Friday, 16 June 2017

It's Still Me VS The Ghost of You

You left a burning imprint on the back of my mind.
Your words repeat in my head with every song I hear.
I have the feeling that you'll haunt me forever.

Wanting the grip to cut me loose
And leave me be because I know you're gone.
Now it’s too little too late
For all the words that I could say
That really wouldn't make any change.

From here to there in days,
To hear that your feelings had changed.
My feet sank further into the ground
And like a tree, those roots dug deep.
Now I’m set in stone while I know you roam free.

Nothing’s the same…
Apart from the feeling of wanting you here
To turn things around when the smiles turned to tears.

Black - My first EVER poem

I wrote this when I was around 16/17 years old, so really it was my first genuine piece of poetry.
I'm nearly 33 years old now and 'Black' is still a favourite of mine.

I bleed myself into you
With no other colours
But a shade of grey and a hint of black.
I poured out every word for you,
Love & hate all the same.
They’re painted black.
I dreamed I died of bitter guilt,
The walls were high and the ground was cold.
As I awoke I breathed out a sigh,
Opened my eyes and the room was black.
I carved into my own chest to give you a gift:
I think you knew what it was.
On a plate & all for you,
But you turned your back.
As I stood with nothing to say,
I watched my heart turn black.

[Taken from Words of Marc D Brown]

Cracks - An attempt at writing Fiction

So this was first ever attempt at writing a story that i started a few years ago. It is unfinished because at the time I was putting together one of my collections of Poetry, so this is probably only a chapter's worth of writing.

I want to put it out there to gauge peoples reactions to see if it is worth carrying on with, so please do let me know in the comments if you enjoyed it and would read more.

(I apologize in advance that there will be formatting issues, it is only a first draft of a chapter)



A 6 on the door, it slammed behind me as I entered the apartment. It was a familiar place but in a strange way, I recognized parts and remembered my way around it but the only way I could describe how I knew these things was kind of like a dream. I slowly walked through the living room looking around, everything was perfect and in its place although the TV was still on but on mute. Some shitty movie just to fill in a time slot, but I guess that’s normal for 3:15am after a brief stop, trying to figure out what the film was I carried on walking through to the bathroom and just like the living room everything was clean and had its place...apart from the mirror, It had been taken down from the hooks over the sink and placed in the bath tub. The mirror was covered in what I prayed was just dirt as I put it back on the hooks over the sink and tried to wipe whatever it was off. I stared blankly into the dirt smudged mirror not recognizing who was staring back anymore. It must have been a long night. I wearily stood there rocking back and forth trying to scrub the blood and dirt from my hands, peeling and scratching at the skin trying to feel clean again. Unable to distinguish whose blood was whose anymore. I’d been scrubbing away for what felt like hours....the blood never emptied from the sink. All the time they were there just watching me, judging me and slowly pushing me further to reach my “full potential”. Trying to be careful whilst drying my hands, softly patting them trying not to rub more skin off I walked back to the living room and sat on the worn brown leather sofa, tilted my head back and drifted off into a sub consciousness that more real than this so called reality.

