(Name)RandellBriggs(Age) Male(Emailrb@tronicvision.com(Url)www.tronicvision.com
(urlname)TronicvisionEntertainment
(Sign)Leo
(Whereufrom)West
(Ethnic)Black
(MyPoem)

ART
is been said that loves supreme...
The only thought in a womans dream...
That life long knot- thats tied by two...
That Deep soul sweet- felt only by few...
So deep in love-the heart would swell..
And only on one-the mind willd well..
Till time corruption deal sits blow.
.A leaves love fire-A dying glow..
Love too me-is like a rose..
Swee tand thorny-with a steady pose.
The petals are happiness-blooming gay
.The thorns are loves pain-felt some day..
So when yearning for love why gamble so
The pleasures-a-plenty--sweet to flow...
Theres sweet satisfaction--
A sextacy goes
CIfyou snatch each petal-
off the Rose.Randell!
!
 

Love Disease
(these brothas)
by Amanda Penn

i'm sick of these brothas actin like love is a disease
sayin that 4-letter word to every female they see

i'm sick of these brothas using love to try to tempt me,
but if it's not from their heart their words to me are just empty

i'm sick of these brothas comin at me with those tired lines
you know the ones that go "what's your name what's your sign"

i'm so sick of these brothas actin like they're doctors of love
or like a gift God sent from the Heavens above

i'm sick of these playaz or 'playa wanna-BEs'
actin like love is some kind of disease

i'm sick of these brothas with their tired, wack game
actin like its gonna gain them some fame

their game is like a cold i get
i've caught it but now i'm over it

so a warnin to all you fellas who don't understand the meaning of love,
you might just be one of the brothas mentioned above

so change your game, or find yourself alone
listenin to Ms. Badu and callin TYRONE.

Instrumental Love

Spooning bodies measure time
in swing tunes of long ago.
My hips stroke rhythms upon
your tympanic belly as you respond.
I feel your heart beat,
beat against my back
as you caress my breasts.
Let me pluck your thigh
like an upright bass,
chord your ivory ribs.
Your tongue plays soft sax
melodies on my neck.
I slide upon your form,
a trombone teasing out notes.
My voice hits notes of ecstasy
against your trumpet moans,
the slow bump and grind of
hips moving to jazz phrasing.
 

copyright ©Joyce Brown  1999

Amigo’s Hothouse

Up a wide staircase to the second floor,
in a hot dark room is the home of stick figures.
Painted on the wall, dancing to silent rhythms.
Poised against the patrons in the room,
figures move, the poet stands and patrons sit.
A solitary stick figure fades into the background
forming a shadow to the poet.
Stale tobacco chokes the nostrils while
the patrons compete for fresh air.
Ears struggle to hear the voice of the poet.
The din erupts into the space,
drummers drum louder.
Pulsating, rhythms, beating,
the figures begin to spin,
gyrating movements suspended in space.
The drummers fix their notes
above the voice of the poet.
Notes and words mix in a cauldron like magic.
In that space couples engage in conversation.
Words compete in voice with notes
while cold beer spills into plastic pitchers.
Paper bills rustle and change clashes to the counter.
Where gulps of ale sate hot palates,
straws suck up drinks and ice chinks in glasses.
Laughter breaks like an ionic collision.
The figures continue to dance silent steps in space.
The poet stops,
drummers cease,
patrons are silent,
and the figures freeze against the wall.

copyright© Joyce Brown 1993

Amigo’s Hothouse

Up a wide staircase to the second floor,
in a hot dark room is the home of stick figures.
Painted on the wall, dancing to silent rhythms.
Poised against the patrons in the room,
figures move, the poet stands and patrons sit.
A solitary stick figure fades into the background
forming a shadow to the poet.
Stale tobacco chokes the nostrils while
the patrons compete for fresh air.
Ears struggle to hear the voice of the poet.
The din erupts into the space,
drummers drum louder.
Pulsating, rhythms, beating,
the figures begin to spin,
gyrating movements suspended in space.
The drummers fix their notes
above the voice of the poet.
Notes and words mix in a cauldron like magic.
In that space couples engage in conversation.
Words compete in voice with notes
while cold beer spills into plastic pitchers.
Paper bills rustle and change clashes to the counter.
Where gulps of ale sate hot palates,
straws suck up drinks and ice chinks in glasses.
Laughter breaks like an ionic collision.
The figures continue to dance silent steps in space.
The poet stops,
drummers cease,
patrons are silent,
and the figures freeze against the wall.

copyright ©Joyce Brown 1993

Lady in Red

Langston Hughes: A Documentary
                American Literature 201

Langston Hughes' melodic tones
playfully reading,
his voice an instrument
hOp SkiP and a JUMP,
Lawd have mercy!
A magnificent Black woman
danced in sync with the words.
The folds of her flared dress
swirled up in the air
as she turned, spinning.
Funneled beneath the skirt
bared, slender, brown legs
floated across the stage.
Back arched, she raised bare arms
plucked the air like a harp.
The pianist tapping ivory
glancing occasionally at her.
Voice, dance and music
formed an improvisational jazz.
Poet, musician and dancer
each as soloists
breaking out of the form
then returning to the melody.
Video credits appeared
and a jarring classroom bell
ended the experience.
Literature and writing
would never be the same.
 

copyright ©Joyce Brown 1999
 
 

Jazz Rhythms

Count, get down to basics with Basie,
swing brother, swing riff and blues rhythms
elliptical arch piano style,
striking the chords of the heart,
I love to hear jazz rhythms.

Guitar man Joe Pass, piano guitar style,
virtuoso improvisation blues,
fat chords, fleeting notes, helter skelter magical disappearing notes.
I love to hear jazz rhythms.

Ron Carter ubiquitous on bass
lean mean bass machine
move through the hips, work that bass body
I love to hear jazz rhythms.

Percussionist Grady Tate
steady man steady stay in the groove,
constant driving drumming, jazz rhythms.

Snooky Young master of the horn phrasers,
precision, moaning, groaning, soul moving
trumpet machine, throb, jazz rhythms.

Sax players Coltrane, Griffin, Gordon,
trill baby trill, preening orgasmic
notes run up the space, jazz rhythms.

Women sing, like Betty Carter
sophisticated lady works that voice
through the body, sensuous rhythms, harmonious.

Yeah, Sarah, Sarah, get in on Vaughn,
Billie, life was not a Holiday,
Bessie, sing hefty, Smith,
Dinah, take it home to the capital, Washington.
Women sing, swing and scat, jazz rhythms

Jazz rhythms, swing, bebop, cool, hot, fusion
coming at you and moving through you
orchestrating a musical body,
Jazz rhythms.

copyright© Joyce Brown 1994