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Monday, April 17, 2017

Witnessing "The Old Guitarist" by Pablo Picasso

the slightest gesture
strums faint strings with
blue crinkled fingers that
bring forth your song

grey creates the energy cold
yet shivers are not seen;
belief that the answers are
written within your bones

your guitar,
held in many ways,
many circumstances,
many smiles

but this time
the tune is familiar;
an audition
for your own skin

silent gratitude equals
one penny for a
king’s coffin in an
open grave

the broken window’s draft
sets the melody as
hungry flies whisper
Play it again.

Play it again.

©Andrea Laws (author) 2007. All rights reserved.

Sunday, March 19, 2017

Black and White

live free or die
everything to the soul;
a burden and a salvation

we conjure these morals to
exist our existence;
preparing to die

contemplating the “what ifs?”;
unbearable regret choosing to
live in terror grey

organized cults;
sources of chaos,
believe in white and black

soul changing anxiety;
unhappy than possible
wicked space not filled

alone we are brought
alone we thrive, but
alone is not dark nor ominous

it is characteristic of being
it is complimentary
it is ourselves

©Andrea Laws (author) 2013. All rights reserved.

Sunday, March 5, 2017

The Seven Deadly

stuffs the last bit of gravy
back into her never-closing hole
and wipes her teeth clean for the next round
shuffles the green
grinning at his rewards
as his guilty client walks to freedom
struts down the slums of the city,
wearing only skin,
and spreads herself like a martyr
rubs her eyes
looking at the hours passed
and rolls to the cold side of the bed
shoves the map away
looking down the road
and knows exactly where he’s going
throws the glass of beer
realizing that she is drunk
but not the girl lying next to him
pushes through the pearly gates
covered in blood,
and wipes his hands clean on St. Peter's robe

First appeared in Gathering Storm Magazine's Year 1, Issue 6 (December, 2017) <>. All rights reserved.

The Next Chapter

The ones who fear the
endless possibilities are those who
have intoxicating voices filled with
deep tones of promise and
revolutions not worth becoming the
population of the dead;

Their brainwashing fever overthrows the
innocent, young and unguided to a
determined ego friendly paradigm
 where knowledge is evil and
“to be” or “not to be” is determined by
big brother.

Innocence is the new ignorance and
they won’t be stopped unless the
jackass continues to scream loudly
while the pygmies of art tranquilize the
elephant beast, guilty of this
morbid birth of thought.

©Andrea Laws (author) 2013. All rights reserved.

The Guessing Game

ghosts trot in sequined gowns
diving through wanted beings
scouring naked grounds to
rock the cradle of the seeing

every life comes to an end
a journey we all seek
never laughing at fallen horses
or believing in the weak

soldiers become warriors
senators become presidents
royalty becomes royalty
but what about the other inheritance?

no one knows their
deepest depths
their secrets kept
their last breath

these are words unwritten
creating sabotage of
human thought
a guessing game worth bidding

©Andrea Laws (author) March 5th, 2017. All rights reserved.

Swinging Low & Aiming High

stepping up to the plate
to free the risk

muddy cleats burrowing
in destined dirt

heart beating with every
nod from the pitcher

the future stands with a stare down

maybe let one fly by
to see the competition?

licked lips start the anticipation
last breaths before the move

strike out or make it home?
at least I’m part of the game

©Andrea Laws (author) 2008. All rights reserved.

Miles Away

if there ever was a sadness
I saw you in the flight
miles away

eyes never looking back
forgotten lust surpassing this

our love
forever in the 

sweeping feet, sinking cheeks,
shaking limbs of 
lost distant time

wandering sky meeting truth
surveying existence’s being

that will never be

©Andrea Laws (author) 2009. All rights reserved.

Sunday, February 19, 2017

The Barking Dog

his echoing bark opened curious windows
his whimper carried through the wind;
speaking words no ears could understand

his vengeful heart explained his duty,
hoping his cry would affect the
unwanted being

that mouth could simply swallow
hands behind fingers as
grinning teeth compliment black skin

a story forms in the unwanted’s mind
he returns the favor by replying with
his own hideous yelp

“Bark at me so, screaming creature,
but do not blame me for
being the reflection in your eye.”

©Andrea Laws (author) 2008. All rights reserved.

You Want It to Be

we have kingdoms of greatness
kingdoms of time
kingdoms of precious natures and
kingdoms of mine

it’s not a glass that you can fill
it’s not a watch you can wind
it’s unfixable
it is itself

watching, waiting, watching
nothing seems to pass
unfolded lives conjuring
weather from the East

you never smiled when
I said your name
never laughed when I cried
never sang a word of praise

you are mine and I want you
you are mine, and I will have you
you are mine, and
you aren’t mine

©Andrea Laws (author) 2008. All rights reserved.

The Circle's Existence

what’s lost will be lost in one heart but an
unblocked gateway in another

worry nothing over adrenaline, the
cause was greater than you

experience the lesson and growth and
never reduce the memory of time shared

possession is no longer heard in the
outcome that rests in another’s hands

you’ve gained a future without and
vision of life without

realize and remember that
your turn will soon be discovered

©Andrea Laws (author) February 19th, 2017. All rights reserved.

Sunday, February 12, 2017


a place where south winds rise
against plains of wild dreams;
insights of the west
reminding the rest
to cross imaginations of living small, but big

red-tail hawks soar open skies
searching for unlucky meals;
            pausing, wings flapping
            contemplating the snatching
            nature of a natural Kansas predator

Indian summer, Indian winter
Kansans witness both;
            cold flurries mixed with sunshine
            roaring thunder background elderberry wine
            watching tornados pass through backyards

unchartered paths, where soiled hands protect
wheat-filled air, our signature of home
            forever a free state
            the most honorable trait
            ad astra per aspera

©Andrea Laws (author) February 12, 2017. All rights reserved.

Saturday, January 21, 2017

Insomnia & A Bed of Nails

a living abyss
sleep keeps alive
bed of rusty nails
caress inches of flesh

eyes become heavy
with no satisfaction

damn moon blinding
insomnia trance sun

black shadows conquer
cold sheets warm

wakeful dreams
resurface with dusk

            as scars repent
to another battle lost

Featured on The Apache Poetry Blog, January 28, 2018: ( 

©Andrea Laws (Author) January 21, 2017