Chapter 1

Another hangover, another day the same as the last just blending into one. The sun piercing through the blinds and me trying to dodge it every minute  so it doesn’t catch my eyes and make this head ache a thousand times worse. Sitting up I see another empty litre bottle of vodka stood next to the one from the night before. As I made my way to my feet the sun caught me “Jesus Christ...the score so far world 1 – Me 0”.  Still mumbling to myself I walked to the bathroom, turned the cold tap on then turned to the toilet to take a leak. On my exit I looked in the mirror rubbing my eyes “I need to get out more”, swilling my face with the cold water trying to inject some life into this lifeless grey waste of a body, You wouldn’t believe I just turned 27 last week. The 3rd March 1984 the day I came to drain the earth and everyone around me. Oh yeah! What crazy a birthday I had! In the same room...again, alone...again drinking spirits like they were water...again!
Leaving, as I walked down the flight of stairs of the apartment block I realised I hadn’t locked the door “fuck it!” I thought, there was no-one around and the area is generally safe “it’ll be fine, the shops only round the corner” Just as I walked off the estate I heard something or someone, couldn’t really figure out what it was, I turned to look but there was nothing there “weird”. About 100 yards further down the road I heard it again but more distinctive someone was shouting a name, but it wasn’t mine “Johnny” they yelled. I looked around again, confused but still there was nobody there. I began to up the pace of my walking to fast steady strides. I made it to the shop.
Walking around the badly lit shop I was irritated by the fluorescent light that was obviously on its way out but the owner couldn’t be bothered to fix it, it was just flickering away. They should put a sign on the on the door warning away epileptics I thought, laughing to myself, I then corrected my train of thought thinking that was a bit harsh mate. “There it is” I said to myself picking up the cheapest and largest bottle of vodka I could find...the shops own brand, could also be used as paint stripper.
Just before I got to the checkout I was stopped, someone patted me on the shoulder “’s me why didn’t you stop when I called you” “ I even know you?” I said, shrugging their hand from my shoulder. She stopped and just stared at me with the blankest of stares sighed, turned and walked away and out of the shop. “What the....” I shook my head and persisted to walk to the checkout shaking my head in bewilderment. The owner...a ‘large’ man, kinda greasy with a really bad comb over and a red shiny face, a bit slow maybe, looks like the type who would make regular trips to Thailand and not for the scenery I’m thinking. And yet he had the cheek to look at me peculiarly as if I was the weird one. “anything else?” he said “yeah please...erm” trying to think of what money I had, “25grams of Golden Virgina tobacco, two packs of green Rizzlas and erm....” patting my pockets to check what wasn’t there anymore “err..a disposable lighter please mate” He placed the smoking paraphernalia and the bottle of vodka into a blue plastic carrier bag “that’s £13.60 then” I handed over the money to him, it took me two hands to hold it securely due to the large quantity of change I had, a £5 pound note, three 20p’s and the rest was in 5’s, 2’s and 1’s. I didn’t really know how much I had on me, maybe around £10 but I just handed it over dropping most of the change on to the counter. He just looked at me with a sarcastic smile, sighed then began counting. By the time he got to about £8.30 he coughed knocking some on to the floor behind the counter, as he slowly made his way to the floor to pick it up I began to back away from the counter with my bag of goodies in hand, I made my escape just before he got back to his feet.

