As several samples previously blogged..  
(http://www.writeoutloud.net/public/blogentry.php?blogentryid=41231) Counting to Ten,

(http://www.writeoutloud.net/public/blogentry.php?blogentryid=41341) Prisoners of War and

(http://www.writeoutloud.net/public/blogentry.php?blogentryid=41505 - Prisoners of War II)

my new collection ‘Europa - In The Dark Valley Between The World Wars (co wrote with Nick Armbrister) has now been published viva Lulu.com on (http://www.lulu.com/shop/andy-n-and-nick-armbrister/europa-in-the-dark-valley-between-the-world-wars/paperback/product-21540773.html)
With amazon status and ebay status etc to follow or directly through myself viva my email address – aen1mpo@yahoo.co.uk
For £5.

Next up, as part of NaPoWriMo  (National Poetry Writing Month - http://www.napowrimo.net/) I have created a  NaPoWriMo blog for this year which can be read at http://napowrimo2014.blogspot.co.uk/ with a difference where the blog will contain (hopefully) 30 poems connected into the same story called ‘Ghost Story’ which will be about a meet up with a man called Andy and a young lady called Michelle who is not quite what she seems.

The difference with this story, as each poem is released on a daily basis is I am encountering people to send in poems linked in within the world of the story or other ghost stories / poems.

Email me on aen1mpo@yahoo.co.uk for more details.

Dispatched to our recycle bins
the memory of their suffering
comes across as a
thawing out window
lost across the decades
rather than perpetual
constant moaning,

An epitaph in the wind,

sleeping in the distance
with shell like heads
and shaved eyes
staring at the camera,

counting to ten

engulfed in silence

in front of a candle
between emotions
that lie between
the pair of them,
praying silently their son
wasn’t on the next train.  

(For Paul Cealan Who lost his parents
during the Second World War)

(A poem from the soon to be released split book 'Europa'  with Nick Armbrister which explores real life stories set in the cruelty of War)

Steeped in silence
At six in the morning
Across bright lights
From a nearby field,

Seagulls land on the ground
Before leaping into the air
In a circular pattern
Leaving nothing
But feathers in the mist,

And the tapping of my paw
On the window.







(Wrote for our younger cat, Roxy.
The prompt for this poem came from Jo Bell's excellent
52 poems blog which you are given a prompt weekly
to write a poem on. It's a excellent idea and recommended.
http://fiftytwopoetry.wordpress.com/)

I ring you in the usual way
During a early lunch
But you drop the phone
When you hear my voice
Leaving me with nothing
But the droning ambience
Of a lost call.

Perhaps you are still in bed
In the middle of a deep sleep
After a late

Late

Late night

Talking

I had forgotten you mentioning
With a few bottles of wine
At your friend Jane’s
And couldn’t be bothered
Staggering out of bed
To answer the phone,

Or maybe your Cat
Has instead of missing
The dressing table
After jumping from your bed
Has leaped over the suite
Onto the window
And knocked the phone flying
Cutting me off into oblivion.

Perhaps it was a BT error
Or you are on the phone
To your mate, Steve
For one of your epic
Three or four hour calls
Which frequently has me thinking
What the hell
You could talk about
For so long
And is meant to feel minor
When Steve says he sometimes
Talk to one of your ex’s
All night long
Sometimes,

Or maybe you are rushing off
To the shop
Across the road
To pay your lottery ticket
Before rushing off
To your doctors
Then asda up the road
Before it closes
And really
Really
Could not be bothered
Answering my call
At least then.

Whatever reason
It still hasn’t clouded
Over my love
For you.

After Summer
Autumn is always brushed
Under the carpet
Like a half-baked afterthought
Before the Winter arrives
With its blanket
Of snow-rolled blues.

At the beginning of Autumn
There is a hesitation
In the breeze
Before the clouds
Darken the sky
And poison us slowly
With mustard gas.

There is a sadness
In the half-cut sun
Flickering once more
Before the clouds
Carry the sun away
Like a funeral director
As an ornament
Of a mystery
Dying with a silent scream,

Before setting their
Compasses north
Never to be seen again.

(Previously published on http://static.inexsilio.com/pdf/2013_spring.pdf)

For only a few seconds
He was stood outside
Next to where she waited
In the heart of the moonlight,
Peeling back her unknown promises
Behind the hiss
Of a stuttering train
In a mystery of bleached hair,

And bright red lipstick
Tangled up in each others footsteps
On a uneven texture
In the mist
Before tossing her cigarette
Back into the
Middle of the river,

And with it
The last remaining evidence
Of the crime
They’d just committed
In black and white.

(Previously published at http://www.staxtes.com/2013/10/andy-n-of-stuttering-train-poetry.html)

Random moments
bring portals of memories.

Random moments
bring fragments of peace.

On dust covered dunes
lost in the drones of the sea,

or looking at you
looking aimslessly out of the window.

Watching Candy Floss
dance across the sea.

Listening to bus wheels
stutter like stray thoughts.

Looking for seagulls
like clues to a great mystery.

Clues across the closed pier,
and the chaos of the severed sun
looking for a ticket to ride
as it chases the bus
past an aloof Arcade
before you find the answer
in my arms.

(FROM 'A MEANS TO AN END')