Long Andy Poems
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Andrew Morton was a dreamer, and had been one for quite some time,
Just as language had to dream awhile, before it'd learnt how to rhyme.
Andy often felt like a wishing well, for he had such hopes and dreams;
Like one caught between a midnight maybe, and the red sunrise theme!
He lived in the house that he was born, and it was a house that he loved,
In agate hours of someday; like a handshake with the future, ungloved.
His friends also felt the future was faceted, and held shades of promise;
Like fragrant flowers, moonlit, or sangria butterflies, asleep in calmness.
Flowers and fancy clouds, trended the pink fad, as feeling family visited;
In final days of fleet spring, when loitering on the green, was prohibited.
Andy lived in the house of yearning, like the good old days, lost forever;
Or saffron sun, which rises only for today, as garnet birds, sing altogether.
Silky were starry nights of yellow moon, in a soft, scented breeze sector.
On the street of fluttering surrender. Lovely nature could not be better!
Andrew's nice neighbors were old friends. Some had grown up together;
In the joyous, white noise of youth, making looking back, such pleasure!
'Safari sunset' blooms opened in winter, in contrast to 'snow in summer';
The first, deep red, burgundy, and wine-red, and the latter an ivory stunner!
'Silver lace' blooms made gowns for the moon, as 'star magnolias' sparkled;
And 'sweet woodruff' scented blue shade, when breeze blew, unmarshaled.
Andrew realized that his life had no direction, for wishes were not enough;
And that he needed definitive goals and plans, as wishes alone, are just fluff!
For it's the things you do as you're wishing, that can make them come true;
So, his studies grew more earnest, like earnest dawn, very violet, all through!
This big change in Andrew, marked the last stage of growing up, suddenly;
As summer matures to the eyes of gladness, before latter colors, turn funky.
'If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.
If turnips were watches, I'd wear one by my side.
If "ifs" and "ands" were pots and pans,
There'd be no work for tinkers' hands.'
Andy was a pretty young girl,
Flirty, fun, always busy, in a whirl,
She was popular at school,
Was intelligent, nobody’s fool
She never was short of a date,
But this would become her fate!
There was at college with Andy,
A nerdy guy called Randy,
Always unpopular heartily disliked,
He spent time alone, always hiked,
And occasionally, biked.
He asked Andy to join him one day,
She felt sorry for Randy, decided to say
Yes, so off they went on a trip
On his bike,
She had no idea Randy was
A complete psyche,
Rode far away from people in sight,
He bludgeoned Andy to death
With might
Used his bicycle pump, threw her down,
Off a mountain, into a shallow
Lake to drown!
Rode back to college, and was in tears,
His face had scratches, her friends
Worst fears,
Were foremost in their mind,
Randy was a freak, one of a kind!
She fell of the ledge Randy lied,
As he continued his story, and cried.
A helicopter flew to the scene,
The police were at this stage keen
To discover the absolute truth,
About this nerdy looking,
Pimply, youth.
Police feared that Andy was dead
The Chief of police at a
Press conference said,
Randy killed Andy, her hair stuck to his
Bicycle pump,
Pushed her and she had landed
Below in a slump.
Randy was found guilty, sentenced to die
By lethal injection,
Which didn’t bring back beautiful Andy,
With her fair complexion!
All My Children
by Michael R. Burch
It is May now, gentle May,
and the sun shines pleasantly
upon the blousy flowers
of this backyard cemet'ry,
upon my children as they sleep.
Oh, there is Hank in the daisies now,
with a mound of earth for a pillow;
his face as hard as his monument,
but his voice as soft as the wind through the willows.
And there is Meg beside the spring
that sings her endless sleep.
Though it’s often said of stiller waters,
sometimes quicksilver streams run deep.
And there is Frankie, little Frankie,
tucked in safe at last,
a child who weakened and died too soon,
but whose heart was always steadfast.
And there is Mary by the bushes
where she hid so well,
her face as dark as their berries,
yet her eyes far darker still.
And Andy . . . there is Andy,
sleeping in the clover,
a child who never saw the sun
so soon his life was over.
And Em'ly, oh my Em'ly . . .
the prettiest of all . . .
now she's put aside her dreams
of lovers dark and tall
for dreams dreamed not at all.
It is May now, merry May
and the sun shines pleasantly
upon the green gardens,
on the graves of all my children . . .
But they never did depart;
they still live within my heart.
