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

Expression Per Se

The words materialize on the page

By focus of dedicated will.

With hints of calm and also rage

These fearless verses spill.

Into the paper he pours his soul

Outlined in black ink, it sinks.

The pigments pursue his mind`s only goal:

Defining what he thinks;

About this life, through lines of his poetry.

He continues to compose

Structured rhyme, but also verses freely.

The words are not quite prose;

The structures are mixed, in-between.

Like each conscious sleepy moment,

And the alert realities of dream;

They pour out endlessly, without relent.

Expression for expressions sake,

Was the primary objective

Of all the he stanzas he`d make;  

Just ideas from his perspective.

Composed By: Andrew Drucker

Sweating Bullets

The poet started out that night with a few simple bars;

Outside his window, the only sound was passing cars.

“Soon they will arrive to torment -

The unseen voices, echoing without relent.

Insults falling in a steady torrent,

Ridicule calling leaving me spent.

To the paper I`ll run and hide,

In it`s leaves I`ll safely abide;

Till the verbal attacks eventually subside,

Within these verses, I must now reside.”

His life and soul, he would gladly return;

If only in doing so, he wouldn`t have to burn.

He tried to smile, all the time, throughout it all;

But the harder he tried, the harder he`d fall.

Keeping the feelings inside each sunlit day;

There they would reside; hidden away.

Each night, voices incessantly insulted him, groups of friends;

Their distant ridicule, which anointed him, knew no ends.  

With only his book to keep him company;

In his solace, he felt, already in purgatory.

He never felt an emptiness, which was so filling.

Slowly, his life`s dullness was becoming thrilling.

A tempest of torment and emotions filled his hollowed mind;

But, an onset of anguish, was the only feeling he could find.

The silence of the night, he had grown to fear;

For in the darkness, the voices became clear.

On this particular evening, after the darkness had set;

Silence was broken, with suicide`s calling, his hearing had met.

Whispering taunts in his sunken ears,

“Do it, you pussy” is all he hears.

Yet, his heart failed to complete the deed;

So, chants continued from the demonic breed.

“You fucking bitch” they, now, repeatedly did yell;

These relentless, restless nights, were his living hell.

 Closing his lids, still hearing their reprise;

And then came the flashes of hate filled eyes.

He stared at them, eyes shut, with a will of steel;

The fear of death, and of violence, he did not feel.

He lay steady and at the ready, to attempt to defeat;

Any demonic or human foe, which he might meet.

With all his might, he attempted to do what is right;

But with violent temptation, he fought a losing fight.

He was tired of being called a fearful coward;

His inert raging energy, had now been powered.

Up from his bed, his body was furiously sprung;

Like a bullet from a recently shot, smoking gun.

His hand grabbed the closest makeshift weapon.

From that night`s battle, he would not run.

A knife and a bat, infuriation - tremors in his hand

To their death, he would send the incessant band.

It was 3:30 am, and he was on the concrete;

No intention, or ideas, of peaceful retreat.

He saw not a shadow of a person in sight,

Met only with the sounds of the dead of night.

So his eyes filled with a flood of tears,

Experiencing - the worst of all his fears.

For all the visions and words the voices said;

Were only the ruminations, and creations in his head.

Composed By: Andrew Drucker

In the Sky at Night

That night, her face was initially hidden among

The thick grey crowds.

I caught a glimpse of her exquisite white face;

And my eyes began searching, giving chase.

When suddenly I saw her smile sprung,

From the mist which shrouds;

She was there looking at me,

And for a moment I felt free.

Her body was full of allure; an infectious beauty, without a cure.

Every feature of hers was transcendent;

The epitome of absolute perfection, there was nothing impure.

Her shining aura was so resplendent,

Her gradual, but obvious movements, revealed she was demure.

She was there looking at me;

And for a moment I felt free.

She saw me looking; and though I was shy, she smiled back boldly.

Her grin made me feel warm, even though the wind blew coldly.

I`d dance with her, all night, in outer space;

If only my body would let me leave this place.

Gravity has anchored my stubborn feet;

So, it seems, that only our eyes will meet.

She was there looking at me;

And for a moment I felt free.

Sending supplications to the universe

Asking it to intervene

Perhaps if I became a well-known star

I wouldn`t have to view her from afar

“Cosmos let this man converse

With the flawless one, Selene.”

Composed By: Andrew Drucker

The White Rabbit

On a seemingly mundane September night;

A poet lay in bed, contemplating what to write.

His head was teeming, pondering the various poetic notions;

His subconscious was dreaming of rhymes filled with emotions.

