Spanglish

Trying to keep up with my poetry while enjoying Austin, TX is difficult. This city is so much fun and distracting as hell! It does surge with memories, though... many good, good memories of a young poet and dreamer. There are also many mistakes here, but they are now sweet mistakes, as I have only grown from them and beyond them. I treasure those mistakes equally to the good memories. They made me who I am today as much as all my accomplishments. In fact, I would surmise that they shaped me more. This poem is a reflection of that acceptance, as I accept others' mistakes, I accept my own. We cannot help from whence we came, but we can choose to change the course of our family lineage.

Family Heirlooms

Unfurl a long list of Doe-

Eyed admirers, blinking,

Repeating in the head-

Lights, “You are soooo creative,”

And shake, shake, shake those ringlets,

For such Stepford sputtering

Strokes luscious curls much more

Than a post-punk mouthpiece

Could ever begrudge.

Oh Rose, Rose, Rosie

Rosie Posey

My sweet, Posing Rosie

Electric drill into a plaster

Wall with no stud

Behind me, I fade into the cream,

Crinkled, paper Victorian-

Hoodini of active

Observation, passive

Deliberation- you swing to

Ragtime and sparkle in

Fragmented sunshine,

Reflect upon crystalline sand

Sculptures, radiate and disappear into

My folds.

Rose, rose, Rosie

Rosie Posey

Pose, Pose Rosie

“A rose of another name

Just wouldn’t smell as sweet.”

The rose had another name, and never was it sweet.

Oh Rose, Rose, Rosie

Rosie Posey

My sweet, Posing Rosie

Esta bien, esta bien- la verdad.

Porque, you didn’t draw

The coat of arms- quien?

Nadie sabe, t’was

Antes del Robert el Bruce…

Ring around the Rose’s

Pocket full of Posies

Ashes in flashes and flashes in ashes,

We all fall down.

© Copyright 2009 Joanna Brown

Another one of time's creations

So, I started this poem at the beginning of a long-term relationship and finished it when it was over... it is symbolic of a real musical experience involving this person and also of the break down of communication that can happen when you are... well involved with a narcissist- eek. I know. Well, we all make mistakes, now don't we.

Blown

Sit. Listen.

Do you hear?

Dissonance rings to

Resolve- heated debate,

Ending with harmonious

Embrace-

Something created-

Something learned.

Eyes dart from fingers to

Mouths breathing

Life into metal

Vibrations plucked

Like ideas from thought to

Words that cannot be

Expressed, only felt by

The instinct of passion

And the measured movement of skin

Against skin.

Then, he takes,

No steals, a solo

When I thought, ‘ensemble,’

Means electrons shared,

Chemical change- molecules

Giving birth to something

New, unexpected, experimental.

But some bonds are weak with

Saxophone pocket pinball- you

Rationalize interjections with illogical

Explanations of jazz tradition.

Art forgotten by technical jargon-

Musical equations conquer, rape,

Pillage emotional nomads,

Barbaric collectivism.

Lulled in the cerebral,

Furrowed-brow lollygag,

You notice me silent

And suddenly ask, “Is everything okay?”

“Okay is difficult to define,” I say.

© Copyright 2008 Joanna Brown

A Day in the Auditory Life of an Austinite...

“Interference!”

Birds chattering, no,

Flirting.

Leaves applauding at

The rooster’s caw, “It’s still the day!”

Whishing tires over distant highway concrete

Shush train horns boasting, “I’m here! I’m here!

Here.

I’m off!”

The wind chime colliding, ming-^ming

-miiiiiiiing.

Motorcycles rev-rev-revving, strutting

Their stuff, “Grrr, grrr, grOwlllll!”

Bombastic bass pumping,

Bumping,

Flooding into this

Austin audio ascension.

© Copyright 2006 Joanna Brown

Aging

This is my salute to aging... in the face of my late twenties, I made a choice. I refused to "get old." This does not mean that I found the holy grail or found my way to a witch doctor... or am in denial. It simply means that I will do whatever I can to maintain my body so that I may remain as active as possible in my life. Meanwhile, I will not acknowledge deep within my soul that I am old, for I do not feel old. It is true thus far- you are only as old as you feel. Yes, I feel wiser, but do I feel old. Hell no.

P.S. It should be mentioned that my line breaks are VERY intentional in all my poems. Pay attention and you will be rewarded with a shower of double entendres.

Of Crow’s Feet

I still wear turquoise cowgirl

Boots and green eye

Shadow with a mini-

Skirt smile, yoga wit.

I’ll still gun you

Down with a sharp-

Shooter tongue- it saves

Space on the hard drive.

Because I can no longer decipher my wrist-

Watch. Well, I no longer

Carry a watch- what an utter waste

Of my dear, time.

© Copyright 2005 Joanna Brown