the day before was birthday cheer
a little in excess
today I hold my head in hands
a green and bilious mess
but through it all this quirky smile
is plastered on my face
wish I could just remember what
it was that earned its place
alas I must draw comfort from
the fact that it is there
for that's the cost
the memory's lost
I'll toast it with the hair ...
... you know ... of the dog
© 2015 Frederick Andrew. ~ All Rights Reserved
reaching where i shouldn't
for delights i cannot have
promises implied spread damage
where there should be salve
despite the cold reception
i can't tear myself away
hoping beyond reason
for a sign that i may stay
and at least pretend
to share a dream
© 2015 Frederick Andrew ~ All Rights Reserved
with fading sun
my hands grow cold
no respite save
my morning coffee mug
cold hands 'til spring
which through the night
earn little more
than recoil of my love
©2015 Frederick Andrew ~ All Rights Reserved
Inspired by a g+ post by RC deWinter
language is the stuff of thoughts
an ocean wild and free
in which immersed we swim or drown
both beautiful can be
some are content to stand on shore
and watch the roiling waves
majestic or just ripples
voyeurs of the written page
others choose to architect
to fashion vessels proud and true
conveying stories and ideas
emotional milieu
prose is a sturdy surface ship
of capable designs
afloat upon the sea of words
in weather rough or fine
propelling precious cargo
navigating between ports
always floating and upright
through sea states of all sorts
frigate schooner or canoe
designed and purpose built
short story novel biograph
if architect is skilled
in laying strong a keel of words
supporting her main theme and plot
on frames of sentences complete
which make up chapters of this yacht
but still as awesome are these ships
and literary boats
they ply the surface of the sea
conveying what she wrote
while leaving volumes unexplored
dimensions still untapped
the depth of ocean down below
for surface ships a trap
for this a vessel more complete
a ship that's free to soar
in darkness to the pressured realms
and yet return to shore
submerging in the sea of thoughts
evoking all there is to see
and feel with subdued elegance
that vessel's poetry
cadence rhythm and the shape
the meter as words flow
let slip the bonds of interface
and open worlds below
architects who wield these tools
with grace have practiced long
to shape their words with subtleties
akin to dance and song
that poet's vessels dance and sing
more than word's meanings there to see
the elegant complete design
draws me to poetry
© 2015 Frederick Andrew ~ All Rights Reserved
threadbare sailor's dixie cup
brim askew like Gilligan
or Robin
chapeau of the lifeguard prince
from summers at the pool
not unlike my Father's crown
from when his generation
saved the world
© 2015 Frederick Andrew ~ All Rights Reserved
as summer fades
in dead of night
the barred owl calls
and calls again
though sustenance
I do not lack
the plaintive goes
unanswered
stretched thin I sit
barely awake
the meaning stripped
from what I've done
things achieved have
lost their shine
and I've begun
to ache
who cooks for you
she asks once more
as understanding dawns
it's less about
who cooks for you
and more who
you've cooked for.
© 2015 Frederick Andrew ~ All Rights Reserved
