Andrew David Dalby

Rookie [Alphadog1] (17th Of March 1967 / Brighton East Sussex United kingdom)

Andrew David Dalby Poems

1. The Lake 3/21/2013
2. Ode To Venus 3/21/2013
3. Caught Between The Whisper And The Muse 3/21/2013
4. The Rain 3/21/2013
5. Sitting On My Fathers Shoulders 3/21/2013
6. All Women Are Her 3/21/2013
7. The Muses 3/21/2013
8. I Stand Here And Go No Further 3/21/2013
9. Fledgling 3/21/2013
10. To See Her Fly 3/21/2013
11. The Swan 3/21/2013
12. Freshwater Bay 3/21/2013
13. His Perfect Kiss 3/21/2013
14. Poem Written On A Bus 3/21/2013
15. This Room Is Filled With You 3/21/2013
16. The Kiss 3/21/2013
17. Her Eyes 3/21/2013
18. Bottom Knockers 3/21/2013
19. A Psalm Of Love 3/21/2013
20. Spent 3/21/2013
21. It 3/21/2013
22. Thoughts On A Train Ride 3/21/2013
23. Mistletoe Wishes 3/21/2013
24. Fingerhooks 3/21/2013
25. Absolom 3/21/2013
26. The Song Of Trees 3/21/2013
27. How I Hate To Say This, I Leave Here Very Well 3/21/2013
28. This Entreaty Is Mine 3/21/2013
29. Thoughts Upon The Shore 3/21/2013
30. The Deer 3/21/2013
31. Reborn 3/21/2013
32. Its Now: Nevermore 3/21/2013
33. Tonight 3/21/2013
34. Wolfsbane 3/21/2013
35. Giddy Wonder From A Near Slumber 3/24/2013
36. Forever 3/29/2013
37. Dead Weight. 3/21/2013
38. Shard 3/21/2013
39. Spirit Dream Erupts 3/21/2013
40. The Bobtail 3/21/2013
Best Poem of Andrew David Dalby

Autumn Reflections

This season is full of secret hints: of mustard spiced tints,
Which wrestle between the steps of rusted slow-dancing.
It is a secret, sacred space, where the night fingers of crows,
Stretch out in slowly expanding, ever circling swirling curls;
-Their murderous chatter, so lively and so violently explodes-
Upon this: the finite and ever dwindling fingers of the dusk.

Here, I'm tripping, while blood is slowly dripping, from heavily
Veined trees, whose pulsing green, of a laced summer scene,
Is now near almost lost to a fragile -near forgotten- dream…
So, I'm ...

Read the full of Autumn Reflections

The Lake

I close my eyes and the lake comes to mind:

Its silver hue, flat expanse extends onward,
Into what seems an eternal; yet is refined,
By thick mists sweeping, rolling now forward,
That is made by soft energy, simply defined.

And through the cold, crystal clear water,
Are -hard seen- large orbs of mitered stones;

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