Poems and Phantasms

Simple, Wild Wisdom


I believe in a

simple, wild wisdom.


Go to a place

where there are

no clocks or

mirrors. There is one

inside you.


Listen to the

rustling of your heart

beating wings of

generations. Launch into

this “now” you’ve heard tell of.

It is not chronological.

It is all-consuming



Now is

breath and


in your veins

for this day

you are



Your path is not

future. It is this

step. It is

following the

urging of what

you have always

known. Shhh,



The quiet inside

is singing.   


Scatter Kind Words

Scatter kind words like seeds

to the four corners of the earth

to the wind and sky

to hell and back, where

they are needed most

they will find their way


As the tiniest light

shines the greatest good

in the blackest night, so too

the kind word roots

deepest in the heart

rich with grief

abundant with gratitude

Life Stories Write



is life too


this time in

this room

clock ticking

rush and wait

turning pages

you never intended

to read


as it turns out

this is your story


so tell it


tell the dark jokes

sing the sad songs  

you can’t forget, laugh

till you feel

like crying

till you



sometimes healing is

not a cure but

the coping

the reconciling

the holding on

to hope regardless


give this day a title

worth remembering

even if

you didn’t choose it


is your adventure


At Play

Did they tell you

you must fight

to survive, take

to succeed, scheme

to win, your life

a pawn in a zero sum

world, and is that all


you know? You could

play a different game.


Do not fear

for your life

to mean nothing

for every word

you speak echoes


to others. We cannot help

but leave traces. We are

immortal in human

memories. What is

eternity anyway?


Or is it pleasure, creature

comfort you seek yet

what balm greater

than peace?


This is a strange kind

of abundance, giving

more emptying grows

you, a vessel

hollowed out by light



Standing at the Border

A reflection on “The New Colossus”  by Emma Lazarus


I thought I was

a lighthouse. I

raised my hand for the job.


I thought myself a

beacon of refuge at the

door of dreams. Shining

with invitation

I turned away

no one. It was not mine to

give, this air of

freedom; it was only mine

to welcome.


Weathered, jaded

no longer alight

with idealism, would

that I could

set down my lamp

and my words

and with

both hands free,

gather my own.





Thank you to Spirit Caller Magazine for publishing another poem of mine: https://archive.org/details/SpiritCallerMagazineVol02Issue03


Spectacles by Lurana Brown

Thank you to Postcard Poems and Prose for publishing my poem!

Art Credit - PP&P Staff Art Credit – PP&P Staff

Lurana Brown is a palliative massage therapist and pianist and is studying to be a midwife-to-the-dying. She operates her business as a gift economy. She’s been called oversensitive, serious, and most of all idealistic, but she’s sticking with her laissez-faire faith that light can break through any darkness. She thinks the most beautiful things in the world are wilderness and grace. Lurana’s poems have been published by the Blue Hour, Shoe Music Press, Shout Out UK, Spirit Caller Magazine, S/tick, and Swimming with Elephants. She can be found at www.luranabrown.com and has a few illustrated poems available at Redbubble: http://www.redbubble.com/people/luranabrown.

The author wearing her most favorite pants ever. The author wearing her most favorite pants ever.

Looking less serious at a luau. Looking less serious at a luau.

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