The Written Word

The Creative Meanderings of S. Brown

The Modern Woman


She is more precious than jewels but we think jewels make us beautiful.
She is trusted by one man but we think men should serve us.
She wishes no harm to come to her husband; we just wanna have fun outside of marriage.
She works with willing hands to provide for her household;  we aren’t satisfied with less but complain when there’s more.
She plants a vineyard;  we get drunk and party at the bars to celebrate our freedom.
She dresses herself with strength;  we barely dress at all.
She makes her arms strong with heavy labor,  we obsess over our bodies to be sexually attractive. 
She sacrifices sleep to make a profit,  we sacrifice our self respect to make one of our own.
She reaches her hands to the poor and helps the needy;  we’ve become needy lovers and poor,  back stabbing friends.
She’s not afraid of the cold;  were so busy playing it cool we forgot who we really were.
She is blessed with fine clothing and proper dress; we covet the ways of Hollywood and movie stars.
Her husband is know amongst those with position; we’ve emasculated our men to show them who’s boss.
She makes and sells clothes; we make like we have rights and sell away our souls.
Strength and dignity are her clothing; we changed our outfit to aggression and pride.
She laughs at the times to come; we laugh when he’s crude and talks a bit dirty.
She looks well in the eyes of her household;  we left the household to the babysitter and said we’d take a “real”  job.
Her children rise and call her blessed;  we killed ours before they were born.
Her husband praises her;  we divorced him because we didn’t feel in love anymore.
The modern woman has come so far from where womanhood began.  
She surpassed herself in her humanity.  Charm is her weapon and vanity her friend.
But the woman who fears the Lord understands….
“Give them the fruit of their labor”,  He says with tears in His eyes.  “Her works condemned her and led her to the gates of hell.”

Would You?


If I sold a book, would you read it?
If I made you a poem, would you care?
If I wept as I sang
For all that you meant
Would it settle on your ears
or on deaf ones?
If I traveled the oceans,  would you be there?
If I traversed o’er mountains,  would you care?
If my feet bled from walking
Just to tell you I love you
Would it touch your heart,
Or don’t you have one?
If I spoke all my secrets,  would you listen?
If I told you all answers,  would you care?
If my throat closed from speaking
All the blessings of heaven
Would it lead you to peace,
Or would you hate me?
If I wept for your soul,  would it matter?
If I prayed for salvation,  would you care?
If I bled and I died,
Just to keep you from hell,
Would you take what I offered,
Or reject me?

Would You?



The bitter sweet of me
Often leaves a painful aftertaste
I spit the dregs of the moment out
and wonder what it gave me.
The honey of truth still lingers on my tongue,
But not everyone appreciates it’s taste
And those who can’t stomach it
Stand back and Spit their bile in my face
Like backwash in a bottle of water,
I fight hard to drink life down
Why can’t I just keep my mouth shut?
But perhaps it’s the cup I’m not supposed to pass up
It’s the one I’m meant to drink,
But it’s bitter sweet,
Oh so bitter sweet
So bitter when tasteless becomes most loved
So sweet when true Love says well done
So bitter when you begin to understand
The world will blame you for their mistakes
For I have come to learn
You can offer to others the sweetest of drinks
But those who wait til it’s too late
Gulp down a sour reality.
But for those who taste and see….
The best sweetness is yet to come. 

Another Man’s Fantasy


My life is a series of contradictions

Lost directions and plans that never get written

Surrounded by chaos

As troublesome as the seas

On a night when tempests rage at their peak

I try to live somewhere between

The rising Crest of the waves

And the point at which it breaks upon the water below

Try as I might

I drown in the white water and wonder

Will I ever truly live as I did before,

When life was young and adventures sweet?

The world so promising back then

I drown

I rise

I drown

I rise

Is the world still full of dreams that I can attain?

Or are we all just living another man’s fantasy,

Trying desperately to conform

To the picture he draws out for us

The image he wishes to see?

