 
All poetry (c)
Andrew Hunt
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Contents
Featured Poems
The Anthology
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Falling...
Falling...
Feel the breeze...
Oh life bizarre;
Contorted, distorted,
Yet now supported
By cotton strands,
And lonely, lovely hands,
That may not know
The strength they give.
The seeds of hope are sown,
And grow strength to live,
To survive, ripe:
Golden in this field of life. |
Gently first;
Not one to scare;
To break this net
Would break more than hearts.
Those hearts, already fractured,
Cracked by insensitivity;
Fragile, delicate,
Are too afraid to be dropped.
This heart has fallen,
But has not reached the bottom,
Yet...
(c) Andrew D. Hunt - July 1990 |
Dark
Lady
Gentle one; caress my
lips;
Not wine is yours, but yet so sweet,
And though I, of heavy heart, may weep,
Your darkness lifts me high,
To temporal paradises that last eternal.
Forgotten minutes, forgotten hours;
Your hand sweeps across my brow,
And with numbness and poor dexterity,
I fall, with submission, into slumber. |
Gentle one; so still, so cool;
Refresh my life with vigour and love.
Cast out my doubts of heaven,
And leave me happy to play
In meadows of green, with red and yellows;
So bright, so hard, so smooth.
Without you, sweet love, where would I be?
Without you, dark lady, I could be me.
(c) Andrew D. Hunt - 1990 |
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Arachnid
The pollen-laden meadows
ripple,
The seas of grass on hedgerows lap;
While clouds and swarms of insects wing,
Arachnid waits within her trap.
She'll hang so still and patiently,
This summer's day her time will come;
When tired and lazy meadow fly
Will blindly find the orb she's spun. |
And so to dark, as insects roost,
To hide away from cooler air;
Arachnid labours half the night,
To spin and weave, and make repairs.
And with the dawn, and early
dew,
Arachnid's orb of silk will shine;
But soon returns invisible,
To trap the lazy meadow fly.
(c) Andrew D. Hunt - April 1993 |
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Hayfever
A gentle song slipped
from your lips,
And love flowed from your fingertips.
The pollen stung my saddened eyes,
As this warm evening made me cry.
I lay alone as evening breathed
It's last goodbyes, or so it seemed,
As memories came into view,
Sailing boldly, battling through
This fortress built to save my dream,
To stop your drowning, deafening screams.
(c) Andrew D. Hunt - 1989 |
Hunger
A hunger, intense, acute.
Your proximity excites me;
My desire you you devours me.
An agonising ecstasy;
A profound extreme obsession.
A carnal fascination
For your physical enchantment.
With your delicious eroticism
Seduction draws me closer.
I'm magnetised, I'm paralysed;
By your perfection I am enraptured.
Will I ever capture you?
Oh woman, let me taste...
(c) Andrew D. Hunt - 1989 |
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Running
Living for a journey
Through time and energy;
I felt like a prisoner,
With devils inside me.
My thoughts were on yellow;
I wanted to run,
But watching it slip away
I had only begun.
The lights were brighter,
The pain more intense.
The nights were longer,
All love with no sense.
(c) Andrew D. Hunt - 1989 |
Jealousy
This wretched perfection
that she holds
And parades leaves me senseless and mute.
Yet they all have their perfections,
And I see them all.
All watching and waiting for the fruit to drop;
So ripe, so sweet, yet so knowing
That the beauty is theirs and for who they wish;
And those who do not have the key
Stay locked behind barriers so high,
And through small windows watch with envy At those, whose genetic
sculptures
Laugh and live through perfect days.
(c) Andrew D. Hunt - 1989 |
Reminders
And I can't play my records
'Cause there's too many memories,
Each song holds a picture
That makes it so clear.
Took years to build it -
This ship on which I sail,
But now I'm in open water
I want to jump overboard.
I hear it on the radio;
Another piece of time
Floating on the airwaves,
I can't bare this recall |
Of all those old memories
And of what we have had.
So now I am swimming
Just to find the shore.
Oh, I'm sad and I'm lonely
And I want to forget,
But living amongst reminders
Makes me full of regret.
Should I find land again
And start life afresh?
But I'm scared in my new ship
Will ever set sail...
(c) Andrew D. Hunt - 1989 |
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Homeward
Falling starts in sweet
descent,
Gentle whispers on a wet summer's night.
Chasing sounds from across the meadow;
Crickets ring in vigorous courtship.
Scent of earth and love,
Warm hands so tightly grasped.
Lonely light beckons home;
Damp green carpet under foot.
