Best Visionarygarden Poems
A Magical Trip to The Garden of Eden
By Dane Smith-Johnsen
I hold three magic rocks, in my hand
Rolling them over and over and over
Leaving this reality behind, far behind
I find myself in a field of clover.
The stars above illuminate the land.
But the air has an unfamiliar stench.
I find myself barely able to breathe.
And my muscles spasmodically wrench.
There, in the distance I see a great shape.
I want to run, but frozen with fear, I hesitate.
Tyrannosaurus Rex moves, shaking the ground.
I see dinosaurs all around. Oh, God! What fate waits?
Suddenly ten raptors run through the clover.
Hunting together they smell my scent.
Three magic rocks in my hand, rolling over and over.
Please help! To another place and time I must be sent.
Because the air that I gasp has the essence of methane,
How will I breathe on the earth in this state?
Had I arrived before our planet was ready?
No man could survive this; would my life abate?
Gasping, and hiding, with three magic rocks,
I began rolling them over and over and over again.
My head in a spin was whirled as the wind. There, in grayness.
I heard “When you are acclimated, adventure will begin!”
Alas, fresh air. I while floating somewhere was grasping.
It was a peaceful place and being there, I was free from fright.
Then, I was wisped off again, to a paradise where God was.
Jehovah and Adam in the Garden of Eden. Oh, glorious sight.
I felt like a girl in wonderland,
Where answers to dreams had come true.
God was forming and showing; Adam gave names.
There, in stillness, I watched those two.
Into the wicked Garden plucked by pedophiles
Trimmed by wieght loss
Behold, Daffodiles sprout in least theories
Their drama is the same act
Carrying around a weed that kills
Daff? Do you have an unspoken attraction to off- balanced sprouters
Can't control their seeds, so they're left growng contradictions
Of contradictions begets stereotypes
Wine so sweet, It's better with sin
Munching with the cannibals
Mid-days are spent in indulgences
Periwinkle blue skies and twilight summers
The Garden will stay bloom by bloom,
Flourish with fatigue are the gentle and pure
But the Wicked Garden will always be in spring
Summer to our youth
Winter to the old