Andy Brookes Poems

Question used to be who, where and when but transference and time change, metamorphosing into what and why.
rushing through life the real passes us by, we do not see the beauty in a drop of rain, big always gets top billing but it is the little that's important.

days myriad in rainbow light, opportunities lost in just living, scraping by; sighing now at memories and wishing I had paid more attention, been more awake to the possibilities of the small.
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how many versions are there I wonder each though a carbon copy hold different keys to different doors
but them we appear to other in the guise they choose or you do.
Never the same twice or thrice.
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wondering how many versions are there, each though a carbon copy holding different keys to different tunes, major and minor

to others we appear in the guise they want, tailored to fit.
do they choose or do you?
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I thought the Muse would lead me to waters fill to brimming
chiffoniers filled with witty lines exotic turns of phrase.

reality is full of ironies, metaphors unfilled flipped or tripped.
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Words written words are open to interpretations,
expanding like cloud bubbles untilmeaning is over laid at each reading
a mosaic of little tiles distort the picture becoming blurred in obscurity.
Original intents lost, new meaning engaged bejewelled but useless.
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the line between the lines, subtext, truth or plot
reality has a short fuse, time a river in which we all drown.

watching the pilot steering us round the rocks
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He wanted to be at the top of his game
wanting to be the poets poet, at the zenith.

he wanted to be high up, a shooting star,
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