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Lv 725,189 points

Andy P

Favourite answers16%
Answers5,983

I am Noble, Humble and Southern. I try to be as Honest as I can. My job is not to judge, but to help others. My knees are for praying, my heart is for Loving, head rattles around sometimes. I teach and learn, I win I lose, I have ups and downs like anyone. I balance my karma on my nose. You can ask anyone. I'll answer all question I can, but particularly: Mathematics, Science, Music, Poetry, Philosophy, History, Astronomy, Religion, well all most anything. Enjoy your stay. Ask something.

  • Could you make suggestions for the improvement of this poem?

    Mister Young

    I got up off the ground

    without making a sound

    when I finally found the disaster

    While unbending my knees

    caught my hair in the breeze

    in one hundred degrees melting plaster

    Watching girls of the world

    raising dresses unfurled

    while the questions were hurled so much faster

    I was writing a play

    on a sweet summer day

    to her own known dismay so I cast her

    She took talent and poise

    from her suitcase of toys

    said the mirror enjoys her reflection

    Keeping up with the styles

    weeping under her smiles

    leaping over the piles of rejection

    We clacked day after night

    and came close to a fight

    hoping she would invite my direction

    But she took all the fame

    even blew out my flame

    she was playing the game of deception

    3 AnswersPoetry7 years ago
  • Could you make suggestions for improvement in this poem?

    The Wrong Answer

    Disgusted, she flipped me the feather

    and said I wasn't worth the whole bird

    she knew she could always do better

    she walked away not saying a word

    What I'd done, was it really that wrong?

    What'd you do if you were in my place?

    I wanted to try to get along

    she wanted never to see my face

    Would a dozen roses make things right?

    Should I try to explain my own side?

    I knew I didn't want a big fight

    She wasn't going to let me slide

    if only I could realize

    I needed to... learn to live alone

    ~

    10 AnswersPoetry7 years ago
  • Should I edit my poem or is it okay?

    The Singing Sun

    Ask a wise one what lies behind

    the smiling round face of the sun

    Plato would explain how goodness

    is the reason for all the fun

    Goodness made visible by light--

    comes from knowledge learned in your youth

    gold sun and goodness illumines

    the intelligible with truth

    Listen to young sun and you'll hear

    how low she sings, out into space

    cup your ear to her mantra chant

    a song pulsing in rhythmic bass

    Pierce the darkness, break the silence

    Add her song to all your time sensed

    ~

    6 AnswersPoetry7 years ago
  • Is there enough here to identify the poet?

    Young William

    Simple and graceful lyrics rise

    from times most young boys do despise

    numinous morality grow

    from nature in a land of snow

    A cottage where he hopes to find

    philosophic songs for the mind

    educated unstinting growth

    witnessed by God and Country both

    Ullswater Lake he stole a boat

    a peak looked down and stole his cloak

    pantheism thought teased his brain

    spectacular visions on which to train

    London was not the place to be

    the Lake District had set him free

    4 AnswersPoetry7 years ago
  • Is it necessary for a poem to have a varied rhyming pattern?

    Untitled

    Black silhouettes row to sunset

    where the orange ball ripples and waves

    one light kiss of salty nape sweat

    while one hand slightly misbehaves

    Often knees begin to get wet

    from the droplets where the oars lave

    and brush under a bridge rosette

    as all the bells ring from their graves

    Scrape the bottom, drunken keel debt

    there's nothing here the water saves

    row until morning songs forget

    anoint the forehead kneeling knaves

    3 AnswersPoetry7 years ago
  • Please forgive me, would you?

    I wanted to thank those who commented on my cannonball poem last week.

    My delinquency in voting best answer is not a reflection on you.

    I enjoyed every comment and I had a splash of a time with you for those moments.

    Your comments I take to heart.~Andy

    3 AnswersPoetry8 years ago
  • Poetry: Do you try mind over matter sometimes?

    Of Venice

    Just a sun-puff across the square,

    past the wild pigeons of St. Mark's,

    is a quieter place for us,

    a short journey; we may embark.

    We dance in step up stairs and stop

    atop a bridge where we can talk,

    as gondolas slip-slather by

    beneath our feet; below the hawk.

