Poetry by
Tomas Brown-Crooks
| "El Poesic
Pique del Pulchritude" Ese en su honor erguida monumentos hoy interior mi Jardín de Dolor El Poesic Pique del Pulchritude. I. Inconversant to cognizant sensation keeping monologue with murdered relativities, coagulate discriminations diurnal nights half- past witching hour Fused kindle to pentagram those of weary mind, smitten witless mindless by your quietous bloom drifting 'cross perception ragged tethers- involved comeliness the breath impeding reflective clearness swine know equally cower against II. As terrible cloudforms misshapen omnipotence clamored above rocking pen and Good Fellow to Fear's bosom. words bruted sound unwilling forces that compelled prophet to scribe showered God's Awakening when chisel met granite: most b a s i c element transcending beauty: organized chaos of independent contemplation III. Forming airwaves, echoes in prophet's footprints prehistoric of molding yet fecundic of Fate archaic of wonderment yet o'ergrown in Galaxy through Nostradamus's periscope as to you Poesy was torch taken. The churlish fled- monarchy harvested under a moon spilt Red. IV. Mournfully giving light fretter, scolder and quibbler Tri Ni Ty Father, Son and Holy Ghost Martrys of the new Fortune beat quilled nib 'twixt shadows and afterglow, lanterns striking sight to rung and noose I held monologue with dialogue as stone hurled laden of a thousand emnities painting brow cresting preception contorting sensibility of ration Unable to gather Speech's elegance and dress her hand. V. Knelt basked in reverence 'neath your closure Each rolling tear fleeting down pathways into soul: 'twas pressed palms confused rawness who sought this end not I that in your honor erect monuments today inside my Garden of Sorrow El Poesic Pique del Pulchritude. |
Copyright 2006 Tomas Brown-Crooks
All Rights Reserved
| Tomas Brown-Crooks: I was born and raised in Houston, Texas (Harris County). I first began writing at the age of 5, and I’ve dreamt of the day when eloquent speech would digress from being anachronistic and just plain esoteric to my critics and fans alike, and would instead take me elsewhere. I one day wish to be the one reading alongside Penny Arcade, Emily XYZ and the likes of Allen Ginsberg. “Always remember that while Art may be product, product can never be called Art.” —Penny Arcade |