The Ambiguous Zombie

The person gave away all of their heart,

And every ounce of their soul;

One being so divided and torn apart,

Could never again feel whole.

Every sweet action (adore at its best),

Every mean reaction, and all the rest;

Every treasure held deep in their chest,

Every emotion hidden, within their breast –

All things the person offered, repeatedly, in the name of love;

And for their gifts given – they received, none of the above.

In pangs of pain – they would complain,

A sorrowful refrain, again – and again.

Until, ridiculed and detested, finally they would fully quit and succumb –

To the assaults of their friends and enemies – they`d submit, and become numb.

For the attempts at adoration, and loyal friendship they had employed;

The person felt their entire being had been: violently ripped and fully destroyed.

The person`s spirits were dead, but they were physically alive;

Thoughts in their head questioned “How did they survive”?

By the light and grace of GOD, the person was still here;

So they strolled with a smile, and with little mortal fear.

Composed By: A. D.

Projection

Sitting on a stoop, in the dead of winter;

Another warm state, the heart seeks to enter.

These simply sultry-styled verses, wrap around the poem like a glove;

Conforming, adorning, and fitting – snug.

This amenity accentuated is an addicting drug;

The entirety of the lyrics entity, is the intoxicating, amorous effect of love.

Sent from the sedentary location, upon this concrete seat:

Past the present manifestations of this temporal place,

Bent across the hereditary lines, still yet conceived – incomplete.

To the ensuing, viewing generations – some indistinct face.

To bring you hope, a sense of entertainment and ease

To help your mind thaw and unwind

Should your thoughts bind and if you find

The stress of anxiety is rigid, the environment of society is frigid

As the briskly blowing winter breeze, on nights like these.

Don`t let any other chill, kill the strength of your will;

Remain the illustration of an individual,

Not the representation of their residual.

And all things above, fill your heart with love.

Composed By: A. D.

Begin Your Campaign into the Territory of Artistry

Start by closing your eyes, visualizing your goal, and

Departing on innovative adventure.

The way ahead, black – unknown; the end certain – when you find the emerald lawn.

Golden rays in the heaven, are above this grass; where all your dreams will spawn.

Follow the pathway, venture

Further, take the soul past every turn and bend.

In the meadow are untended, enslaved fantasies; which wait to be set free, from the dirt cage.

These previously, planted imaginations can be unlocked and grown, despite any age.

They lie dormant like the (unseen, underground) seeds of flowers, awaiting rain to give them birth;

And their colorful petals will fill the grassland, through the showers of: your focus, love, care, and mirth.

To arrive at this hidden pasture you must: traverse desolate lands, under storm clouds of doubt;

Tempests which turn around, those with hearts unbidden, and strive to keep the indecisive out -

Or keep tentative travelers lost, in the barren desert of despair, and maze of fear;

Sure souls remember, as it seems more hopeless, the closer they are drawing near…

…To a sunny, imaginary, fertile, creative safe haven;

A field where all the inner ambitions you sow

Will continue, unhindered, to passionately grow

(Even when in reality, your sky is colored raven).

There will be two-faced foes in life, who`ll attempt, to dissuade you from your quest;

With sounds of envious echoes, and bitter contempt – your conviction, they will test.

Your expedition, will take you along many sorrowful miles;

And the adversaries will highlight each time you slip,

The rivals will ridicule and laugh as your eyes drip,

Setting up snares and pitfalls, with many wily guiles.

Even, your own pride (may) cause you to backslide, so the ego – strip;

In your own God confide, and recall the reason for your artistic trip.

You will learn to shed all the socially conformed concerns,

Staying steadfast; as others try to lay waste to your arable, aspirations space

(Endure the heat of the fire, although it sometimes burns).

Through dedication, you will paste an astounded, dumbfounded look on their face;

When they realize with haste, how they helped make cultivable - the land of your place.

When you arrive, simply smile and take pleasure, in your magnificent perception;

As you bring alive, with personal style, every measure of your vibrant conception.

Composed By: A. D.

Aggrieved Each Nightfall Ad Infinitum

With great effort his essence sought to deny each and every pleasure,

The variety of distractions which his body often found in leisure.

The only actual joy, which his heart would still value and treasure:

Subtle improvements of his dreams, by an incremental measure.

