Followers

Friday, 31 March 2017

Mother Theresa

Mother Theresa was heavenly sent,
She was like a surrogate parent
Caring for the needy and the poor,
Going out of her way to knock on their door.

She was Christianly in vanity
And had a morality of sanity,
Preaching about the wisdom
Of our Blessed God and Son.

She went out of her way to aid victims
Of suffering in whatever respects,
She and others were like true politicians,
Doing their utmost personal best.

She often went without herself
Disregarding her personal health,
But she persevered with stealth
With pride and courage her wealth.

I admired her to the extreme,
As she was, and always had been, keen
To lend a hand in this hellish land -
A welcoming gesture that is grand.

Copyright Andrew Stevenson 31/03/2017

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.




To Francis, My Mates Mother

Francis is getting on in years,
She's had a good innings,
Sadly she seeps tears
From eyes that are wavering.

She can hardly see, a travesty
While trying to watch the TV,
But she listens to the sounds
Which has no impairing bounds.

She used to work for a charity,
A blessing for all to justly see,
And she was a loving partner to Paddy,
Who respected very deeply she.

She has persevered through the ages,
And knows the Scriptures pages,
She has an ecclesiastical wisdom
Believing in the Blessed Son.

She has always been kind hearted,
And has seen some offspring departed,
She laps up her great grandchildren
Who are full of laughter and fun.

I respect her to the extreme,
She is very heard and seen,
She is a character to savour
Sharing wisdom from stormy weather.

Copyright Andrew Stevenson 31/03/2017

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.

Thursday, 30 March 2017

Rosie The Baby

Rosie laughs and chuckles,
She also chews her knuckles,
This is adorable to see -
Her peace and tranquillity.

She looks about in wonder
And is yet to wander,
She laps up her sister
And also her brother.

She plays innocently with toys
And hardly makes a noise,
Except sounds of excitement -
A parental appeasement.

She is full of joy and happiness
At her having more rather than less
Of love from her proud mother and father
That will never for their forever falter.

Copyright Andrew Stevenson 31/03/2017

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.


An Art Apart

Scot, my son-in-law, is a good father,
And he does nurture with favour
Good and exceptional behaviour -
He is a sight of might to savour.

He teaches his children respectability,
And is humble in humility and ability,
As he teaches a craft of an art apart
As he has a generous in spirit heart.

He fixes things with some pride,
With Kenzie sometimes by his side,
Glowing with now knowing what to do
As he fixes and helps out too.

He is a loving partner, which does show
As his love does grow and grow,
For my daughter, a wonderful mother
And very significant other.

Copyright Andrew Stevenson 30/03/2017

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.

To Georgia, A Mother

My daughter looks after Kenzie and Lacey,
And is a deep source of motherly beauty,
As she is soberly reprimanding
While not being too demanding.

She takes care of their immediate needs
And feeds their curiosity with seeds
That flourish and grow with the need to know
That to be Christianly is a heavenly glow.

They glow with a morality of sanity,
And are bright with subtlety
As they are not overbearing
With their wanting and demanding.

She is a motherly inspiration
Much to mine and others appreciation,
She is a caring and sharing parent
An angel in my loving eyes - heavenly sent.

Copyright Andrew Stevenson 30/03/2017

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.

To Clare With A Care

Where are you, Clare,
As I have a loving care,
I hold my love aloft -
Nice and gently soft.

I'm waiting for you,
Are you searching too?
I'm feeling quite blue
Without you to pursue.

You were beautiful to me,
Attractive and prettily
Presented, full of promises
And faithful praises.

I loved you loving the Son,
A testament to  your wisdom;
Preach to me you sensibilities
That can have wonderful possibilities.

Please adhere this beckoning cry,
And I'll let out a pleasant sigh
Of a welcoming and longed for relief
From suffering a loneliness grief.

Copyright Andrew Stevenson 30/03/2017

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.

Wednesday, 29 March 2017

Good Intentions

Jesus was an ecclesiastical Preacher,
And in incredible and humble Teacher,
He taught us to love one another -
Especially your Brethren and Mother.

He taught parables to sow and grow,
And was benevolent to show
That he was respectful to all -
Regardless of some standing tall.

His disciples did follow him,
Teaching others not to commit sin,
And spreading the Gospel Word
To wherever it might be heard.

He fed followers with wisdom
And philosophies about the Son,
That new times had begun
Under the blazing, hot sun.

He walked the desert, being tested
With the devil wanting him arrested
For crimes against his humanity -
A grave testament of travesty.

Jesus prevailed, and loved God so,
And had the knowledge to know
That His blessings are a sight to see
Of peaceful relations of tranquillity.

Copyright Andrew Stevenson 29/03/2017

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.



Tuesday, 28 March 2017

To Dennis With Fond Memories

Dennis, my mates brother,
Was a desirable other,
As he offered his services
With lots of adherence's.

He loved his close family
With all of his might,
He heartedly acted brotherly,
And was a sight of might.

He understood care with a stare
As he suffered a personal knell
Of a duration drinking spell
Regardless of personal care.

He is now in heavenly heaven
Regardless of his disbelief's
As he is still classed as Brethren
Despite his griefs of beliefs.

Copyright Andrew Stevenson 28/03/2017

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.


Paddy With Love And Best Wishes

Paddy, my mates, daddy,
Was a noble character,
But very humbly and sadly
He passed, a sorry chapter.

He was loved and cherished
As he was a loving father
And a committed partner -
Maternally nourished.

His loving partner, Francis
Did share their living bliss,
And he did share with a care
Of loving with a flare.

He liked to have an odd bet
Which  he didn't really fret,
As the bets were only small
As his responsibilities stood tall.

Copyright Andrew Stevenson 28/03/2017

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.

A Biblical Piece

Mathew, Mark, Luke and John
Wrote about the Truth and Light,
For heathens to listen to the Son,
A literary site of might from gripe.

They recalled from others a testimony,
That they scribed down for lots to see
A vision of peace and tranquillity
And heavenly beauty when you are free.

Repent, relent, and have condolences,
About the griefs you've inflicted on others,
And you too can be forgiven for your grievances
On your brethren and kin  - sisters and brothers.

The Church is a place to be if you are friendly and charitable
As you can fall in love with Jesus and his blessed teaching
That can help the poor, weak in spirit, and unstable
And for anyone else that has suffered and is reaching.

Be fruitful in your intake and be respectful to elders,
As they understand living to impart some wisdom to listeners,
A lot have suffered hardship with a loss of friendship,
As to pass can leave you aghast with a mass of other parishioners

Copyright Andrew Stevenson 28/03/2017

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye..

To Popsy With Love

Brian, my Father In Law
Knew the philosophical score
As he did implore to the poor
To raise their steaks from being raw.

He had the wisdom to know to grow
Your heavenly peace of the sow
And to ensue what is to pursue
That flourished and grew anew.

He was a keen gardener, and nourished
What predominantly flourished,
But sadly he has dementure
A suffering partnership torture.

My mother perseveres, with tears,
As quickly passing are the years,
But she has a care to  humbly share
And tends to his needs of being a pair.

Copyright Andrew Stevenson 28/03/2017

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.

Jesus Is Love

I have just and Godly intentions,
As Jesus was full of aspirations
And integrity, and you will see
Sincerity in His Truth popularity.

I fell in love with Jesus, at a time
Of hardship, he was a welcoming sign
Of my times to come, with a passion
Of complimentary parables of precision.

As to understand we are all equal
Is an academic, Biblical prequel,
As Moses shared, cared with equality
And had offered a Godly commentary.

Be friendly with your neighbour
Is a philosophy to savour
And to love your loving wife
Is wisdom to see you from strife.

Jesus was foretold by the bold and wise
And he was favoured with opening eyes
To all that would choose to hear
Sentiments and words sincere and dear.

In the New Testament, Jesus had sincerity,
Which was complimentary to his popularity,
As he cared for others as sisters and brothers,
And had a welcoming hand for unbelieving others.

His beliefs were to set you free from disbelief's
Of many griefs, as sorrows were at peaks,
As they were governed by tyrants and villains
Posing as respectable and honourable Romans.

Copyright Andrew Stevenson 28/03/2017

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.


To My Nephew, Mathew

Mathew, my nephew, is very hospitable and humble,
And with a grumble he expresses the concrete jungle,
As he works to aid the poor, particularly the homeless,
He knows the score, and is constructive in guileness.

He is an academic to praise, studying hard and long,
To achieve a positive purpose to belong in the throng
Of peers who are likewise minded to care for the suffering -
As lots of us suffer, particularly those fretting about housing.

He is chivalrous - has etiquette, and is honourable in his intentions,
And his mother and brother and other reiterate this with many mentions,
As we are proud that he is loud to stand his stance of a glance
At those less-fortunate, and to aid this plight of might gripe chance.

Copyright Andrew Stevenson 28/03/2017

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.




Rainman

Rainman is a site to see of evolutionary possibility,
He is a human supercomputer, remembering vast quantities,
But he is unstable in himself - aspergers vulnerability -
Which is sad to see, as he has exceptional abilities.