(c) Andrew D. Hunt - 1989 |
Imagine
Take my soul, take my
mind, take my body;
Imagine me in a room with no other chambers,
Imagine me in a house with no other buildings,
Imagine me in a town with no other settlements,
Imagine me in a country with no other nations,
Imagine me on a planet with no other worlds Imagine me on a star
with no other stars,
A single star in an infinite void,
And still you cannot imagine my loneliness
(c) Andrew D. Hunt - 1989 |
Rescue
Once again I am tangled
in a web,
And strands of confusion make my movements
Without fixed direction.
Once again I am beneath a cloud
That may rain on me, but may withdraw
To shine sunlight onto my lonely shoulders.
Can I strive to tell this one that I am for her?
For I know I am, and we could be as one.
I need to tell, to let this feeling out;
To shout to all that I am once again whole;
That with someone I am returned complete
From the clutches of an instability,
That, only one who has been so close to,
Can truly comprehend. |
Will I survive rejection or repulsion?
Will I survive acceptance and attraction?
Will I live to hold so precious a life?
Can I love this rose so shy?
Oh sweet life, open your gates
And return me to a garden of love,
Where things which at this time matter so much
Melt and blend into an eternal past.
Find me the key to open into your world;
Give me the pass to let me through, let me in.
For without that sunshine upon my shoulders
I fear the rain may be the last I ever feel.
(c) Andrew D. Hunt - 1989 |
Paralysis
This eye connection has
broken my speech;
Agony, I want to talk,
But my hands dangle
Like lifeless lumps of flesh,
And my lips twitch with no coordination.
Damn it brain, engage yourself!
This neutrality is sheer paralysis.
How many seconds have passed? |
Ah, I feel something:
A phrase is building;
A sentence growing;
A comment forming:
"Your eyes have captured my heart."
Please come out, don't hide in there!
It's good to say, I want to say it!
Don't wait for more! Say it! Say it!"Well, I must be going
now. Goodbye..."
(c) Andrew D. Hunt - 1990 |
Cross-Linkage
Genetic code, remember
me?
The one who found error in your ways.
A simple task to zip, unzip;
To replicate, divide, but too hard that day.
Why me to suffer your mistakes?
DNA, the master, my creator;
I'm a slave to your base order.
The rearrangement that occurred,
Was it wrong? Were you right?
Replicator, you have moved again;
And now live in my child,
As well as within the one
In which you were first born.
He is half of me, and carries you.
You have survived; you are strong. |
Genetic code, remember this:
In future generations, should you still live,
Perhaps you were right, and I wrong,
But suffering you have caused.
A small mistake, oh molecule so long;
For other genes can ignore you;
Yet one gene will find you,
And one day,
One duplication,
One simple reproduction,
You will die -
Be wiped out by your own mistake.
(c) Andrew D. Hunt - January
1990 |
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Intellectually
Superior
The RAM chip heaves a
hefty sigh,
The screen text screams for more,
But now it's time to leave my seat;
Go to the factory floor.
Communication is so hard,
Their minds are simply dead.
It's difficult to comprehend
A brainless empty head.
Machines so loud, repetitive,
The noise is like a wall;
My entrance to this hellish world
Relieves the fact they're bored. |
I struggle down to levels low
To ask for information,
But all I get is verbal crap
And chronic aggravation.
It's nice to know when I'm down
there,
While trying to get through,
That my IQ has digits three
And theirs have only two.
As I return to my workplace
To check the latest text,
I'm glad when I was still at school
I passed those awful tests.
(c) Andrew D. Hunt - January
1990 |
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Mistaken Identity
She flicked aside her
hair so blond
And looked him in the eye,
"Please go away, you've drunk too much,"
"Oh why?" was his reply.
He looked down at her shapely
legs,
Her miniskirt so short;
To take her home with him that night
Could be his only thought.
Nervously she backed away,
Much shorter than the man,
"I'm warning you to turn around,
And leave me while you can."
At this threat he looked surprised,
"Your eyes are full of fire,
This reluctance to come home with me
Just kindles my desire."
She smiled a smile so knowing,
Her lipstick slightly blurred,
"Of all the things I've said to you,
You haven't heard a word. |
Don't you know what day this is?
I'll have to make it clear,
You've drunk so much you're nearly blind,
And hardly know you're here.
This time of year, and in this
place,
It's easy to mistake;
When looking at a lady here,
Some care you'll have to take."
He looked confused, and did not
know
What could be on her mind;
His thoughts were only on the curve
And shape of her behind.
Then suddenly, to save the day,
A friend appeared, impressed;
"Andy, you're the only one
Who's wearing fancy dress!"
(c) Andrew D. Hunt - January
1990 |
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The
Brink
On the brink;
Each glance away cuts deeper;
Each conversation with exclusion
Leads to further instability.
What alien world is this
In which existence is non-existent?
Such invisibility to them;
They do not see or hear,
So what hope is there of sensual touch?
On the brink;
Walking on sanity's tightrope;
She holds a knife at the strands
And knows not the sharpness.
