Poems. Andy Fox.

 Two steps forward.One step back.
One step forward.Two steps back.
One is progress,
the other:defeat.
One is advancement,
the other; retreat.
All for one or not at all.
Roll the drum and spare the clown.
Hit the bandsmen oh so neatly.
Kiss the ladies oh so sweetly.
Bang the cymbal!
Roll the drum!
One step back
and two steps on.

 

Andy Fox 060709
whimsy i guess...

For the child fast asleep in the back of the car,
her eyes shut and her mouth open,
today is an adventure.
Today she is going on holiday.
"Are we there yet?
are we there yet?"

 

Andy Fox 030709

Here us,this clan,shall plan.
We shall plan and we shall improvise and we shall prepare
for if we do not then we are surely doomed
and we cannot allow ourselves to die.
We have accomplished much
and we have much left to accomplish.
We cannot allow ourselves to be destroyed
and we will not allow what we have accomplished to be destroyd.
We shall defend ourselves against those who would seek to destroy us.
For they intend to spread our very ashes on the four winds.
Prepare for war and we shall have peace.
Prepare for death and we will live.
Prepare not and we shall surely die.
Apocalyptica.

 

Andy Fox 020709

I havent written anything today.
No words spoke to me,
no verses sang to me,
no stanzas carolled me and
no syllables counselled me.

 

No poems were written in praise,
there were no haikus to the departed,
no sonnets of love,
no paens of praise,
no sagas of virtue,
no songs of critique.
No poems were written this week.

 

Andy Fox 020709

Watch the phone.
See how it shatters as it hits the wall.
Feel the hurt drain from you as it does so.
Another broken promise.
Another  broken dream.
Another scar on your heart.

 

A new day tomorrow.
A new day
tomorrow.

 

Andy Fox 260609

The smell of a  book,

the scent of a woman ,

the heavy reek of diesel,

the notes of new asphalt,

the aroma of  freshly baked bread,

the stink of the abbatoir,

the fragrance of flowers.

All are the perfumes of life.

How bland our lives would be

without our sense of smell.

 

Andy Fox 250609.

In a whimsical mood.

In my head i am 14 years old
not this wreck of 47.
Not the disenchanted and disillusioned me of now
but the brighteyed young optimist
who has just discovered  the girls of summer.

 

Andy Fox 250609.

This is a rewrite of the recycled teenager poem.

"While stitching up the hand of a 75 year old Devon farmer, who cut it on a gate while working cattle, the rural doctor struck up a conversation with the old man. Eventually the topic got around to Gordon Brown and his appointment as Prime Minister.

Well, you know," drawled the old farmer, "this Brown fellow is what they call a fencepost tortoise." Not being familiar with the term, the doctor asked him what a fencepost tortoise was. The old farmer said, "When you're driving along a country road and you come across a fence post with a tortoise balanced on top, that's called a fencepost tortoise."

The old farmer saw a puzzled look on the doctor's face, so he continued to explain, "You know he didn't get up there by himself, he definitely doesn't belong up there, he doesn't know what to do while he is up there, and you just have to wonder what kind of idiot put him up there in the first place."

Quis custodiet ipsos custodes.
Who watches the watchmen?
Who guards the guardians?
Who polices the police?
Our corrupt politicians?
or us?

Andy Fox 230609

Your starter for ten!