Andalus' poetry

[Cuddly Khan]

Good one, really good call.

[Andalus]

Petros

I found my soul
behind my right earhole
and placed it on a flat rock,
and watched it flail,
lifted it by the tail
and beat its head on that rock;
I found a knife,
opened it with a slice
and filleted it on the rock
and then I saw
that what I thought before
was a soul was just a rock
 salmon,

a shimmer in its shape,
shining for the sun
and grinning with a pearly gape.

[Andalus]

Min Klatretreet

I sit enthroned at the crown of the tree,
My secret retreat in the canopy,
Seated high above all that I survey;
The strange world below I've climbed to escape.

My trunk leans against the ancient tree's spine,
A high-backed branch of proud Corsican pine.
We rule together, my pine throne and I;
Old bark and young bone in one kingdom allied.

We are one, my tail-bone fused to the bark,
The tail we apes lost in prehistory's dark,
And yet still in the trees we find our peace;
Security here, safe from forest floor beasts.

So this ape sitting here in his old ape tree
Retreats from the world, clinging to his safety.

[Andalus]

Swampfolk

the children of the swamp know songs
no other dares to utter here
the daughter of the marsh is bold
and strides out where her brothers fear
the mother of the fens is still
and silent where she waiting hides
the father of the bog lies down
and while the time grows dark he bides

to snare a wayless traveller
who finds no trail through fickle ground
with feet that seek a deeper road
and lead no way but ever down

down to the children of the swamp
who tie his feet with playful games
down to the daughter of the marsh
who gleeful calls her brothers' names
down to the mother of the fens
who girds him in a damp disguise
and down to the father of the bog
who clamps dark hands over his cries

and gone is the frightened traveller
whose way is found beneath the ground
with feet that shudder and are still
and silent where he's ever bound

bound by the children of the swamp
who steal his eyes for marbles bright
bound by the daughter of the marsh
laughing while her brothers fight
bound by the mother of the fens
who lays him to a peaceless rest
and bound by the father of the bog
who heaves the breath out of his chest

and found is the swamp-drowned traveller
by none who follow after there
except for those who trail too close
and meet the same fate in this lair

lair of the children of the swamp
daughter of the marsh, and brothers too
the mother of the fens, with open arms
and father of the bog, who waits for you