I stopped running as the shop was just out of sight knowing he wouldn’t be able to chase me. I began to almost strut feeling proud and cock sure of myself about getting away with it. Walking along with my head held high I decided to take the scenic route back home and cut through the park stopping to sit and celebrate my devious victory when I got to a bench just in front of badly kept pond, you know the type... parts of bicycles, bottles and cans just dumped in there, not a good place for wild life really.
Only just managing to roll my first cigarette of the day due to the wind challenging me, I lit up and inhaled deeply feeling the warm smoke penetrate my lungs, on the exhale I was just twisting the cap off of my newly acquired beverage. The first swig in a morning always had a kick to it, but I liked it! It felt like the cobwebs had been dusted off and left me with a warmth in my throat.
Out of nowhere I heard footsteps running, really pounding at the split tarmac. Two teenagers passed one smaller than the other maybe a younger brother I thought, one chasing the other shouting “give me it back Michael” “Just get lost tom, fuck off!” the taller one replied. As they passed it felt like time slowed down, they looked at me. They were familiar but I thought nothing of it, time resumed as normal and so did I, cigarette and drink in hand.
About 30 minutes had gone by since the boys ran passed and for some reason I couldn’t get the smaller boys eyes out of my head, tearful and holding back pain, strangely haunting. I could have sworn I knew them. At that point I looked down at and realised I had drank more than I thought, I was over half way through the bottle, I swayed backwards, slightly more inebriated than expected to be, then annoyingly my packet of tobacco blew in the wind toward the pond, I quickly stumbled to my feet to chase it but I was too late “for fuck sake” I shouted. Randomly the small boy appeared again, on his own this time. He had his hood up from this faded black jumper so I couldn’t really see his face this time. “What’s up mate?” he asked. “The fucking wind! The fucking wind just blew my last smokes away into that fucking diseased water!” I slurred. He laughed. “IT’S NOT FUCKING FUNNY BOY!” I said. “I know I know sorry mate” he paused, looked over at the packet of tobacco in the water and began again “well it looks like it’s in reaching distance mate. I bet if you got on your hands and knees you could reach it. I’ll hold on to your legs so you don’t fall in.”  I looked at him thinking this could work actually. “Go on then” I answered. I staggered to my hands and knees then laid out flat reaching into the water, I looked around to the boy and he was walking back swigging at my almost empty bottle of vodka.
“Put that f-f-fucking bottle down and help me” I screeched. He laughed again saying “this is my payment for helping you out!” I shook my head and turned back to the water “now would you please just hold on to my ankles” he did. I was reaching as far as I could but it didn’t make a difference it was too far, but before I got the chance to scrape my way back fully on to the solid ground the boy let go... my head went under the water and I inhaled in shock, Then suddenly as  my head resurfaced I got one last gasp of air the ‘THUD!’ the boy had smashed the glass bottle into the back of my head, I went back under the water, opened my eyes for the last time and saw my blood cloud the water around me.
The phone woke me abruptly. I started to get out of bed to answer it, but dropped back to the bed too tired to move so I let the machine get it. I laid there in bed thinking of the dream; thank god it was just a dream. I fell back to sleep.
An hour or so passed and I woke up again and got out of bed, still thinking of the dream I had. “What the hell was that all about?” Trying to put it to the back of my mind I went to check the message on the phone “hey man it’s just me checking you’re still on for tonight, I know you’ve been stressed and shit but it’s your birthday mate...let’s get hammered. Let me know.” I lazily walked back to the bedroom still rubbing my eyes, picked up my mobile from the bedside table ‘Menu – Text –Write New’ “now then mate, yeah I’m still up 4 it, get round here for 8ish, bring a bottle. Haha” ‘Send – Insert Number - DAN – Send Msg’ “BEEP BEEP” ‘1 New Msg – DAN’ “C U then buddy”

Heading to the kitchen I stood on a plug “AH FUCK!” well that woke me up I thought, now limping into the kitchen to make a coffee, two parts coffee + 3 parts sugar, that’ll get me going! With the morning coffee prepared I made my way to the living room and flicked on the TV for the news. More murders, stabbings and suicide bombings...i turned it over to one of the dire music channels, it didn’t fail to disappoint me, some crap mediocre R&B that sounds the same as most of the songs i heard 6 years ago. I stood up and switched the TV off.
It was now 4pm, not long now until Dan got round, I decided the 3 S’s were in order now – Shit, Shave and a Shower. Just as i was getting dressed there was a knock at the door, still partially nude I wrapped a towel around me and went to answer the door. Looking through the peephole...there was nobody there? “Must have been someone next door” I figured and walked back to the bedroom and got dressed. About an hour passed and my text alert rang again ‘Gonna be early mate. Dan’ i laughed and text back asking what time. ‘KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK’ at the door a again, i jumped up and ran to the door thinking it might be kids playing pranks, i looked through the key hole and there was Dan grinning with a bottle of brandy in one hand and rum in the other. just a bit early i thought!  I opened the door “you ya twat! Thought it might have been the kids from down the way again, knock and run, the little bastards” I said. “Listen to you, you sound like a fucking granddad ya git, you’re only 27 today not 67 mate”  Dan walked through to the living room and i went to get a couple of glasses, then the drinking commenced.
It was about 7:30pm we had just finished the bottle of rum about to start the brandy, conversation was flowing nicely with nothing too serious been brought up, just drunken banter between two lads until the noise started, banging in the next apartment. “Jesus Christ what was that Dan?” I shrieked, “What was what dude?” he asked. “Are you being serious? It sounded like someone just tore the building apart” I was shocked! How the hell did he not hear it? “What the fuck are you on about? There wasn’t any fucking noise, just calm down and have a drink” he laughed at the end of his sentence, I looked at him confused thinking how the hell he didn’t hear it, he just stared back at me with a blank puzzled expression. “I’ll be back in a minute Dan I’m off to go check it out” “whatever mate just hurry up!”
I shut the door behind me as I walked out of the apartment and towards the neighbors’ door, it was open, I peered my head through “HELLO” nobody answered, I knocked and still...nobody answered. I slowly pushed the door open and cautiously walked in looking around as I walked, every light switch I tried on the way in didn’t work. I walked through to the living room figuring that that was the room opposite my living room and as I took a few more steps in I noticed something strange, there was no furniture in this room, nothing...apart from a mirror on the wall, I took a few more steps closer to the mirror and saw a large crack in the wall from the ceiling to the floor and even stranger the mirror was cracked too but perfectly in line with the split wall.
Suddenly i heard a scream, blood curdling “shit!” I said out loud running out of the hollow apartment and straight back into mine “what the fuck was that Dan?” answer.... “Dan” I said walking into the living room...still no answer...
Just as i looked over the sofa i saw him there laid in a puddle of blood, still bleeding from every possible part of his head and face. The only way i could tell it was him was i that i saw what her was wearing earlier.
I was just stood shock, watching him twitch. I didn’t know what to do.
Then the adrenaline kicked in “DAN!”  I leaped over the sofa and partially picked him up cradling his now lifeless body in my arms. Reaching into my pocket I grabbed my phone and started to dial 999 but then the door burst open which made me jump and just drop Dan to the floor.

