Andrew Kennedy Poems
Naked We Sleep
You were glad to night, and now you’ve gone away. Flushed in the dark, you put your dreams to bed. But as you fall asleep I hear you say, those tired and sweet drowsy words we left unsaid.
The Northern Sky
Against the stone breakwater, only an ominous lapping while the wind surges overhead. Coming down from the mountain, whistling between the arbors and the winding terraces.
Dear violins with strings of grace, cue the orchestra. As melodics of bloodshot eyes, take pace to the piano's echo.
Time And Again
Time and again, however well we know the landscape of love. The little church-yard with lamenting names, and the frightfully silent ravine wherein all the others end. Time and again we go out as two,
A Martyr's Call
In heights of heaven or shallows of ground, to trees kissing the clouds. With their roots spread beneath our feet, lifting the Earth's shroud.
Days Are As Night's Stand
The television's glare of a window's glow, as drops of rain burst against it's pane. Speakers of tone and rhythmic hues, search my ears dry.
She wavered, stopped and turned, methought her eyes. The deep grey windows of her heart were wet, they softened with a new regret To note in mine unspoken miseries,
Revise, Return, Repeat
We lay in sinking crests of sand and rock, brimmed by the sun's heat. On mornings at dusk; orange tints breathe in, to a white horizon below.
Lights are to as shine, as the fog is to consume. Air fresh with a vivid taste, as to withered lips suffer.
I press my hips, to yours searching. A brush of skin, of cheeks mingling.
In a long thin arc of loneliness, where nothing collides I wait. Face flushed and stomach in ropes, seconds become hours and minutes to days.
Out through the fields and the woods, and over the walls I have treaded. I have climbed the hills of view, and looked onto the world descended.
She Walks In Beauty
She walks in beauty, like the cloudless night and starry skies. All that's best of dark and bright, meet in the aspect of her eyes.
Eye To Eye
Lines surface to skin curved around bends deep, closed.
The Northern Sky
Against the stone breakwater,
only an ominous lapping while the wind surges overhead.
Coming down from the mountain,
whistling between the arbors and the winding terraces.
A thin whine of wires,
a rattling and flapping of leaves.
And the small street lamps swinging and slamming against
the city's skyscrapers.
Crackle's riddle the storm torn canvas,