Thursday, April 29, 2010

French Vanilla Bliss by S. K. Brown

Oh my love,
my sweet sweet love.
Your talents,
far beyond imagination.
Your creamy goodness,
your intoxicating smell.
Your taste...
Life without you,

Secrets by S. K. Brown

Cracking Mind by S. K. Brown

the fog comes

slowly filling the void

suffocating, excruciating

there are no points of clearness

seeping slowly all around


pressing harder

stealing every breath

it wont come down the hole

where the darkness lays

it just floats high above

not daring to sneak in

coldness all around

deathly quiet

less my own heartbeat

it billows like smoke

almost whispering

insane hallucinations

of a cracking mind

Tuesday, April 27, 2010

Milk Duds by S. K. Brown

Milk duds.
Disgusting little balls of yuck.
Brown coating
wishing it was true chocolate.
Mystery filling....
Leave it at that,
just a mystery.
The fast squish of the brown goo
horrid crunch.

Bliss by S. K. Brown

Escaping Beauty by S. K. Brown

Changes by S. K. Brown

The fear of wondering,
Will I survive happily?
Will I be the best I can be?
Butterflies swarm
Or was it?
Growing so fast,
Nerves tickle the senses
Closer to the end,
Nerves turn to excitement,
Right around the corner
Growing more
Change is here
A new life
Changed forever.

Cold and Warm by S. K. Brown

So cold,
The dreary rain,
Will it ever stop?
Dark clouds roll and tumble,
Wind howling angrily,
Bitter cold.

So warm,
The bright sun,
Fabulous feeling,
Fluffy white puffs,
Lazy on the horizon,
Cooling breeze,
Beautifully warm.

Short Story : Beginings in Paris by S. K. Brown

Looking at Paris in this light, the shear beauty awakens. The sun, soon to drift away to sleep, sheds its last beauty in oranges, purples, blues, and yellows. As the last light falls from the sky, the city lights of Paris awaken. The Eiffel tower on the horizon illuminates with a power to the heart that is indescribable. Children in the streets rush home for dinner, while young lovers walk in couples through the streets. Somewhere in the distance a single Frenchman sings of love. A light breeze brings delicious fragrances from the little café down the street. The red wine, dry with a nice taste of berries, indulges even the most secret desires. The fire crackles and illuminates the room in gold and showers a feel of comfort and peace.

Jennifer has never felt so awake. Most of her travels were on business, always confined to a tiny hotel room. This was her well-earned treat. Jennifer had graduated from the University of Texas two years ago majoring in archeology and anthropology. Up until two weeks ago, she was buried in an Egyptian dig site hoping to find something incredible that may change the history of ancient Egypt. Now that the dig season is over, her small apartment in San Francisco just wasn’t enough of a vacation. The small artifacts that she herself has unearthed were incredible. Yet as the Egyptian government had closed the site for the next 6 months, she still couldn’t help thinking how close she was to finding out how Egypt was so technologically advanced for the time. With a smile on her face she closed her eyes and smiled.

That is how she awoke. The fire had died sometime in the night, and her glass of wine that she had been holding, now lay on the rug beside her chair. The birds were singing their early morning tune and the laughter of the children playing in the street put a smile on her face. She stared out the small window until the she saw her cab pull up. Grabbing her bags, she climbed into the cab and though hesitant to go, she knew what was waiting for her in Egypt.

The Color Black by S. K. Brown

To some I am but a nothing. To others I am emptiness quietly waiting their fall. I am the calm before and after the storm. I consume memories from an old man’s mind. I wait in purgatory with the oranges and yellows of fire. I cover demons and saints. I overcome the sick, in the very last stage of death when the light fades. I lurk in the back of the mind, the creator of empty thoughts. I overtake some, others I leave be. I am a restless anger without the redness. I am not who lurks in the shadows. I am the shadow. I am the terror that has no face. I help feed the darkest and most secret desires. I am darkness.

I am soothing after a long day’s work. I am beauty alone. I fill the nighttime sky, allowing bits of colors here and there. I hold the secrets of the deep ocean floor. I was the first before anything else existed. I exist not only here; I exist everywhere, beyond time itself. I am in every living soul’s eyes, which lead to their soul. I am placed with pride in art, literature, and music. I am the bite of pepper and the sweetness of chocolate. I am the ink used to write masterpieces. I am the exquisite, shinning beauty of the sports car. I am the sweat and muscle of the quarter horse. I go great with everything, minus the brown. I am only the color black.

Dreams and Reality by S. K. Brown

The ocean crashes against the cliffs in the distance. The sun warms from above. Sitting on an ancient stone wall that separates old clamed land in Ireland. A slight breeze drifts down from the mountains in the distance. The fragrances of heather and other wild flowers mix with fresh cut grass. The landscape is a patchwork of different greens as if a quilt was laid down over the earth. Maybe a glass of red wine, merlot or shiraz. Or even a sun brewed glass of ice tea. Animals such as cattle and horses graze near by. Beside me my numerous pens and paper await words of imagination.

Not impossible, but at the moment the dinning room table will do. Two dogs lay at my feet, hyperventilating due to a very severe thunderstorm. Lightening rips across the sky as thunder echoes loudly, shaking the windows and doors. The sound of Joe snoring along with the washing machine in the background grinds out quietness. The incense burns smoothly, adding a wonderful scent that helps relax.

Magic Beans by S. K. Brown

"Magic beans?" Chris laughed until the purple one cracked open with a 'pop' and a tiny leaf appeared.

"Of course magic beans." Jeanette laughed. She has always been mysterious, with her crystal clear eyes and long, flowing red hair.

Another pop and the green bean cracked. A long, thin green stick started growing straight up.