His tormented flesh, called for him to cease;

The endless pursuit, of his imagination`s release.

Still, the objective`s capture, he`d continue to increase;

Despite all the temptations, which plagued his peace.

His social existence was in a barren condition;

No time for any, except personal ambition -

And, while he acknowledged this lonely position,

He did not attempt to make any public addition.

Pouring his entire heart, and every ounce of his soul,

Into the attainment of his one (and only) lifelong goal.

Willing to pay and suffer every single solitary toll;

While in silent solitude, his momentum continued to roll.

He was insulted daily for his foolishly followed aspiration,

Ridiculed relentlessly for his hopeful sense of dedication,

Labeled with many brands for his steadfast concentration;

But, against the endless enmity, still chasing artistic generation.

Comforted by the knowledge: if he died before the vision was achieved;

In heaven, hell, or nothingness – his spirit would be content and relieved.

He felt that, though success might be an illusion which lied and deceived;

Throughout all the doubt and slander, he always attempted and believed.

Composed By: A. D.

Hardwood Precepts

Sitting outside, and staring at the vast cloudy firmaments;

The heavens are a pristine mirror of the mental universe -

Cultivating another conception from the vision it presents;

Gestating thought as the pen, upon the page, will traverse.

Eyes move now to the once green leaves,

All which remains is the frames of the trees.

Still firm, are the bark`s skeletal branches;

The twigs remind of annual second chances.

Coursing through the grains of entangled bark,

There is an energy, existence’s invisible spark.

Though empty, the large brown husks appear

There is much life, the chill has yet to shear.

Dying above, underground - their activity, concealed roots doesn`t show –

(And like the first stanza`s immeasurable grey skies

Which also lie within each individual`s set of eyes)  

Despite the cold, all things on this earth continue to develop and grow.

Composed By: A. D.

The Being`s Bloodshed

In the depth of the evening, he continues to duel;

With little communal incentive to use as a fuel.

Consumed by belittlement and helpless gloom;

He remains adherent, fighting forward in his room.

The lieutenant of his armies is, a glorious ironclad volition;

The only hope for victorious dreams, to achieve fruition.

Feeling the faith fading, in the face of impending doom -

Still, he will only stop trying and battling

When the fingers of death, deliver his flesh to his tomb.

The wind blows, the windows are rattling -

The air rakes, it`s cold chill slithers across his spine;

His hand also shakes, his brow is saturated with brine.

His spirit is steady – No, it`s pulsating, aflame with hot blaze.

His heart stands at the ready, thirsty and throbbing to amaze.

His desire marauding, on the page; all enemies it will raze.

He is nodding, applauding the violent rage – as the combatants engage.

His company strikes swiftly, killing in a gory haze and daze.

Blood spills like ink, weapons flourish like pens, each hand motion delivers death -

As the initial prospect shifts, it`s very vicious tide, and switches to it`s inverse side.

Defeated cries flood, as enemies doubt and disdain are slain – taking their final breath.

The individual stands over the cowards and fallen foes;

His troops raise their arms, crimson stains their clothes.

If he cannot defeat himself, then who can oppose?

Composed By: Andrew Drucker

A Recession of Depression

The poet places all the depression in recession,

And

For a moment – reveals more unseen progression!

So for this silent exaltation

With one last exclamation!

The poet enacts a cancellation

The poet subtracts punctuation

There are times when the obscurity and loneliness

Leave every ounce of the flesh in a state of hopelessness

Yet, each day poetry develops - harmony steadily envelops

In social emptiness the verses find purity and joyfulness

Poetically lighting the (once) impenetrable darkness

With the fire of constantly burning dedication and desire

Every physical aliment is spiritual irrelevant

Every current moment is a destined present

All impurities requiring correction

Are accepted as personal perfection

The many obstacles – which stood in resistance

 Are overcome by the execution of persistence

Logically the poet knows there is no chance that this feeling will last

But if it`s true the past remains the past

And if it`s honest “Alea iacta est”

Then until the next serendipity – may this emotion remain unsurpassed.

Composed By: Andrew Drucker

The Unknown

First, he renders supplications to the almighty – the trinity;

He thanks them for blessing his flesh, with the gift of poetry.

He ponders - how many moments to pay respect have been squandered;

While his spirit and flesh, have steadily searched and wantonly wandered.

