Andy Brookes Poems

The long rocks of meaning a tumble avalanche thoughts
dulcimer sweet ringed fire

clouds roil on the moors edges black
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Some fact about poets
they don't always tell the truth
they paint the world as they'd like it
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Sometimes a soul touches you
from far across the ocean.

sometimes a soul, is soul that is wild and good and free,
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A poem not read is a poem dead
its dies from the bullets of indifference

a poems not red or blue or green or blackest hue
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'Mediocre at best.' She says arching her sarcastic brow
'How? ' She asks 'Can a brow be sarcastic.'

'Oh it can I assure you.' I say 'And yes maybe I am a mediocrity
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You're the villain of this piece,
not the peaceful dreams of last night.
or the piece of silk draped over the bed
we entwined but this is no love story.
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So the pieces dissipate abstract in raspberry skies, purple clouds,
patterns in the vaults before the pin pricks silver the velvet obsidian skies.

the world turns and we turn and I turn and you turn away.
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Trailing behind him he made furrows with a sick
ploughing imaginary fields planting Magic beans
became a knight fighting with is trusty sword
prickly hedgerow foes or beanstalk giants
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Each line dissolves in itself, invisible, divisible, multiple
yet each singular facet is a facet of a facet,
an amalgam of diamond sharp thoughts cutting deep,
excoriating the soul
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Do I want to be a cat, she asks,
well can you make me one I said
sure why not what kind she purred
I want to be a Marmalade cat,
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