A def musician
can't enjoy his song.
A blind painter
can't admire his work.
If that's true,
then I'm not a poet.
Just a reggae boy imitating...
making a fool of myself.
Cafe's napkins never record
my moments of inspiration.
So what am I?
Am I a poet,
or just a island boy?
I care not for title....all I know,
I'm in love with poetry.

®Andre Pinnock

I kept
your touch
fresh in
memory.

Now I ask,
but only
one thing,

Please
love me
back to
reality?

Then I will
cherish your
touch
presently.

®Andre Pinnock

Pain comfort my heart
Sorrow is my night light
Disappointment is my morning tea
Sadness is learning to be.....from me.
Mom why aren't you home yet?
Promises made to a little boy
Still pending years later
Mom I miss you into eternity
Mom are you coming home soon?
I'm tired of crying your absence
I hate feeling without...
Sigh! I'm miseries carpet
Fast becoming hurt wash bowl.
Mom I miss you.

®Andre Pinnock

Freedom lies in my ability to conceptualize

Armed with weapon of sentences…I am feared

Such power propelled me beyond your projected limitations

Standing outside your walls of prison-
Dreams breathe air of reality.

My skin grabs your attention  

But the blast from my canon left you trembling.

By: Andre' Pinnock
Apr/10/12

She sleep without my arms
Laying beneath her head
The firm black pillow

I wonder what she dream about
When I'm not around
My sweet strong-will angel

I lose love, every  second apart_
Time is a thief, but I can't complain
Cause soon he favors us more...

® André Pinnock
27-Feb-2015

Sincere smile masked by huge strange hands
Pure eyes suddenly coated with immeasurable fear
Her morning skin yet to experience the sun’s close
Muscled danger removed her from safety

Kicking legs left in the field a shoe-
Bushes sharp eyes gazed frequently upon her skin
Tears ran ceaselessly…it alone echoed her pain
Lips fasten by his palm never again move

Torn dress exposed her fledgling horizontal chest
Dirt and bruised leaves vaguely hide her shame
SHE WAS JUST A CHILD!
Three weeks over thirty-nine…a monster he was

Her imperfect world was perfect until…
Her laughter was free and enjoyed
Now they are just bitter sweet memories
He stole her—he broke in


By: Andre' Pinnock
May/02/2012

I'm a student of love.
Teach me the truth
that is absent
from much hearts.

Enlighten me
on matters of
passion, deep affection,
sincere love and genuine care.

Misplace my vision isn't.
Illusion had not washed
my eyes
with unrealistic observation.

So what if I-
stripped away the imperfection
of your being and gaze-
gaze upon the flawlessness
of your character?

I'm not lost to inane affection
Rather I'm seeing you
in the true state of love
my queen...

holding nothing
that is spotted
to my lovers pureness of love.

Do teach me, my love.
Please!
don't think I've been bitten
by naive's fang.

Trust me!
Poisonous flattery
is not flowing
through my veins;

thus infecting my tongue
with foolish words to say....
You are perfect....
full stop!

Why, should I say otherwise?
Are you not?
My eyes sees no error
cause love cured me.

Failure to be consistently
who you are
has nothing to do
with you being a being

but my failure
to look deeper to see...
It is I
who have viewed you
with a shallow love
and weak appreciation.

Love in itself is perfect
Though we are not
It remains unblemish
That same love that exist in us.

® André Pinnock
  April 07th, 2014