With that humble homage and those overdue dues paid,

He begins his vocalization – which up till now has been stayed.

Many verses his heart has complied, in the dark of the night -

Yet, how can other`s see beauty, in what he may expose and write;

When all the art is revealed, without the slightest visibility of light.

Anonymity leaves his mind feeling completely compressed;

Obscurity leaves his ability sunken, sullen, and suppressed -

His spirit utterly depressed, and logic totally repressed.

He traveled through New York`s ambiguity and The Wasteland,

Channeling and funneling T.S. Elliot into his moving hand.

He Frost`s all his artistry with layers of interpretation,

Complex in the obvious – senses of signification.

In his dream within in a dream, he could see no foreboding Raven;

Only observing nothingness, only the formless verses - not graven.

The source of his beauty, is not found in his concrete refractions

(Though the course of the rhythm for many, is the initial attraction

The use of internally cast and end-rhyme or repetitive repetition);

But, in the vast variety viewed in his verbal abstractions.

He attained a level of comprehension and an apprehension, though not formally trained;

Despite the lack of collegiate experience, intellectually stimulating movements are framed.

In this state; the adept, astute, artist sat upon his usual stoop -

Infinite possibilities enveloped, and circumscribed his mind in a loop.

“Should the verses contain traces of geometry or astronomy?

Perhaps psychology, philosophy, or theology”?

He settled for a transmutation, a combination – Alchemy.

His hand began to formulate the recipe

(Instructions for his newest generation);

He delineated, under a perfect jet canopy,

The constructions of a metrical creation.

Using his life of silent study, and diligent observation,

As the main ingredient of his versified equation;

He hoped no adolescent adulteration or pointless pollution,

Would be perceived or received in this simple solution.

In his potion, the energy of the terrestrial sphere surges;

There, in his conscious, a celestial burning bush emerges.

Lyrics are Moses, as his thoughts multiply and grow,

There is a silent refrain, saying: “Let my bard`s go”.

The movement of these verses are driven forward without

Any actual life; they are fueled by cold fusion,

The words which a mind disperses - when it`s freezing out

The art of eloquent articulation and diffusion.

The evocative power of all poetic poesy is expansive and empirical,

It`s impossible to measure the provocative potential of the lyrical.

No measure for meter, forget the function of a foot;

These dimensions in our space are now obsolete and kaput.

He re-read between the lines, and looked among the letters;

Wondered if this tincture, would be enough to impress his betters.

He hoped that good taste and tact would be remembered

When this tonic is imbibed, and each flavor dismembered.

Appreciating all beauty which is found, (in non- and) rhythmic sound

Of the other poets who inspire and astound, as their lyrics compound.

The creation of each of his poems, openly conceals his life`s objective;

His purpose in the lines, which are subject to each person’s perspective.  

They say the ends justify the means, all love he must send

To poetry, which is all which gives his life meaning in the end.

Composed By: Andrew Drucker

Monsoon Of Gloom

The winds around the tiny ship were growing.

The captain stood at the helm all alone,

As Poseidon`s breath was violently blowing.

The coward crew had abandoned ship

In a frivolous attempt to swim home.

Precipitation, from the clouds, began to slip.

The true fury of the tempest had, only begun to show.

From aft to forecastle, the vessel was tossed;

As the savage waters, cast the steel hull to and fro.

The captain, as a first mate, survived A Shipwreck before

(The experience, on his soul, was eternally embossed),

So he held his course; although he was still unsure…

… Of what the payment for this journey might be.

He looked up at the sky, and was filled with uncertainty;

As thunder from the black, flashed above the sea.

The captains` disposition was dedicated and humble,

In his heart he fought any sort of self-sustaining vanity;

So his commitment to his mission did not stumble.

The fact, that his own life (to him) was of little value or meaning;

Caused him to steer the ship further forward –

Deeper into the adverse waves, rumbling thunder, rain streaming.

Some might say he was suicidal, and others that he was bold,

But as the craft, into the squall, moved toward –

In his heart the captain felt (of his life) totally indifferent and cold.

The deluge pouring from the clouds was now increasing,

And the raging typhoon had grown – more vicious;

Still, the captains` progress was not close to ceasing.

The wash, now consuming the deck, continued to swell;

And the voyage began to appear - more pernicious –

Yet, the commander feared neither death nor hell.

