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Best Poems Written by Andrew Fairchild

Below are the all-time best Andrew Fairchild poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Sonnet 28 'I Think I Know the Name of Purity'

I think I know the Name of Purity,
It is Your Name -- it holds clear water well!
A Chalice carved almost to shattering,
A white rose, that alone, grows in the dell
With drops of ice adorning its still face
The warmth of heart that comes with falling snow
The few flakes that adorn your lashes, by grace
Delightful cold that creeps up from below
Loquacity that speaks only the Truth,
Amazed by every small, delightful thing
Ubiquitous praise and unbroken Youth
Right Trust, that gave your finger to the Ring
Inevitable Joy, and whispered Love
E'er faithful, that this all is from Above.

2/11/2019

Submitted for:  Standard Poetry Contest 175

Sponsored by:  Brian Strand

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Sonnet 31 'How High the Bar That Makes a Poet Real'

How high the bar that makes a poet Real!
(He walks in mists, and shadows of himself)
To be a poet, is to burn with steel
Set short time in the forge, the lesser self!
He brands his heart with fiery words, set down
And burns his mind with thinking, ‘til it glows,
He hopes, of sonnets, his will be the Crown,
And hopes that all the brilliance of light, shows!
But, oftener, he writes a humble piece,
A few words cramped into a simple form,
But somehow, in his feelings, a release!
Yes, humble-bumble often is the norm.
And that high bar, he reaches seldom, and
Leaves barefoot footprints in the fruity sand.

2/20/2019

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Thank God I Have a Brother

Thank God I have a Brother!
He fixes up the truck,
I sometimes give him money,
Whenever he gets stuck.

(Not just for up and fixin’
The truck – not what I mean
‘f I tried, he wouldn’t take it)
It’s just that times ‘re lean.

His poor bald head works harder,
Than any I have known!
For he rides an old lawnmower,
And not a horse or throne!

He goes and helps the neighbors,
He will not take a cent,
(‘Course, he could make a killing,
That’s just not how he’s bent!)

Thank God I have a Brother,
Whose Kindness lifted me,
When I was drenched in sorrow,
And couldn’t hardly see.

He gripped me through the funeral,
Around the shoulders, hard,
And now, he’s lost his stepdad,
Who helped him in the yard,

Who told him ‘Mighty Fine’, and
Who loved, and sat a spell,
And stayed in the garage shop,
And cared that he was well.

So, now, he has a Brother,
Who’ll stand up, when he’s stuck,
And hold him by the shoulder,
And help him fix the truck.

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An Ordinary Man

Every Day,
My Father got up early
And sat there, in the dark, like a mushroom,
And thought, and thought, and thought…
And... grieved...

He would not be the hero that he'd hoped,
An ordinary fellow with flat feet...

What DID he think? enveloped in the pre-dawn hush?

Perhaps he thought up all the ways that he would live the day,
And do some thing for everybody else... why?  Just to pay
The
Deal He Bought.

To do something he hated, to provide…
To do something he loved, just to provide…

Perhaps he grieved for sons
He feared would fail him,
Or grieved for lonely life lived long in misery,
Or grieved for death's shadow… long, and inching closer

But, No.

I think that was his Pure time,
When stars were still alive, and shed a light
That could not yet be lost in day's grand smear of Sun,
When the silent house made the homely sounds
That only he, at that hour, heard
When the dark enfolded him, and was his blanket,
Reassuring him, that he would have the strength to face
Another day, another week, another year,
Like every Ordinary Man Does,
With slow faith,
And quick fears.

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Sonnet 32 'sometimes, I Wake Up From Sweet Death's Dull Sleep'

Sometimes, I wake up from Sweet Death’s dull sleep,
And find, I’ve not been living as I could,
My friends tell me they tire of seeing me weep…
I feel like I’m a boy, not flesh, but wood…
My nose is growing long, they seem to think,
Although I speak, and mean just what I say,
Some tell me that my promises all stink,
Like broccoli that’s been left out all day.
Well, I’M NOT LIKE THAT!  And I don’t agree!
“What seems a lie’s a Promise,” bright Ray* said,
“a need, ramshackle, waiting to be born…”
I think he’s right, and even though he’s dead
I’ll take his words, go charging up the stairs,
And make amends, and show, I’m one who Cares!

*’What seems a lie, is a promise, a ramshackle need, waiting to be born…” – Ray Bradbury

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In An Hundred Years

In an hundred years...
Everything around us will be changed,
And everybody will be dead,
Yet, something will continue...

Will it be, as my radical leftist brother predicts,
The final takedown of Western Civilization?

Will we all rise to pray and face east?
Will we all rise and face nothing but a cup of sustainably-grown coffee?
Will the common people be able to afford coffee?

What will have become of our words, penned
 sometimes in ink,
 sometimes in blood?

Who will still read us?
Will our great-grandchildren show old, unrotatable, digital photos?

What of those of us who have no children?  Will our words survive, even a generation?

Will our poetry be sold, half-price, or clearance?

