Biography of clarence brown
I am a recovering heroin addict and I dicovered that writng helps me in that recovery. I am currently attending school for addictions counseling and, eventually, to teach English.
clarence brown Poems
Of Steel Cages And Flowered Meadows
At times I am wrapped in blankets of assurance that warm me, infuse me with a willingness to sleep that is the antithesis of survival To wake is a Lazarine feat daily done-to lie still is to die the death of Narcissus, yet, within these confines, no movement is possible
Cost Of Living
Grand copses of trees and finest marble adorn these hallowed grounds and honor there is given greater than ever here was found A mans' home is his castle, his easy chair a throne
The 'souls' Of My Shoes
Have walked down avenues of ashes, puffing around my ankles, settling peppered gray against black Trod through wee hours and cold, empty bowers- spilled time
A young girl in a short skirt, only thirteen but fully grown still with the mind of a child who should be safe at home Similac and survival have done this to our daughter
This river turns a grindstone as its' water tumbles me to its' sharpest rocks and deepest depths Scraped thinner, shaven cleaner, purified over mossey
Our Daily Dread
Of creatures cursed, forgotten by God, loneliness treats with no man but lays the rules and decides later, deals out the fatal hand Loneliness writes for us letters that make us turn and run
Carved marble in motion is she and, ever, her sunlight loveliness beckons The ring of purest crystal stroked by caressing finger I am not blinded by her light but aided in seeing the miracle strength of a flower, grown proud through cracks in concrete,
Some of us must face mirrors out of which shine hunted eyes or the merciless leer of hunters seeking some rotten, worthless prize Rabbit run and rat scurry as fallow honor lies and courage to conquer turns to vapor as it slowly dies
Softly the silence falls in the halls of ignorance Semesters and trimesters, we wade through the water made by murmers of stupidity; a susurrus flowing continously, it wells forth from decapitated necks like the blood of saints It is received with as much impact as is politically correct.
As the night falls carressing, her hooded face presses close to mine, suggesting, whispering She, an unwelcome lover, slithers ever closer: I read my horoscope upon her starry brow Her breath sickening-sweet, cloying. Her arms surround me with solar winds, draw out my secrets with my breath I speak my own curses into being-secreted bodies now dug up and submitted for my perusal
The Lives Of Our Sons
On the west coast where blow the winds of Santa Anna, they live lost lives and pay homage to Tony Montana where red and blue rags have become more than sacred though covered in these cloths, still, they are fully naked
I know where this comes from, where it would go the same scary- sweet dreams- they frighten me so they wait like invaders for me to sleep, to relax for me to forget, to paint over grim facts
In my dream I run so fast the ground I barely touch passing over crystal steams, brown mounds of earth and such yellow desert sands puff behind me, brown green mountains and much that I dare not stop to look at for running from the clutch
Softly the silence falls in the halls of ignorance
Semesters and trimesters, we wade through the water made by murmers of stupidity;
a susurrus flowing continously, it wells forth from decapitated necks like the blood of saints
It is received with as much impact as is politically correct.
Name brands and fashion plans occupy the front pews nearset the pulpit wherein is enthroned the propounder of doctrine of 'Mine'
The message of 'Me'