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Best Poems Written by Andrew Delapruch

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

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Details | Andrew Delapruch Poem

the sociopath irony

s/he who will get locked away,
fried in the chair, lethally injected,
gassed, hung or shot by a firing squad,
resides right in your home town,
right in your neighborhood,
right round the corner &
without the ability to feel guilt
when s/he lies, cheats, steals, rapes,
beats or kills someone,
s/he’s considered to be a major threat
to the stability of
“western civilization.”

and yet, it is said that
most “normal” people don’t make good killers &
that those who join the military have to undergo
such “training” (brainwashing + drugs)
in order to be able to do it efficiently 
without the side-effects that would come
with doing it as a civilian &
still, it is said that many soldiers aim high
or do their best not to kill,
especially if in hand to hand or 
close combat,
unless they are pushed to extreme limits.

the irony is that those that our tax dollars
send all across the world to stomp on others in the name of our great
empire
(our great policeman of the world),
are those least likely to do what they are being paid to do,
while those that threaten us on a daily basis
here at home,
silently & secretly,
are the kinds of individuals who can win wars.

we humans celebrate the sociopaths
when they kill in our name
when we’re on the side of the winners &
history will be forged in such a way 
as to show that what said sociopath leader did
was indeed great,
that in our time of need,
s/he killed without conscience,
s/he killed indiscriminately &
had s/he not been doing it to “them,”
s/he might have been doing it to
us.

Copyright © andrew delapruch | Year Posted 2012



Details | Andrew Delapruch Poem

7-4-6

how many walking time bombs
wearing fake smiles
dwell in america?

explosive charge + timer + detonator = resident of the US of A

Copyright © andrew delapruch | Year Posted 2011

Details | Andrew Delapruch Poem

unLUCKy

knew a young man when i was a 
young man whose life had been 
screwed from the get-go/HEWA
SADRIFTINTHATWAYTHAT
SOMEAREWHENYOUCAN
LOOKINTOTHEIREYES&SEE
THESTARS/HADALLHE
NEEDEDHADENOUGHTOGET
SOMEGOODSTUFF&YETTHE
WEALTHOFSADNESSINHIS
EYESGREWTHEMOREYOU
CAMETOKNOWHIM/seems
his father was a test pilot for the
us of a & a company who spends
money to buy congressmen &
presidents in order to get more
wars started in order to make 
more bombs in order to sell them
so that taxpayers can buy them
so people they never meet in
person can be obliterated in 
their name/HEWASUNLUCKY
THEDAYTHATTHEYTOLD
HIMTOGOUPINABRAND
SPANKIN’NEWRIDESAYIN’
THATITWASSAFEKNOWING
HE’DDONEITAMILLIONTIMES
BEFOREBUTYASEETHEY
WERELYING/YESITISTRUE
YOU’REGOVERNMENTLIES
TOYOUEVENIFYOUHAVE
TESTFLOWNPLANESBEFORE
SOTHATTHEYCANGOTO
OTHERCOUNTRIES&BOMB
THEMINTOASH/what happened
next anyone could see coming a
mile away for the plane stayed
in the air for less than a few min.
& down it came killing the dad
of the guy i knew & leaving a
mother & son now without the
man they loved so much/AND
WHATFOLLOWEDWASALONG
LAWSUITINWHICHTHEYOUNG
MAN’SMOTHERWHOHADJUST
RECENTLYPASSEDTHEBAR
FILEDAGAINSTTHEUSGOVIN
ORDERTOGETSOMEKINDOF
“JUSTICE”ASIFITEVEREXISTED
INTHISLIFE/SOTHEMONEYCAME
&THETWOOFTHEMDIDN’THAVE
TOWORRYABOUTMUCH
FINANCIALLYAFTERTHATBUT
ONTHEDAYHETOLDMETHESTORY
HESAIDWITHATEARINHIS
BLOODSHOTEYES/”i would give 
every penny of it back, just to have
my father still alive.”


Copyright © andrew delapruch | Year Posted 2012

Details | Andrew Delapruch Poem

pax romana

oh,
boastful & bloodthirsty empire
stretching yourself silly
from “sea to shining sea”
will there ever be a moment of peace
again?
must you continue
rising like yeast
to command the breadth of the world
until you become far too burnt for anyone to
enjoy
anymore?
even rome had a
pax romana
even icarus
paused for a moment to strap his sandal back up
before
flying
into
the
sun.