Doubts of survival began multiplying, rising in the interior;

He felt an intense fear of the craft becoming overtaken,

As Zeus and Poseidon wrought calamity on the exterior.

The pilot knew others were depending on the cargo

(And their reliant trust, could not afford to be forsaken),

Which resided in the holds down inside and below.

The worn vessel was no longer under the skippers’ control –

But, some strange spirit kept the boat afloat and advancing;

Pressing through the behemoth blasts, and each riptide roll.

Suddenly, the man saw ahead, a developing tremendous tidal wave.

He knew that: he and the ship, with destruction were dancing;

And that this last step, enveloping, would drag them to the grave.

In a series of flashing moments (which felt like an hour) –

With the moan of aqua and steel; the ship was submerged in the brine,

By the flood of pressure, from Poseidon` pure power.

Held within the savage drink, there was no air generated;

Sounds and sights were distorted and deafened. After some odd time

Had passed, with the captain in this condition, he suffocated.

The captain felt the life leaving his body, and felt a new fear.

The fear was not due to his current form, now passing;

It`s source at first, like his vision, was occult – and unclear.

Soon however, the reason became evident in his dying mind –

He thought about the souls, with their agony surpassing;

He felt terrible, a new source of hope, they`d have to find.

His sight, in death, grew dark as night, then was bright white.

He was lost in utter stillness – an emptiness beyond the storms` violence.

The place reminded his spirit of staring directly into sunlight.

Formless, he drifted, not feeling a thing – beyond absolutely numb

He attempted to discern a direction, in this realm of light and silence;

And soon felt as if he was falling asleep, to this feeling he`d succumb.

In a moment his vision rejoined the obsidian, and flesh he was feeling.

Opening his eyes, he saw the celestial sphere – the terrestrial ceiling.

He felt the sunshine, and heard the cry of a gull, as he awoke from the lull.

The five senses (at first dull), were detected by the receptors in his skull.

Slowly standing, erect on the deck, he looked ahead and saw port and land;

How he and the battered ship pushed past the tempest, he couldn`t understand.

The only thing which the commander knew, in his heart – through and through;

Was he hoped that the vigorously contested cargo brought joy – to at least a few.

Composed By: Andrew Drucker

Feign A Brain

The ink creates steamy silhouettes on the paper…

These symbols are no more than an optical illusion,

There is no message hidden in their vapor…

Or is this a smoky lie, a plot to cause confusion?

The shadows speak to any who view:

“Don`t attempt to find substance in us;

There is only stupidity - emptiness too,

We are like a choir without a chorus.

Keep reading then, if you have decided, you would…

We will leave you mind divided – the same way:

A falling axe could cleave – easily – through wood.

Do you imagine a calling in anything we say?

All we will bring (if even this much, we should):

Is collusion and such – poorly written word play.

There is no reason, you should continue with reading-

Steak without season, is on the menu, each of us is bland.

Everything your eyes have heard is lacking true meaning;

Not worth tracking – there`s no sort of lesson on hand.

Come! Come! These fragments. Erratically streaming,

Will only grammatically lessen, your verbal command.

Fine! Since you followed the end lines, line by repetitive line;

We suppose we can attempt to impart something worth rhyme:

To create tons of confusion, follow this each simple rule:

Use us daily, along with a fusion ignorance and intelligence -

Be intellectually inclined but act out the role of the fool

(Or, put another way; be educated, but sound really dense.);

…

To blend in with the crowd: wear a perplexing shroud,

Sit quietly, looking lost, and never boasting aloud.

…

Write like a mule in each public diffusion -

And execute prowess, in solitary revision.”

Composed By: Andrew Drucker

Umbra Duplicates

These visions were organized by creative provisions,

Though the mind is in turmoil. All these artistic seeds

Have been planted in fertile soil. Imagination needs

Experience to develop; if the expressions are to envelop,

And captivate the well-adjusted person`s perception -

To activate their node for aesthetic reception.

Through personal pains, pleasure is what now - frames…

Once upon a New York street, along a pathway of concrete;

There was a manly boy, whose heart was filled,

With only joy (from within this emotion spilled).

His care: to find a woman, with whom he could share

His elation. He searched for her everywhere,

But only met frustration, for she wasn`t there.