He is scrutinised by academics - studied and learned,
Who wonder in wonder at he, as his mentality is not free
As he is a prisoner in his own mind, suffering being fed
And put to bed, psychiatrically proclaimed off his head.

Copyright Andrew Stevenson 28/03/2017

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.


A Wedding Blessing

My brother, Mark, gets married today;
Oh what joy - hip, hip hooray:
His bride to be is Melanie
A site to see of tranquillity.

They will walk up the aisle
With a happy and joyous smile
As they love each other so,
Which does grow and grow.

They have made their peace in life
And are free from hostile strife,
As they are accommodating to each other
And each to each other a lover.

I wish them both all the very best
And hope they have more rather than less,
In caring and sharing, attributes to savour
And in being in each other's favour.

Copyright Andrew Stevenson 28/03/2017

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.

To My Daughter On Mother's Day

Georgia is a Mother's Day delight,
She administers an essence of love
To her children, a popular site
Of a wise and knowledgeable shove.

Children can sometimes be unruly
And she has the patience of a saint,
Punishing with words that are motherly
And caring - she is heavenly sent.

Her children are happy and play playfully,
Much to the appreciation and delight of she,
They have manners of respectability
Saying 'please' and 'thank you' to we.

They have many toys and games to play with,
Sharing and caring with them mostly,
A pleasing site to see them give -
They are a testimony to tranquillity.

They go to bed fulfilled with joy,
fully nourished with fulfilment,
Lacey May a girl, and Kenzie a boy
Giving their mother appeasement.

Copyright Andrew Stevenson 28/03/2017

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.

Mother's Day Blessing

A happy Mother's Day to my mum,
I am a loving and nourished son,
As she feeds me with her wisdom
Of pleasing and good times to come.

I savour her flavour, a good taste
To regurgitate, as in her words
Of caring and sharing, not to waste
The space of positivity in her cause.

She is just and righteous, a lady
With a morality of standing,
And like the Greek God, Hades
She is powerful with her demanding.

She cared for her five children alone
Now grown up and flown and prone
To lend a helping hand, which is grand
To her enlightening hope in our land.

Her hope is a scope to care for with thought
As she wants the best for her offspring
And she loves with a loving ought
Of feeding the poor, attributes to sing.

She is very charitable with her expenses
And is inclined to share with a care
As she holds aloft being pensive
When it concerns a passionate flare.

Flare to eat you up inside, as she has pride
In conversing her charitable inclinations,
A supplementing modesty that she does abide
With her thoughts of poorer inspirations.

Copyright Andrew Stevenson 28/03/2017

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.

My Ex-Partner

Fiona is a delight site from gripe,
As she loves with all of her might;
And our children reap a lot of spoils
Alleviating some of their troubles.

She cares and shares, and has a heart
That is  heavenly in spirit like a harp,
As she is a melody and tune to savour
With her loving, respectable behaviour.

Georgia and Laurence love her very so
And their love does grow and grow
As she administers a flurescent glow
That they can see and follow in tow.

She cares for some of the elderly
With a sense of deep responsibility
As she nurtures their friendship
Through their living hardship.

I love Fiona for being a mother -
She used to be my significant other -
We had some good times with fun
Through our existence under the sun.

Copyright Andrew Stevenson 28/03/2017

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.

Georgia's Love

Georgia has stealth in her chosen words,
As between the lines she is wisely heard
Advocating a true, committed friendship,
despite her struggles and hardship.

She is a true believer in deliverance;
And with perseverance, and adherence
To a morality of some noble standing -
And she is not worrying while demanding.

She delivers herself with loving
And likes caring and sharing,
A Utopian with values of some worth
Wanting heaven from our hell on earth.

She fights the battle of existing
With wisdom while acknowledging
That we are all sisters and brothers,
So keeps her peace safe from hostile others.

She is a nourishment to savour
And is beautiful inside to favour
Loving aspirations from delegations
That exist in the mist of supplications.

/Copyright Andrew Stevenson 28/03/2017

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.



Friday, 24 March 2017

I Love To Love

I love to love, and do so with a passion, and with true derision, I will exist without using the fist, as I care for others like sisters and brothers, as we are all equal, a prequel philosophy from philanthropy, and together we can be a sight to see of peace and tranquillity, as I am hospitable, charitable, and with noble intentions we can skip the pretensions of size, be wise and know the score, that I implore, to help the poor and needy, especially those distressed through psychiatric afflictions, as they are needy, and not greedy with your time, they like to rhyme in classes, a good passing, being creative, productive, a positive pastime, and share skills to aiding the ills of taking pills! Mentally insane is a name we can nurture to favour the Saviour, as a morality of standing is being Christianly, a heavenly attribute to some, and be a Utopian and share, care and hug and love.

Copyright Andrew Stevenson 24/03/2017

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.

Little Ant

A little, Amazon jungle ant left to leave the nest at dawn, and stopped just before the entrance - to take in the glorious morning light, and felt the heat of the sun before he ventured into it. He didn't like the darkness in the nest, and the hustle and bustle of activity, particularly at meal times, as he was bossed about so much, that sometimes he missed a meal just to escape the bullying: he couldn't wait to grow, and boss others about - a paradoxical philosophy of understanding, as size dominated the essence of hierarchy within.

He felt weak as pangs of hunger stabbed away at his stomach, which eat away at his thoughts. He had instructions, to bring back food, but he would eat first, and think later, as he was desperately hungry. The last time he had been caught out, observed and reported by another ant who had chanced upon him lazing in the grass lapping up a dead maggot. He would be more observant this time.

He was one of the first to leave the nest, and scanned the area around him. He chose a scenic trail, and felt no guilt for it, regardless of his orders - to take the dense route: he didn't like that way, as it was strenuous and arduous. He took in the beautiful flowers, and marvelled at their colours. It wasn't long before he came across a snail eating a leaf:

'I envy you,' Ant said as he took in the vast amount of leaves, 'you have so much food to eat, while we only have slim pickings!'

'But meat is nice,' the snail empathised, 'and leaves are boring to eat. I envy you, having legs to get about on while I have to crawl on my belly!'

Little ant thought about this statement, and smiled as he danced about, gyrating his legs to and thro. After a moment of elation, he slipped on the snails wet trail, and with his legs spread out flat, landed hard on his own belly.

'That'll teach you,' snail said, 'you should look before you leap. Speaking of which, let me try and have a ride on your back, to see what's it like to have legs? Go on, I can see how strong you are?'

Little Ant thought it through, and after a moment was persuaded. He liked being praised for his strength, and flexed his muscles in personal pride.

'Go on then,' ant said, 'get onto my back.'

Little ant manoeuvred towards the snail, and assisted him to get onto him. Snail slid onto his back. Little ant now felt big, and asked where the snail wanted to go?

'I'd like to go the river,' snail responded, 'to have a hearty drink - as I'm so thirsty.'

'Alright then, perhaps I'll find something to eat along the way - as I'm so hungry. You know I don't kill insects, I just find dead ones and take them back to the nest - but the adults kill to eat. My favourite food is maggot. You're like a big maggot! I kill maggots to eat them.'

The snail enjoyed the ride, and bossed little ant about: turn here, go that way, up that mound, and became most unpleasant. Little ant started to resent the request, and relished the thought of off-loading the weight!

When they came to the river, the snail ordered little ant to squat while he drank from a large puddle. After a duration of drinking, little ant didn't like the snails ungrateful attitude, and chose to shake him off; and as he shook, he realised the snail had become sticky, opposed to slippy, and held fast.

'Get off me,' ant protested, 'I'm tired and hungry.'

'Not until I find the tastiest bush I like!'

Little ant shook with all of his might, but couldn't shake the wily snail off. After some effort, and time, he gave up hope.

'What does this tasty bush look like?'

'It's small with white flowers, and is quite rare to see.'

'I know where there's a bush of that description, I passed one early this morning.'

'Take me, take me - I like the leaves so much.'

'But what about me? You're such a heavy load. Can't I drop you off with the promise I'll bring you some leaves back to you?'

'No, no. Take me there.'

Little ant begrudged the journey, but thought it would be worthwhile, as he was hungry too. He philosophised about 'looking before leaping' the whole way there. Snail felt so clever to have duped little ant, Little ant felt so hungry, but persevered the midday heat, and soldiered on regardless, and found it a great effort. Soon they could see the bush in the distance, and the snail got excited:

'Come on, hurry up. Go faster.'

Little ant ran, and the snail was solely focused on the prize, and in his haste, failed to notice the nest nearby! Little ant veered sharply to his left, and within moments had entered the tunnel leading to the nest.

'You should have looked before you leaped,' little ant said to snail as he dropped the snail off to the queen.

Little ant was the talk of the nest, and received much praise and attention, and at supper-time, was invited to sit at the queen's table, where he received an accolade of praise - and a large portion of snail!

Copyright Andrew Stevenson 24/03/2017

I wrote this for a creative writing class assignment. A 900 word short story.

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.