“POLICE!” they screamed, “put the bottle down and step back away from the body” i didn’t even realize i had picked the bottle up. The bottle now covered in Dan’s blood and my hands all over it...i knew how this looked and it wasn’t good!

Tuesday, 30 May 2017 on The Lost Art of Self


Reviewed by Rich Follett for Readers' Favorite

"Marc D. Brown is a poetic Everyman. Although his third collection of poetry, The Lost Art of Self, was written from a purely personal point of view in an attempt to convey a perceived lack of authenticity in the life he had been living, there is a substantial thread of the universal human experience woven into his poetic narrative. Who among us has not felt, at one time or another, a sense of being out of touch with self and exhausted from giving to a world that takes more and more without giving in return?

Marc D. Brown’s experience is, on a fundamental level, the experience of each of us. From “I am Fiction”: “If you pulled me apart from the inside/You’d discover that I’m not really me/It’s all a fa├žade.”

“I am Fiction” is written deftly in free verse, a style aptly suited to Marc D. Brown’s straightforward, conversational style. There is a captivating depth - a genuine wisdom - behind even the most humble of his poetic expressions.
In The Lost Art of Self Pt 2, Brown taps the main vein of the human condition with breathtaking simplicity and directness: “Have you ever felt so lonely?/So hollow down to the bone./With pleasantries echoing/Almost beyond caring/

Your answer to everything “…So?”

This reflection, while personal, captures a universal human malaise as essential to human experience as DNA.

Marc D. Brown’s The Lost Art of Self makes a compelling poetic argument that we are all works of fiction, stumbling painfully toward authentic existence on an all-too-human terrain. on Words of Marc D Brown

Words of Marc D Brown Reviewed by Rich Follett for Readers' Favorite

"Words of Marc D Brown: The Poetry Collection by Marc D Brown is a heartfelt, uncompromising look at the human experience, expressed in readily accessible words and images which leave indelible impressions on the reader. There is a dire simplicity in Brown’s poetry that bespeaks a life defined by loss and despair, buffered by an overarching, incontrovertible sense of hope which colors even the darkest passages. From “An Enclosed Space”: As time goes by/The cage begins to weather/with new life seeping through/and leaving something better.

Words of Marc D Brown: The Poetry Collection gives a clear sense that Marc D Brown is an optimistic realist. He writes of hard-won truths and hard-knock lessons with a candor and cutting-edge vulnerability that make readers want to see what lies around the next corner. Brown’s courage in revealing his inner turmoil and his unwavering commitment to emotional honesty elevate simple words to universal common ground and lend a healing touch to his terse cadences. In “Thoughts,” Brown offers an insight into his reasons for writing: My fingers grip the pen/it bleeds out words for you/A gift from my heart and mind/A gift from me to you.

