First the Newborn Birds on High and Then the Awful Climbing Beasts

The world has gone crazy, but please let me make you

One of my healing songs. You can eat it now, if you want. Or

It might taste better when it's fresh, but you can also take

It with you on many long journeys. The world has gone crazy,

 

But not everyone has turned into a gun.  The world has

Gone crazy, but the gardeners have not been wiped completely out

Of our familiar heads. They are still there, planting beauty and sustenance

With every sweet whistle. The birds and the beasts may run from

 

Our home fires, but they still crave the tender touch. The world

Has gone crazy, but it's not the first time. The world

Has gone crazy, but we have not forgotten any of them. They were

Children once before the adults experimented with their innocence.  The world

 

Has gone crazy, and we must forgive them for that horror,

But we won't join them on their march either. World's gone bonkers,

But the sky is still as on our side as it can ever

Be, diluting the pollution with its own perfumed oils, painting the warnings

 

On the canvas of stars like always, with exuberance and sometimes

Heart-rending beauty. If you bend down and watch the semaphores of

The tiniest butterflies, you will see that they are saying that

Home is eventually to be found in every direction. The world has gone crazy,

 

But there is a way to remain sane, if not safe,

And that is up to each one of us to decide.

It's not a trick, it's a choice, it's a living prayer

And an act, but it cannot be coerced, only given away, only

 

Received and always passed on. Bless everyone you meet, but be prepared

To defend each blade of grass beneath your feet. The world

Has gone crazy, but we cannot go with it. You'd be

Surprised how much a merry little tune in the middle of the

 

Fight can prevent further bloodshed. If you can't hear one, make

One up. The world has gone crazy and I don't want

To pretend this doesn't make me sad, but not so sad

That I no longer care. The world has gone crazy, but

 

There are little blue flowers pushing their soft faces against the

Protective plastic shields of modern living and struggling to make a

Noise of their own. My guess is they have something important

To say. And I want to listen. I will be listening for

 

As long as I can be. We don't have to drink the

Spouted-off hatred of others. Turn it down. Pour it out. Knock it out

Of the hands of your friends and family. The world has

Gone crazy, but we're still here if we keep

 

Our love alive in everyone everywhere. That is the hope. Yeah,

It's a pretty big concert to throw. So I guess we'd better get started.

Remember I made this one up for you out of nothing

More than a friendship on paper, but it's worth something more each time. dp 

Bonus poems:

A Song the Lorax Taught the Table While We Were Playing Cards Late into the Evening by Darryl Price(an early draft)

 

The trees have become afraid of our love song. They used to bend forward with all their might, clicking into place and building impressive physics. Now they carry their frames backwards and upward trying to flee something always behind us. We were not good shepherds. We only wanted something to eat and a

place to sleep. You can see it in the faces of the colonized leaves. They hate us. The trees have become afraid of our love song. It used to mystify them and bring them into listening range. Then we fired the first shot, we swung the first axe, we cleared centuries of their stories and put them in toothpick jars.

They used to love our determined broken trails through the snow, but now they toss the moon high above our heads and weep. Their armor is broken all the way through. Even the haunted forests have become more abandoned than full of millions of tiny lights. The trees have become afraid of our love

song. They are shutting their eyes again and ascending to the heavens without us. Maybe at the top of the world they still throw flowers at each other. The trees have become afraid of our love song. They hear it now as the end. Their march is no longer to reach the center of everything, and join in a

beautiful, joyous windy celebration of branches and bark. They need a healing circle, but it's all in their heads now. Only the saplings have the old dreaming heart, but even they are caged and kept behind miles of tar and soot. The trees have become afraid of our love song. That seems a real shame. Where

do we go from here? A butterfly with something important to say is still going to have a very tough time being heard as anything more than a butterfly up to butterfly things. The trees have become afraid of our love song. It is printed on their hardened faces. They do not agree with the meaning of lots of space. The trees

have become afraid of our love song. But some of us want to understand again. Some of us would like to be part of the healing circle without causing any pain to other living beings. Some of us will always admire the fierce beauty of their construction and join the council in the sky to pledge our own individual

devotion to their rooftop safety in this craziest of worlds yet. The trees have become afraid of our love song But, this song before you is a poet's attempt to make contact and say we are indeed friends forever. You will be included in our thoughts and prayers. Nothing would be the same without you. Thanks for such a lovely hill. .   

Beginning a Bright Red Day

by Darryl Price