Thursday, 23 March 2017

I Savour My Daughter

My daughter is LOVE, and she is the love of my life,
She keeps me mentally sane and free from strife:
She is a pillar of great strength, and I will recompense
Her adherence to I mentality - a gravity in suspense.

She is a wonderful sight, and has a Daughterly attitude
Which I love and which I lap up with gratitude -
And she loves without pretence, an appetence
Of her devotion to the motion of fighting my defence.

She sticks up for me, a tranquil tranquillity of popularity
From negativity, and as she soldiers on with her scrutiny
I admire her to the extreme, being overly keen, as seen
In my emotion to her devotion to being a team.

We are partners in time, and while I like to rhyme,
She likes to hope of a better scope to refine
Others into being kind, and lend a care
For understanding the remanding council lair.

She is a worthwhile trial to whatever guile I can muster
And we can weather a storm of being together
For our forever, as we struggle financially to cope
As we are a lesser popularity, but we don't give up hope.

Copyright Andrew Stevenson 23/03/2017

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.


Wednesday, 22 March 2017

Suffering Bipolar

I am tormented with pressure
And lye indecisive of aggression,
As an alter torments I with a measure
Of annoying, oppressive suppression.

This weathers my mind
To feeling stressed out;
Then I am liable to find
That my alter does bout.

Indecisive affray of my faculties
Renders I to be subjected:
And as my will fades and dies
I feel rejected and dejected.

Copyright Andrew Stevenson 22/03/2017

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.

Not All Bad

The days are long and a burden to bare -
I cast my eyes at the television and stare
In a trance of considerable confusion
Contemplating reality and delusion.

I speak in an authoritative tone
And ramble on to moan and groan,
Yet I am alone at home - talking -
With my alters persevering.

A character here, idiosyncrasy there;
Aggressive behaviour - sometimes a flare,
But this can change to being hilarious
Rendering I mentality as frivolous.

Copyright Andrew Stevenson 22/03/2017

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.

Up And Frown

I am as lost as a lost sheep
And I bleat and bleat -
And as I wallow in sorrow
In comes tomorrow:
The days are long - nights hard,
And as I write sonnets like the bard
It takes me to another place
With an intellectual pace.

That was then and this is now;
Reap the spoils of why and how
I travelled in a space of a measured pace
With femininity a plenty of nurtured grace,
As I have bipolar, confidence a plenty
But administered ever so gently.

Copyright Andrew Stevenson 22/03/2017

A sonnet.

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.

Up And Down

I am crazy at times - delusional and dysfunctional -
And can burst at the seams with strength beyond my means;
Walking everywhere, paranoid to be irrational -
Tripping and imagining and worrying with what seems.

I travel in a land of make believe, and stress at characters
Inquiring and asking what to make of them in my mind,
With uncertain wanderings and pondering of thier natures
To nurture into negative or positive of them being mean or kind.

Kind enough to care, or mean enough to stare -
And brave enough to confront I in battle mode,
But with intentions and a sanity laid bare ;
I plead with my reasoning mentality not to goad.

Heed the remanding fright to your plight of I might
Or embrace I with sanctity and charity, with sincerity,
And I'll soften the blow, by being less alarming in sight
Using I whit as grit in times of shit of a lesser gravity.

Copyright Andrew Stevenson 22/03/2017

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.

Worrying About What Might Be Impending

As night-time sets in the room,
All about is impending gloom:
The shadows I have to beware
As I sombrely and soberly stare.

The voices speak, boom and bark
As I trip and search in the dark -
Staring into space at ghosts of the past,
A chilling experience to hauntingly last.

I communicate with the TV, a grim reality
Of a grave gravity of insanity -
And as I deliver, I gander in wonder
And ponder as to what lays on yonder.

I am prone to torture myself, and self-harm -
With some trying respites of chilling calm;
And as I wrestle with my consciousness -
In comes the torment of aggressiveness.

I become my own victim, a prisoner,
And sit in a godly pew like a parishioner -
As an alter represents Mother Nature
A recurring nightmare of torture.

Copyright Andrew Stevenson 22/03/2017

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.

A Shocking Experience

My past caught up with me -
Sharing my psychiatry -
Should I remain free
Remains to be and see.

I slapped a friend in the face,
A remorseful disgrace
That I beat myself up about -
Riddled with mental doubt.

I wasn't myself -
Suffering ill-health -
And was delusional;
Very dysfunctional.

But now I am well
Not suffering that knell:
I am at a sense of ease -
A noble character breeze.

I Was And Am

Medication can be tearfully unkind
Messing about with my mind,
And as I slump into depths of despair
I am prone to sit quietly and stare.

A paranoid mentality of nurses after me
After a lifetime of extreme insanity:
They are organised and are forsaking
To my reluctance to unkindly pill taking.

I think I am being scrutinised, analysed -
Which can render I to be mentally paralysed,
But I still exchange pleasing pleasantries
Regardless of my unending idiosyncrasies.

Oh woe to I and my stupid beliefs
Synonymous with psychiatric griefs,
As I am sometimes rendered incapacitated -
A mentally grave position really hated

I have times of being quite well
Where others can obervably tell
That I am looking after myself,
As I look and sound in good health.

Copyright Andrew Stevenson 22/03/2017

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.



Tuesday, 21 March 2017

Who Am I

Hurrying here and scurrying there
Ever watchful of people that stare
At a lunatic going about his business -
And a person in deep distress.

Trying to stay stable, in and out
Of a mental psychosis bout -
And as I may be inclined
To worry you out of your mind.

But I'm mindful of who I am and  how to cope
As i'm also charitable to the aid of hope
Of my being a gentleman with chivalry -
I can also be humorous and witty.

I am a multitude of characteristics, an enigma
Alters to cope with while suffering the stigma
Of being mentally insane, a reject of society -
And a person of considerable notoriety.

Copyright Andrew Stevenson 21/03/2017

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.

Me, Myself And I

I was whispering, muttering, generally chatting
About being well, lying and trying to putting
An end to the trend of wanting I on injections
Based on their unruly misconceptions
With their unfruitful perceptions;
But the reality of the matter was I was
Delirious, a grave state - deeply serious,
And I was paranoid and suspicious
Wrapped up in myself with delusions.

Now I am well, enjoying the fruits of life
With a possible common in law wife:
We can share laughter and plenty of fun
As we come and go and go and come
In a psychotic state of being well,
From a hardcore state of living in hell.

Copyright Andrew Stevenson 21/03/2017

A sonnet can sometimes have 9 lines in the octave.

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.

Delusional

As I fret with a paranoia feeling
With a history of seething -
And a future of uncertainty -
What is to become of me.

The public is under scrutiny
And passionatly - stubbornly -
I assume and presume
In a psychotic gloom.

Who is spying, watching -
I am constantly  wondering -
And what is their pleasure
From this endeavour.

Who is acting and who is real -
As I suspiciously steal
Away my rationality
To this inflammatory insanity.

Copyright Andrew Stevenson 21/03/2017

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.

A Danger To Myself

Locked in my flat, a prisoner in my own home -
And whilst I suffer alone, I am prone
To be harmful to myself
With deteriorating health.

Ghosts come out of the closet to glow -
Reasoning goes out of the window -
Delusions play their screens
To my silent screams.

Different characters emerge
To violently purge
Aggression out of me -
A travesty and tragedy.

I become paranoid,
A timeless void
Of sentences with sentences -
Punishing lenience's.

Copyright Andrew Stevenson 21/03/2017

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.

Monday, 20 March 2017

Bipolar

I raged in a delusional state,
Enough to recall and relate,
In a paranoia mentality -
A dangerous gravity.

Passers by were hapless victims
Of my unruly behavioural sins
Of investigating my suspicions
Of directive misdirection's.

Talking in a mode to translate
Into blinding truth or hate
But this was to sate
With a mental debate.

But I always went on my way
To sing my sorrows another way,
As my misconceptions
Raised many attentions.

Off to the ward, an imprisonment
Of unwarranted punishment -
Where the nurses don't have the time of day
And you are constantly sent on your way.

Left to rot and suffer the penalty
Of having a grave mentality -
With a psychotic stare
Without a personal care.

Copyright Andrew Stevenson 20/03/2017

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.

Sunday, 19 March 2017

Heroin Addicts

I'm sitting on this chair, facing the bedroom door
With my head in the clouds and my chin on the floor -
Eat bread and drink wine from the cup
If I don't come back down from going on up:
That fiery host would be my winner
Because of my life of being a sinner.
Coming back around, something the dealer said -
Yet even awake - I'm still with the dead.

He's the king of his castle - there's no doubt about that,
Lording it over everyone who enters his flat.
Draped in gold he thinks he's just fine
With his plush surroundings of silk and pine -
But he still wears that label - that label like mine.

Copyright Andrew Stevenson 18/03/2017

A sonnet.

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.

Exodus

He shouts through the letter-box and knocks on the door -
Sweating and shaking hurriedly wanting to score.
The sun is shining, but not in his face;
No radiance there - only disgrace;
A patient he is, calling to the criminal surgery,
Seeking medication from doctor-dealer me.
You're at the finishing line of your race,
Come on through, just on more pace.