Copyright © andrew delapruch | Year Posted 2011

Details | Andrew Delapruch Poem

various frustrations concerning the hiccup-fart orgasm

and so it was that after a good run of
great sex & many lovers,
s/he came across a period of time unlike
any of her/his friends could come close to comparing,
a time of 
frustrating
hiccup-fart
orgasms.

each time s/he was getting towards that final punch of that final round
rockin’ & a sockin’ like the robots themselves,
off went the gas pumps inside &
oh
the
embarrassment---
the kissing went ripe as the
hiccups blew in the face of the lover still trying to concentrate
(and dinner only a few minutes/hours ago, now cascading in a fine mist across the face) &
as if that wasn’t enough to drive a stake in any
romance of any satisfactory quality,
out came the blast from the other end
filling the scene with 
custom methane &
sooner than later
(as if it was anticipated anymore by the other party),
the end result of
what coulda’ been,
shoulda’ been,
but clearly
wasn’t.

Copyright © andrew delapruch | Year Posted 2012



Details | Andrew Delapruch Poem

project of compassion

be careful not to become
someone’s project of
compassion---
for there are those who
find a way to fill themselves
(the hole so deep & bleeding)
up by taking care of another
in such a manner that attachments
may form between
the project & the project 
coordinator (PC)---
where there had not been a 
hole, now one can be drilled
so as to make the two 
co-dependent,
where the PC
needs the project to fulfill them 
&
the project becomes
dependent on the agency of the
PC, forgetting themselves,
forgetting their own individuality in
the process &
if the project does not come to
fruition in exactly the way that 
the PC sees fit,
they may throw a tantrum,
which minutes ago 
did not seem possible,
because they had been looked up
to, they had been admired,
they had been thought to be
flawless?
wise?
capable of sustaining positive 
change inevitably?

ahh, but they were only human
the whole time.

Copyright © andrew delapruch | Year Posted 2012

Details | Andrew Delapruch Poem

cake and eat it

cake & eat it

bored with the 
relationship s/he’s in
but not wanting to leave
the positive aspects,
thinking s/he’s too old to
start again &
been there before anyway---
with a pattern s/he knows 
all too well
looming just over the horizon,
s/he takes the plunge,
not looking before s/he leaps &
not wanting to think about
the significant other
who may be at home
wondering, waiting &
wanting to get to the bottom of
the change in 
habits (all that are noticeable &
s/he thinks they aren’t),
the change in his/her look
(clearly prepping for somebody 
else & the audience at home
ain’t buyin’ that its them),
the change in the craving for
attention from the one s/he lives
with &
of course, the list goes on---
s/he starts to look outside the
cell, refusing to leave on her/his 
own, 
desiring &
desiring &
burning up
inside with
sheer want, until
s/he comes across 
someone that s/he cannot have,
someone who says s/he’s got to 
choose between the stability of
boredom at home or
a new trip, entirely,
someone who reveals the obvious in
plain English---
“cannot have your cake & eat it
too.”

Copyright © andrew delapruch | Year Posted 2012

Details | Andrew Delapruch Poem

the privately religious

there is a sentiment amongst the most public of believers &
even those nonbelievers who still hold some sick
compassion for them…
these
“privately religious,”
who do not parade around with the charlatans 
who gather on sundays or get down on their little rug & face mecca,
and they are given some kind of
special treatment,
as being more “spiritual” &
possibly even leaning more towards the agnostic than being
true believers at all,
still, they hold the little books so tightly in their arms
when they go out in the woods behind their house to
be one with nature or
meditate to try & get to be 
one with everything---
they step outside themselves in such a way 
as to escape what is right in front of them &
say to all who ask what they believe:

“i believe in something…i mean, i have my own idea…i don’t go to church or anything”

as if the humans who do go to the worship extravaganzas
think any different?
as if the personal god that is supposed to answer their prayers is any more in tune with you 
just because you don’t call it by the same name or
worship it in the same place.

each member of the privately religious
make themselves more ridiculous than those who get together,
because they sit alone like ****ing joseph smith & his plates,
still believing that there is a unique revelation coming down the pike
for them & only them.

Copyright © andrew delapruch | Year Posted 2012

Details | Andrew Delapruch Poem

the pipeline

absolutely nothing stops the pipeline.

