Andy Brookes (11 May 1954 / Macclesfield)
Biography of Andy Brookes
- Squaring The Circle -new-
- When The Wren Took Flight -new-
- Tate's Thames Theatre -new-
- A Is For Art (Cwtm 160) -new-
- No Name -new-
- Transmutation -new-
- Not A Haiku 181 -new-
- Not A Haiku 180 -new-
- Not A Haiku 161 -new-
- Lightening Strikes The Ash Tree -new-
- Me, Mum And Buses -new-
- Bright Spark -new-
- Heather, Streams And Rocky Salvation -new-
- Saints, Sinners And Silences -new-
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.
Not searching For my true mother's love. Nor searching for her being.
I am stopped. a harsh light examines my existence Silenced literally, vocal chords stilled.
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.
the trees look sad today bare branched and lonely birds have deserted for sunnier climbs.
Surely that is not all dark pools swirl time the enemy leaks through the sieve
So we stand on the brink, the fall is long, the rocks jagged teeth needles it is a dilemma. deaths jaws smile a red maw which
Small Comfort -new-
Digging in her nails her dragons claw held me tightly for all her frailty her dry mouth groped for words her face all confusion.
Today I saw the circles end or was it its beginning? that's the funny thing about endings they are always beginnings
Squaring The Circle -new-
dark beauty, held deep. heady fatal scent.
I'm Going To Sue Santa
I'm going to sue Santa, make him pay his debt For all the gifts not left, my teddy and train set. Each year I sent a letter, hoping he'd reply But all the things he promised, were sadly just a lie.
Loss is not the first stab, Nor the numbness that follows. Loss is not the nights after, Nor the tears shed heavily into pillows.
Too late to recycle our love, The old cliches you summon are tired. It lurks in the faded tatters of dusty cobwebs Where the corpse of our love hangs
Stars Sky Hurt Place Gone
I wanted to count the stars but I couldn't I wanted to hold up the sky but it was too heavy I wanted to smooth your path but you needed to make your own mistakes I wanted to stop the hurt but I was too late
The ostrich is a funny bird
It lays huge eggs or so I've heard.
Puts its head down in the sand
When senses perils near at hand.
But running never has occurred
Its behaviours just absurd.