Now you're through i'll take your hand
And lead you to your promised land
Come on forward and don't look back,
Now you're here you're back on track.
 I'll open up my stash of crack -
And your promised land - grains like sand.

Copyright Andrew Stevenson 19/03/2017

A sonnet.

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.

Saturday, 18 March 2017

Self-Inflicted

He's got the money and he's got the drugs:
Also protection from his connection's thugs -
Apart from that what has he got?
To and fro to the door - that's his lot.
My life I know is nothing to shout,
But at least I'm free to roam about:
Not like him - a prisoner in his own home
With so many friends, yet always alone.

His minutes turn to hours, his hours into days
Sucking his pipe in a deep, cloudy haze -
Fully aware of his precarious reckless ways
Regarding and disregarding his health.
 But more than caring about himself
Is his share of societies wealth.

Copyright Andrew Stevenson 18/03/2017

A sonnet.

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.

Back To Normal

I write to heed my plight of suffering
And thus wisely weathering
A dark cloud that does shroud me:
And my sanity - a grave mentality
Reality, my delusions and confusions
Can become character creations;
And as the nights quietly pass by
I am prone to shed a tear and cry.

I am humane, gentle and soft
And hold ever so greatly aloft
A morality of what was I sanity
To a wise Christian community.
 But regardless of these sensibilities
I am still prone to be ill-at-ease.

Copyright Andrew Stevenson 18/03/2017

A sonnet.

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.

I Was

Medication is unkind as the side effects play
In your body and mind to make you sway -
As I wrestle in restlessness and grapple with I sanity,
I am full of hopefulness  to remain hospital free.
At times I lose my senses and can become delusional
With lots of pretences of being paranormal.
I have different characters that play a different game
With seriousness in natures similarly the same.

Angry at some who follow and watch at a distance
And come the morrow are still in existence.
I can argue and bout with strangers in the street;
Scream and shout in a paranoia heat.
 The memories are many with a violent few
With sorrows to nurture and forgiveness to pursue.

Copyright Andrew Stevenson 18/03/2017

A sonnet.

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.

Friday, 17 March 2017

Without A Home

Here I am on a park bench, peacefully sat,
When who walks on up - a junkie gutter rat;
Look at him all skin and bone
With a face so thin and without a home.
He looks to me like hes off his head -
Oh my God is this his bed?
To my home I'd like to lead
To give the lad a proper feed.

But I won't, because he'd rob me blind,
That's how he'd repay me for being kind;
So I'll pick myself up and leave him behind -
But next to my bed I'll say a prayer
That our God my lend a care.

A sonnet.

Copyright Andrew Stevenson 17/03/2017

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.

Found Then Lost

I walk but want to run, as I am eager for expression of mind,
But I am on a leash, as medication can sometimes be unkind,
And during this lapse of I true faculties, I drowsily think
And understand sorrow of heart - a red fruit to sink.

Despair can be blood thirsty, and drink up your consciousness,
And as you feel faint with the pressures of seriousness -
You can understand a family's worried perspectives
At a seemingly 'alter' of character in I objectives.

I like to sing, laugh, and enjoy friendly banter connotations,
And have come out of I shell of sluggish palpitations -
A paradox of a duration that flowed with a fast beat
As I endured fearful relations in a paranoia heat.

Copyright Andrew Stevenson 17/03/20`17

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.

Thursday, 16 March 2017

I Feel So Heal

I love you with care,
With my all laid bare.
I am an open book to read
And a conquest to heed.

You keep me rationally sane
Regardless of all my pain -
But I'll leave my sorrows
For much better tomorrows.

Hold me and I'll reciprocate,
And reap spoils that eradicate
My negativity and irrationality
With humane decency.

Copyright Andrew Stevenson 16/03/2017

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.

Not My Fault

I had a relapse, arguing at a bus stop,
And using myself as a theatre prop -
I threw my arms about in a rage -
For a considerable age.

I was delusional and frightened
As my perception heightened -
I was fearful to what might ensue
As passengers were looking blue.

You knocked into me, not me into you,
It wasn't my fault - you new -
Leave me alone as I am prone
To a moan in an augmentative tone

I think: 'who are you really and why
Do you be offended enough to cry
As you struck the first blow
With your partner in tow'.

Copyright Andrew Stevenson 16/03/2017

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.

Restrained

Laughing in insanity, a grave reality
For all to see with a popularity
Of observing the show, going slow
With lots of patient staff in tow.

You need a sedative injection -
A subjection that will be administered
With much rejection and objection -
And as they have restraining bouts;
They beg for mercy with shouts.

The needle is forcibly administered
With a screaming voice that is heard
Throughout the corridors and TV room -
An erratic and crazy time of gloom.

Copyright Andrew Stevenson 16/03/2017

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.

Forgiving Beckoning

Come back from whence you went,
And adhere to this beckoning cry,
Of too much time inconsiderately spent
Being an adulterous pig in a sty.

What about the vows you made,
And I welfare amidst mockery,
That I am feeble and fade
Into a background of crockery.

Am I a ball and chain of hindrance,
And are you master of I destiny;
I won't put up with this severance
Of love to servitude prosperity.

You were an eyeful of pride,
And a joy to proudly behold -
So repent and quietly subside -
This environmental scold.

My love is still warm within
And my forgiveness is ripe -
So please get rid of this sin
And come to me in the night.

Make love to I under the moon,
And caress my worries away,
Do not seal my tomb of gloom
By calling on this temptress to play.

Cuddle me in you motions,
And gyrate next to I curves,
And let's mix our emotions
In a sea of washing waves.

Copyright Andrew Stevenson 16/03/2017

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.

Wednesday, 15 March 2017

How I Was

Delusional fear I adhere to, and in a thumping rage - my flat like a cage, I curse and swear aware that I am talking to myself, but in stealth, on my own, with home grown tendencies to insurgences of communicating, disregarding my health, as insanity takes a hold; I am so bold to have the alter told, arguing and denying the trying of sanitising the patronising, and as we whisper, talk, argue, shout, we bout in words and aggressive behaviour of paranoia, as in who's watching, listening, talking, on the TV and radio, my voice wants to know, and in a mode, it does decipher a mood to choose, as we smoke in hope, while trying to cope, but struggle in principle, as in whose morals rule the mood of the passing and lusting of the day and night, sometimes in fright, from their flight of one's blows to ones face, a pace of gravity mentality, as I become harassed by a sum of characters with different behaviours, sometimes fateful, other times grateful, a sight to see, in these words of testimony.

Copyright Andrew Stevenson 15/03/2017

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.

Heed To Feed

I know a girl who is a savour to cherish,
She is a responsible mother to heed
With a greed of feed of perish
To the malnourished.

A short verse about Toni.

Copyright Andrew Stevenson 15/03/2017

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.

Tuesday, 14 March 2017

I Admire

Toni is a wonderful mother, and I admire her to the extreme.
She care's for her children with a wealth of care,
And administers a passion of gleam -
As she cleans up with a flare.

She is appropriate in her demeanour.
And is careful in her stance
She is a saving saviour,
Not in a glance of a trance.

She is wonderful in her caring
And she is not forsaking,
As she is a person to admire
Who burns with a passionate fire.

Copyright Andrew Stevenson 15/03/17

A Delight

Toni is a delight of literary insight,
She is  a wonderful mother and sister,
She is wonderfully free to take flight
Her might of gripe against fright plight.

I like the way she acts, with no pretence,
As she is loving to my brother in law,
With an underlying appealing appetence
Of knowing the humble score.

I admire her to a sincere degree
She is noble and a nice character
She governs with a sense of popularity
And her colleges savour her behaviour.

Toni is positive with positivity
And respectfully she is caring
To all who know her, and publicly
She is well mannered with sharing.

Copyright Andrew Stevenson 15/03/2017




Think For Yourselves

You know, there are so many stupid mind-sets in the world today, and many of us are influenced by idiotic decisions by others - particularly supposed peers! Here's an example; many, or most, right handed people eat with their fork in their left hand, with their knife in their right hand, when in fact you use you use your fork more than your knife - so logic would suggest it would be better suited to change this to the other way around, with your fork in your right hand, with the knife in the left!!

And who made this decision that has been passed down through the ages! No doubt some English Aristocrat who was more concerned with ridiculous pomp and grandeur than common sense!

Copyright Andrew Stevenson 14/03/2017

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.

Hey You

Know the author’s mind,
Before you judgingly find,
Ambivalent sign.

Nature has to breed
Where there’s a will and a need
It all grows from seed.

But seed gives new life
From hellish celibate strife
From an experience rife.

Power pearls’ river
Is for both to shiver –
Devotion hither.

Sexually love –
A reiterating shove
From all the above.

© Andrew Stevenson 14/03/2014

Here are five haiku's that follow on from each other.

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.

My Best Friend

As you joyfully explore the time of day, you are inadvertently imparting wisdom,
Which can be read in your happiness, and absorbed in your playful memories.
I reap what I sow in you, and am nourished by supplements of growing love,
That you display in your devotion, bodily motion, and expressive emotion.

