#andrews
Dearest tree of life giver of life lover of life I find you in every tree every twin butterfly in wild gardens
I see you in my own reflection
Come to me love
I am totally found in memories of you otherwise totally lost
You are my true north
The mirror of you is besides me to show me where I am
And a compass rests besides my bed pointing towards you
Dearest Darling
Oh how I love you
Miss you want you
~~~~~
By: Mr and Mrs Andrews and Karijinbba..
May 21, 2024
May 21, 2024 at 9:24 PM UTC
No distance is for reproach.
No gaps exist that can't rebuild
fallen bridges.
Silence was only to retain,
one such moment of perfect beauty.
That mother's perfect Day.
To be still is knowing the ways
of the Universe and its creator
as in walking side by side.
No arrogance ever known or intended
no disobedient streak no malice ritual performed.
only wrong medical advice the culprit.
my demise but I raise triumphant
motherhood against tirani.
Being voiceless was to let you speak. ignorance was obliterated by your wisdom for loving me,
and betting on my future.
My being afraid ended with your hello your songs and poetry.
I remain pregnant drunk in love
and joyfully thinking of you.
My mystery twin flame,
from beyond, still you fill me up.
Anxiously patiently I wait for your return your presence.
my powerful great fortune
talisman of happiness is only you.
sent from another world.
You are my one best moment
of perfect beauty.
I know I am yours.
I stood in awe voiceless in shock.
I feeling alive someone like you
cared for me for so long.
I walk in gratitude feeling blessed.
I return to your power house
of freedom true love and I grab what you give honor what you don't.
Accepting whatever blessing
or crumb granted.
without selfish requests.
I remain your faithful student
my first, last best teacher
best friend, husband lover and to my eternal joy the best father to our children in every lifetime.
You are my lover of life, giver of life
My one moment of perfect beauty
forever only you, my past
my present, my future my best poet,
my everything.
~~~~~~
All Rights Reserved
in memory of a great portrait
Mr and Mrs Andrews.
by Karijinbba.
Mar 27, 2022
Mar 27, 2022 at 4:34 PM UTC
Living in a world, caught between pain,
The arrogance of my heart, the insecurities in my brain,
A never-ending cycle, of true belief and true doubt
Almost sure I've reached my limit, need to find my way out
Like an inevitable cliché, I reach for comfort in the bottle,
As if an answer sits waiting for me in its hollow,
I've spent so many nights drowning through the years
No longer sure what I'm searching for, no longer sure if I care
Is it time to give up, to give in and move on?
Accept my place in this world and admit I'm not strong,
Or do I keep searching, and pushing for the light
For my piece of freedom to finally sleep through the night
I wish I knew the answer,
I fear I never will.
I hope I'll always care,
I fear I no longer do.
- Johnathan Andrews
Apr 17, 2015
Apr 17, 2015 at 7:22 AM UTC
Depression is a state of mind
but remember my dear
it is a crime
to cut the throat of a beloved soul
and **** the life from within the hole
cross out the lies that left your lips
and drink the blood with thirsty sips
snap her bones into shattered glass
hold your breath until the screaming pass
shout her name from miles away,
he doesn't move, he doesn't stay
Rip the wound with foolish tears
and cover the scar with dreaded fears
taste the pain on your own bandaged tongue
and drip the tears into her precious lungs
shoot the smile from her face
and bring her to a forbidden place
screaming, she runs away,
he doesn't move, he doesn't stay.
- By Jonathan Andrews
Apr 17, 2015
Apr 17, 2015 at 7:19 AM UTC
No not stupid
You stupid
Me learned.
No not drunk.
What about more lines
Than just four?
One more?
Two more?
Change in form and
Stanza size.
What'd your English teacher say?
**** you, **** off,
Don't care, won't listen.
You don't mean nothin' - nowt at all.
Oh look back to four.
What do people write about?
There's a girl here wearing heels
To a relaxed creative thing.
Do I write about that?
Do I write about 'love'?
But I don't believe in it.
Go on then: green fields, pretty skies, blue-eyed boy.
Melt my heart.
Or nature: the pastoral, eh?
A green thought in a green shade.
Be conscious of the spilled blood that went into the making of the wild sky.
Sheep and cows and trees and England and dear God what is that smell?
Dr Evans said the last thing is death.
To sink into the ground and be eliminated.
Forgotten and remembered.
I should very much like that.
Well, there you have it.
A poem about poetry.
Call it postmodernism
But really I'm just bored.
May 28, 2014
May 28, 2014 at 11:53 AM UTC