The unity of form and content is what distinguishes poetry from other areas of creativity. However, this is precisely what titanic work implies. Unscrambled Eggs by Nadia Brown (most read books .TXT) 📖
- Author: Nadia Brown
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truth and meaning
she forms between the lines
tantalizing those that journeys
through her thoughts
each phrase meticulously
garnered
refine and precise
in its demeanor
brilliance shows
its face time and again
through her painted
imagery
At dawn angels play
softly over the quietness
of a sleeping city
their laughter trickles
through the morning light
while beneath sheer clouds
dreamers dream of un‐ordinary pleasures
and thinkers lie awake
pondering terrestrial thoughts
Before I knew better, I used to think life was a cup of coffee. I had only to drink from it to know the world, every leaf, sapling tree, skyscraper. I suppose everything seems rudimentary when you are only a girl, much younger than birds. A small girl concerns herself with coloring books and fancy ribbons. She doesn’t understand purpose, the gravity of future? I always thought I had destiny caught between my thumb and nail, tucked neatly under my arm like newspaper. And someday, when I was ready, I could gather it from beneath my pouch of arm and began to build my evenings the way I imagined it.
In my dreams, night is an island—feverishly lit by fireflies; hairs on my head fall placidly upon my breast. I am cultured, more than rain allows me to be. Mom said that to her, I would always be a daffodil. That if I were committed, I could be sky if I wanted. But I didn’t realize that winter had other plans for dreamers like me. For it punctured my avenues, cracked open my yellow brick road. And there were no manuals for these kinds of circumstances.
Upon receiving my diploma—college had so much promise. But somehow, I managed to slip like fog from hours, compile four‐ plus years of university; still, I’m here, crouched in a silent room, peeling paint off walls that don’t want to be clean. After high school and years of planting, this was not what I expected.
Freedom was paved
through their strife
we live knowing that rivers
came from the flow of their
sweat and weeping
In unkind elements
they labored till sun subside
their souls supplied the earth
as strength and will were garnered
to keep with chores
courage planted seeds
bruised fingers
sore feet
laid the foundation
of this notable land
All I have said and thought
are washed away with your hands
as my pleas are gone
out the window like stone
like some shriveled flower
in the grave of her vase
where is jazz when I need her most
the blues tires of this house
and I am well acquainted with the notes
to this timeworn number the lyrics sing of some other love
her name mentioned plainly
in the back seat of your pull‐out jeans
let us not be the broken pot
nor like spoons twisted in reverse
we have begun to wear cracks
in our history
its breathing tempered
by chips and loose splinters
A lifetime knows my wants
to walk the path of Pharaoh
speak fluent the tongue of Spaniards
from scattered lands
Before fire charred its flame
I chose to be a pioneer
to have talents of birds
sing like a burgeoning flower
Prior to the moon beginnings
I implored artful hands
fingers that carve ships
a salient life laded with purpose
The hole in the sun
has not yet mended
so the rains continue to pour on my sector
of the earth
I have seen pools of
wailing hair,
pouring wet faces,
the tallness of grass
stretching over fences
to last four winters
I ponder when day
will improve his looks
for a man who speaks on the clouds
assures more pity skies
as sunlight has become like the cat
who waits to reveal herself
at some future time
Tears once spilt like
wailing rivers have
no weeping left to
douse the face
of a woman in mourning
a voice parched
and speaks like dust
has run out of sounds
to tender an ear
unwilling to bear blame
somewhere along jagged hills
words I’ve spoken lay perched against patient rocks
waiting to supply you
with thoughts you did not want
and refused to acknowledge
Our eyes close like blinds
to their quandary
how we sit on our hands
as we abet their plight
their suffering is bolstered
with the lost of clemency
as we gain more worldly things
they are left poverty
In a country of gold and ledger
lies a sea of poor
living in calamity
and discontentment
Nature whispers our secrets
underneath its conscious breath
unearthing new discoveries
as subtle as night appears
waves lapping ocean shores
murmur quietly our misgivings
while rains that pour through the doors of sky
informed rivers of what they have heard
even parts of mangled leaves
relay our transgressions
hearing the lies we feed someone else
watching as we live in obscurity
secrets we veiled tour
across the land
lingering amidst earth
until discovered
The dagger which bore my chest
leaves a scar of doubt
smashes my hope into crumbs of despair
it was arrogant of me
to think more that I am
but foolish of you
to consider me less
falling short of your list
you concluded me below standard
leaving just room
for whomever you feel deserving
I expected much too soon
having learned the lesson
I am not as I conceived
yet I exceed
your scant recognition
It is all in the metaphors
the way you pen words
that come to live
on the breath of each page
a stretch of moon carol your acclaim
and I observe how effortlessly
you temper night
sway the azaleas
to paint the stems of skin
your Hemingway muse
candor of lips
two poem hands
is all I need of you
Marlboro’s fumes have
choked all sense from your brain
taste for language
laden with four‐letter curses
sweetens your tongue
like roasted cacao beans.
Apparently sound reasons
cannot permeate thoughts
of a childlike man
prone to dealing tantrums
like moody two‐year‐olds.
No need for sermons
or lectures on your wants
kindly leave those orders
for someone else.
Today I am not a woman,
I am clamshells of silence,
a jellyfish, a stone, the callous between
thumb and forefinger.
Anything other than what I was
the day before.
I have seen more of you of late
to my disliking
are you confined to judging a man
by the hue of his skin
without knowing him
unkind words rankle
as gaping wounds
provoking opponents
of your sworn beliefs
while love of enmity
is used to disguise
the contempt you have for yourself
ignorance is the pillar you grasp a
wall you have built separating you
from them and them from you
aiding false perceptions
and beguiling views
understanding carries a person
to a place where there are not many
blind eyes become open
when they walk in the shoes
of the ones they oppose
I often wonder
if others relate
to my tireless rants,
delight in my pleasures,
or perhaps share my truths.
I weigh carefully
the opinions that some
have of me and ponder
the relevance of my speech.
Taking comfort from those
whom I’ve touched
but sighs bitterly when my
feelings go unnoticed.
Whether my thoughts inform
or lack the will to influence,
silence remains incapable
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