You strive forward in leaps and bounds, often surpassing my expectations
By climbing heights I thought were above you, that you now look down upon.
Take the lead and I will follow - tailing your trailing to alleviate possible failing,
And I will beg, steal or borrow, to see you safely into tomorrow devoid of sorrow.

I marvel at your intellect, and research and analyse your common sense and logic,
Which are reasoned with innocence, as you are guilty of a lack of understanding.
Life isn't always a 'walk in the park', as 'swings and round about's' often occur,
So when you 'bark up the wrong tree', toy around with different concepts.

Sometimes 'cat and mouse' games don't suffice, and it is better to play ball,
So heed with greed the need to feed others with a consumable consciousness
That is palatable to tastes in humane decency, and perspicacious respectability -
I will open up some doors, but take a step backwards before you move forwards.

Copyright Andrew Stevenson

I wrote this about my best friend, who means the world to me. I love you, Barry - you are a good mate.

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.

To Be With You

I wanted to shower you with gifts
But I'll have to wait another day,
Don't indulge in creating rifts
As I come diligently out to play

You mean the world to me I say;
Where are you and what are you up to -
Be with me through the night and day;
And shower me with love through and through.

I'm lonely without you be my side,
Buckle up and enjoy the ride.
Of pleasant times begun -
Sharing knowledge about your Son..

Christian values are a sanctity
And I cherish your honour,
Share with me my life and see
Harmony in you and I together.

Copyright Andrew John Stevenson 14/03/2017

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.

Monday, 13 March 2017

Times Begun

In the beginning their was loathing at seething,
As you were demanding with my time alone,
I wanted to help you with your kissing
And to spend some time with you at home.

I loved to be, but apparently I didn't know
That I could painstakingly grow to sow
A word or two your way to face another day,
As I carried my burden, along came affray.

I hit myself in the face, and hated the thought
Of facing what I ought as I was caught
By your love for me, a pairing and sharing
Existence begun under the blazing hot Sun.

Time was to trot about and scream and shout,
But I couldn't, as I shouldn't, as I was in a bout
Of hardship at the forsaking aching of filling
What was willing to evolve my chilling ...

Copyright Andrew Stevenson 12/03/2017

An Apple to Chew

To clare, I miss your classical flare,
As you are in tune with how I breath,
Let me see you standing there, fair,
And I'll preach to you Adam and Eve.

Be fruitful in your intake, and not forsake
The ache I feel, while reeling in pain
Don't despairingly take from me a wake
As I forsake the ache of take in wain.

And as I ponder in wonder at afar
I wonder and ponder how you are;
You to me are a wondrous star -
Come drive with me in my car.

Copyright Andrew Stevenson 13/03/2017

A short, simple poem.

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.

Honourable

My friend, Steven Sumpter, new the score
And to others he did passionately implore
To knock on the door of the poor.

He lived a life of strife, with a few good comrades
Soldiering on along his way, and he was a sad dad,
As his daughter was often away, let astray to be had.

I used to see him with his dog, Marley, and he
Would exchange pleasantries about she and we,
And he would cough, gasp, a former shadow of he.

He suffered ill-health, and had an op, not forgot
By the ticking clock, as it caught up with him, he couldn't trot
As he wavered by the roadside, air stretching from his rot.

He is now heavenly bound, as he was found to be passed away,
A sad time indeed - so heed the need to feed this decay,
Into a better time to play on my mind, in kind to find him this way.

Copyright Andrew Stevenson  12/03/2017

This is an elegy about a dear mate of mine who has recently passed away.

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.

Sunday, 12 March 2017

An Oddessy

I’ve been through an odyssey of ill-health
Some symptoms obvious while others in stealth
And while hiding away not wanting to face another day
The voices and aggressive behaviour come into play.

Who am I, a multitude of alters and countenances
That come at different levels of prices
As in punishing I self into being unwell
A prolonged and cursed spell.

To punch oneself in the face
With faculties out of place
Lets face it, it’s a shit
Way to behave with grit.

Who are you and what are you about?
Do you scream and shout
In a behavioural storm
About being at a ‘norm’.

We all get angry, but I get unruly
With myself and I, a truly
Negative way to behave -
So fatefully grave.

© Andrew Stevenson 12/03/2017

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.

You Are Beautiful

A beauty to relish and savour,
Who believes in the Saviour.
She is a force to remedy
My elusive sanity!

Her tops are made of lace,
She walks with Christian grace.
A sight to see of peace and tranquillity
And also of modest lenity.

She is pretty and good looking,
And at the best of times stunning,
I admire her in the extreme
And I am very overly keen.

She is appreciatively reciprocal
And so wonderfully amiable,
amenable, sociable and peaceful -
Characteristics I am grateful.

Copyright Andrew Stevenson 10/03/2017

I wrote this for my ex-girlfriend, Clare.

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.

Lenity denotes kindness and gentleness

Reciprocal denotes giving back

Amiable denotes being friendly and pleasant

Amenable denotes capable of being treated in a particular way

Regardless

Pick up your gun and go and fight,
Use your whit and grit with all of your might,
Use your rank as cover and take refuge at the back,
Let lesser morsels explore the beaten track.

Victims of terror, pawns in a game,
With many now mentally insane,
As to explore no man’s land is a fear,
With raining explosions booming in your ear.

Marching on, breaking the frozen puddles,
Bitter cold biting, sending your senses in muddles,
And to be brave by soldiering on under the sun,
A little comfort to cling to while facing what is to come.

Gruesome death, dismembered limbs flying,
Soldiers painstakingly trying to aid the dying,
Disorder, chaos at the front, shooting and stabbing
Slipping, hiding, taking cover while manoeuvring.

© Andrew Stevenson 12/03/2017

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.

Not My Fault

I had a relapse, arguing at a bus stop
And using myself as a theatre prop
I threw my arms about in a rage
For a considerable age.

I was delusional and frightened
As my perception heightened
I was fearful as to what might ensue
As passengers stuck to me like glue.

You knocked into me, not me into you
It wasn’t my fault, you knew,
Leave me alone as I am prone
To moan and groan in an argumentative tone.

I think, who are you really, and why
Are you  offended enough to cry,
As you struck the first blow
With your partner in tow.

© Andrew Stevenson 12/03/2017

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.

After The Fun Of Day Comes The Fright Of Night

Peeking from my covers I look through the glazing
Where not long before the sun had been blazing.
Slowly but surely it is becoming the night –
The sun’s gone away and now the moon is in sight.

Under the covers my fears they won’t keep
As I cling to my teddy and try not to sleep.
I cower much more but I don’t feel alright
As ghosts and ghouls can keep out of sight.

I sink much deeper into my bed
And try to remember what daddy had said:
That Halloween’s realism was all in my head,
But nevertheless I’m still filled with dread.

At every staircase’s groan, and every walls creek,
I stir from my hiding place and take a short peek.
I want my dad, I don’t like being on my own in my room
Under the watchful gaze of the frightening moon.

© Andrew Stevenson 12/03/2017

A children’s poem.

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.

Shakira

Golden locks draw you in to a focal point smile, that spreads wide with a pride
Of conversing charitable needs; and rightly and justly so, with insight to know
That to teach wisdom of a morality of standing is noble and honourable,
And to have an understanding attitude brings gratitude from masses of classes.

Small in height, but large in stature, with hips that shake and sway in a way
To capture your attention, with the intention of marketing her singing,
But with a mind to share, with a care for others as sisters and brothers,
As to be Christianly is godly, and to offer a hand in her homeland is grand.

A figure to hug with love, and a must is to lust as she is sultrily sexy,
But her charms are alms in visionary sight, as she aids the plight
Of Columbian gripe, and a wolf whistle is a call to heed her need
To feed those less fortunate without the need of a greed of sowing seed.

© Andrew Stevenson  20/2/14

This poem is about Shakira, the pop singer, who is very charitable in her homeland.

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.

Winter Blues

The wailing winter wind that blows a gale
Sweeps like a brittle brush scouring the land;
Rendering the autumn forests frail,
And anything else that comes at hand.

At the helm is Jack Frost, fearless and brave:
Advancing behind him a force of snow and hail.
Some of the elderly will come nearer to their grave –
Soon to be just a photograph, a memory, a tale.

Outside the window there’s a tap.
Old Jack is back.
England groans at that familiar sound
And falls down on her knees.

Like a light which takes away the dark,
What we knew before has now grown stark.
Good on the eye but cold on the feet;
Autumn’s goodbye as winter we meet.

Tap, tap, tap –
Old Jack is back.

© Andrew Stevenson 12/03/2017

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.

Mr Puddle

Excuse me, Mr Puddle,
I am all in a muddle,
I looked down to see
And saw you were me?

How can this be
When I am me?
I looked again,
Still the same?

I pulled a funny face
And it took your place?
I poked a curious finger
Where yours did linger?

You are a copycat,
I do not like that,
Everything I do
You are doing too.

You just do not care
That I do not share.
Please stop it I say
Or I will go away.