Real Life Parables: Facebook Birthdays

“Why isn’t he deleted?”
Amanda watched the Facebook page on her phone light up and her face dropped into a frown.
The face looking up at her from the birthday page was an older man’s face with grey hair.   The funny little smirk on his face complimented his rosy cheeks and white beard, making him look a bit like Santa clause.
She read the words below his name: 65 Today.
Amanda sighed,  yes,  she thought,  he would have been.   She passed her fingers through her brown wavy hair and felt her stomach tighten into a knot.
She missed him.
She put the phone down and memories flooded her mind.   As soon as the memory in her head disappeared another would take its place.  There was the time he had taken the family to the petting zoo and rattle snake farm with the giant pigs,  creepy emu and skinny donkey that followed them around.   Then that time he brought cricket suckers and wanted everyone to try them.  Or what about the time he’d bought them didgeridoos for Christmas.  Before she knew it she was smiling.   What a crazy guy,  she laughed to herself.
But the best times were the times they had spent cooking.   She had probably spent more hours with him in her grandfather’s kitchen than any where else.   Amanda closed her eyes.   It was like stepping into the past for a moment.  In her minds eye,  everything was as it had been when she was still young.  The oven that was built into the wall.   The small counter space.   The yellowed tiles on the floor.  The huge wooden table just outside the kitchen.   The sliding glass doors that led to the back patio and the grill waiting to be used.   And most of all,  her uncle standing in the kitchen explaining to her what new recipe they would attempt that day and what her mission would be to help it happen.
Amanda sighed again,  but this time it was the deep sigh of someone who both feels joy and pain at the same time.   Joy for the blessing those moments with her uncle had been,  and pain because the world had lost such a unique person.
He had been an inspiration to her in so many ways.  He had taught her how to take risks; taught her that life was diverse, and it was most beautiful when people could accept that diversity and both learn to respect others and learn to be themselves at the same time.
She had once fumbled through her words to tell him this.   She closed her eyes tightly and tried to keep this memory away,  but found that it had embedded itself deep within.
He lay there on his bed,  waiting,  barely able to move around.   He waited for her to speak.   The unspoken words hung in the air like a darkness that refused to dissapate: this would be the last conversation they would ever have.   Her words just hadn’t been right.  She still didn’t know how she could have explained all that he had done for her.   How do you tell a man who is dying how much his life had meant to you?   How?  How?
Perhaps she would never know until she herself lay somewhere dying.   That gave her a sudden horrifying thought: who would be struggling to form their last words to her as she lay there breathing her last breaths of life?
I will strive,  she thought,  I will strive,  God,  to impact someone else’s life the way his life had impacted mine. 
She picked her phone off the table and smirked back her uncles photo.   “Happy birthday you crazy old man” she said aloud.   “See you next year.”

The Land of No Contrast


Where the light meets the dark

Is a land of no contrast

What once had been stark

Gets blended to grey

But when Day comes we’ll know

What the night truly was

In the sunlight well see all the damage was done,

In the shades of no color where no man is wrong

In the portrait of time

Our discernment gets faded

Where the brightness is dimness

And the shadows the in between

The flaws and mistakes in comparison  then,

Look a masterpiece of all humanity

But when  the Day comes we’ll see the picture remaining

All our shadows and half-light

Can’t save us from obscurity

Our colorless strokes and subjective “creativity”

Turn rights into wrongs

And nothing is as it seems

But when the Day comes we’ll see the image remaining

Mistakes we thought hidden in the faded in between

Become the lifeless image of a soul that needs redeemed

Where the light meets the dark is the hope of the dying

But the hope of the living is the Daylight that’s breaking

In its rays nothing hidden

In its rays all revealed

And the land of no contrast is silenced and stilled

The half lights the shadows the night and the grey

Relinquish their title of colorless obscurity

To the color and brilliance of victorious Day!

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