This is my poetry. If the occasional *bad* word offends you,
or you are offended by views different than yours, or you are a child under the age
of eighteen, or have a heart condition, or no brain...turn back now.
Otherwise, you are welcome here and I hope you enjoy these as much as I do, or did,
or will, or...whatever.
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My love, born of pain and sorrow
Long ago, not forgotten.
Of graceful art and movement
Ages past, past meeting.
Met in highest heaven
Sooner bright, then brightening
The dance continues
I whisper round you gently
Breezes passing through your hair.
A love for you,
Come to me,
my whispering susurrant love,
in the dark
Whisper to me...
In the quiet
...In my dreams
Are you going to sleep the sleep?
And will you dream?
And if dreaming?
Of Blue-Black silvered chrome?
Of Roses resting pale on satin
smoothed by touch?
Light on light in darkness running.
Crystal webs of lives unending.
Axised hub revolving.
Your mind unbounded,seeking
creation of the infinite.
Against all knowing, assured
of mercy limitless.
Centuries spinning suspended,
Invoked for eons over.
Held in reserve as night comes
Back from the unbounded dropping
Infinity enclosed by breathing.
Too soon returning.
Wake now My love,
You've been dreaming.
The Greeks Were Cynics And The Greeks Are No More.
Through fire, by roads undending,
you are here.
Trial by tears, and juries of pain forged by inflicted wounds
sentence you to me.
Through ice I travel,
chilled by frozen love,
frozen life thawed by a decade of memory.
Thoughts together expressed forever
over distances uncrossable,
Only now does space and time allow...
Memories existing, spectral,
unsure of future paths taken,
past roads, covered by time in shrouds.
Converging here; we meet,
not yet to know how.
Who is this unknown yet known that drives
into my heart
Bringing pain of past lives like coffee and cream,
warm and rich,
thick and welling.
And how in this complexity
does it come together,
as we circle like zodiacs nightly dancing.
Is there to be an end to the mental deciding,
an opening for the heart?
Events no longer controllable discarding,
Is there a chance?
Can the shell be shed in hope and fear
and the shrugged off,
left where it lies?
Moving on with currents of that which cannot be stopped,
to trust that finally,
on green grass spreading.
Folds of fabric softly falling,
softened by yearing.
I dream of nights unending;
of days of matchless purity within your embrace.
The caress that passes knowledge of deeper feelings
and the hearts code,
are contained in the emotions you evoke in me.
Your heart beating against your chest as you breathe,
held quietly, tenderly,
within my arms.
The soft sounds of movement in recline
as the stillness envelops and protects.
My tears a sign of release.
The years of distance and separation are closed and forgotten
in this moment of redemption.
You become my life and my reason.
Complete and whole.
And of all this,
only the heart can contain the infinite expanse of the soul.
Only the soul can give glory to the creator
for having created such a sublime creation as you.
As the soul communes with it's creator,
so the heart communes with the soul.
The heart becomes the conduit,
the spiritual connection between two souls.
Only the heart matters in love.
You alone are in my heart.
There isn't room for anything else.
Infectious laughter striking deep within me,
stirring memories long buried.
I see you as I saw you then,
and feel the pain.
I cannot hold you.
Light step of movement,
flicker of the past and the future.
Brings feelings that tear. and need.
Pain and love become physical.
Undendurable, yet endured;
the absence would be worse.
I say I love you;
and I bleed.
My soul, trapped within me, cries for release.
To fly home to your heart where it has always dwelt.
I presume much because I hope for much.
Forgive me when I overstep your feelings.
My pit I dug myself.
I dwell there,
until I am rescued,
or time resumes it's course.
My life must run it's course with you,
and my heart take full measure of your love.
Nothing else will fill the void that I would become.
It's All Greek To Me
My brain chemistry stopped working the other day.
The day I let myself feel again.
You spoke for an hour.
I could have listened all day,
it hurt when you hung up and you went away.