"I can't believe this." Chris said in awe as the little leaf out of the purple bean had already grown into a small budding rose bush.

" The more you believe in them, the more they will help you." At that Jeanette stood and walked away.

Chris stared. The stick in the green bean was almost as tall as him now and was branching out. The purple bean that is now a rose bush, began blooming with all different colors of roses. Yet, the red bean still hadn't popped, cracked, or even moved.

Later on that week, Chris walked outside in his backyard to find a huge tree with what seemed to be rolls of parchment growing off of the blooms. The rose bush was so rich with color he was just enchanted.

Out of curiosity, Chris picked a rose. The scent was divine, and after inspecting the large, deep red bloom, a ruby fell in to his hand. He was blown away. He picked a yellow rose. Again a gem fell onto is hand, this time a yellow topaz. All he could think was 'oh my…'

'Where was Jeanette?' he thought to himself. He had always yearned for her, but she just seemed too perfect for him. What was he kidding; he was and always had been in love with her.

Something popped at his feet. The red bean cracked and was smoking as if it had caught on fire. Time seemed to stop and before long there was Jeanette under the tree.

"I have loved you my whole life." He blurted out, and ran to kiss her. She picked one of the odd blooms on the tree and handed it to Chris. It was money! One bloom held thousands of dollars. He nearly fainted.

"Chris! Are you okay?" Jeanette began slapping him," I guess you had a long day."

Chris awoke with his head in his bean bowl and Jeanette, his maid, slapping him awake.

"I had the oddest dream." He stared into her crystal eyes. She just lifted an eyebrow and walked into the kitchen.

Short Story : Memories of Paris! by S. K. Brown

He could still remember the sounds of Paris. Sweet music drifting in and out of shops, bars and restaurants. The small cobblestone walkways, the fragrances of something sweet. The Eiffel Tower on the horizon brightly lit. It had been 10 years and it was the same. Except what once was a happy time for him, he was now burying his wife. It was her last wish before the cancer took her. She had been too young. The funeral was 3 days time and after that he wasn't sure where he would end up.

There was a small restaurant down from the tower. The pastries smelled of heaven. There were two customers besides him and no one behind the counter. He could hear quiet curses from the kitchen. When the door flew open he couldn't catch his breath.

Her hair was a fiery mess and so was her face, which paled when she saw him.

"I'm so sorry. Not used to having new customers. What can I get ya?" her thick, roughish Irish accent surprised him.

He ordered a few danishes and a glass of wine. She stared dumbfounded for a bit, then went to get his order.

He chose a window table, with an amazing view of Paris. The danishes were enough to send him into a quite wonderful daydream. He was interrupted when the woman sat across from him.

"Where is your wife on such a beautiful night?" She glanced down at his wedding ring, which he had refused to remove.

"Not here." He looked down into his glass feeling emotion swell inside him.

"You bring her back here. It's nice not having the French come in and go on about how horrible it is to have the Irish in France. Now go buy her some flowers and tell her you're sorry for whatever you did." She smiled once again, patted his shoulder and walked back into her kitchen.

The night air was chilly and seemed a storm was blowing in. As he rounded the corner to his hotel, the raindrops began. Lightening lit up the sky as loud thunder echoed off the buildings.

The morning of the funeral came too fast for John. He stood, listening to the priest, staring down into the hole that his wife would soon be laid to rest. He was numb. He had always thought he would go first, but why her? And for god's sake why so young?

He waited. The sky opened and a light rain fell. The coffin that he had chosen was slowly lowered. The white roses lay, thrown over her, thickening the air with their fragrances. He didn't think he could ever smell a rose again without thinking about this moment.

He was beginning to feel dizzy and weak, so he turned to leave. The red hair caught his eye first as she was kneeling three rows down. She sat, covering her eyes. He slowly approached.

"Excuse me. Do you remember me?"

She looked up and to his amazement she smiled. Even with her cheeks tear-stained, she could warm the soul.

"Just visiting my late husband, what are you doing here?"

"I just buried my wife." He stared back in the direction of her final resting place.

"Ahh. Lets go get something to warm our bellies and take the tenseness off our shoulders."

They walked away from the graveyard and away from the main strip that lead to the Tower. Hidden away in an alley, was a small Irish pub. They sat down and spoke about all that they could. From then on out they were as close as close friends could become.

Four years had passed. John and Maggie were sitting in a small café in Italy, when John collapsed for the last time. The cancer had finally taken its toll.

Later, at the graveyard, John was laid to rest beside his loving wife. Maggie spoke with love.

"To all that knew the Smiths. They both were brave, courageous people. They were madly in love and now their love can last forever in heaven above. They know no more pain and suffering and have eternity with each other. In my eyes, they defeated the evil that flowed through their veins. Always remember their strength when something ill comes your way. Cherish the memories you have of them. Most of all never forget."

She walked slowly away, and toward her husband's grave. Smiling she sat down and cried. She cried for her husband, she cried for John and his lovely wife, but mostly she cried to shed the pain. Her time was coming and like John said, "Live each day like you are going to die the next." With that she picked herself up and left. S. K. Brown

Fabulous butterflies,
rich with purples, greens and blues.
Gorgeous sparkling stones,
glistening under the cool stream.
Metallic fish of all colors,
swim here and there.
Songs of birds,
echo through the hidden valley beyond.
Giant mountains,
rising up toward heaven.
Blooming trees,
whispering in the breeze.
Kneeling on the wooden floor,
she closes her eyes,
listening to the world she just created in her mind.
Blocking out the gunshots,
the screams,
the cries.
In a world she is trapped in,
her only escape,
is a distant magical paradise.