Author: Andrew Thomas

Eddie, Somewhere in the future he’s listening to me.To us. He bought my Candle Lantern. Yes. I can see him. What do you think he is like? I don’t know.

No more tears. When the night comes in its cloak and the light vanishes. Away. Do you wait unapologetic until morning. Do you spit into the darkness for stealing one moment one second of cherished away. Do you curse the turn of your heart to sorrow in the constant downfall of sleep. Do you curse…

with the guitar across from me in in its open case like a wake… I just finished the poem … On The Way Home. I mention Carroll. Lou Reed. Bowie. Iggy Pop. Brian Eno. Robin Williams. Lennon. Was I there once? Than what else would the damn thing be for? How bad was the injury.…

I was on the edge of the Boomers. I was the little brother. They had the 60’s. I had the 70’s. But someone stopped the Punk Movement in NY dead cold and made way for New Wave and the Go-Gos. I worship the ground you walk on. Seriously. Those that I grew up around cared.…

She was seventeen and her eyes were alive and protected by soccer and all the things she loved. What was the sixties. It was summed up in the Who Quadrophenia. Which basically stated it wasn’t an illness it was a generational Identity Crisis. And when the Boomers do something they do it in style and…

We met Glenn Campbell at the Dean Martin Tuscon Open in 1973. My father’s second company was testing for Spalding or Titan. We met Glenn Campbell and invited him to our Governor’s birthday party to be a few months later, but my father, a retired Military Contractor, received a call from his friend Sen Henry…

I sat against the fender of this bronze 1962 Cadilac. I was 13. It was 1974. She was 13. It was Denver and I could see my face in the inside rear view mirror. Was I wanting to be older. No. Was I wanting the night to last longer. The night was perfect. We were…

I give you, one second, one moment. Not explanation. An explanation is a life that makes sense, while Cambridge is a question. And each day. Each question, each second. I am a linguist. Now that cat? She is sleeping on my bed. The days go by slower now. And I wait. Waiting as in gathering.…

What is life for? It is a preview of Heaven. All of the Beauty and more. What is love for? Crying. Together. What is tomorrow for? Mowing the lawn. What are friends for. They are like flowers that keep coming in your path forward. I was once a cloud in Heaven and I bartered with…

forced rhymes and chain link fences. Statues for what we believe in. Manicured lawns and leathered faces, callous flowers in winter’s sparse hands. Parking garages with night faces and preachers giving reasons for living. Graveyards beside elementary schools in small towns, like baseball diamonds with Easter Island Faces. Fireflies with the souls of innocent children.…

From Kansas the winter starts along a charade of… how long before the turnstile. I remember the turnstile. Before Christmas. Before the sound of imaginary lovers and hot chocolate and skis. I remember the lawn in summer. I remember the cicadas. How can you write a poem, upon promised prayers and forgotten anniversaries. Upon of…

(Imagine a child laughing and listening) I once had a friend named Mr. Roosevelt who felt the sky crumble beneath his feet. A pleasant man. I have lived he would say roughly three thousand lives and a three thousand lives I have once lived. But he would say each of them lasted but just one…

Good friends help you move furniture.

A good friend will bail you out. A Best Friend will be sitting beside you asking you… how do we get out of this? If I only knew what I was referring to. O’. I do know where I was going though. Perhaps what we need as much as a flower is a tear.

There is something to be said for flowers, everyday. Do I see past the broken stories of the past? There is something to be said for flowers. Should you surround yourself? Is it a misrepresentation of life. No. It isn’t. You should surround yourself with flowers. These are flowers here.

A castle in Snowdonia in Wales. The castle walls that are left and the hearth. Who once stood here together? How many times have I been here? I chose.