How Poetry Began

Two brain cells walked into a bar one disagreed with what the other said but both agreed he could say it. One said: “What if you said it like this?” and they argued the value of words, those that were spoken, those that were heard. Into the fray marched a whole brain of grey asking: “What makes you say the things that you say?” and “Why when you say them, do you say them that way?” Then came the head with the eyes and the chin said “I dare you to say the whole thing again.” “I doubt that you could, not that you would.” And so the two brain cells, over pizza and beer repeated the sounds in an effort to hear the pounding of hoof beats, the shriek in the night the sound of the words giving emptiness sight. Then they consorted with the head and the brain comparing conclusions though none were the same the hoof beats to rescue or battles retreat or maybe the sound of a child’s dancing feet. Was the shriek one of fear, or a mother’s surprise the first time she gazed into babies blue eyes. They agreed to the meaning of the words that were read but couldn’t agree - what was heard, what was said. Time would continue, the battle would rage should the words be delivered by mouth or by page could the speaker be brilliant, the audience dense the reader confused, the words make no sense. The bar is still open, though the patrons don’t know it to honor the memory of the two brain-celled poet. John G. Lawless 9/10/2014