Hi All
It's a wonderful day to shine the spotlight on the work of an individual I find highly talented. Today, on the Jimmy Broccoli page and website, it is an honor to share with you the poetry of Andrew Brown.
I first discovered Andrew's work soon after I first started joining online poetry groups - so I've been reading Andrew's verse for a little over a year - and the quality of his poetic offerings has been and continues to be consistently outstanding.
Andrew, in the words of his friend Amber Lee, "Andrew likes to take it easy, likes to abide by natural law and the way of things, but finds that this could in no way always be the case. This is where Andrew’s writing comes in. Drawing with syllables and fretting over vowels, Andrew finds the pieces of his life. He gathers up his soul -in no literal sense- and writes it all down, leaving a small trail for the reader to find. “
Here are two poems by Andrew Brown - and I'm certain you'll love them as much as I do! ______________
Mock
Glanced at the time
Before it was too late
Chanced at the chime
And hands fell fast to fate
More
I didn’t count the seconds
While reflections turned in dial
And remnants I did reckon
By midnight in denial
Swore
Hours passed to cower
Would be no second hand
And minute little jewels
Cast minutes under planned
Four
Numbers at the quarters
Grew shorter ev’ry gear
Fumbled wayward order
Through borders short of years
More
Glanced at the time
And it was twelve oh the one
A divine design resigned
And the clock was all but spun
Wore
A face on the wall
To watch a wrist betray
A tick, tick, call
Dismay in my delay
Swore
That I glanced at the time
Before, it was
Too late
Andrew Brown
September 2021 ______________
Against The Grain
The crow perched on the stick
Of a broken broom, deemed useful
And tufts of straw laced shadows
“On dead husks” remarked the bird
A drooping head stared inanimately
“Well don’t ya care ta know?” asked the crow
“If it scares ya, say not so”
A single tear soaked a burlap face
The saddest eyes to never be
“Don’t be gettin’ soft, ya sack of hay!”
The bird sighed a frosty breath
And shivered, the sound of dry rustle
‘I oughtta scare the rotting maggots outta ‘is ears
Or whatever a-fuck a birds got’
He thought just then of stuffing the birds throat beak-full of straw and lighting it ablaze
Too bloated to fly away
‘And so very plump’
Straw coming out of it’s fucking ass
Or whatever birds have
The crow shuffled closer to the cuff
A raggedy, mildewed cotton flannel
It put its head down in a cocked neck gesture
“Ya got sumpin a say, or does your tinker not tink much?”
He started plucking straw from the wrist
Strewing it about the ground like guts that don’t want to let go
Lacing those shadows with blood
‘Yea, eat up you little coward, me tinks I got summin a say, erright
Eat up, my plump little pet’
He thought just then of ramming the bird so chock full to the brim that his eyes would burst from their sockets
Wings would fall and toes would stiffen
It would drop right from the broomstick like an overripe heirloom tomato
‘One-a dem juicy beefsteak fuckers
My pretty little pet
And pop! When you hit-a dirt
Feathers at my feet, you filthy little fuck’
Just then the crow got greedy
Hay fever dreams seemed to burst at the seams
“Kraaa! Krah/ kr, k”
He frantically clawed about the stick
Cawfing, cawfing, less and less
Eyes bulged and wings spread
That neck cocked like he’d peck his own head off
Fell to the ground on his back
Legs slowly folded, wings tucked in crooked and broken
Saddest eyes to ever be
The scare in the crow ingrained on a featureless burlap face
And a single tear, was dried by rising flames
How can a morbid smile not exist?
But instil fear from an eyeless mind
The wind rustled just then
Laughter in an empty field of corn
Snickers
Well I guess he had something to say
‘Eat up, my plump little pet
And don’t dare tell
For I like it this way’
Andrew Brown
October 2021
