Andy Brookes Poems

priest mouths flowery platitudes, out of key organ a counter point.
man nailed to the tree seemed to weep, was it for this my sacrifice?

Incensed by the choking incense, mummery of the ritual, its meaning lost;
...

It tickles my fancy watching the cat tickle fish, which reminds me of your fishing for compliments.
a complimentary book landed on the door mat.
pouncing on it like a cat, which strangely pounced on it too.
we tugged at war and wrestled each other, paper shredded.
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The bananasbent so they say
Don'tknow why, it's just that way
It really is quite absurd
As really banana is a herb
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wishing I could write like a child, to speak truth and have no fear;
see throughinnocent eyes in a playground of the small things
but not small thoughts to limit imagination.
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at the peripheries of nature that seem neither natural nor man made
that rangy area between town and urban sprawl
the builders spoil heaps full of broken brick and hardcore
where the grass slips from manicuredgreen trim
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Loss is not that first stab,
Nor the numbness that follows.

Loss is not the nights after,
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The bright gaudiness of the maples
Before stripped of their bright clothes,
Float like bright islands above the mist,
Illuminating the forest of burnished gold.
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Morning is a pile of ashes, half dreams remain, not to trouble
but usher in the dawn.
sleep that ever evasive friend
runs away to new pastures to count his black sheep.
...