I am going to tell my mum
What you have just done.
And I will not say goodbye
As you have made me cry.

                ***
I am now back, Mr Puddle,
And I am not in a muddle,
I looked down again to see,
And know why you are me.

You came from a big cloud
Which thundered very loud,
And it struck down lightning
That was really frightening.

Down comes the pouring rain,
Drop and drip, again and again.
Lots of these drips can cuddle
To form into a garden puddle.

You replay me where I am seen
Just like our television screen.
But my reflection is my own
And I will take it back home.

                     ***

Mr Puddle, you made me cry,
So I will jump high in the sky,
And fall down again and again
To land on you like lots of rain.

Thud, splash, dash and fun,
You spray like a water gun.
Ha, ha, it serves you right
For provoking me to fight.

I am going to fib and pretend
That you were my wet friend.
So I will tell my angry mum
That you also had lots of fun.

I will now say goodbye,
And look up to the sky.
Next time there is rain,
We might play again?

© Andrew Stevenson 12/03/2017

I have tried to keep the wording in this poem very simple, as it’s demographic audience is for youngsters. I have also tried to make the poem fun, which is expressed in parts one and three (separated by asterisks), and informative, which is expressed in part two.

There is some repetition with some words, such as ‘rain’ and ‘again‘, but I think with children’s poetry this is mainly trivial if the words are phrased quite differently. I have also kept out any difficult punctuation (for young children), such as apostrophes and colons.

Ship Ahoy

Scan the horizon,
Vessel arriving.
Crammed full with
Wretched human beings.

Auction market awaits,
Subjection there fate.
Human merchandise,
Hollow staring eyes.
Nothing but chattel.

Metal contraptions,
Bleeding and binding.
Small black children,
Suffering and crying.
Desolation, deprivation.

Four hundred years
Of enforced diaspora,
Feeding imperial grandeur.
Trading black man’s tears
For money, profit, euphoria.

Twelve million people
Atlantic Ocean crossed.
Chained to humiliation,
Abuse and victimisation.
Contrary to emancipation.

Resolve this chapter
Of Black History.
Freedom to choose;
Reparation, compensation,
Repatriation, reconciliation.

© Ken Hanson

Here’s a poem a dear Christian friend of mine entered in a ‘Black History’ poetry competition. Now while its theme is really sad from an historic point of view, its ending highlights in part that progress does change for the better, although sometimes very slow, as in this instance. Lots of us look at many aspects in life that we’d like to change, but we should not feel guilty for ‘not’ being able to perhaps directly affect that change, but we can indirectly affect some changes by raising awareness of such warranted instances. Empathy is a nice feeling to share, so don’t suffer in silence!

Thank you. Take care. Love love. Bye.

A Star That Shines Brightly

Beyonce holds palms of hands with devoted fans,
And they embrace her traits of compassion,
Seeing sincerity in her gentle warmth,
Expressed in her genialness and their happiness,
She performs on stage with a sea of arms waving,
With some fans crying: and others craving
To touch her reciprocally with sensitivity.

She takes fans to realms of euphoria,
With a mass of hysteria -
As she is a goddess with prowess
Strutting her shapely curves -
She is a singing sensation
Oozing sex appeal in flirtation.

She is innovative in how she is creative
Resulting in imaginative stage shows;
Where she shines and glows
With her passion and fashion.

The fans move to her R&B groove
And sing along to her popular songs;
Poetry in motion with their devotion
And her singing supplication.

Copyright Andrew Stevenson.12/03/2017

A shortened version of my last poem. Love you Clare,

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.

A Star With A Gripe Of Might

Beyonce holds palms of hands with devoted fans, and they embrace her traits of compassion,
And feel sincerity in her gentle warmth, which is expressed in her genialness and their happiness:
Goose-bumps play along with her song of worldly belong, which tease with the ease of her tuneful breeze.

She floats on stage flying in a sea of arms waving, with some crying, and others craving
To touch her reciprocally with sensitivity, as she is a lady in all of her demeanour, which they savour,
And she takes them to her realms of euphoria, with some hysteria, as she is a goddess with prowess,
Who struts her shapely curves, and notes from a throat of worth, and enchants us in her fashion and Passion.

An intellectual with a voice to be heard, with a sound word to play in our ear, that sings along with a Chorus throng, as she embraces a mass of the lower class, who are equal in many respects, and have Hope in her scope of equality, as she, like many of we, has humble roots, which have grown and Sown other seeds of worthy creeds, as she is Christianly in morality, and her values are a sanctity, Shared and cared for in our conceptual reality.

© Andrew Stevenson  12/03/2017

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.

Back To Normal

I write to heed my plight of suffering
And thus wisely weathering
A dark cloud that does shroud me
And my sanity, a grave mentality.
My delusions and confusions
Can become character creations,
And as the nights quietly pass by
I am prone to shed a tear and cry.

I am humane, gentle and soft
And hold greatly aloft
A morality of sanity
To a Christian popularity.
But regardless of these sensibilities
I am still prone to be ill at ease.

© Andrew Stevenson 12/03/2017

A sonnet. Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.


Wayfaring Wondering

I see light cascading through the trees
And feel the calming, cooling breeze
And walk on with a sense of ease.

The sun-rays fall like drops of snow
Inquisitive of the scenery I begin to slow
To admire the translucent show.

Looming silhouettes are all around,
Leaves are making an eerie sound,
Blowing across the autumn ground.

I like the sense of being able to roam,
But beckoning is my humble home,
As I now feel so incredibly alone.

© Andrew Stevenson 12/03/2017

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.

A Philisophical Premise

Here’s a philosophical premise: ‘grass is meat’. Now when a calf is weaned off milk by its mother, in the wild, it will only eat grass (besides a few bugs and mushrooms), but in essence, just grass, and it will grow into a large cow, which is meat!

And vegetables equal meat: when a vegetarian female becomes pregnant, the foetus will grow into a baby, and we are meat.

You have to take into consideration the attributes of water!

© Andrew Stevenson  12/03/2017

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.

Sorry Four Sins

Samson reluctantly shuffled to the local bus stop in trepidation of the protocol he had recently endured. As his wayfaring thoughts wondered to a safer place, he stumbled, which abruptly regained his realism, and as he faced the impending, growing tarmac path, he instinctively threw forward his hands in defence, and shrieked in pain as they scraped hard against this aggressive texture.

He felt the blood on his palms before he inspected these sources of suffering, subconsciously aware of his ambivalent, temporary respite from its rooted cause! He inflated to scream in defiance at the world, only then to instantly deflate with an understanding, comparative weakness. He sighed loudly, and did not care who might hear this cry of desperation, as he wanted protection, but found none of it in the humorous countenances passing by that mocked him. He regained what little composure he had, and carefully recommenced his fateful journey!

As he neared the crowded bus stop, he consciously felt his body movement stiffen, and every move he made felt robotic – and very oiled with perspiration profuseness! His mind was racing as he uncomfortably wondered to the edge of this abyss, that he knew would suck him right in to its scary depth! He looked away in some vain hope he would not be seen, and found a little comfort from the heavenly garden scenery before him.

He flushed in humble recognition of his name being whispered from behind him, and froze, willing the ground to swallow him up right there and then, with an emphatic empathy to the suffering in life worthy of excellence!

At first there were just a few cruel jibes by a few, then it amassed to the many; he felt tears well up in his eyes for the injustice of it all, and then, uncharacteristically, he was struck in the face with a cowardly blow from behind with such a force that he keeled over with grateful imprisoning hands hiding his shameful face!

The bus came moments later, and all but himself boarded.  He stood up as it left, and wondered in trial as why none of the adults waiting at the stop had come to his aid, and judged them accordingly to be guilty too.

He skipped school for days after that and became a recluse, not trusting no one but his loving Father, who since his mother’s untimely passing had devoted himself wholeheartedly to his one and only Son.  But regardless of this trust, he could not bring himself to depart from all his woes, and kept them selflessly wrapped up within himself!

During an evening in, cornered in his bedroom, he was surprised to see his door pushed open by his circumstantial friend, who duly informed him that they were now one and the same, alienated, and tarnished with the same brush of indignation to religious respectability, and that he was now the victim in Samson’s absence at the aggrieved, civil bus stop! He told Samson that they pulled on his long hair, which fed their supposed dominant superiority. They reflectively cried tears, and found no shame in their consoling manly hugs.

That night before going to sleep, Samson remembered a parable his Father had advised him to heed, and fell softly to sleep with this understanding embrace of wisdom.

The next morning, wearing his Christian armour and carrying the sword of peace, Samson marched to the bus stop with his Father’s knowledgeable strength. He quickly passed his friend, whose tresses were waving in the strength of the wind, and threw himself to these lion peers with a loving and forgiving heart!

© Andrew Stevenson 12/03/2017


Love Over Our Rainbow

In her arms I find salvation, and long for the embraces of a difference,
As she nurtures paternal, protective measures, and expresses this outwardly;
And inwardly she beats an immeasurable love that has no pretence,
As her feelings are an open book for all to read with a heed of empathy.