This is a poem I had forgotten for nearly 50 years until another poet mentioned "We Are Seven" by William Wordsworth. As I read Wordsworth's poem about a little girl who refused to admit that some of her siblings were missing, I remembered a poem I had written as a teenager about a mother who clung as tenaciously to the memory of her children. The line "It is May now, gentle May" popped into my head and helped me locate the poem in my archives. I believe I wrote this poem around age 15-16, or thereabouts. It is admittedly a sentimental poem, but then human beings are sentimental creatures.
Keywords/Tags: Child, Childhood, Children, Siblings, Brothers, Sisters, Sons, Daughters, Mother, Motherhood, Mother's Love, Grave, Graves, Graveyard, Death, Loss, Memory, Memories
I 'spose I'm revealing my age but how I hanker once in awhile,
To return to days of yore and spin ye old Crosley radio dial!
To our delicate ears, those shows were considered wholesome,
Unlike some television shows today that are rather loathsome!
We marched 'round the breakfast table with "The Breakfast Club!"
"Hello! Duffy's Tavern where de elite meet to eat!" was our pub.
We squirmed as Lamont Cranston intoned, "Only The Shadow Knows!"
Who would dare miss any of the amusing Amos 'n Andy shows!
We'd listen to episodes of Jack Armstrong, "The All-American Boy!"
Remember The Great Gildersleeve admonishing his nephew LeeeeRoy?
Jack Benny was hilarious as he struggled to master the violin.
The Bickersons kept us in stitches with arguments none could win!
Fanny Brice was so funny tweaking Daddy's nose as "Baby Snooks!"
America's favorite teacher was a lady named, "Our Miss Brooks!"
Remember, "Henry! Henry Aldrich!" and his reply, "Coming Mother!"
Or the bantering of Bergen and McCarthy pestering one another!
Even the news was interesting with Walter Winchell greeting me:
"Evenin' Mr & Mrs North & South America and all the ships at sea!"
With the marvel of television making its debut upon the scene,
The sounds of radio have been usurped by that mesmerizing screen!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
I was a mean-spirited, remorseless boy
when it came to get revenge
with the boldest outrage...
Joey never suspected foul play from me!
We were the cruelest classmates,
bullying on the weak and skinny ones;
emptying out their pockets and confiscate
their money as if we were the Internal Revenue...
where would we get that without another avenue?
We looked at them laughing, but our laughter was deliberate!
A question remained, " Who was going to be the treasurer? "
Joey stared at me with envy trying to say, " It's me! "
I stared at him in the same way wishing it were me!
" Andy, let me handle the treasure since I like math! "
And with confidence he promised, " Not a dime will be missing! "
" I have to trust you on that, Joey...you talk silly! "
But he shouted, " You couldn't keep a secret!
Your mom will wonder where you've gotten all that money, thinking
you have done something stupid and illegal like robbing or stealing! "
" Okay, " I snarled, " You got your wish...you grizzly bear! "
Morning came as I plotted against him planning every step
with astuteness, " My plan can't fail! " I told myself...
Joey came running to me as a runner in a marathon,"
" Where did you get those Fila sneakers and Perry America jacket? "
" My dad bought me those...he wanted to reward for my good grades! "
" You cheating, bastard...if it weren't for me, you would fail them all! "
" We are supposed to give the money back to those poor kids! "
I shouted with a vexed voice...but he replied laughing, " No, I never will, punk! "
It was a week before graduation, we took the final test,
how much I wanted Joey to feel the stamina of my wrist
by remembering what he did with the stolen money!
The air in the classroom was as solemn as a church's silence,
Joey sat next to me and copied the answers as I checked them them in each box.
" Fool, you are going to fail this test...this is my revenge! " I uttered...
" What was that? " The wrong answer? " He asked me without malice.
" Yes, change it to All Of The Above " I answered confidentially.
Many more wrong answers I gave him until I put my pencil down and sighed.
" Thanks, Andy for the answers...I hate summer school: you are simply the best! "
I got this new hand soap, called “Frosted Coconut Snowball.”
It's the dreamiest scent ever.
When I’d unpacked (from Spring break) and had everything in place, I dragged Andy and Leong into my bathroom. Wash your hands,” I suggested, holding up the soap dispenser and turning on the tap.
“Ok, Leong said, offering her upturned hands for soaping.”
“Sure,” Andy said, assenting with his hands as well.
I pumped out a generous, foaming squirt for each of them.
Leong held the foam up to smell. “Oh, my GOD,” She moaned, “is this edible?
I shook my head no.
Andy sampled his as well, “Nice!” he agreed. Which is volumes from a guy.
“I fell in love with it.” I declared, adding, “You know, I never used to wash my hands before - now, it’s practically a habit.”
Andy chuckled.