In time, he felt incomplete; as daily, he`d meet defeat.

There was a woman of cheer, who lived without any fear

Of potential heartbreak (though she was hurt before).

In every step she`d take, she hoped for love that’s pure;

Wishing on the stars in the sky, that she`d meet her perfect guy.

Time steadily flew, and as she looked around;

She began feeling blue, since this wish wasn`t found.

These attempts had left, her cheerful heart - feeling bereft.

This night, under the silver moon, magic would occur soon…

The man carelessly strolled the moonlit gravel, with no course.

His stomach rolled with excitement, due to a yet unseen source.

…Two pairs of eyes would soon greet, upon this New York City street…

The woman aimlessly drifted, along the rough grey stone;

She was now feeling so uplifted, for reasons still unknown.

… It must have been fate – as the man and woman met in the hour – late…

Soon, after this the two began to date.

From the first encounter and forward,

Perfect love, they both moved toward.

Two souls had found each other`s mate.

Composed By: Andrew Drucker

A Sailor, Holds Fast

In the people who stroll slowly by

He detects each roll of the eye;

But those he sees (their poorly hidden snickers)

Are the breeze, through a trees leaves

His trunk unmoved still, his verses still spill

The page is hungry, so he doesn`t wait

Leaving the ridicule to the sneering tricksters

Perhaps, it`s that he looks grungy, regardless his mind generates

Well-polished poetry – and these words in patterns, he disperses.

Their mocking – the sea, and he – a boat

Though they are rocking him as they gloat…

His vessel`s not stopping, he`s still afloat

Every attempt to cause him to sink, to push him to the brink

Is: motivation to elevate, what he will think;

Leaving trails of ink, repetitive ripples smoothing each kink.

Every so often his ship is lost in a storm, of hatred and scorn;

Leaving his spirit worn, the mind torn, poetry – forlorn -

Yet, as the tempest is shorn, new momentum is born.

And, once in a while, as the stanzas pile;

All furious animosity and woeful regrets –

He rapidly releases, drops anchor and forgets;

When he is met, with some stranger`s friendly smile.

Composed By: Andrew Drucker

Ask, and You Shall Recieve

As the poet closes his eyes, and reflects

The symbols and sights, project – all connects.

The conscious, though alert, is taken off afar;

All of realities visions, lines of divisions – mar.

It`s hard to decipher, everything he sees;

Returned to the flesh, by an evening breeze.

The worn legs are bent, ninety degrees;

The eyes are at the right angle -

To attempt to unconstrict, untangle -

His inner conflict; which begs, to present

Evidence of: the truth without disguise,

“Reality without the lies, Please”!

Unseen spiders weaving their webs;

The illusion ebbs, through the current of time -

Like a masterful poet, weaving the internal rhyme

The simple focus entirely on the end line;

While others, the entirety, is on their mind –

The visionary; the outside–insiders.

Then, the bard stares high into the beautiful night sky,

Reaching a realm of pure serendipity -

Then, again; prepares to string his own alluring lie.

Silent music, his life`s only mission;

Expressions without any permission -

Words given to him by the divinity.

Composed By: Andrew Drucker

Inscribing

The lonely silence fills the room

Happiness is found in one place

Where solitude, can never replace

A smile can rapidly

Turn into a frown

Just as quickly

Up can become down

Still here, joy is in full bloom

The solitude of being unknown

Is the loneliness`s favorite zone -

Yet, there is no need to mope

There is a friend who`ll give you hope

Asking for no recompense

Providing you with it`s comfort

Soaking you in it – till dense

Always there with support

Providing you with the power

In the most desperate hour

This friend that`s always inviting

Is found IN, a little friendly writing

Composed By: Andrew Drucker

Alone In The Night

All alone for another night

Seems a good time to write

When friendship is out of sight

A pen and page offer a friendly light

When no one is happily calling

And the spirits are slowly falling

And the emptiness is sprawling

And the hope is rapidly dwindling

Poetry will never-ever abandon

Prose remains silently understanding

Journals and notebooks are not demanding

Letters and phrases remain, by your side, standing

No matter the night of the week

If ever the heart is feeling weak

Then begin a quest, and work to seek

The verbal apex and rhythmic peak

Whatever may be your personal need

It lies within this words, ready for you to weave.

