Andy Brookes Poems

Brain cloud morning disrupted
grey thorn hills look stocky stubborn
wall myrtle grey edging line dry stoned
rhymed boarder to keep out wolves
...

I'm not being funny, she said, but
and I know that she is, but you have no style.
I don't mean your not stylish, she says,
but you have no style, of your own you speak
...

Shall I carry these hills on my back
no need they are here in my brain
with memories that are long and longing
whenever they are not there I conjure them
...

The rain which has held off all morning begins falling, like tears of mourners, it is ceaseless.

you sit on the window sill yellow eyed and enigmatic, catching the rivulets run their crooked courses.
...

Don't make me do PE,
I've got a cold you see.
can't do route marches,
As I've got fallen arches.
...

Look me up in whose who in the poetry world he said.
between Kant and Keats, my prideful words are there
black upon the white or cream vellum, milk straight from the cow
...

filling the day's uncertainty of the
With positive thoughts
Not to be blown off course
putting my doubts to rest
...

the day begins drear
three dead files on windowsill
so funereal
...

A bit.
A bit of what?
A bit of fear is what you fear
Flight or fight
...

bird arpeggios on cerulean
mirrored dappled pools
riotous roost returning
...