Andy Brookes (11 May 1954 / Macclesfield)
Biography of Andy Brookes
- Sally Out And Set Sail -new-
- Reluctant Caravanner -new-
- Untitled 19 -new-
- Three Scenes (Inspired By Robert Murray ... -new-
- Untitled 50 -new-
- Frosty Paths Walked -new-
- Again! ! ! -new-
- Ebb Tide
- Tides Ebbing
- Bobbing Bottled Beauties
- Living Little Lives
- Darkening Skies
- Untitled 56
- Playful Platypus Plying Peyote People
Andy Brookes Poems
I'm Only Human
I work my fingers to the bone, And I know I shouldn't moan. Not get upset about my work, If criticised by some jerk.
Untitled 50 -new-
I hope you don't mind, I'm not by nature crude but I say it as itsis, yes he said, but I just found him rude. I know all about it, yes, I really know the score, because you see my friend, I have been to war.
Get rid old pages, lose the dross, throw them out it is no loss. look at the old and the new, then up in smoke and up the flue.
Lamination's Or Dreaming Giants
Curds of life washed up on seashore, the lanterns guiding us home, we are but ripples in time, wrinkles upon the shore, washed clean but our spirits resonates through time.
the trees look sad today bare branched and lonely birds have deserted for sunnier climbs.
Spinning Yarns With Woolly Thoughts
Every day I spin yarns out of grey wool only to see them unravel in my dreams. Everyday I fool my self,
Not searching For my true mother's love. Nor searching for her being.
Papyrus Pyres Perhaps
Come warm yourselves at the bonfire watch literary genius consign to the flames popcorn anyone?
When the dark shades of evening come to call Dusky light fadesand all to shadows fall. Gently the soft air the grass does thrum, A tune the moon to call, the start of night.
Its Sunday I'm bored being and at a loose end, must do something or I'll go round the bend. seeing there's an antique fair at the Reebok, thinking I'll goand have quick look.
I am stopped. a harsh light examines my existence Silenced literally, vocal chords stilled.
Empty yet the bright eyes of stained glass Are lit with the glow of a thousand candles Smoky with frankincense and Myrrh
Tweeting And Twitching
The loose knit morning rose cold though it was it had opportunity endless the robin tells me, by his red flash,
Her Inner Beauty Is Forever Young
Her reflection told her the facade was crumbling, each day a little more camouflage added with artful paint applied. the hair once soft is brittle, a colour nature never intended. her stockings a little thicker and supporting to hide the veins,
I was reminded, today, that possessions are nothing
it is memories, the jewels of the mind, that are important
they remain long after worldly things disappear
in this transient life we live that is our true wealth.