Composed By: Andrew Drucker

Frivolous Supplications

Often distracted by the lack of friends;

From being unemployed, and having no ends.

The afternoon is the current setting

For some momentary, present forgetting.

A distraction from this enslaving reality,

Attention is now shifted to triviality.

Looking at the timeless, strong trees;

Swaying with ease in the gentle breeze:

Their trunks are almost perfectly still;

Yet, they are growing each instant still.

Their branches reach further into the sky,

Hands outstretched to the heavens high.

With written supplications doing the same,

Then, working each idea seen, into this frame.

Distilling these conceptions further, and ever more;

To create compositions unadulterated and pure.

Drifting further into each observation,

Proceeding forward with little procrastination.

The clouds above drift along, high above, without a care;

In the daily daydreams, the essence is also up there.

Three sparrows hop along the ground,

Even the cloud dwellers must come down;

Still they chirp out such a joyful sound.

Smiling no matter the despair.

Grin becoming a pair of wings,

To fly with them through the cool air;

Amazed by what joy the flight brings!

Finding a source of great wealth:

In happiness and daily health.

Rich in written rhythmic composition,

And in lines of metered precision.

So in the afternoon, when lonely and alone,

To friendship in nature the heart has flown.

Composed By: Andrew Drucker

Perception and Deception

The sun moves across the sky

Like a pen upon paper

As the day passes slowly by

The ink glimmers caught in each ray

Discerning the night - from the day

The paper is coral and wide

Clouds are horizontal

Along the page, they divide

Within the shining deep, there is more to see

Like the connotation in verses of poetry

The dawn is creation

The dusk the conclusion

The light our illumination

Sun`s movement the illusion

As eyes move when reading words on a page

So Terra is dancing, her pirouettes on a stage

When midnight sets on your dreams

And your`e caught in motionless stagnation

And every attempt you make seems

To conclude in hopelessness and frustration

Do not give in, to the darkness`s deception

Keep moving forward

Until your motion, changes your perception.

Composed By: Andrew Drucker

Sun Down

The cold day blends into night -

Cheer is a blanket wrapping

The heart, in warmth, holding tight

Until bliss starts dripping.

The golden azure sky above

Sparkling, fading, and slowly - slowly escaping;

It`s colors are pure love -

The blanketed organ reflects the feeling

That lingers on nature`s clean, airy ceiling.

Nothing to show or prove.

In rapidly rising words;

All concerns are removed,

All cares are flying birds.

Sunset, what seemed to be relevant;

Has flown south, and distant.

Morning trifles are no longer important -

A joyful dusk, is heaven sent.

Composed By: Andrew Drucker

Silver Lighting

In the developing obsidian night

The pale paper provides light

Every single letter laid down

Causes the magnitude to grow

The ivory becomes a silver glow

Enveloping the entire reception

Under each new verse`s inception

This poet`s night light is all-around

Revealing every phrase – profound

The light will always be able to show

Things the dark will never know

The sheet is filling with illumination

A shimmering, sterling infestation

Can you just sense it surround

Admire with astuteness, as it astounds

The way it glistens and flows

All the beauty it can expose

It`s resplendent inspiration

The miraculous manifestation

Can`t you observe it compound

No matter the moments timing

Paper always offers a silver lining

Composed By: Andrew Drucker

Each Day Is New

Sometimes people will pass, laugh, and insult;

If you let them affect you, what is the end result?

Some may claim they want to fight, by why even begin to fear;

If they truly wanted to dance, why does only chatter appear?

(I know avoidance seems like cowardice,

There are times when, even I feel like this).

Avoid, (unless they attack you)

Even if it makes you sad and blue;

If you fight and maybe win, you lose

For your hands will still receive a bruise.

Don`t let them get you down, with words;

Leave the squawking, for the arrogant birds.

True strength is not in the hand,

But in the will at your command.

Smile when it`s darkest out;

In the cold, lonely, black night.

For, if you do, when the dawn comes about;

The new day will never be as bright.

Do not fear the end,

For it will have it`s way;

Only try to spend

In good time, your time today.

Above all else -

Be of high hopes and good cheer,

When unhappiness does appear;

Cause when joy you outwardly send,

You`ll find happiness becomes your best friend.

Composed By: Andrew Drucker