The Samsonite gorilla ain't got nothing on what my hearts been through over you.
I caused it; you didn't cause it.
You didn't ask for this. You deserve better than me, but I'm here.
God help us both.
You've seen my worst,
and tequila worms don't count!
And still you say you care.
What a universe created that contains such beauty.
what a mistake to send.
Time means nothing with your picture around.
I could get fired for as long as I've spent looking at it.
Woman, mother, friend.
What else could you be?
As it happens, I was happy for you the day you married.
I could have been childishly,
I loved you instead.
You are not a possession to be owned.
Neither can mere intellect serve.
Homer could have written of my love for you,
to be honest,
Helen could scarcely compete.
I would burn the Greek fleet to be with you.
One day, when we're gone,
a passer-by, upon seeing the night sky,
will note two stars passing by.
Are they side by side?
Or just flying by?
The room was quiet and lonely.
when the heat came on.
the warmth was welcome
after the cold.
A cold wind blowing,
roaring around the frames.
Edges catching streamers;
a fire burns brightly beside bins
stacked high with
Cast off tailings of strip-mining.
a confusing jumble of relics recollecting memories.
Vases once garnished with roses
now adorned with dust.
Photographs, pictures: puzzles.
boxes packed with the fashion of past seasons.
Cool clothes for intense heat
for the cold sure to follow.
And a page,
torn from a book,
splattered with blood.
Reminding of a rose that
pricked too deeply.
As the warmth spreads,
the room seems to shrink,
the heat must escape.
The structure, once familiar and clear
Odors of past repasts,
A shimmering stench of rot permeates.
To clean the place,
it must be quiet.
All concentration to the task.
No more to hoard the broken,
The years of dirt resist.
As if driven by need,
to remain stuck.
Effort once applied cannot be stopped
till the surface is cleansed.
contain their scabrous scrunge,
accumulation upon accumulation.
As the work proceeds,
as the windows are opened,
admitting the breeze.
As the floors begin to gleam
and the walls restored to lustre.
The form of the enclosure appears.
What was once,
is no longer enough.
A room, an attic, something underground.
A tripartite tangle.
Entangleing the future.
Freedom becons from outside
Unexpected and welcome.
Hurtling out without thought
for what is left behind.
Let it lie as it has lain. Enough.
It was a womb,
The future cannot be bounded by the past.
Two Of A Kind
I know these two;
two of a kind.
Too kind for their own good.
One is older,
one not so young anymore.
Both know more than they should.
lead them along.
The kindness and caring that comes from child-bearing
holds them in good stead.
They stay instead of leaving.
The good that drew them,
at war with war.
What price love when exacted
Ah man, the bullshit piles up so fast here you need wings to stay above it.
To serve the call
To become one with the service,
But how to stay sane.
The love of a mother,
a fully lived life,
Internally loving life and
They find a way through the pain.
Heaven their aim.
Hail Washington, The Clear Cut State
Hail Washington, The Clear Cut State
Long may your evergreens grow.
From the crystal seekers in Hoaquiam and Sequim,
to the counter-culture farmers in Bellingham.
Around the Tarot nightly gather to commune with
shades of long dead ancient americans.
Drawn by the attitude and the latitudes they come.
Those with blunted wit and cynic smiles seeking nirvana
along your sun-broke coast.
From the land of eternal sun they come.
They bring their laid back laissez-faire
ain't nothing wrong
don't worry be happy
laden childhood angst over guilt
selves to your pristine shores.
To cloud the issues with
it's okay as long as it's okay with you man.
Till the politics look like talk shows over EST
and the swamis run the mills out of town cause
they ain't the right color.
And the kids are taught that what we learned was wrong
cause it wasn't taught by them
or cause we're who we are.
Till black is white and night is day
ain't nobody caring what you say.
Hail Washington, The Clear Cut State
Copyright © 1996. Andrew T. Green . All Rights Reserved.