“Good to know,” Leong said, before she began slowly inhaling the fragrance off her now-dry hands.
our cast:
Leong, (roommate) 20, is a ‘molecular, cellular, and developmental biology major’ from Macau, China. She’s a proud communist (don’t knock it until you’ve tried it). We both speak Cantonese (her English is perfect) so we talk a lot of secret trash together.
Andy, 21, Everyone knows Andy. Not by name, of course, he’s like an extra on the stage of life - you’ve seen him around. He’s carrot-topped, always darkly dressed, a soft spoken, chain-smoking divinity-school undergraduate. He’s so smart, I don’t know what he’s talking about half the time. (Seriously)
.
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our cast:
Leong, (roommate) 20, is a ‘molecular, cellular, and developmental biology major’ from Macau, China. She’s a proud communist (don’t knock it until you’ve tried it). We both speak Cantonese (her English is perfect) so we talk a lot of secret trash together.
Andy, 21, Everyone knows Andy. Not by name, of course, he’s like an extra on the stage of life - you’ve seen him around. He’s carrot-topped, always darkly dressed, a soft spoken, chain-smoking divinity-school undergraduate. He’s so smart, I don’t know what he’s talking about half the time. (Seriously)
Charlie’s got an old bar outside of town.
It’s pretty seedy and plenty run down.
Characters who don’t lightly suffer fools
go there to drink whisky and to shoot pool.
Some huffy stuffy ladies from up-town
decided one day they’d shut Charlie’s down.
On a crusade, they made it their mission.
All ‘round town they paraded petitions.
Didn’t like the cartoon-graffitied walls
or the limericks written on the stalls.
They said Charlie’s scarred their town’s pretty face,
called it a blight on the whole human race.
Charlie and friends put their heads together.
They called in Ben, the college professor.
A curious plan began to unfold
as they recalled the legends they'd been told.
The prof walked around. He nodded and "aw"ed
read the walls, and he’d guffaw and applaud.
"Charlie," he said, "think I know what to do
to save our dear bar and make you rich, too!"
He said, “Good man, this place is a gold mine!
Thanks to Andy Warhol and Gertrude Stein!
Except for this 'Careen? Abdul Jabbar’—
Your walls have been graced by many a star!”
“Historical” says the placard outside.
Now, the uppity biddies point with pride.
It all worked out fine. Charlie's got his friends,
his whisky and pool, and plenty to spend.
11/29/2018
Charlie's Cartoon Characters Curiously Careen and Crusade Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Caren Kutsinger
~a first place
Paintings
- Impression: Sunrise by Claude Monet (1840-1926)
- Deer in Stream by Philip Goodwin (1881-1935)
Red sun climbs an impressionist sea
climb
Boats and waves dance a gymnopédie
time stands still
Doe and her fawn in a dawn reverie
they drink from a stream in their tranquility
They taunt me
whispers and shadows and vague silhouettes
still haunt me
Vainly grasping for words to explain
why?
Empty questions shed tears in the rain -
I don't know
Was there a season of darkness we missed?
A wave of emotion we somehow dismissed?
Au revoir, dawn
wondering how we will make it through
with our fawn gone?
//Dedicated to my Uncle Don and Aunt Betty whose son Andy took his own life at age 19
Lyrics may be sung to Gymnopédie #1 by Erik Satie
Gymnopédie - a dance of ancient Sparta
Impressionism - a movement of the late 19th century in both art and music with which Claude Monet (art) and Erik Satie (music) are most often affiliated//
Written 5 Aug 2022
“It's paradoxical that the idea of living a long life appeals to
everyone, but the idea of getting old doesn't appeal to anyone.”
-- Andy Rooney
The leaves are now falling like tears
from the hearts of the trees lofty dome,
and the birds heading south out of fears
as the wintertime’s barrenness nears.
No longer will eagerness roam
for my spirit is losing its cheers,
and so weary from passing of years,
as the heavens are calling me home.
September 4, 2019
Arcane dearly loved institution really does make my blood boil
Clearly gravy train devotion yet still we don’t won't embroil
Confirm detest term “the firm” just makes me squirm and recoil
Handshakes from rakes on the take.. insane destitution we toil
Incest selection we suggest a contest like may be an election?
They josh oh golly gosh this tosh the Constitution didn't foil
Nation's fascination with wally Charles the Turd's coronation
Herd with this absurd have a word off their trolley veneration
No defection as the loyals' protection ensure all the spoils
Girth of their worth pilfered from serf & turf since birth oils
Even Randy Andy or scrappy snappy Harry can’t seem to soil
Kibosh posh arseholes nepotistic trolls on the Monarchy dole
End this whole sick rigmarole..Republic for each prole the goal
No parry views & news.. carry on as "Happy as Larry" crappy Royals