Busy Beautiful Stranger

The poet watches her beautiful

Form. She is beyond any

Vision he imagined. She looks

Back at him with disgust

She knows what he really

Wants, he checked her out

To him “she`s just another body”

No doubt.

There`s no time for him

To defend his glance, even

If he could, he doubts

He`d be given the chance.

As a straight man, what`s he

To do when such a

Perfect image comes

Into view?

This is no more than a

Momentary thought, but

She`ll never see. He as an

Observational creature

There`s more intention

To him and his grin.

He looks at her eyes

Trying to see, what

Is the exact composition

Of her personality.

What are her dreams?

What are her fears?

What are her memories?

The smiles? The tears?

Does she want love?

Does she need lust?

Does she want objects

That collect dust and rust?

Where is she going?

Where has she been?

Where can he go

To find her hearts key?

Just a few questions to begin…

His curiosity knows

No ends.

The exterior is quite

Inferior, to the true

Beauty found interior

All the same, it doesn`t

Matter, as she passes

It`s clear there’s no

Time for chatter.

Composed By: Andrew Drucker

Foreign Film

The cars pass submerged

Street lights on dirty walls

Cross walks filled with rats

Thoughts eat bread crumbs

From elderly brains.

Geometry

Trigonometry

Symmetry

Basketballs with squeaky

Sneakers run around the

Court, shooting meat

Into hung hampers

Multiplication

Division

Frustration

Cops with baggy pants

Patrol a corner, while

Protecting upright citizens

From gangsters in

Cars with Greek myths

On top

Addition

Subtraction

Abstraction

Dogs bark at each

Other while their owners

Wear leashes and

Sniff another humans

Butt. Bums give

Smelly business women

(And men) change

To buy soda. A

Child watches his

Mother cry as he

Pushes her down

The street.

Dreams

Reality

In-between

My notebook talks

About how great

The show is, as

I sit in the back

Of the theater

Eating kernels of

Ink

Composed By: Andrew Drucker

Psalm

He sat down to fashion

A new-found expression;

With all his passion,

And no further digression.

The night air was calm,

With little breeze;

Composing a religious psalm,

With relative ease.

Creativity was expelled,

Negativity was repelled,

Bitterness dispelled,

Till the only feeling left;

In his hands so deft,

Was that of comforting peace,

Which each successive line did increase.

No conception could compare,

To the wind in his hair;

Erasing every ounce of despair.

With honest heart he did declare:

“The greatest feeling every expressed

Was the comfort within his chest”. 

Composed By: Andrew Drucker

The God of Time

The day ticks and drifts along...

Chronos moves each passing moment,

Not a second, does he contemplate relent.

Ours, maybe – his existence never spent.

Even in our own vain song-

Even there he lingers ever on

Within the meter, without a dent.

Whether epic or terse – irrelevant,

He remains still going strong.

Luna`s beauty may wax and wane,

His glory remains the eternally same.

Even the Olympians have faded away,

His lasting motion is here to stay.

So many myths are but a dream,

On his face, his power can be seen.

Deny if you will, the effects of his will;

Remain still, and he`ll consume you still.

While we try to impress, he`ll impress;

A wrinkly line to remind,

That he is the God of Time.    

Composed By: Andrew Drucker

Found Poem #1

(Composed by random drawing, using two entries: KJV Luke 12:80 -and- “Prayer” by Emily Dickinson)

Men son little here

Of it before

Of implement denied

The shall before

Also I say shall

Confess pray

He confess you

Whosoever him

Of unto ear

God`s

They man through

Which also the

Is by

If then reach

Angels is

God

Means speech

Their fling me

Presence where

Them

Composed By: Andrew Drucker

Inclement Weather

The rain comes and goes…

The waters summoned;

From a vast blue hose,

With no start or end.

The water is dispersed

Like ink stops and starts;

A poets every verse,

And the rhyme it imparts.

Sometimes rain, sometimes sunshine.