We are seen, and very heard, and with strong arms we fight the battle of existing,
And with blows – soft and hard, we try and disregard negativity with positivity,
Yet how low can you go, and how high can you fly, to reach your wanting
Of grasping where you want to be, as together we endeavour precariously.

Storms that flow, sowing their drips and drops into crops that leave a mark,
And when this harvest is observed, a trail is seen on each cheek, a peek
Into her suffering as the long, lonely, wet nights turn into the days apart,
And the stresses show, and the torment renders her superficially weak.

© Andrew Stevenson 02/02/14

This poem denotes my daughter, Georgia, who is one of the ‘loves’ of my life. I wrote this when I was incarcerated in hospital suffering from bipolar.


Rewarding Researching

Reading,
Analysing,
Consuming studying.
Partying, dancing, relaxing.
Sleeping.

A cinquain poem I wrote for a competition.

A cinquain poem comprises of a sequence of syllables:

2
4
6
8
2

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.

My Pursue of A GIrl that Flew

I captured your beauty, which is held hostage in my mind:
But, paradoxically, I am held prisoner by your ransom
Of time passing by, which consumes my thoughts to pine
Over our pairing, sharing and caring existence not yet begun.

Take the plunge and dive deep into my pool of wisdom;
And let I lead you into blissful pleasures of my endeavours –
As I have yet to unfold my bodily hold of strength to come,
Which bulges with  masculinity sincerity of protective measures.

We cannot yet be with each other,
As you are sadly with another.
But I will strive on and on
Until I am welcomed and he is gone.

Ann, the price I have to ambivalently pay
Is your consuming beauty domineering my day.
You are a beacon delight of sight might to aid my plight
Of suffering loneliness in all its ugliness of heart-wrenching gripe.

© Andrew Stevenson 12/03/2017

I wrote this for my nephew, who has been conversing with a beautiful girl who has pledged to be with him after she splits up with her boyfriend who doesn’t treat her very nice.

This was designed as an impatient prompt.

My nephew is a body-builder.

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.

Being Open

Sometimes in a relationship you clash with mind-set differences,
And can accommodate the other with a love to put aside your preferences,
But this can eat you up inside as you swallow your pride to hide your true-self,
And you can be thoughtless in your mindfulness of carefulness in quiet stealth;
But take notice of democratic divorces, and their mortality rated health.

© Andrew Stevenson 12/03/2017

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.

I Feel And Heal

I love you with care,
With my all laid bare,
I am an open book to read,
And a conquest to heed.

You keep my rationally sane,
Regardless of all my pain,
But I’ll leave my sorrows
For better tomorrows.

Hold me and I’ll reciprocate,
And reap loving spoils that eradicate
My negativity and irrationality
With humane positivity.

© Andrew Stevenson 12/03/2017

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.

A poem for Clare. LOTS of love, Andrew. Bye.

Wayfairing

Flowers dance in the breeze,
With a gentle ease
To delight and appease.

Butterflies floating merrily,
Bees buzzing happily,
Birds flying freely.

Flies are irritating,
Nature is invigorating;
Trees are waving.

A team playing football
With grass so tall,
Weathering the fall.

Dogs run and bark
As I stroll through the park;
It is now nearing dark.

Our glorious sun,
Setting begun
On the horizon.

© Andrew Stevenson 12/03/2017

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.

Spaced Out

He found a way to do his will
And now he’s in his place.
Like a picture, he lies there still –
Gazing blankly into space.

The light shines in his eyes
Yet there’s not a flicker or a flinch.
His senses have said there goodbyes
And now he does not move an inch.

The noises in the background
Cannot plant their seed;
Although he hears their sound
He does not feel the need.

Gone are his pains for now
As he travels in his mind.
When he wakes he’ll realise how
His troubles weren’t left behind.

But for now he is content
To lie and waste away,
Until his mind is spent
From being high that way.

© Andrew Stevenson 12/03/2017

A poem I wrote from a perspective, wasting away on drugs!

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.

Him To Himself

Waiting for the next mug, ‘I’ take some more of my wares.
An alter in the mirror, my former self looks back:
‘What do you want mate, heroin or crack?’
A brief smile as I am frowned upon – who cares?
I haven’t got a care about me,
So why in my heaven or hell should he?
He used to look handsome, look now what he’s got –
Bombed out crater sockets with eyes bloodshot.

He’s disgusted looking on.  Yeah, that’s me creating this mix,
I’ve had my pipes now I want my fix.
Up and down like a yo-yo, I’m going through the ride
Of the incoming and outgoing flow of drugs’ tide.
  If you’ll forgive my sins against you, then to you I will confide –
 Of my drawn in, pushed out sorrows of once had pride.

© Andrew Stevenson 12/03/2017

A sonnet.

I wrote this from a perspective, as I have an old friend who looks a former figure to his former-self! A shame. I see him from time to time, and have small conversations with him - I feel sorry for him.

'Drawn in, pushed out sorrows denotes using a needle to inject drugs!

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.

A Beautiful Lady

Our eyes met, and not by chance;
From loving hearts, a mutual glance?
I saw the wisdom of Solomon –
An oracle of things to come?

Her luscious lips opened to speak:
I gazed where mine might meet.
Sweet sounds filled the room
From her voice – love’s tune.

Long fair hair drapes her face,
Bouncing with flare at every pace.
If I was the wind I would blow
To caress each tress so very slow.

Her every curve, convex and concave,
Is a sight to behold and save.
I can imagine her so very snug,
Within my arms – a loving hug.

A beautiful lady, a princess,
Full of life and happiness.
Such spoils could I reap
With my heart, a gift to keep?

© Andrew Stevenson 12/03/2017

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.

Playing With Words

There’s a positive and a negative from a mindset perspective that is thinking positively or negatively in a perspective taking mindset, regardless of the negativity expressed!

© Andrew Stevenson 21/1/14

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.

I Am A Believer

‘I’m a believer; hear, have faith,
All rise, praise creator god DNA.
Come and fit in, take your place;
Democratically have your say.’

“Will DNA change the genes in my sacks?
As an asthmatic diabetic, should I breed?
Our odd visions are needles in haystacks,
I’m its damaged goods, bleed this creed.”

‘My god can’t talk, so I’ll aptly reply:
See light, you’re still alive and sane.
Just think ahead, soon you will die,
A death of ecstasy – relief of pain.’

“But I don’t want to pass and leave,
I love my family, I’m not done.”

‘It is near time for them to grieve,
Except your fate: god’s in your son.’

“I’m his son, why just DNA forever?
Are we just vessels, part of a herd?”

‘Listen, we are all in this life together,
Disregard negativity, spread the word.’

“What word, you’re both an enigma?
DNA has designed mad, bad and sad.
Inadvertently it has created its own stigma
Of being a terrible guardian, mum and a dad.”

‘Are we not the best species here on earth?
Do elephants grow food and build a fence?
Human’s have dominantly proven their worth,
Mastering reason, logic and common sense.’

“This may be so, but who knows the mind?
Are elephants stupid for not having any tools?
And ages gone, has DNA really been kind
By breeding low IQ’s and intelligent fools?”

‘Listen friend, and take good noticeable greed,
Of applying will, want, fear and need to yourself,
As god DNA takes notice of this, and will heed
In time to come your descendants’ good health.

© Andrew Stevenson 12/03/2017

An old poem written in my early days of my writing.

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.


Fighting Back With A Rap

Jay Z is a gentleman, and conducts himself sensibly and appropriately, and has a symphony of Characteristics: he disregarded womanising by romanticising Beyonce, which plucked her heart-Strings with the blings of love, as he is platinum when it comes to a companion, and is a wealth of Gold for her to lovingly hold, which symbolises that he is glowing in blowing a tuneful rap, that is Respectful, and not neglectful, as she is a lady with a morality of standing, and has an understanding Of environmental upbringing.

He has an empathetic care to stare back at the Ghetto, and is sick at the stick that comes with it,
That beats a drum of bleats so glum, as lambs are led to slaughter, a gospel truth of patient growth,
And he doesn’t like the brass in some hoods’ pockets, who tap into rap to pile their crap of emptying Their sack, as he is not derogatory to femininity, and his masculinity is an art apart to reap an apple Cart of female pride.

His demeanour oozes modesty, and his words are humble, and with a grumble he expresses the Concrete jungle, which can be heard in his lyrics, and felt in his sorrow, as where is the hope for the Poor when the political score is beg, steal or borrow to see you into tomorrow, as poverty is rife, and Prosperity booms away from these tombs that lock up many a resident in their home, and lots are Tearful and alone, and some are fearful and prone to carry a gun, as the dwelling of a wondering of a Bruising while wayfaring in the heat of the street must be nerve-racking.

© Andrew Stevenson  12/03/2017

Glossary

The reference to apples is indicative of wisdom, from an Adam and Eve sense!

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.

Sane And Able, But Banished

My pains in life are an open book.
My face lines have nothing concealed.
Walk past, give I that second look,
Horrified at the revelations revealed.

