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Andrew Crawford Nov 2024
God forbidden dimwitted idiot
oddly created in his image
as if he could ever pity or give a ****
about every illegitimate kid of his;
no wisdom hidden in riddles,
just my own illiterate scribbling
littered with inner criticisms.
Andrew Crawford Nov 2024
Soon season's truth
cruelly lingers, looms,
moves to darken daylit view;
as dusk encroaches, colors move,
hues reduced and trees left mute.

You cannot wish
or want or choose
wildflowers too
wont wilt where grew
as if futilely doomed
once winter wounds
will chill to ruin,
beauty we lose
illuminated only by
a cold white moon.

For springtime comes
and i swear to you
no matter what we knew
or became so used to
amidst the weeds
our heirloom seeds
still bloom anew–
if only wait,
I'll prove to you.
Very rough 1st-ish draft 😅
Andrew Crawford Nov 2024
Seeds scattered
gather the courage
to germinate, emerge
as fertile, verdant trees
of evergreen and birch,
breeze's tease and flirt
enough to render
Earth fractured–
shattered.

Underneath the dirt
remorse's corpse interred,
lurking thoughts linger,
yet something within me
still stirs and burns;
searching the surface
for touch, tender.

Heart murmurs
but not as
a murmuration of starlings depart,
more like crows murdered;
buzzards, vultures circling birds
conjured–
the curse unburied torture,
no dying words in final dirge
and yet it yearns
for yesterday's return.

Memories my mind blurs,
senses fervently usurped–
but time can never
be reversed,
this cistern's nature
gushing to a turbulent river,
water's surging,
turgid current, pure;
about to die of thirst,
this dam soon fills to burst,
my love i spill and purge
as i remember her.

I was an earlier version
of an imperfect person,
a scourge
of that I stand assured,
but this pain is
terminal,
permanent,
and the only cure
is her laughter,
rapture,
or feeling
fragile fingers,
shelter–
you certainly weren't the first heartbreak I've had
but **** it hurts the worst.
***** when you have a lot of pain and regrets with someone, would do anything to fix it just because you truly love them and what you had more than anything in this world, but youre just at two different places in your lives and the feelings arent mutual. And because all you want is their happiness you have to just let it go (even if all *you* want is them) cuz you also cant just stay around and let yourself get hurt either (when they dont even know if they want you at all)... guess that's just life tho 💔

And just a sidenote– murmuration refers to the way a flock of starlings flies around, look up pictures/videos if youve never seen it, it's really something. Also partly inspired by the song Beautiful Curse by Lost Dog Street Band.
Andrew Crawford Oct 2024
Orange
dancing lady slippers
perform uncoordinated
reblooming of dormant orchids;
warm and cordial in
informal candor
but agoraphobic
from misfortune;
mourning and remorseful
over flowers wilting, mortal.

Daybreak aurora
portent of
sunlight to come,
but stuck northward,
scorching corneas
in torrid dysphoria.

Organism born
horticulturally
disproportioned
and poorly formed,
origin in morbid horror;
cerebral cortex
its own torture,
the mortician
orphaning the organs
from the corpus;
stored in morgue,
torched in crematorium,
vivisected immemorial.

Stems and tendrils incorrigible,
disorganized into
deplorable ****
of tangled discord
clumsily running its course,
corsage and bouquet
aborted in accord.

Important shortage
warrants foraging
for resources
hoarded by some
abhorrent lord;
crowning court this
monarch's consort,
sordid and immoral,
keeping score like some
sick and sadistic sport;
reinforcing order of what's normal,
stronghold cordoned to conform.

Pollinating
swarm of hornets,
buzzing orchestra
of wings in chorus
quarreling with silence,
their scorpion stings absorbed;
stabbed, pierced, and gored.

Like a tortoise
slowly inching forward, torpid,
morass forbids;
roots exploring floorboards,
divorcing into a gorge,
fingers blindly implore
contours of the walls
searching for the door.