Nature in contrast;

Words of pain, sometimes sublime.

Poetry can cast:

Rain clouds in the sky,

Passing slowly by;

But the ground, eyes spy,

Remains mostly dry.

Composed By: Andrew Drucker

S.he O.pens N.ear N.ine, E.ach T.ime

A sonnet is a lovely thing;

But in youth, seems a maze.

As age, life does bring -

Beauty is derived from her gaze.

Composed with true complexity;

Deduction of her, required to understand.

Concealed along the spine implicitly

Defined: the secrets of her command.

Every line draws her form near.

For as the eyes downward-ly steer;

Each gorgeous feature, becomes clear –

For no more illusions, now appear.

Gone are her enigmas, found in youth;

Given way – to her forms perfect truth!

Composed By: Andrew Drucker

The Doctor

The constant revision

Is a daily task.

Finished products mask,

Each surgical incision.

Time is ever spent

In the verbal E.R.;

Thought you`ve gotten far-

You`ve not made a dent!

A skill of mathematical precision

Lyrically crafted trigonometry-

Most readers won`t even see

In each grammatical decision.

Cut too deep –

Meter leaks, a severed vein.

Shallow slices, leave the frame

In- com- plete.

 Each composition awaits loving care.

Every dirty wound that`s seen

Must be meticulously cleaned

Before others will boldly declare

“You`re surgeons work is beyond compare”.

Composed By: Andrew Drucker

A Blank Page

A land of hopeless despair.

The emptiness was everywhere,

There was no love or care;

For once again, naught was there.

Then what happened, if you believe:

In the land grew, something to perceive;

That, perhaps, would never leave -

Unless the vision does deceive.

Form the white, there came a spring.

An inky flow it did verily bring,

Evident as a bumblebee`s biting sting.

Black water gave life to many a thing.

There was verbosity, and diversity in liquid manifestation;

With intelligent gestation, it enacted dream`s creation.

No cessation to the diurnal divination of imagination;

Without placation, ink pursued poetic procreation.

Slowly seeping into the smallest spaces:

Those once silent, spacious places

Completely consumed, as the current paces -

As the creative flow cultivates and races.

Before most knew, the once empty land, grew.

Once desolate, now flourishing with things new.

Animals crawled and sprawled, birds up high flew;

On a ground glorious and green, and sky bright and blue.

One last thing for the waters to do,

Which is:

To show this land, to all of you!

Composed By: Andrew Drucker

Dis

“Abandon all hope, ye who enter here!”

[“Lasciate ogni speranza, voi ch’entrate!”]

      

“Through me you pass into the city of woe:

Through me you pass into eternal pain:

Through me among the people lost for aye.”

-          Dante (Dante Alighieri; 1265-1321)

The darkness once consumed the sight,

Consuming the happiness in eternal night;

Filling the dreams with fearful fright,

Demonic nightmares, devoid of light.

Fighting despair with all the might;

Hoping for relief – shining bright.

Within the void of a dream -

No peaceful respite, to be seen.

Wandering lost in desperation in between;

In damnation, no salvation did gleam.

Deep in devoid, land of the unclean;

Trapped eternally, or so it did seem.

Till redemption shone from high, down;

Illuminating the ashen, blackened ground;

Penetrating the darkness once all around.

As an ear is enveloped by piercing sound.

The hopefulness that now surrounds -

Through God and Poetry, new life was found.

Composed By: Andrew Drucker

The Gamer

Controlling the game.

Hand-eye coordination -

One and the same -

Digit iris conjunction.

Mastering the technique,

To perfect action on the screen.

Pursuing the unique,

Original input is clean.

Innovation requires a player deft.

The digital evocation,

The provocation of imaginative depth,

And unrelenting dedication.

An iron will.

Honing of the skill,

And a desire to thrill.

Ability to change the mold,

Style and form might get old.

Exhilarating to be un-expectantly bold.

Always looking to pursue,

Every possible creative avenue

That offers something new.

