Friday, December 09, 2011

Black Feathers Against The Moon

Art by Dave Boles, Grass Valley

—Danielle Brown

My mother tucked me into bed,
leaned over and kissed me on the head.
She bid me goodnight and said,
Don’t let the bed bugs bite, my dear,
as the candle melted into the dark of the night.

The night sky was the blackest I had seen,
so black my eyes felt like they were drowning.
Drowning in a never-ending black hole,
leading to nothing but emptiness and death
as the candle melted into the dark of the night.

I heard a yell and bang down stairs.
Looking up I saw the candle oozing wax,
while I gripped my sheets,
tighter and tighter with every creak,
as the candle melted into the dark of the night.

My feet slowly inched out of the covers,
one by one afraid of the spirits in the air.
Quickly, I slung my body over the edge of the bed
and jumped, jumped as far from the bed as possible.
Scared of the bright yellow-eyed monsters,
as the candle melted into the dark of the night.

Every step echoed in the hallway,
calling out to the demons waiting,
hiding in every crevice seething,
spilling out a frantic unrecognizable speech,
creeping closer and closer to my shaking body,
as the candle melted into the dark of the night.

A shadow seeped through the window
stretching, reaching towards me,
swaying back and forth in a rickety motion
desperately searching for a leg or arm to grasp.
Wanting to engulf me into the pit of darkness
as the candle melted into the dark of the night.

Finally the room from which came the scream.
Hand slowly grasps the door knob.
A loud creak rings in the air.
Goose bumps begin to crawl up my arms
A chill runs down my spin,
as the candle light flickers out into the dark of the night.

—Danielle Brown

I see heaven when I close my eyes.
Framed by long luscious eyelashes,
deep brown eyes star into mine,
digging and scratching their way into my soul.
Strong hands run their way through my hair.
Your presence bringing me to another world,
one more beautiful and simple than the one we’re trapped on.
Please, forever-repeating morning,
don’t make me open my eyes.
Don’t make me live without you.


—Danielle Brown

White lilies fill the room

I muster the strength to open the door
Your angelic face is plastered everywhere
Oh God...
A casket is sitting directly ahead of me
An involuntary sob escapes
My hands clench
I begin walking forward
You don’t have to, Danielle...

Your dark brown hair’s flowing in the wind
A smile stretches across your face
Laughter sounds
Your favorite, white lilies, are in your hair
You grab my hand
We dance together
I’m smiling and laughing
I open my eyes. Oh...

I walk forward to see, one last time
Your lips are drawn straight...emotionless...
My dear
Beautiful white lilies fill your cold, still eyes
I should have known
Life is gone
White lilies are everywhere

—Danielle Brown

Holding hands and twirling in circles,
we danced in the black of the night
Dismissing all our troubles
they merged into the dark
we laughed together
for a moment
we forgot
we were


—Danielle Brown

Their black feathers gleam against the moon.
The sky a deep purple turning,
waiting to become the night
crows stretch their crooked wings
they fly and night falls
without warning
they own night,
spread it,

Art by Dave Boles

—Danielle Brown

I’ll be there for you any time of day
He’d say while smiling and holding me
Mine forever, you’ll never be betrayed

Words that built me like a sculptor with clay
He’d bid goodbye, hug me and say you’ll see
I’ll be there for you any time of day

I would then look up while begging and pray
I’d smile, just as happy as could be
Mine forever, you’ll never be betrayed

I ran to our room and yes there he lay
His bare body with arms strong as a tree
I’ll be there for you any time of day

There right beside him lied my best friend May
He had stopped saying it—how’d I not see?
Mine forever, you’ll never be betrayed

My mind traveled back, when he used to say
the words that would completely set me free
I’ll be there for you any time of day
Mine forever, you’ll never be betrayed


—Danielle Brown

I’ve never wanted anything more.
To just lean in a little closer,
crushing that space between us.
Touching his lips with mine,
discovering a new world
unexplored, completely unknown
but somehow...
I know it would be unforgettable.
Sadly this juicy apple
is irresistibly forbidden.


Thanks to a couple of (unrelated) Browns from Davis for today's poetry (welcome to the Kitchen, Danielle—good to see D.R. Wagner's UCD students tackling forms and rhyming and repetition!), and to Dave Boles for his art pieces, including some concrete poetry which we don't see much of these days. He says his typewriter pieces were done in the early '80s on a Smith-Corona electric typewriter. As always, Medusa pix can be enlarged by double-clicking on them.

The new issue of Convergence is available online; go to Cynthia Linville writes: Look for work by Elison Alcovendaz, Myles Boisen, Alan Britt, Jarrett Bywaters, Lance Calabrese, Martin Elwell, Robert Lietz, Paul McMillan, Joyce Odam, Robert Sanders, Allyson Seconds, Stephen Williams, and Brenda Yamen. In addition, Editors' Choice pages and photos throughout the website are updated monthly or bimonthly, so stop by often. Brad Buchanan is the featured poet this month at You can now follow us on FaceBook, too:!/pages/Convergence-An-online-journal-of-poetry-and-art/128353453912079

Better get up early tomorrow to catch the eclipse of the sun: the action starts at about 4:45a.m.; the “full point” will be around 6:05. Look to the west. The moon will be a bright red, due to the layer of dust around the earth, and it’ll be a “low hanging moon”, to add to the drama. Go to for more.

Here are a "moon" photo and poem by Katy Brown. (Well, the moon is in the title, anyway...) We also have a new photo album on Medusa! This one is Katy's photos of the Sac. Poetry Center Benefit last week at the Millers' home; check it out!

Today's BiggerNip: 

—Katy Brown, Davis

In the great green room
—do you remember how this ends?—
a cautious man lies curled in fitful sleep.

He hates being late: three alarm clocks,
one behind the other—
all 15 minutes early, face his bed.

Time drips away from the second hand
of the last clock.
He no longer hears it ticking.

In the great green room
brass rubbings and photographs
of grown children.

And a clock that drips time.
A small bronze sloth on his bureau
and an array of bottles—

his careful record of pills taken.
A large dressing-mirror
thins a familiar face.

In the great green room
the man sleeps fitfully—
as shadows drain color all around.



 Moonrise over Folsom Lake College
—Photo by Katy Brown