Considerations of Life

Considerations of Life poems and expressions is about everyday life from a deeper personal perspective. It’s poetry written through the eyes of an individual who sees more than what is on the surface.  The good side and the not so good side of life, the side of life that people rarely want to talk about.  In her poetry you will hear passion, sadness, happiness, anger, and honesty. She opens up about lost love, disappointments in her life, and how she feels about not being a butterfly. One piece “Dear art, I love you” touches on how she not only feels about art but also how she thinks it’s highly overlooked. She may be right. Think about it the first programs cut by schools due to lack of funds are art and music. Although people talk highly of how art has influenced or enhanced thier lives it’s not considered a necessity. Crystal Reign Brock however can’t seem to live without it as she deeply expresses in her poems.


Excerpts from Considerations of Life


Dear Art, I love you

I love art.
I love art for all that it’s worth and everything it’s not.
I love it purely for the sake of loving it.
I gladly reject the deceptive hype that pretends to be it.
I truly love you.
If you think this is silly well paint me silly.
Paint me wondrously brilliant.
Paint me so silly I return to the child that I was.
The child who wished she was a superhero who could save the world .
Anything tortured my heart bleeds for it, aches for it.
The child whose mother had her marching in Labor Day union parades before driving.
Because here in Detroit we are more than our hand rolled vices.
Nor do we mix liquor with sugary tangy drinks all day.
Things are getting confused, they are getting fuzzy, hazy.
Something is missing from this existence.
It was overlooked, passed by, forgotten.
Art, I love you.
The she-wolf inside will gladly come to your defense.
Battling side by side to save your existence.
You cannot die.
Art, I love you.
Anxiety of greed

Surrounded by greed, staring it in the face.
Feeling it’s constant presence.
Greed creating mental anxieties worsened by lack of care, lack of knowledge.
As we turn in this greed machine brain cells die, blood thickens.
Eight hours feels like a slow death.
Death quickens with anger, with arguing.
Stress building up underneath skin spewing forth puss like venom through pores.
So I pick up a pen to slow the process.
I write out the anger, the disgust, the hatred.
Thoughts of my ancestry dance in my head.
Thoughts of back breaking work, tortures journeys, marching through oppression.
Thinking of daily concerns and worries not so bad.
Sitting at a cubicle, staring at a glowing box I hear and feel
what sounds like a whip, it’s imaginary.
I still have to say not so bad.
I stick to the grind because I’m financing victories, future victories.
In order for generations later to say we have it easy.

Wake up and breath

The whip is still cracking.
Screams and cries for freedom.
Do you hear it?
Do you feel it?
The whis is still cracking.
Choking, oppressing, torturing your fellow man.
You scream no more but are you ready to fight?
The whip is still cracking.
Burning, slashing at the backs of sistah's and brothers, all of them.
Your ghetto's don't look so bad.
My Eritrean sister yelled.
You have welfare.
Your ghetto's don't look so bad, you have welfare...

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