Living is not the term;
Existence is sufficient
To describe a hellish field
Of Battle, with victors laughing
And wallowing in emotional entrails. |
On the brink;
Each let-down pushes deeper;
Each perfect vision gives more lust,
But makes redemption a pinpoint
In a galaxy of lives.
An internal turmoil,
An external desert.
To end this could be paradise,
But which direction will it find?
(c) Andrew D. Hunt - April 1990 |
Knight
Of The Blue-Tipped Lance
He steps into the room
And enters a new dimension.
There are those who permanently
Live on this plane, but not he -
He will stay for his time
Until the lord of this place decrees.
'Tis a place to forget;
A place to be glad of life -
Well, for most times;
This dimension sometimes lets them through.
They don't last long though,
Either repulsed, or led away
By those who know better. |
He sits and contemplates;
Sees the room,
Hears the room,
Feels the room,
Inhales the room.
Like a fish has to breathe water
He must consume his dark liquid,
And do battle with his blue-tipped lance.
And when victory is in sight
He will be so happy.
He will have no cares about winning or losing.
To leave this dimension is easy:
Autopilot is 'on';
He is back to bed,
To wake up in hell.
(c) Andrew D. Hunt - April 1990 |
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Angel
Of Innocence
Oh little angel of innocence;
What sweet perfection,
What pure temptation
Is in your grasp.
So many angels in this place,
Young of mind and face.
The touch is mental - not physical;
Fingers can get burnt -
Not these;
For this angel is imperfect,
But sorely tempted
To touch perfection.
Don't let our eyes meet;
My heart is too open
And will let you in.
Oh little angel of innocence
I want you.
(c) Andrew D. Hunt - July 1990 |
Dream Of Insanity
What prison is this in
which I live?
In which we all live?
A visit from strangers;
Who are these to interfere - to threaten?
My place of security is lost;
My tortured soul is torn from stability.
Running down the alleyway, he takes me;
But we must avoid those
Who would misread our actions,
And in doing so we return to the place.
The syringe injects and I scream,
"Madness, I can't stand it!
Don't condemn me to this place of insanity!".
They take me away to a special place:
A place for people like me.
As I'm driven away, I look back at the house -
My old home.
I'm happy now, in this disguised vehicle;
I'm going to a better place.
(c) Andrew D. Hunt - July 1990 |
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My Final Tears
Hello stranger, what's
your name?
It doesn't matter, you're all the same;
Your damning eyes will make me cry,
The promises will all be lies.
I know I've fallen, desperate,
And life is just to contemplate
On past mistakes, when all was new;
The times before that I'd met you. |
The pain, intense, it leaves me cold,
With lonely longings; who to hold,
And I don't need these worries here,
For I will cry my final tears.
(c) Andrew D. Hunt - July 1990
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Broken
Flower
In a meadow of flowers
I've known one for an age;
I've seen her blossom, lovely and bright;
Always kindness amongst the selfishness,
Laughter amongst the pain,
Thoughtfulness amongst the indiscretion
That surrounds her lovely image.
It makes me sad to see her sad
-
To be treated thoughtlessly and uncaringly
When I have so much caring and love to give,
And no-one to give it to.
She doesn't deserve the pain,
Do I deserve her pleasures? |
This territorial perimeter on which
I stand
Is dangerous - an emotional minefield.
She must be saved while she has a life to live.
What a waste of a lovely flower,
To be growing in a meadow that has become
So full of thistles.
Come flower; live in my sweet
soft green meadow,
For I am lonely and can make you happy.
I must be careful -
Love is around the next corner.
(c) Andrew D. Hunt - July 1990 |
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Emma
I dreamt I was to marry,
To take a second wife;
I hardly even knew her,
This new lady in my life.
My first wife was unhappy,
As I tried to make it clear;
That this new girl who'd soon be mine
I'd hardly ever seen.
In this mixture and confusion,
Old girlfriends came and went;
The faces of the happy past,
And of good times that we'd spent.
But no-one could remember,
Or didn't want to know;
The boy they'd been so close to
All those many years ago.
And so I went into the town
To start the marriage plans;
But the marriage registration
Requires the joining of two hands.
They knew her in this place you
see -
The girl to be my spouse;
But she seemed to be so late today,
Gone straight back to her house.
The complications worsened,
As the next day in the street;
There seemed to be a gathering
In the place where we would meet. |
My first wife and her family
Where at the registry;
I had to calm the atmosphere -
Explain what this would be.
Eventually I found the girl
For which marriage was intended;
My appearance on this fateful day -
It really quite offended.
So I asked to let me prove myself,
That I could be her man;
That I could really love her
After I had took her hand.
So I lifted off my spectacles,
And touched my lips to hers;
The electric flowed between us,
She was silent - lost for words.
