March Mission: The Bloomin' Muse Poetry Slam and Art Expo

For our March mission we decided to read a poem for The Bloomin' Muse, a poetry slam/art expo at Living Word on March 15. The theme was "Spring".

Chris

Last year I read one serious poem, and one funny poem. The funny poem got so much good feedback, that I wanted to do something fun again, but it turned out to be mostly serious. Oh well, there's always next year. It was fun to read, though, and I really liked it, even if I was the only one. Here it is:

Enjoy It

 

Saw a crow

Lunching inside a ribcage
At the side of the road the other day.
Seriously.
Felt like I caught Nature in the act
Of poking a corpse with a stick.

Nature’s such a kid sometimes,

Playing with dead stuff.

But hey,
It’s Spring!
A time when we forgive
The earth for being
Cold towards us and all we love.
Swollen-veined leaves,
Blood-ripe fruit,
Pods bursting,
Birds singing,
Bees buzzing,
Bugs biting…
(Hate them),
Everything sporting its new flesh;
Showing off its abs.

Who couldn’t get caught up in it?

Plants, animals and people in good health
And…
Still alive.

 Apparently,

This is too much of one thing.
Bodies are painstakingly engineered with a short shelf-life.
Planned obsolescence.

I can hear Nature cajoling her children,

“Oh my, what a beauty you are.
Oh if last year’s flowers could see you now.”

Ah, yeah well, I try.

“Only, I still think I can do better…”

Wait…wha?!!!

 Extravagant Nature,

Picking her darlings,
Bleaching their skulls clean,
To try ‘something new’.
Cashing in her prize-winners,
For fertilizer.
Tucks them quietly in the sod,
Sometimes not so quietly,
Wrestling them to bed.

 So extravagant a remodeling.

 In this way, generations pass.

People, animals, grass.
Swept away.
And for what?

 Well…

For me.
For you.
For what you could be
But can’t see.
For your love to be free from greed
Of what doesn’t live or bleed.
For a new seed
Of a dead dream.

 You ask,

“How can this be?”
“Can a man be born when he is old?”
Don’t you know, silly?
Your roots are deep.
They penetrate to the very heart of all that is.
They are the arteries of the Cosmos.
You are the hairs on God’s arm, son!
You, the eyelashes, daughter!
Your brains rot,
But your mind is safe.

 File. Click.

Save. Click.
“X.” Click. [closed eyes]

 Now go ahead.

Sing your most expensive song.
Don’t waste your time,
And mine,
Whimpering your anthem.
What are you thinking???
Belt it out!
Burst your lungs with that one wild song!!!
Make the Universe
Turn its head,
To watch you,
Just you,
And ask you to sing your song
One more time.
Oh, I promise you,
You won’t be soon forgotten,
Or without some new face,
When next Spring rolls around.

Matt