    Bells resonate, peal demonstrates

    we all ring-run down the calle.

    Eclipse the noise, we find a shop

    of finesse and delicacy.

    Artists and craftsmen, hands of skill.

    Glass beads, quite splendid and unique

    made before eyes filled with wonder

    made in the Bright Soul boutique

    A deep blue forever keepsake

    I clasp in gold around your neck

    to honor your beauty and love

    and show my eternal respect.

    Can we glide together aboard

    a gondola that slips through dreams

    making love tunnel memories?

    It can't be as hard it seems.

    ~

    11 AnswersPoetry8 years ago
  • Poetry: A Haiku for You and...?

    Bbbzzzmmm

    What has come to me

    and what I have left behind

    are a shoulder glace

    ~

    4 AnswersPoetry8 years ago
  • Poem: There is a time to every purpose, right?

    Plant a Seed

    Mid-summer, when peaches are ripe

    and heavy with tasty respite

    Fruit stands pop up by the side of the road

    Tended by kids off from school

    country faces with family rules

    Shrewd and savvy as car salesmen might bode

    Thirteen for three dollars, a steal

    a quarter a piece, still a deal

    I paid five dollars for a basket load

    On checkered cotton table cloth

    I placed my basket by my troth

    Guests at my picnic could eat á la mode

    Fruits from a tree, fruits of labor

    shared with loved ones who can savor

    and appreciate happily, seeds sowed

    7 AnswersPoetry8 years ago
  • Poem about, Who can quench my thirst?

    Her Water Can

    She knows I like, having her read

    the poems I haven't written yet

    Picking fruit straight from the seed

    Toying with time's cause and effect

    Affection near, before I am

    Every little thing she does

    I know she likes her water can

    and overlapping ripples' love

    Her basket fills with fragrant buds

    she hands them to me one by one

    We care not the reason because

    our time allows us to be fun

    .

    4 AnswersPoetry8 years ago
  • Poem: Have you ever chased rain clouds?

    The Late Twentieth Century

    Day after day of sun baked, heat of a drought

    the thermometer's about to burst

    puffy white clouds float in bright summer blue skies

    not a drop to quench our building thirst

    Baby, is it still hot out there on the porch?

    'cause I'm burning up real bad inside

    Maybe we could put some warm breeze in our hair

    I'd do anything to go for a ride

    We packed a lunch basket and we loaded the car

    We headed to the hills west of town

    Before we had driven, not half the way there

    Huge raindrops had begun to come down

    We stopped the car off from the highway a bit

    Got out and danced wildly in the rain

    People drove by us honking their nosy horns

    They probably could think us insane.

    Soon quite soaked to the bone in cool wet release

    Unspoken and just laughing away

    We took the long way back home, followed that cloud

    When its hot now I think of that day

    5 AnswersPoetry8 years ago
  • Is it me or is it...?

    The Moon is Laughing Again

    I looked at the moon, it looked past my eyes

    I pulled my black hat down tight

    I said, “Hey old man I'm looking at you

    'back for you later tonight!”

    The “ Play Pool Here” sign lost a few letters

    The first P and last L, gone.

    It was dollar drinks night for certain girls

    my guess, I could get along

    Of course I was minding my own business

    That's my usual story

    She did the sly-glance, over her shoulder,

    her bracelets, her perfume inside her wrists,

    her hair, the locket around her neck.

    She moved across the room to be nearer

    her blink, the sway of her heart tatted hips,

    her shoes, and the shade of her own lips.

    when I came to later on

    I told the moon, “Old man, don't look at me.”

    3 AnswersPoetry8 years ago
  • Does this necessarily make me a scoundrel?

    june bug

    simple general spontaneity

    she doesn't carry a script

    a playful sense of curiosity

    a diamond above her lip

    a fashion minded spirit wearing jeans

    to humor me and my hat

    two-step across the oak knotted floor beams

    a music note as her tat

    we sang with the band and howled at the moon

    waking with the morning sun

    she fixed breakfast then left me around noon

    our first date was the third one

    9 AnswersPoetry8 years ago