So much constant competition -

Endless opponents’ repetition.

But,

To secure a firm position and respect,

To ensure your good name you protect,

Whether in video games or poetry;

You must chase perfection daily – relentlessly.

Composed By: Andrew Drucker

“Just Keep Pushing” - Rene Descartes

Noticing there is no more hope,

When you let it die;

Forgetting why, living a lie,

And without aspiration begin to lope.

Shoulders hung down,

Desperation is allowed

To compile and surround,

Dejection is avowed.

Shouldn`t let the superficial

Issues, consume our routine;

Allowing things fractional,

Materialize as ends supreme.

Life`s fundamental element,

The one essence dominant;

Is relentless enthusiasm

Of endless optimism. 

Composed By: Andrew Drucker

Point Of View

Nothing seems real

All is so surreal

No one seems to feel

Compassion made of steel

In the very end

We all depend

On the love others send

The peace we all rend

Each person has to coexist

With others within their mist

A truth some might desire to resist

Still the honest truth will persist

Even if we deny honesty

And refuse blatant destiny

Living in a world of fancy

Reality will just be a fantasy

We all pass subconscious judgments

That make in our outlook subtle dents

The problem comes when these thoughts create

An atmosphere without love, consumed by hate.

Composed By: Andrew Drucker

QB Sneak

So many chances to fail

Determined only to avail

Never to bow or succumb

Until the battle is won

Focused on forward progress

At the one-yard line

No defense can repress

Onward movement of rhyme

No helmet, no pads, just pure will

Driving momentum into the end zone

As the pen lets the ink spill

Closer to goal line with each new poem

No receivers open, running backs down

Feeling defensive pressure, the heart races

Demonic opposition, begins to surround

In the ear, Divine coach says “Pace it-

Then drive it in with heart`s burning fire!”

The QB, boldly, pushes legs with desire

It`s desperation, so adrenaline doesn`t tire

The audience looks on at the sneak attack

Holding on to their breath, there`s no looking back

As the game ends, all anyone can see

Is the QB dancing in end-zone, victory!

Composed By: Andrew Drucker

A Journey

Whispers echo within the sleeping mind

Their voices utter words of inspiration

Steadily the attempt to supply

Readily deciphering trying to apply

Starting to transcribe with all perspiration

The lyrics of sleeping head so sublime

There was a boy who developed tirelessly

Towards a goal proceeding forward endlessly

His labors left him with an empty gestation

That in time would come into full manifestation

He was a maker of rhythmic words

A quilt weaver with threads of nouns and verbs

Each and every day he sought to do more

Then the diurnal rotation of before

With colors that ran the gamut

And hands expressing artistic depth

He`d delve into the deep mental store

He`d look in darkness for the lost Lenore

With no raven in sight, he comingled with the night

No safe haven with warm light, caught in his perilous plight

Still each day inside the subconscious realm

He`d steer his craft, a captain at the helm

Using quatrains as fine dye

Inspecting meter with the eye

To ensure each quilt and product built

Was given every inch of love that he spilt

Many enjoyed the heartfelt works of evocation

Expressed by the fullness of his dedication

Then one day he found, as weary feet traversed the ground

That his mindset was turned around, now a man, without a sound

He was moving in a brand new direction

On a quest for the epitome of perfection

The apex of which was still far away

To the vertex, he`d head without delay

With no less than every drop of imagination

He`d never stop pursuing absolute creation

Searching for daily gifts of motivation

Practicing the craft with no cessation

Even if the world and life passed him by

Like a white cloud in the vast blue sky

Reflecting in a young hopeful child`s eye

So his word could live even if he did die

The man had grown for a youthful stage

Matured into peace, no longer filled with rage

A thought had grown within his chest

Generated from the organ behind the breast

In all his actions and attempts to find

Something he sought and thought was so divine

With all the love into rhyme he had invested

Someone TO love him, had never manifested

Composed By: Andrew Drucker