Closing his eyelids, the flesh felt something enchanting;

As if starting afresh, his body began transplanting.

The journey, initially, brought visions of bliss;

Artificially induced aspects, with nothing amiss.

Yet, fear had appeared, as he approached an abyss;

 Drawing near, joy disappeared, encroached by remiss.

Descending, he declined, into the vast unknown chasm;

Contending as he twined, aghast at the unexpected phantasm.

While blind and tumbling through the dark void, he felt like a pioneer;

Stumbling down, courage he employed, though the outcome was unclear.

He landed on the bed of the ravine, to his surprise, so gently.

His perception expanded, and he saw the scene differently.

Upon the surface of the expanse was a myriad of verse;

And lost in a trance, for a period, his mind he would immerse.

He reappeared in reality, to describe the manifestation of this magical place with his pen.

Often, he returned to that locality; to imbibe and embrace imagination, every now and then.

Composed By: Andrew Drucker

Calling to The Man of Sand

No dreams came when he went to sleep

Only emptiness filled him within -

While his mind drifted into the deep.

The barren black would now begin…

Thinking, journeying back, then forward again -

When he was a young boy

He had dreamt of only joy.

Accomplishing the impossible, like a hero

Summoning forth heat from absolute zero.

Battling dragons and demons to save his queen

And once with her, innocent love, nothing obscene.

Imagination, creation, and total elation;

Encompassed every unconscious sensation.

Thinking, journeying back, then forward again –

From saving the whole world

His dreams began to fade.

The straight becoming curled

His peace began to degrade.

In passing time, he would soon come of age;

The passage of life had made night a painful cage.

All of his happiness was fully sheared;

Nightmares of fear, had soon appeared.

Thinking, journeying back, then forward again –

Dreaming of lovers who had cheated;

Their heartbreaking actions, every eve,

Were constantly and tirelessly repeated.

Making him feel futile and very naïve.

Dreams of unfriendly faces slinging derision;

Of their ridicule, each night he`d envision.

This clamorous sleep, he started to disdain;

For the vociferous rest, had wracked his brain.

Thinking, journeying back, then forward again –

In the present even torment had dissipated.

In sleeping fantasy and midnight thought

His essence had no longer participated;

The gateway to Morpheus was shut taut.

No dreams came when he went to sleep

Only emptiness filled him within -

While his mind drifted into the deep.

The barren black would now begin,

And yet inside he did not weep;

Smiling as he silently fell asleep.

A look of satisfaction rested upon his grin,

For a state of dream, each day he lived in.

Composed By: Andrew Drucker

Variations

Today is the perfect day

For you to give your heart

To a special kind of art

The simple craft of wordplay

Some like to call it “Poetry”

Others like to say “Prose”

Personally, I do not suppose

That the writing cares either way

Letters are your paint

With a canvas of paper

There you can taper

Expressions without restraint

The pen is a guitar

Each word will denote

A different musical note

You can find in each bar

A slab of rock-hard, white marble

Chipped by consonants and vowels

With no need for squares and trowels

At verbal masonry, others can marvel

Combining the vocabulary with alchemy

To create a proper tincture

And evoke a clear picture

Verbose golden works of chemistry

Your eyes can be a telescope

The words a star formation

With astronomical dedication

You`ll soon improve your trope

Constructions use mathematical precision

Through each addition and subtraction

Multiplying, dividing (and occasional retraction)

You`ll fractionally improve every decision

Such beauty you can easily fashion

Each poem will become your own gleaming ring

When given to others what joy it will bring

Tailoring to your personal passion

The stanzas will allow two minds to dance

With movement and perfect grace

Another’s sadness you might replace

If only, you’re both willing to take the chance

Medicine delivering the perfect cure

An elixir in a written vial

Treating afflicted with your style

You`ll offer when your poetry`s pure

No matter what else, you decide, that you might do

No matter what life might, have put you through

There`s one thing that remains eternally true

Poetry is an art, and friend, which is always waiting for you.

Composed By: Andrew Drucker

The Poet Phoenix

Into the fires racing

Failure he`s now facing

So no looking back

The poet took the dive

Searing is the pain

A reminder he`s alive

No thoughts to retract

Falling like the rain

Once again pursuing the dreams

Anguish envelops the soul

Sleepless nights took their toll

In silence he violently screams

Chanting “Fuck the fear

Let my death draw near”

Releasing all he holds dear

Through the waves of tormenting flame

His body he will readily choose to maim

Tumbling flesh torn against each cliff

Each new wound creating a glyph

Every painful and bloody rune

Is joyfully inscribed and hewn

Exposed bone tempered into steel

In each new jagged collision

His flesh ruptures and starts to peel

Blood runs, blinding vision

Spiraling through the fiery sky

Like a comet he did fly

The angels silently gazed

As he fell through the blaze

The demons wickedly laughed

As he tumbled down the shaft

The poet thought-

If two are against you

Do they remain two?