What footprints will we have left, who built no buildings, saved no lives, ended no tyranny?

Yet, I think we will survive for a generation or two,
For there are always a few who hope to feel something,
To know the grounding reality of shared human experience.

I do not pretend, they will be reading ME,
But, perhaps,
They will be reading US...

That shrinking crowd that comprises the body of
Our words made corporeal,
And one or two of us, they will remember...

I hope for nothing better than a sea,
And quiet waves that bear away once-me...

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Sonnet 33 'sometimes, a Slow Fire Burns Inside of Me'

Sometimes, a slow fire burns inside of me,
And eats away at all the good I’ve done.
The Spark Divine’s across the Nether Sea*,
And of the blunt and broken, I am one.
I would my heart could smite smoke like a sword,
And burn a fiery streak across the bay.
I’ve gathered all my Love into the Word,
And said one tenth of what I have to say…
I calm my teeth, now, for they’d clench and grind,
While I tend still, unworthy fires here.
I cannot know the Nature of that Mind
That sows its seeds among the soils of fear…
But, now, Your coming spreads snow on the fire,
And cools my brow with flakes, freezes my ire.

* the Sea of Samsara, the Sea of Suffering.  Also, the emotional plane.

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Are Socialists Human Beings

Are socialists human beings?
Do they need food?
Are they capable of goodness?
Do they deserve to be tortured, starved, abandoned, beaten?
What makes a socialist cry?
It isn't sad movies -- or is it?

Why should I stop hating them?
I have the right to punish them, do I not?
Or do I?

When Mother Teresa found a Communist, starving, abandoned, beaten, she fed him, loved him, made him feel the hands of Christ, touching him through her hands.

When the SS found a Communist, they shot him, tortured him, starved him, gassed him

When the Communists found a Jew, they tortured him, starved him, took his property, made certain he was strung up as an example, that people do not have the right to own their own property.

When Gandhi found that Hindus were murdering Muslims and Muslims were murdering Hindus, he fasted publicly until they stopped.

Whose example do you prefer?
Mother Teresa's, or Stalin's
That of Gandhi, or the SS?
That of Christ?

I have the right to shoot every Democrat who angers me -- or DO I?

I have the right to impeach every Republican for being Republican, to loot his store, to force him to perform abortions, to punish him...

Somewhere in Africa, a father drove nails through the knees of his teenage son
For converting to Christianity.

I am hatred.
I am anger.
I am violence.

Whose example do you prefer?
Christ's?

Or mine?

This is where we save ourselves,
Or destroy ourselves.

'Let Brotherhood, Peace and Progress become landmarks of attainment', it has been written.

Well?

Which do we prefer?

It's a question to ask yourself every day.
When I win, I make the whole world bleed,
And I LAUGH!

Not such a nice fellow am I.

Details | Andrew Fairchild Poem

I, Lazarus

I, Lazarus*, have seen the brickwork sky,
Its throne is made of night!
Its salt and lime are drying to the eye,
My wandering… 
a sound! a rumble, and a flash of light!

HHHHHHH! How sweet first breath!
That tasting life had tasted only death!

And what is THIS, that thuds against my tomb?
Awaken, Heart!  And greet thy new-found groom!

Who is HE, that speaks with sudden waking,
As though forgotten dawn was newly breaking?

I cannot know, though memory tells me so,
I am a Man, and not a man of dough!

O bright the door that leads me back to life!
But, bidden! I must change my sleep for strife!

Thank you, heart-friend!
I thought that you’d forgot!
Who made me breathe, ‘I AM!’ when I was not.

Forgive!  I cannot hear, my head’s like snow,
AH!  That’s it, ‘loose the man, and let him go!'

1/31/2017
__________

*Lazarus was a friend of Jesus Christ, who raised him from the dead

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The Kindness of Men

All of the wrongs we have done to each other,
We will overlook...
W's lawsuit against my church, because they will not permit him to smoke there,
My interminable and intolerable lateness,
J's calling me, 'pathetic',
MY frustration with W's 'INCORRECT' political opinions,
W's insults, via text message,
MY chauvinism about my religion...
J's unpleasant, unfriendly criticism...
ALL these, we will overlook...

And give each other a good ribbing!

It was my birthday 3 days ago, and W buys me breakfast,
And J gives me a birthday gift,
And we all decide to like each other again --
That is, as long as I am willing to take
A proper beating at chess... THREE TIMES!

And it's all good!

All of the wrongs, we don't mention them.

Except, I squeeze W's shoulder, when I come up, and gently remind him
That we agreed to meet on Saturday...
(They called me today, impatient -- it's Friday -- to say, they are WAITING for me)
And "...oh, did I say SATURDAY?" W asks, wryly, and we all laugh,
And it's all good!

We have forgotten the arguments.

I ask for the family news, and it's all good!

You see, each of us knows,
You cannot replace ONE Friendship, with BEING RIGHT.

So, each of us silently admits to himself
That he was wrong,

And we smile, and it's all good!

And THAT'S the Kindness of Men.