But drawn and quartered,
blossoms' florid
and ornate frame contorted,
warping its own portrait;
assorted torment transforming
efflorrescent, metamorphic.

Dwarfing, enormous,
and soaring towards orbit,
forty story high
arboreal forest
flourishing before us;
gorgeous morning glory,
thorny laurel adorning.

Forthwith,
storming windows' glass,
bastille, and castle supports;
warring against fortress
though swordless,
never resorting to forfeit until
entire territory terraformed
into floral orchard-
fragrant and vibrant aura
rewarding victoriously.
Wrote this one a few years ago and wasnt sure if i liked it, didnt quite sit right with me. So i rearranged a couple stanzas to transition between thoughts a little better and try to improve readability (though I'm still not so sure about it lol)... but I've always loved the ending 🤷‍♂️

So while I was writing this one i learned a few things about orchids (and a couple other things) which I tried to work into the poem (or use a bit of poetic license lol), so I'll put them here for context:
–Orchids only bloom once a year then go dormant, but can be rebloomed if taken care of properly.
–Dancing Lady and Lady Slipper are two types of orchids, but there are a ton of different types, and people cross pollinate all the time (so using a bit of poetic license here lol), both of these also have an orange variety. Most orchids prefer indirect light.
–Aurora is also a synonym for dawn.
–Hornets *do* pollinate flowers as well (just not as effectively as bees because they arent fuzzy)... calling a bit of poetic license on that one as well lol.
Andrew Crawford Sep 2024
Summer surrenders sunlight to snow, so slow;
in shades of yellow and red reposed,
autumn’s amber drove.
Into the cold and winter’s wanton woes
restlessness still blows;
despite the icy bite unavoidably exposed,
now a blooming green, in memory still glows.
Through longer nights and silent sleeted sorrows
by keeping close a wealth of warmth from yesterdays ago, I’ve borrowed;
I close my eyes today and dream, now of tomorrows.
Can't believe I wrote this 9 years ago... this used to be one of my best poems (and is probably one of maybe two from 7+ years ago that aren't awful ****)... wild to see how much my style has changed (and my poetry has improved) over the last 9 years.
Andrew Crawford Sep 2024
So nicely
love like
a knife slit
siphons the life from me.

Just the price to be
unrequited,
like a vice grip tightness
strife will seize.

Lightning strike
ignites memories,
fighting
horizon's eve.

Island retreat,
my plight
in crisis
I flee.
Andrew Crawford Sep 2024
Wind sweeps me
off feet
away from
eden's weeds,
ankles buried.

Gaze momentarily peeks
overhead scenery
between steepest
seas of greenery
so clearly breached,
sun beams cleave
trees' canopies
as they breathe.

Grieving the reasons
seasons recede,
summer's heat retreats
before fall will weep
each and every red leaf.

Beneath bark
heart still beats
like machinery,
arteries bleed
and release debris,
branches secreting seeds
til winter's freeze
renders
timbers' limbs empty.

Arms that reach
for sweet reverie
of the breeze
but instead
creaking knees disagree
as body pleas for relief,
searching for
fleeting serene peace
in frigid degrees.

Featureless creature
seized by defeat
no safety,
plagued by diseased
vulnerabilities.

But time's slipstream
reality the
only guarantee;
though no belief that
letting go means I'm free
with nothing to keep
yet memories
heavily weighing down
beleaguered dreams.

So I still seek;
each piece of autumn
melancholy potpourri,
fragrantly reminding me
as I sleep.
Original ending didn't quite sit right with me so I completely changed it (and did a handful of other edits throughout the rest of it)... something about the crisp fall air has always evoked nostalgia but seems like today thats finally just turned into melancholy, maybe that's just what happens after a while 🤷‍♂️

Initially came up with this snippet then never ended up working it in, guess it was just too literal for my style lol... maybe stands alone as its own poem?

Why do I still see you
when I sleep,
in my dreams?
I said goodbye so
Why won't your ghost
leave me be?
Plagued by memories
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