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  • Jimmy Broccoli

Spotlight: Andrew Brown

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! ______________


Glanced at the time

Before it was too late

Chanced at the chime

And hands fell fast to fate


I didn’t count the seconds

While reflections turned in dial

And remnants I did reckon

By midnight in denial


Hours passed to cower

Would be no second hand

And minute little jewels

Cast minutes under planned


Numbers at the quarters

Grew shorter ev’ry gear

Fumbled wayward order

Through borders short of years


Glanced at the time

And it was twelve oh the one

A divine design resigned

And the clock was all but spun


A face on the wall

To watch a wrist betray

A tick, tick, call

Dismay in my delay


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


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

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