In refreshing contrast to the legion of self-impressed poets who tout their own merits with pompous audacity, Marc D Brown approaches his muse with humility and gratitude. This sincere frame imbues his work with a clear focus and singularity of (generous) purpose. Readers who look past the darkness and pain expressed in his work will find an ebullient and inspiring sense of light waiting on the other side.

Thursday, 25 May 2017

A Re-Introduction to Myself

Hello to everyone and anyone who may be reading this and thank you! I appreciate your time.

My name is Marc D Brown I was born in the U.K. 1985 (I've realized it's silly putting your age on things like these as quite changes yearly, meaning you have to remember to change every bio you write annually).

Anyway...a little about me (i'll make it brief) and in list form to make it even quicker
1. I've been married since 2011
2. I have 2 Huskies
3. I write a lot of poetry and sometimes attempt to write stories
4. I have a couple of books available to buy on Amazon.
5. I try to read as much as possible.
6. I love to play on my Xbox...I'm pretty much a man child.
7. I constantly have a lot of creative ideas that i either forget about or start thinking of something new before the last thing actually began.
8. My attention span can be pretty crap!!!

That's pretty much me...quite boring and simple really but that's how i like it.

This blog will be used for a multitude of things such as a place to post my writing, articles of my opinions of stuff i.e. news, music, movies. i'll also occasionally try to help promote fellow poets because god knows we need the help!

If you would like to find and follow me elsewhere, please do so at the following...

You can find me on 
Twitter: mdbpoetry
Facebook: mdbpoetry
Instagram: mdbpoetry

My Books Available on Amazon

The following are books and e-books i've released for sale on Amazon, in order.

Words of Marc D Brown (2012) - My first Poetry collection (PB/K)
*Awarded 5 Stars by
 Buy on Amazon"In refreshing contrast to the legion of self-impressed poets who tout their own merits with pompous audacity, Marc D Brown approaches his muse with humility and gratitude. This sincere frame imbues his work with a clear focus and singularity of (generous) purpose. Readers who look past the darkness and pain expressed in his work will find an ebullient and inspiring sense of light waiting on the other side." Reviewed by Rich Follett for Readers' Favorite

20Seven (2012) - My second Poetry collection [Currently being edited] (K)
 Buy on Amazon

Dreams of Red (2013) - A short horror/gore story. [Currently being edited] (K)

The Lost Art Of Self (2016) - My third Poetry collection (PB/K)
*Awarded 5 Stars by
 Buy on Amazon"This reflection, while personal, captures a universal human malaise as essential to human experience as DNA. Marc D. Brown’s The Lost Art of Self makes a compelling poetic argument that we are all works of fiction, stumbling painfully toward authentic existence on an all-too-human terrain." Reviewed by Rich Follett for Readers' Favorite

PB - Available in paperback
K - Available on Kindle/Ebook format

Wednesday, 24 May 2017

Time - A poem inspired by the Manchester bombing


Time, there’s never enough
We live the seconds away
Day by day
Taking all we can
Not out of greed
But need
Time, it’s the most precious of things.

Time, although time is endless
We never have enough
Some get to live down the clock
Appreciating each second, each moment
Some have theirs taken far too soon
A blink and it’s gone
In the flicker of a light
Time, it’s the most precious of things.

Time, we don’t always appreciate it
We don’t appreciate the time we’ve got
To spend with friends, family or lovers
We take it for granted
Don’t give it a second thought
But time…its’s the most precious of things.

Time, think of the time you’ve had
Think of the time you have
It’s more than some and unfortunately, maybe less than others
You have to make the seconds, minutes, hours count for you
Take the time to make you happy
Whether it be exploring new places
Or just sat on the sofa, drinking coffee
Time is the most precious of things.

From each breath of wind
To every teardrop that falls
However you do it
Enjoy the time you have

Because it truly is the most precious of things.

#Manchester #StayStrong #TogetherWeStand