Andy Brookes Poems

Burning bridges crossed, just, as our scorched feet attest.
the river runs cold deep,we watch the sunrise hand in hand,

another day more crossings to make, will we always be so lucky,
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So I'm standing at the Pearly gates, yeah I know strange huh but this is my dream so butt out,
As I was saying there I was outside Heaven and there's this dude standing there Armani suit the works and he's playing on a an i-pad he smiles
'With you in minute.' he says and carries on.
Well heaven, well I assume its heaven, is clouded over, unseeable, unknowable you know the kinda shit,
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writing poems or do they write me?
pages alabaster, ink obsidian collated cerebral mentation.

thoughts collide electric psychical perceptions
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Here at the peripheries, the boarders between light and shade.
where night touches day blending into hazy twilight
A place where dreams await the coming dark or flee the flaming morning.
do our sleeping ears hear the echo of the big bang,
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1
October is a feral month
winds of change strips trees
as surly as it ripped you from me
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Beginning at the beginning, passing a passer-by, Cupid throws an arrow, by what length it engenders, for love's just a lottery
passing judgement needs an arms length approach, love is on trial, sore as it may be.

we the jury find love guilty or not; Christ they say is the final arbiter;
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Spent so much time making money
so I could make time to spend with you
but by the time I'd saved enough
to spend the time with you,
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unable to pin thought,
whispered quiet seeping undulations
seeing space between the meaning of words.
addicted to metaphor and injecting alliteration
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thinking I'd have at least one write, maybe two but I find the well dry.
The thought springs to mind y that a Biro can make a line forty miles long, mine makes just a dot.

The car is noisy, drowns out the radio, beyond window the white lines on the road blur
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