Andy Brookes Poems
Comments about Andy Brookes
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.
It's sad to say, my skin is thin,
Tough exterior, soft within.
I try so not to let it hurt,
When hit by a poem expert.
I know I have a lot to learn,
But cruel remarks, they just burn.
And you know I have no fear,
Of ever becoming like Shakespeare.
I write just whims, airy fancies,
Which people stab with their lances.
With their thrusts they put me down,
Making me feel like a clown.
But be it good or be it ...
Memories, those faulty things,
hanging like forgeries on the gallery of our mind
those frail water colours that fade
or bold as Modrian's primary colours
perfect and lineal
or edited and reshaped sculptures standing in dusty corners.
we live, existing in our minds boney vestibule
but in the end we disappear.