Andy Brookes Poems

Bits and bobs some dross others gleaming
a bomb site of memory plugged in

fading shattered fragments
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Sharp swords of loneliness
cut deep the inner fractions of my soul,
such are the eccentricities of a febrile mind.
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Stray not from the way ward wind but sail full billowed
tacking on the spume of thought,
egos are bent but strive for nought.
write for writing's sake, for fame is but a transient wave.
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Shall I know you beloved afterwards;
Springs fair flowers dead, brown upon your grave.
cut down fair youth upon deaths cruel sword,
where others less worthy, God did them save.
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When dawns rosy fingers creeps cross windows of western coasts
in the cold wet emerald isle, set in its silver sea, night makes his boast.
and when the warm winds of California sweep across the Pacific blue
the cold winds from Siberia over England blew
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look don't touch, watch me turn on my pedestal
white skin no blemish there but forbidden fruit.
bearing no imprint, do not touch, for I am robbed,
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sapphire blue, snarl lemon drops,
amber sea swept insect caught.
words falling on stony ears
bouncing echos of the fall.
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Trying to be happy, having reached that harbour
where age proclaims sexlessness, desires squashed, fires banked controlled.

wanting an answer, railing against this forced celibacy
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Autumns leaves fall as syllables
tones red to gold to brown
short sentence is the time of sleep
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Caring not for fame's golden hour
it fades to tarnish, fade with age.
nor stretching for the victors diadem
which sit heavy on the brow;
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