A. Fletcher » poem

Haiku #1

Andrew — Thu, 10 Jun 2010 15:40:13 +0000

Granite soul sarcophagus
my heart worries like
a Pekingese butterfly.

First Night

Andrew — Thu, 27 Nov 2008 23:05:14 +0000

Lithe voices glide
like spirits in mist
short words spoken close.
Closed mouths tight lips
give way to sentences, vines
outstretched tendrils grasping
rich air for meaning, moisture.
The ecstasy is the infamy
of blasphemy, to marry flesh
in intimacy, crying out for more
and less and more.

Tell her something perfect
he says to himself, his lips stir — she cuts in

“Everything will be wrong tomorrw.”

“Then anything is right tonight.”

Losing count of drinks, cigarettes
kisses, they blur, until
the edge of the world
is the end of the night.

I wrote this on my typewriter, October 8, 2008.

I’m aware of some of it’s faults, but I welcome further criticism. And I don’t like the title.

On the Bridge

Andrew — Mon, 25 Aug 2008 02:26:20 +0000

On the land I lived
I’d built a bridge
and there returned.
I stood
on planks and logs
of wood, hammered
still with time,
and looked to find
the world less green
than I remembered,
a year ago
since that December.

On the land I lived
I’d built a bridge
and there returned.

machine

Andrew — Thu, 15 May 2008 05:27:55 +0000

what does it taste like
to be part of a machine
does it taste oily
like lubricants
industrial and viscous
or sweet illusion give way give way
to bitter aftertaste metallic
acidic like vomit
bile mixed earth
toxic and preservative.
what does it taste like to be part of a
machine?

New Moon

Andrew — Tue, 23 Oct 2007 15:28:00 +0000

In the darkest night of the season
I fell in a hole, booted feet
and stick knees on
soft earth fresh from run off
and I ran off too
down tracks parallel in direction
and through luck and inattention
made it home.

And six months went by

Andrew — Thu, 04 Oct 2007 20:51:00 +0000

I never did mention that I’m going back to school. Well I am, and it is not the afterthought that it appears to be here. I really am trying to upgrade my life, and I have made a few sacrifices in the meantime — not all of them insignificant. When I’m in class, taking notes, everything I do makes me feel like I’m doing what I should be doing. It’s a feeling I haven’t had in years, and I relish it like a drug. Though I still feel a little out of place at times. Walking up the steps the other day I rounded a corner, nearly bumping into a girl. “Excuse me, sir,” she said. I can’t be more than two years older than her — if that — and she addressed me like I was one of the faculty. Since then I’ve taken a few more steps to look like I belong, if only to blend in a little more. That led to this exchange, more in the right direction:

“You look like… what’s the word for out of time and place?“I instantly replied.

“Anachronism.”

“Yeah, that’s it. Anachronism.”

Of anything that I’ve been called, that is what I like the best. It’s neutral, neither complimentary nor derogatory, and paints me as neither above nor below my surroundings, but both ahead and behind.

Then a little while later, it led to this:

Frostily trotting
on the cold steps
mouth tight
wordless
speculative in nature
coarsely ground
to a finely finite
finish.
Twenty-dollar words
bottled up like old wine
maybe vinegar by now.
Maybe.

I used to feel that my interests are far to broad to be put to good use in a blog. But I’m reconsidering.

Dead Cow Farm. Graves, Robert. 1918. Fairies and Fusiliers

Andrew — Wed, 26 Jan 2005 08:06:00 +0000

Dead Cow Farm. Graves, Robert. 1918. Fairies and Fusiliers

When I was 16 I discovered a collection of poetry from the First World War, and I believe I kept that book out for several months. This was one of the treasures that I found there.

Suicide in the Trenches. Sassoon, Siegfried. 1918. Counter-Attack and Other Poems

Sassoon is another of my favorite poets. His work has a simple purity to which I can relate, and that makes the content more real. I can see him in a deep trench, scribbling by candlelight these bits and keeping them in a muddy notebook which never left his side. He survived the war.