couldn’t have said it better myself, part 1

Posted by on Mar 5, 2011 in Poetry | No Comments

Speaking of wings…

My family and I are extremely blessed and lucky to be flying off, as Tigger would say, “on a big explore” for a good while, and so for this and the next two posts I simply wanted to share with you three of the best poems I have ever come across thanks to the wild and spirited art that is Poetry Slam. The words, and the artists, explore lots of Big Things. Happy Vernal Equinox to all! xoAe

“The dawn of weird”

‘Twas the dawn of Weird

and I had woken up early.

There was no difference between
sky and sea,
so dogs chased tennis
balls into the shore break
of cumulus clouds.

Sea lions flew point
in the formations of sparrows.

Fishermen caught birds, apologized and set them free.
The birds were understanding and as a gift
brought back worm sandwiches
which were surprisingly tasty.

Airplanes landed safely underwater
as mermaids guided us in with pop-electric jellyfish.

Guns had turned to black licorice.
All the cops were nibbling on shotguns
and one by one all the criminals cried
and turned themselves in
to the dentist.

Hospitals morphed and became
rubber bounce castles.
They had to call security
to usher out the scalpels
and to keep the elderly
from hogging the twisty slide.

Billboards became drive-in movie screens
replaying what our feet looked like
when we were chasing our dreams.

Everyone walked home.

And all the tombstones
in all the graveyards
crumbled into seeds.
Flora bloomed immediately.

Bees halted on the outskirts
of the cemetery walls
reverence for the ending,
the passing of all.

With antennaes bowed
and honey tears starting,
they pledged to stand guard
of the bright human garden.

The largest pile of flowers…
it rose from your name.
The wind swelled a whisper
that said ‘They’re O.K., they’re all O.K.’

My Lord, it was a solid mountain of sunflowers.

The world blazed in color and I welcomed the change.
It was the dawn of weird and the morning of strange.

Amazing how all this did come to pass.
just a child cutting loose in a poetry class.

by Derrick C. Brown