She realised then, that I could
be
The man to make her whole;
And so I took her to my bed,
And let the loving flow.
And when we both had finished,
The dream did cease to be;
For I had proved myself to her,
And proved myself to me.
(c) Andrew D. Hunt - August 1990
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I
Dream Of Eyes
Mesmerised, I will dive
Through those beautiful eyes;
Soft ringlets of vision
Dance high on my mind.
Cascades of bright droplets,
And fountains descend;
As your gaze transfixes,
My insanity ends. |
Two pools of ecstasy
Pierce hard through my soul;
Relinquish a longing
That was anchored hold.
Soft focus; soft image,
The world is no more;
As I enter the fantasy,
The eyes that I saw.
(c) Andrew D. Hunt - August 1990 |
Recreational
Friends
In a dream, encapsulated,
you arrive;
With smiles broader than my horizons.
You cannot descend to my level;
Although I am above those in my vicinity.
A placid grin of indifference greets me,
But words you try to contain -
Afraid that they may reveal your recreations.
Music has another meaning to you;
Notes are colours, bleeding into the hues,
That swirl around your unconscious senses.
Yet every beat and sound stands erect;
Upright and attractive in the sound field
In which you exist. |
Afraid to puncture your world I
speak;
Bursting the bubble of an Nth dimension,
And returning you momentarily to earth.
Politely I am informed that conversation will be limited;
For my frequency is not yours,
And contact, so temporary, will soon be lost.
I thus return to my own plane of existence,
And watch those around me in theirs.
My reception is poor; my transmittance is fading -
Through a different channel I'm there;
In a lovely band of nothing with my recreational friends.
(c) Andrew D. Hunt - August 1990 |
London
Freak (Dream Of Self-Knowledge)
The four faces were different
-
An unsettling change from something so familiar
As our capital's most important chronometer.
The faces had windows, with innards exposed;
The intestinal mechanisms stood motionless.
Closer to the tower I stood,
With an acquaintance of good colour.
Now the huge wheels were in motion -
Seconds ticking in massive unison.
How strong my desire to ascend,
And see the very heart of this chronological monster.
Then, realisation that the great one -
The indicator of the hours - was at ground level.
With my attention distracted,
My glowing friend had pushed with all his might.
It swung, but did not cry out -
To shatter the rumble of the traffic around. |
I ran from this madness to arcades
of shops;
Full of clothes, jewellery, and girls.
Two I knew, and followed;
But found embarrassment in the boutiques.
They led me through corridors and alleyways;
To a blind corner, with cardboard boxes
Lining the walls like make-shift bricks.
Pushed into the room, complaining;
I found myself with the freaks, tramps, and drop-outs.
Running out, I cursed my ladies -
That they should class me as them.
But they weren't to know my true inner self.
No-one is to know me -
In contemplation - I do not know me...
(c) Andrew D. Hunt - August 1990 |
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'Neath The Silver Birching
Tree
Cast aside thy love for
me,
'Neath the silver birching tree.
Say thee "Nay", and I'll say be,
'Neath the silver birching tree.
Wipe away thy tears for me,
'Neath the weeping willow tree.
Shed one tear, and I'll shed three,
'Neath the weeping willow tree. |
Swear our love will always be,
'Neath the spreading chestnut tree.
Wear my ring for all to see,
'Neath the spreading chestnut tree.
Take this hand and marry me,
'Neath the blossomed apple tree.
Petals pink on thee and me,
'Neath the blossomed apple tree.
(c) Andrew D. Hunt - February
1993 |
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Our Friend... (Fourty-Something, Going On Eight)
He still lives with his
mother,
You could say that it's wrong;
For a man of his years,
With charisma so strong;
But his heart's in the right place -
He'll love you to death;
He'll keep holding you under,
As you struggle for breath;
As you struggle for a life
Disconnected from his,
But he won't loose the hold;
He won't be told;
Not ever,
Never.
They say he is deadly;
Our 'friend'...
He's quite a musician
On keyboards and drums;
And aired on the radio
With dubious puns;
But he's friendly and funny,
A humorous man;
You can't help but love him -
Well maybe you can,
But maybe you can't
When he won't let you go,
And won't loosen the hold.
While we play in our band,
At the front he'll stand
And stare;
And compare;
And criticise our rock medley;
Our 'friend'... |
He'll love you or hate you,
It's for you to decide -
Jilted lover, or daughter,
Or thorn in the side;
But you'll soon come to realise
Whether rival or mate,
That this man of great stature
Is just going on eight -
Perhaps going on nine...
He's bold and he's haughty,
And physically forty;
Yet mentally screwed-up;
Psychologically chewed up;
Quite sad;
Quite mad;
Yet, he's still, incredibly,
Our 'friend'...
(c) Andrew D. Hunt - April 1993
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