Could you use those lines to write
All of my violent angst and stresses,
While shaking inside with no respite,
Like my author wills and blesses?

Blessed me with little or no will,
As I am a puppet being mastered:
Preordained with mighty skill
By a Biblical Fatherless bastard.

Strong words I regrettably know
Will ruffle a few dove feathers,
But hardship runs so terribly slow;
A canter of our endeavours.

Yes I drank and was a drunk,
But did it numb the pain?
Like a wounded ship I sank
To rock bottom again and again.

Take his pen; can your ink flow
More gracefully than my before?
Take the present time to know,
Human nature at its deepest core.

Upbringing and peer pressure
Can influence, shape and form;
Individually can get the better
Off an innocent victim’s ‘norm’.

Superficial zombies like me,
Earth’s lonely streets engulf.
Stare hard and you might see
A lamb beneath a howling wolf.

If you could write my last chapter,
Would an understanding lady unfold?
And would we live happily ever after,
As my greatest love story ever told?

© Andrew Stevenson 12/03/2017

Glossary

The poem denotes mental illness.

The phrase ‘Biblical Fatherless bastard’ in the last line of the third stanza is indicative to the devil (please note, that I am not religious).

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.

Feel Love And Heal

Come, let me hold your innocent hand;
Grasp it tightly to feel I’ll never let go.
I’ll lead you through your hostile land,
Of heart wrenching, tearful, sad sorrow.

Draw near to me and weather the storm
As I offer my shoulder to share the rain:
I’ll kiss your eyes to restore your ‘norm’,
Taken by trials of peer pressured pain.

Don’t be alone with the odyssey of night,
Stealthily face it and rite it with rhyme:
Let creativity loose to endure this fight
Of howling wolves to the moons of time.

Wake in my happiness and reciprocate.
Raise your beautiful smile to my pleasure.
Be fruitful and productive in your intake
And philosophise in constructive leisure.

© Andrew Stevenson 03/12/18

The second line of the first stanza expresses that by holding my hand so tightly, I cannot let go, thus her reassurance of my presence is in her own hands.

The third line in the fourth stanza denotes taking in the positives of life, and trying to disregard the negatives.

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.

Overdosed

Who will mourn if the ‘come down’ doesn’t wake him?
Not you or I for sure.
He fought and lost his battle within
And on any help had slammed shut the door.
No tears will seep from us, for his life was sin –
But not always, there was a time before
When he’d paid taxes and had kin.
He knew what love was, and his family did implore,
But he left them for dead when he went out to score.

Her son, who once could do no wrong in her loving eyes
Before his time had been laid to rest.
With tears she regrettably said her goodbyes
Whilst packing away his memories in the old attic chest.

 Yet just across town her son breathed in air,
With no one to lend a hand, and now also a care.

© Andrew Stevenson 13/03/2017

A sonnet written from a perspective. I have an old school friend who overdosed on drugs - very sad, and dangerous!

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.

I Loave

I love I love I love I love I love I LOATHE
I loathe like others like sisters and brothers
Yet my loathing subsides, as hides my rage
To age, and as I ponder in wonder, I imagine
A better time and place free from this sin.

Be calm and fruitful in your intake and to not forsake
Others as sisters and brothers, as we all sate
Embraces to nurture each other and weather
The wonder of a glorious nature together.

Bathe in the sun and bask in the know
And sow this crop that time forgot
And stop to wonder at our time together
And remedy a storm with being at a ‘norm’.

I like to hug and love and cherish as a blessing
My family, and thus greatly stressing
That to participate without negate is to appease
With ease the tease of a breeze at being at ease.

© Andrew Stevenson 12/03/2017

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.

Having Bipolar

The time of day ticks by slowly, drawing in the night,
And under cover is a brightness plight,
As I am lethargic and restless -
Superficially painless.

My smiles and cheeriness fade into a space,
Where loneliness picks up its pace,
To draw on my intellect,
With a mind to dissect.

I am twisted in two, this way or that way,
Indecisive affray to play or decay,
And as I rot in thoughtfulness,
In comes the darkness.

I have to look before I leap, and under the sheet
I sleep, and bleat and bleat and bleat,
And as the hours are stolen away,
I live to fight another day.

© Andrew Stevenson 23/03/14

The Pen Is Mightier Thank The Sword

I write rather than fight, and they say ‘the pen is mightier than the sword’, and there is some truth in this, and without the fist you can express yourself diplomatically, and appropriately in accordance with a morality of sanity.

I love to love, and to love your neighbour is a Christianly value of standing, and fighting over griping is inviting trouble, when you can choose to walk away, and make a written complaint, which can resolve hostility with positivity, opposed to negativity.

© Andrew Stevenson  12/03/2017

The first poem denotes suffering with bipolar, written from a perspective of when I was ill.

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.

Little Soldier

Mother said that I was breaking a rule
Taking my toys into the school:
I wasn’t bothered, I wanted to have fun
Squirting the water from out of my gun.

I put on my soldier’s hat and went out to war,
Looking for Tubby Tucker to settle a score:
The previous night he had had to me done
A soaking from his mischievousness with a water gun.

I looked through the window at the classroom within,
Sally Swotter was there but there was no sight of him.
I looked near the dining room, his favourite place
Lanky Liam was there, so I soaked his face.

I looked near the swings and he wasn’t there
Nitty Nora was though, so I soaked her hair.
Tubby Tucker this morning must be running a bit late,
So I ran to the bushes behind the school gate.

I saw Simple Simon coming my way,
It was easy to get him, so I gave him a spray.
Then all of a sudden my adversary walked past,
So instead of a spray I gave him a blast.

Surprised, and dripping wet, he looked my way.
Smiling – ‘Revenge is sweet’ I did say:
But just behind him came his mum
Cursing and shouting at what I had done.

She took my to my teacher who told me I was a disgrace
For wetting Tubby Tucker’s clothes and Lanky Liam’s face,
And for spraying Simple Simon, and soaking Nitty Nora’s hair,
She called my mum and sent me home – I didn’t care.

© Andrew Stevenson 12/03/2017

A children’s poem.

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.

I Am Afraid But Not Scared

I chanced upon a creature so small,
And here was me, standing tall,
Looming over this little figure,
Made him look a little bigger.

I fancied it was scary
With being so hairy,
And its legs were long
With eight the throng.

‘Don’t crawl up my leg,’
I despairingly said.
‘Where do you reside
And also cunningly hide?

I often see you in the bath,
That isn’t a humorous laugh,
As I don’t want to get in
When you are within.

Shoo, and go scurrying away,
Go and find some other prey,
As I’m now going to play
Outside where you don‘t reside.’

© Andrew Stevenson 2017

A children’s poem.

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.


Bipolar Escapade

I raged in a delusional state,
Enough to recall and relate,
In a paranoia mentality -
A dangerous gravity.

Passers by were hapless victims
Of my unruly behavioural sins
Of investigating my suspicions
Of miss-directions.

Talking in code to translate
Into truth or hate,
But this was to sate
With a mental debate.

But I always went on my way
To sing my sorrows another way,
As my misconceptions
Raised attentions.

Down to the ward, an imprisonment
Of unwarranted punishment,
Where the nurses hardly have the time of day
And you are constantly sent on your way.

Left to rot, and suffer the penalty
Of having a grave mentality
With a psychotic stare
Without a personal care.

Copyright. Andrew Stevenson 12/03/2017

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.

At Odds

I've been to see the shrink
Where it makes you think
Of role playing, and acting the part without
bite and bark, as the frustration of negation
in partaking in understanding the demanding
Time of the psychiatrist and his patience with adherence
Of my deliverance  of intellectual perseverance in argument against his skills
At dishing out pills to my detrimental ills - and as I slumber,
Thunder, under the spell of negative hell, I wonder and ponder as to what lays on yonder.

Copyright Andrew Stevenson 12/03/2017

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.
.

At Times

I like a nice, quiet drink
Where I rationally think
About my mentality
Sometimes a gravity
Of sanity tranquillity
As I love socialising
Without patronising
Negativities from positivities.

I still have my paranoia moments
And suspicions with movements
Of the populace around me
Paradoxically being free
But I still feel locked up
As I swallow, sip and sup.

Copyright Andrew Stevenson 12/03/2017

A sonnet.

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.

I Am Me

Wondering of a release from wandering with a pace,
And what expectations I might face,
But an understanding of this demanding conceptual reality,
Is soon to be, as I am soon to be free.

And what burdens I with chains to beware with a stare from others –
Is behavioural misconceptions, from experienced lovers,
As to have loved another is to know feelings of care,
And to be neglectful with this warrants a glare.

But I will restrain from this ill-gain, and will refrain,
As I am tame and like honour in I name,
As I am gentlemanly, and exchange pleasantries,
Regardless of patronising negativities.

© Andrew Stevenson  12/2/14

This poem expresses my condition of having bipolar, and being apprehensive of being released  from hospital. I am now well.

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.

Expressions

Expressing expressions to express yourself expressively is expressively expressing yourself with expression.

Copyright Andrew Stevenson 03/12/2018

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.