An Untitled Truth
By Andrew R. Duckworth The world wasn’t built for me-Allow me to repeat myself-The world wasn’t built for me.I’m a man of tradition, ofPerspective, that I can’t ignore,And so are many others, of otherTraditions, of other perspectivesAnd most of them compete, don’tFit comfortably in the same box.But I maintain a truth that theyMust exist in…
It’s a Matter of…
By Andrew R. Duckworth The tide rises and lowers.We find enjoyment of it atThe beach from time to time,But no enjoyment of it whenWe’re sitting alone at homeAnd realize we’ll be hit byIt either way.
On a Clear Blue Morning…
By Andrew R. Duckworth Morning clear blue skies thatTell those below the day isBright and young.Explosion high above is notThe sun, but a storm of metalRaining shards of hell.I saw it on TV, in the comfortOf an 8th grade English class,Old TV wheeled out on a cart-A moment the world changed,Chaos and uncertainty, realizingNo one…
Query Letters
By Andrew R. Duckworth It’s a simple but complex thing,Isn’t it? Words on a page, writeIt all down, surrender yourThoughts to be seen. But it’sNever that easy. You have to beWilling, ready for the feedback.Nothing prepares you for theSilence, no reply email, as ifIt was never done, as if yourWords never existed, as if theyWeren’t…
Reliance
By Andrew R. Duckworth I once relied on everything,Everyone- irresponsible,Touting myself as an individualWhile joining the circusOf the collective.A ringmaster introduces the act,A trapeze artist displaysAmazing acts, a lion tamer doesThe impossible…It’s all still the circusCalling for the same thing-Your attention.And the circus was demandingAttention without the spectacle,Without the product,So I left the circus,Realizing I…
A Reflection or The Way the Wilds Think
What have you been working on? By Andrew R. Duckworth As time runs on fumes,My knowledge of it beckonsMe to move more than I haveIn earlier days. What good isThe time that is left if itIs not taken advantage of?There is still much workLeft to do concerningSelf, preparation-Meditation on the holy.In the backyard of my…
What I Had No Name For
By Andrew R. Duckworth Most just thought I was strange.Can’t blame them- my eyes avertingGazes, my mouth pursed in place.Sometimes, I thought I was strangeAs I was incapable of replicatingSocial interaction like others.Sometimes, others shamed me for itAnd often I hated them for it,Neither of us understanding.I often hated my barely noticeableStutter that sounded loud…
Gem Lying in the Soil
By Andrew R. Duckworth In the backyard, I’m doing work-Work that isn’t work, but therapy,The productive sort, the kindWhere I reflect and think aboutA great number of things.I don’t know what I get out of it-Certainly not tomatoes from theWithering plants I keep watering-Other than perhaps time and quiet,Strings pouring in from the ether.Memory slaps…
Reaching or Success
By Andrew R. Duckworth Growing up, Reggie MillerWas a hero of mine,But we can’t all be in the NBA.And then it was Bruce Willis,Die Hard and Pulp Fiction,But we aren’t all made for screen.Meanwhile, my parents were raisingA bar I wouldn’t see for some time,One rigorous but reachable.When I finally saw it,I was ashamed that…
What Makes a Good Neighbor?
By Andrew R. Duckworth Never allowingEach of us to starveIn our worst moments,Given that they were thereHaving erred before plenty,Being aware of our fragility-Of the same brokenness thatReaches all from time to time.
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Poetry and Essays of Andrew Ryan Duckworth 