November, 2007



– brianprince

it’s a bird-singing
kind of

fourth thursday
mends beginning
in november.
come on, now
ask this.

‘we’re having
friends and family
over for dinner.
come on, now
join us.’

or today.
bust out the phone book.
even enemies.
share a smile.
a handshake.

it’s never
too late.
to give


– brianprince

my words are few. im not expressingly witty like you. suppressing the truth. we’ve all fallen victim. guessing what to choose. the answer is not one – and – two. rather it’s – or – two. both ways can’t be right. philosophy is elementary when it comes to the most high. God rules any science. it’s quite obvious. he made the sky. and what surrounds us.

i’m so simple, yet i’m blessed with a complex mind. no other solution. just intelligent design. denying reality is intellectual suicide. it’s just not right. why should i be allowed to choose my own laws. i make mistakes daily. framing. my own flaws. and hanging them. on those walls.

i can’t keep assuming that life is to be so cozy. this is not a buffet. it’s not made to go my way. around me. i’m not the center of gravity. i can’t pick and choose the one who created me. i’m bound to lose. i’m so weak. you see. i can’t continue leading my life based on feelings that are fuzzy.

“Spirituality without truth
is mere sentiment.”
a game. back
forth. excuses.
‘that’s not. what
i meant.’

political correctness is the wife of tolerance. the most powerful couple in this part of the world. why do we have to be convinced that God is real. the tower of babble served a purpose. we need to shade with gray and stop repressing the colors.

my perceptions seem radical. but deceptions are subtle. like bed bugs. they crawl. and make ways of their own. to make it the norm. just let me be alone. i’ve fallen. believe me. i’m still falling, see! that’s why i can’t be my own god. that’s why i see through this facade.

my ducts cry buckets of wrong. but, my God. oh God. he keeps me strong. truth.

right and wrong

– brianprince

the woman is watchin’
the american television.
her affair every evenin’.
while he’s upstairs
cuddling and readin’
curious george to the boys
believing and writin’.
knotted throat and cryin’.
putting thoughts in his book.

explaining right. and wrong.
it’s becomin’ his nightly. ritual.
sometimes singin’
receivin’ high-brow from
this boy who’s so intellectual.
the daily duty comprises
of him lovin’ that wit.
done givin’ those cooties
when next to you. he sit.

readin’ stories
every night.
explainin’ what’s wrong
and what’s right.
grow up. be young.
show up.
never go
without a fight.

so many lessons boys.
teach him so that he may know.
everyday you reach for him. as
he holds you, he’s thinking
how he’ll never let you go.
not a matter of how tall. or small.
keep watering each other. water
can. sprout. puddle. growing.
catching every fall.

it’s right. next to the remote.
it’s wrong. not to vote.
unless you rock it. mtv.
house. e.r. grey’s anatomy.
background noise. bright blue light
shining beneath the dirty clothes.
put away your toys. play with them.
he knows your life. your confusion.
understanding. wrong doings.

the bachelor, satisfies her.
wrong. casting mild judgments.
right. observing life’s events.
wrong. thoughts of sin.
right. not acting on them.
actions. in the light. naturally,
this man knows
wrong and right.


– brianprince

i can only imagine.

when self-pride is crucified. and
my words won’t have to hide.
a day filled with total grace. when
the place for bad things lie only
in entertainment.
because complaining is a
contagious habit.
but rest-assured, so is joy
and making a respectful world.

i can only imagine.

a day filled with rejoice in ways
other than Christmas.
because it’s a choice to help
without remorse.
a day without war. but
with understanding
and patience.
and forgiveness.

i can only imagine.

the sweet taste of gentleness
where hard hearts rest.
refilling. on soft pillows
full of spiritual doves.
deep within us.
when palms are open
to give and to get.
with arms wide open.
the kind, like Jesus.

i can only imagine.