 

it penetrates all ways of life

all borders, all villages & towns---

the pipeline kills everything in its path if it dare stand in the way

of its progress---

with black gold funneling back to the

land of the free

who eagerly seeks to waste

every last drop that is left on the globe

here,

within the borders of the US &

nowhere else,

the strongest military ever assembled

will stop at nothing to keep that pipeline

burrowing &

burrowing its way through

every possible barricade,

eliminating every question as to why or

for whom it all is to happen---

our way of life here in this

“great democracy,”

is something that you should want &

if you aren’t part of our solution

then you are part of our problem,

and if you don’t give it up to us when we come

steamrolling through your land

with our extended erect penis

 

(ERECTED PENIS: Bluenight Energy Partners, NuStar

Energy, Buckeye Partners, Plains All

American, Holly Energy Partners, Sunoco

Logistics Partners, Magellan Midstream

Partners, Tesoro Logistics)

 

& it’s big throbbing veins

 

(THROBBING VEINS: connecting Algeria, Egypt, Libya,

Sudan, Tunisia, Morocco, Cote d'Ivoire, Gabon, Angola,

Democratic Republic of the Congo, Chad, Cameroon, Ghana,

Nigeria, Kenya, Uganda, Tanzania, Zambia, South Africa,

Mozambique, Zimbabwe, Brunei, Indonesia, Malaysia,

Myanmar, Thailand, Singapore, Afghanistan, Bangladesh,

India, Myanmar, Pakistan, China, Japan, South Korea,

Australia, New Zealand, Papua New Guinea, Iran, Iraq, Israel,

Jordan, Kuwait, Oman, Qatar, Saudi Arabia, Syria, United Arab

Emirates, Yemen, Bahrain, Lebanon, Azerbaijan, Kazakhstan,

Latvia, Lithuania, Russia, Tajikistan, Turkmenistan, Ukraine,

Uzbekistan, Albania, Bosnia, Herzegovina, Bulgaria, Greece,

Hungary, Romania, Serbia, Slovakia, Slovenia, FYR Macedonia,

Turkey, France, Belgium, Germany, The Netherlands, The Czech

Republic, Italy, Switzerland, Austria, Norway, Sweden, Denmark,

Georgia, Belarus, Latvia, Estonia, Spain, Portugal, United Kingdom,

Ireland, Gulf of Mexico, Canada, Mexico, Argentina, Bolivia, Brazil,

Chile, Ecuador, Peru, Uruguay, Guadeloupe, Martinique, Barbados,

Colombia, Costa Rica, Guatemala, Panama, Venezuela, Trinidad &

Tobago)

 

PLUNGING

THRUSTING

TWISTING

GOUGING

RIPPING

TEARING

DRILLING

we will rape your land &

leave you in our wake---

the pipeline matters

you do not---

go ahead people now,

say it aloud so the

rapists can hear us...

THE PIPELINE IS ALL THAT MATTERS

we do not.

Copyright © andrew delapruch | Year Posted 2011

Details | Andrew Delapruch Poem

digital footprints

one night i dreamt i was surfing in cyberspace &
many images flickered in Adobe Flash
with every movement made, every keystroke &
slide of the mouse to & fro,
i hadn’t a clue (in real time), but i knew 
that there were centillions of digital footsteps 
being made with every moment
leaving their print upon the world within the screen
(still outside my own physical self)---
while my own history could partially be brought up
manually on my PC, i knew that 
every phone call, every movie watched & every second
spent on the web,
had been recorded somewhere,
being held for an indeterminate amount of time &
unlike those nutjobs who say they had a 
“near death experience” &
their lives flashed before their eyes,
i myself was fairly certain that
i would never come in complete contact with 
this shadow of online presence.

this, however, did not bother me,
because whether my life was dragging down deep in
the gutter or
flying up in the air by the seat of its pants,
i was grounded in the cooling light of backlit LED pixels,
which would be with me until my dying day
(or until i became one with them in the future).

and there was no conversation with my PC,
because it was not a capable artificial intelligence
(as of yet) & therefore it had to abide my own human
error
(alas, PC, i pity thee) &
unlike the fictional “lord” of those religious idiots out there
walking in the sand,
it did not “speak to me” when i was down on my knees 
squinting to myself with hands clasped
(um, for i wasn’t),
conversating inside my own head
hoping for answers to questions 
to magically arise from my own fragmented,
severely delusional &
quite obviously 
bat*****
mad
psyche.

no, there was no made up excuse 
for which this human had to look to
in order to alleviate responsibility for those things
that are the most absolutely horrible
which all of us humans have done to each other,
the world around us &
to ourselves,
but rather
only quality time spent
between myself & my computer,
which had evolved from a less impressive model to its
current state,
but which would be outdated in a few years &
get scrapped for a better one,
until its own superiority 
surpassed my own &
i needed to become one with it---
then, there would be no 
digital footprints at all,
for they’d all be
within.

Copyright © andrew delapruch | Year Posted 2012

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