In that moment he was born anew

And lost to all that he once knew

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

Apollo

Whenever the heart sinks down low

It turns to the perfect art of Apollo

The metered guidance it will follow

And it`s vision becomes less narrow

From the sinew to the marrow

Spirits fly, like a small sparrow

His voice, the wind, gives direction

On the search for poetic perfection

Constructing each verbal conception

Built for another`s iris inspection

Each whisper lifts the soul to the sky

Upon the azure the heart will soon fly

The years of tireless, dedicated creation

With all to show for it, only frustration

Leaves the heart all to ready to quit

Yet the will and spirit cannot submit

The mind often stands at upon the brink, the edge

Thinking similar thoughts of a jumper on a high ledge

It`s when the heart is prepared for the fatal fall

It is halted by hearing some form of Apollo`s call

Composed By: Andrew Drucker

Unyielding

Have these words caused harm

To any single one of you

Then I`d first ask forgiveness

For all that I verbally do

It`s hard (I truly know)

To let go of the past

Yet old wounds can heal

Like a bone set in a cast

If I were to reflect

The worst crime I can see

Is I run but never walk

Like water, at least mentally

That is one way I choose to say

My thoughts were often expressed rash

Anger caused within a moment

And into the future I would passionately lash

There was a time when arbor for wrongdoers

Was my most effective fuel

But feeding off pure hatred for enemies

Is the action of an ignorant fool

It was with this idea in mind

That I reset my poetic duty

Searching my heart to only find

Expressions of some verbal beauty

I prayed to God

To grant me the will

I took to the books

To refine my skill

-

Patience was born

-

No feeling forlorn

Now, though it still hurts

When others sneer and laugh

I still wish strangers the best

On their own chosen path

Into the white barren soil

I plant the seeds of my desire

Daily I tend to them and toil

With a will of steel and fire

-

 Never forgetting

-

Within the Leaves of Grass

There was a song of me

And from my mind - so crass

I soon became - so free

To meld into the air

And follow my destiny

Without one fucking care

I create my poetry.

Composed By: Andrew Drucker

Another Moonlight Sonata

The sounds of the growing night

Encompass this humble ear;

And the moonlight shines bright

Through the clouds, so sheer.

The evening falls upon the ground

Lying softly, like a thin mist;

And a sweet melody is found

In every tiny dark crevice.

Out among the deep black

The cicada calls out loud;

Her hypnotizing, repetitive track

Hidden within the sable shroud.

Soft air brushes against the bark

Of the tree, though sometimes gusty.

In the wooden home of the lark

The leaves shake lush and lusty.

It may just be nocturnal parti pris;

But this ear finds naught amiss

In this moonlight sonata, perfect bliss.

Composed By: Andrew Drucker

In Sense

He lights himself on fire

Becoming incense in the air

Smokey trails of desire

Intoxication is everywhere.

There is only the hope and peace

That his loving supplication will be increased

As his aroma is diffused and slowly released

He prays the fragrance will not cease.

Demons he had impelled

Had controlled his mind, with their spell

Through the son, Christ, are now repelled.

Now, his joyful and humble smell

Is

Ever drifting into the sky

Ever lifting as his spirits fly.

Ever growing is his spiritual yearning

Ever blowing is his incense - steadily burning.

Composed By: A. D.

Cats are Cunning, Mice are Prey

How many people take notice of a ring?

So insignificant, yet such a revealing thinG…

Light shining down, on a sidewalk of stone:

Men - two, talk about the trifles of life;

The day-to-day, the monotony and strife.

Appearances are everything, or so they say;

Instead of being direct, the youth shy’s away.

Light sparks in the young man`s mind

Steadily the elder, discusses this and that;

The youth is intrigued by the topic of a cat.

O, the youth appears to be in a distant daze

And his thoughts expressed within a haze.

Lights, lights, lights; so bright they cause confusion

Now, the youth wishes for no more collusion

But uninitiated is subject to illusion  

Ready to receive the true knowledge and enlightenment

His mind worn, from a life without intellectual refreshment.

Yet, his entire thought process is consumed by one thing,

Within this moment, to understand the truth and wisdom of the ring.  

Composed By: A. D.

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