Andy Brookes Poems

broken on the rocks of your disapprobation
where did you get the right to rummage in my head.
decide what is good or bad and judge
in cold and calculated stance, who I am.
...

Sappho tumbling from her cliff
suspended between earth and heaven
for ever in limbo fixed
and sadly desires are but stony ends
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Roses are red violets are blue
just been accused that my poems are goo
never considered them for greeting cards
now my ego is in pitiable paper shards
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Reciprocity is missing, my puzzle unfinished; sharing is like giving part of you away.
we are Gothic acid etched statues, Notre Dames dames but still though we are crumbling stones we see through dimmed eyes the brighter stars in infamous infra red.

fear of what is not is the same as what is.
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shall I let you see the circus in my head?
those clowns sir, equipped with quips, are recompense

trapezium thoughts left better unsaid.
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recompense for life is takingcurvaceous bends blindly;
no crystal balls nor inept future gazing, we walk always blind.
love is never, I would say, straight forward, always queerly fraught.
we step out on limbs or thin ledges whilst juggling on a unicycle
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Box checked, dissected, charted, measured, slide rules rule, exact fleshy pounds.
my peg is square but you hang your coat on it just fine
without defining or consigning to some index card.
happy to take me as I am, angular though I be
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