips
as she asks for a miracle.
She sits in the field watching
the sun slowly rise above the hill.
Hoping for more days like these
and praying for it all to just end.
Copyright © Lesley Brown | Year Posted 2011
|
Details |
Lesley Brown Poem
The flames
leaped and laughed
and licked at my skin.
And yet you didn’t save me.
The house
crumbled and crackled
and around me caved in.
And yet you didn’t save me.
Unclean!
Unclean! you cried
and watched the ashes spin.
Now it’s too late to save me.
In response to “A Short History of Judaic Thought in the Twentieth Century” by Linda
Pastan
Copyright © Lesley Brown | Year Posted 2011
|
Details |
Lesley Brown Poem
As you walk past giving
a quick glance my way
I think you might see me,
but you never do.
I try to wave to you
as you search for someone
that’s not there, but
you look right past me.
What happened to you?
We used to be friends.
When you were young.
Before you started to hate me.
Once in a while I think
I see a flicker of the old you.
But you’ve distorted your
face with black lines
and rosy color.
Your fake smile and
dead stare don’t trick me.
I know you too well.
I watch you every morning
as you get ready for the day.
I strain to see you in this reflection.
Where are you?
I want to say hello.
Copyright © Lesley Brown | Year Posted 2011
|
Details |
Lesley Brown Poem
Black cars parked along the street,
an empty swing moving back and forth,
the grass turning brown, curling at the tips.
Street lights flicker on in the gray drizzle,
homes turn warm and welcoming,
but not that house.
Rooms brighten up so people can see,
quiet conversations fill the air,
but it’s still empty.
That one room is still dark,
clothes on the floor crumpled and dirty,
a book lays open waiting to be finished
Copyright © Lesley Brown | Year Posted 2011
|
Details |
Lesley Brown Poem
You said it was nothing,
that we would be alright,
that it was just a symbol,
a yellow piece of cloth.
Nothing was going to happen,
Yeah. Right.
Tell this to me now,
look me in the eye.
I know you can’t.
It’s been a long time
since yellow was just a color
and our star was just a shape.
They need no excuse to be violent.
They do that all on their own.
You said it was nothing,
that we would be alright.
Well look where we are now.
This poem is written in response to a section from Elie Wiesel's Holocaust memoir Night.
Copyright © Lesley Brown | Year Posted 2011
|
Details |
Lesley Brown Poem
No air, no space, no light
water gone, food gone, people gone
He can’t take it much longer –
might go crazy.
He thinks it’s a dream,
a hallucination
the train has stopped.
Reality sets in as quickly
as it seemed to have faded.
The doors are ushered open
by bullets and shouting.
Left! Right! Stop! Leave it!
His dignity is stripped away with
every piece of clothing he takes off.
At least water is coming soon.
Do you think the guards would
notice if he drank some? They
would probably laugh at him.
No air, no space, no light
He holds on to the reassurance
of a shower when he should
be preparing for death.
His water never came,
the showerheads never
sputtered to life --
This was written in response to the horrors of the Holocaust: Jews transported in
cattle cars, told they were going to get showers, but then killed by way of gas.
Copyright © Lesley Brown | Year Posted 2011
|
Details |
Lesley Brown Poem
The sun, sliding over the hill
Tickles the clouds with his long arms
As he stretches before going to bed.
As he yawns, color flashes through his mouth
And his tongue paints the sky with golds and reds.
The animals come to say goodnight
As he slips behind the mountains.
The moon comes out to take his place as watchman.
He tucks in the sun with a starry blanket
And watches over Earth for the night.
Copyright © Lesley Brown | Year Posted 2011
|
Details |
Lesley Brown Poem
Heat.
Rising off the pavement
in vaporous waves,
seeping through every crack.
Its forked tongue whispering
illusions in your ear.
Your mind sees pictures
that aren’t really there.
Its coiling tail wraps
around your body,
sweat dripping
from every pore.
You try to escape but the poisonous
gas follows you everywhere.
Nowhere are you safe
from the burning grip of heat.
Only the power of rain
can deliver you from this hell.
For the rain can repair
what the heat destroyed.
The coolness of rain can
wash away the dirt and grime.
It soothes the burns and
cleans the wounds.
Come, oh rain,
and heal our broken bodies,
deliver us from this
world of flames and pain.
Copyright © Lesley Brown | Year Posted 2011
|
|