Andy Brookes

Gold Star - 37,320 Points (11 May 1954 / Macclesfield)

Andy Brookes Poems

681. Savage Snakes Speak (A Piece Of Alliterative Nonsense) 11/13/2017
682. Poetry Recipe 11/13/2017
683. Unravelled 11/13/2017
684. Questioning Questers A Poem Inspired By Robert Murray Smith 11/14/2017
685. Reversal Of Fortunes 11/14/2017
686. Climbing The Mountain A Metaphorical Journey 11/14/2017
687. Be Not Retrograde 11/14/2017
688. Keeper Of The Flame 11/14/2017
689. Itchy Itches Scratched 11/14/2017
690. Neon Nights 11/15/2017
691. Swallows Stole Away 11/15/2017
692. No Faith In Faulty Faculties 11/16/2017
693. Only Light And Dark 11/16/2017
694. Uncle J.J's War 11/17/2017
695. Do Not Believe In Truths Spectral Glass 11/17/2017
696. Seven Short Shares 11/17/2017
697. Fish Flakes The Scales Fall 11/17/2017
698. Dusty Shelves 11/18/2017
699. Blooming Narcissus 11/18/2017
700. Arise Sir Stupid O'clock 11/18/2017
701. The Burning Question 11/19/2017
702. Sequins Are Out This Season 11/19/2017
703. Looking In My Closet 11/20/2017
704. Tokenism A Hetero Impertinence 11/20/2017
705. Buying Into The Lifestyle Myth 11/20/2017
706. Don't Hang A Label On Me 11/20/2017
707. Wishing 11/20/2017
708. Your Fires Burn Cold 11/20/2017
709. Let Me Die In.............. 11/20/2017
710. A Thought In Haiku Form 11/21/2017
711. In With The New 11/21/2017
712. Vacillating Vouge 11/21/2017
713. A Crime In Rhyme 11/21/2017
714. Autumn Haiku 11/21/2017
715. Logorrhoea 11/21/2017
716. Dreams Stone Set 11/21/2017
717. Cold Cut Collation 11/22/2017
718. Passage To Paradise 11/22/2017
719. If Death Comes Looking 11/22/2017
720. Black Friday 11/23/2017

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Best Poem of Andy Brookes

Loss

Loss is not the first stab,
Nor the numbness that follows.
Loss is not the nights after,
Nor the tears shed heavily into pillows.

Loss is coming home full of news,
Only to find an empty house.
To set the table for two,
Or turn to speak to vacant air,
Forgetful your not there.

Loss is to laugh alone.

Read the full of Loss

So What New?

the day startsclean and fresh sunlight dapples
chiaroscuro playing with light and shade.
every day's a clean page white and pure
waiting for the indelible marks of life
unmarred, likefresh fallensnow before footprints mar its beauty
to leave it stained pummeled to a slushy grey.

yesterday's mistakes can be learnt from
but not erased, as much as we may want them to be.

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