Guest Poet C. Lawry Brown

Audra's Ride

A powerful feeling comes over everything
As if we were one together,
alike in our sway
running and following simultaneous.
Tossing me from within
Your mane rakes the ground
harrowing morning's fragrance.
Our symphony's rhythm flows
In the rise and fall of two souls.
Driven onward, embracing the power
Devouring the speed.
For only moments the crescendo
of our breathing apexes.
Muscles quiver like 
the recoil of a slingshot.
With a greater sense,
we can smell our mortality.

September, 2000

C. Lawry Brown's Questions:

Do I create the feeling of incredible power on this magnificent animal?

I also try to show a bond that is experienced between horse and rider that touches on a higher plane.  I try to involve the senses with the "harrowing" and the "crescendo."  I becomes a powerful dance with a much deeper meaning.  Have I accomplished this as I hoped?

Empty Pockets

On the long road to work
each morning, preparation mile,
I see the same man, standing,
Leaning on his house, facing me.
Tall, slumped shoulders,
Hands buried in deep pocket cocoons,
His clothes worn, 
too big, they hang
Remembering once how they were full.
There are empty eyes that stare
To a place only he sees,
A part of youth and laughter
That was lost in his silent journey.
The October wind stirs the leaves
And for a moment, recognition,
His eyes spark with memory
That leaves quickly with the wind.
He fumbles, his hands searching
In the corners of his pockets,
For something there years ago,
That time has left empty.

September, 2000

C. Lawry Brown's Questions:

I try to show a sadness in this poor soul who just stands, staring into nothing, not knowing.  Something even more sad is I see this person on the drive to work in the morning, standing with a blank look on his face, just staring.  I try to show him as still having a little spark of life when the wind stirs but then it is gone in an instant.  This is so typical of elderly people, so tragic that all the memories of youth are lost. This is my intent to show that tragedy.  Do I accomplish this?


Papered walls, protecting well
the captive soul
Within windows like eyes
Peering into the normalcy.
Walls with rogue galleries,
Ancestral juries in judgment
of the blueprint souls
replicating days.
Plaster partitions separating
the world outside,
As stationary sentinels gathering time
while changing coats.

September, 2000

C. Lawry Brown's Questions:

Do I get across my point that we are all just blueprints of those who came before us?

I fashioned this after the dining room wall at my grandparent's house.  It was covered with dozens and dozens of pictures of my ancestors.  Some of them quite scary, the old tin types and black and white photos.  That dining room was like a tomb and the normal world was outside while the pictures just hung there, the wallpaper changed and more pictures were added. 

Thank you for all your comments.

The Albany Poetry Workshop