      
      
      
Poetry By Cass
Andre
--and now
featuring The Evolution Of An Author
by Kate Douglas!
First things
first, I am not
a poet. It's just never been my thing. I have seen
writers sit down for five minutes and end up with tear
jerking prose that can light passion within Scrooge,
resurrect the dead, and save the world all in four
non-rhyming lines. That's just not me. However, every
once once in a while the spirit hits me. Once a year.
Maybe every two years. Nothing special or extraordinary,
but enough that I feel compelled to jot the lines down
and read them to anyone who will hear. Months later I go
back to read what I've written only to groan. Oh,
geez...But, ugly or not, it's still mine. And since I can
say with all certainty they will never appear in any book
(with the exception of one published years ago), I opted
to create a poetry page. Enjoy, groan, laugh. Whatever!
And thanks for stopping by.
Poetry
Featured On This Page:
We Remember...(September
11, 2001)
The Evolution Of An
Author
The Light
A Letter From The Muse (a personal favorite)
Eternal
Empty Is The Child
The People On The
Streets
Still A Child
Someone’s Knocking At My Door
To begin, the only poem on this
page, not my own.
If ever you dreamed of writing, either aloud or in
private, you should not miss
"The Evolution of an Author" by Kate Douglas
THE EVOLUTION OF AN AUTHOR
© 2002 by Kate
Douglas
It most
likely began many years ago when you were still quite
young.
Mom, or Dad or
someone dear sat down
and told the most wonderful tales...and when
they were done and said, "Good night, my love, it's
time for bed,"
"No, don't stop. More...I LIKE stories," you
said.
In
grammar school, fourth grade I imagine, the teacher
said, "Write a story...what did you do last
summer?"
And you sat down,
in all your nine year old glory
and wrote...and wrote.......and wrote.
And the tale was of dragons and witches and space ships
and things
of all your wildest imaginings.
And your teacher smiled and shook her head,
"That's very interesting."
"I like
stories," you said.
In junior high the
math teacher insisted on
Homework.
Long, involved problems designed to confuse
and bedevil ~~~~
When your work was late, it wasn't the dog who ate those
non-existent pages. No, yours were taken by aliens to
a parallel dimension, studied and turned into
interstellar
weapons of mass destruction...a tale, of course, which
did not
impress the math teacher.
"But, it's
true," you said.
"Maybe," he answered.
"But you still
gotta do the work."
"Well...it coulda happened, just like I said!"
And the teacher shook his head and laughed...
"I'd love to
know what's going on in your head."
Little
did he know he'd eventually get his chance.
As you
grew, you read Shakespeare just for the sound of the
words
and the passion in the rhyme,
read Byron and Shelley and loved each line,
interspersed with
Stranger from a Strange Land and
The Hobbit and
maybe a Georgette Hyer or two...
You kept diaries
and journals and wrote silly poems for
your friends,
dreamed dreams out loud that became wonderful tales of
wild imaginings...
And when those same friends said, "Why are you
talking to yourself?"
you blushed, turned away, ducked your head...
"Telling stories," you said.
Suddenly,
you had babies of your own, or nieces and nephews,
or the kids of best
friends,
and they all waited
for your tales,
loved the stories
you made up to entertain
and teach.
Loved them so much
you wrote them down,
page after
well-loved page,
stashed away with
your dreams,
hidden from the harsh light of day, the
humiliating chance SOMEONE else might read them,
and laugh.
Until, for whatever reason, you pulled those pages out,
spread them in the
sunlight,
read the words,
revised, corrected, read them again...
And realized, for
the very first time,
I'm a writer. I write. It's who I am.
This
Epiphany can have a most devastating effect on the
family.
You are
one with your computer. Endless hours, writing,
imagining,
telling those stories that have simmered and seeped
within your mind for
untold years...living with strange characters...talking
of
poisons and murders, vampires and ghosts, love affairs
and time travel and
things that go bump in the night.
You pay more
attention to your critique partner than your spouse,
feed your family
take out and frozen foods,
give names to the
piles of laundry that dot the floors...
Mt. White stuff,
Blue Jeans hill, Death Mound of Unmatched Socks.
For the first time
in all your married life,
your mother and mother in law finally agree on
something...
You're losing it.
"No," you say. "I'm writing a book."
And they shake their heads and walk away, convinced they
were right.
Finally,
it's done and you send it off, the next new bestseller,
SASE tucked neatly inside.
A big envelope...room for a contract.
C'mon,
now. Remember the first manuscript you submitted?
Of COURSE they'd buy it!
Months
later, envelope comes back.
"I'm sorry but your "insert genre" book
isn't right for us.
Good luck submitting elsewhere."
Obviously,
THAT editor was an idiot.
37
rejection letters later, you go back to the drawing
board.
And write. And
revise. And write some more.
And send it off and
wait. You start another book and still you wait.
You submit online and watch your in box as carefully
as you watch the
mail box...you
find a critique group, you collect more rejection
letters...
Only now
they say, "Fascinating premise. I like your writing-
but...
Your story just won't work for us."
You've discovered
THE BOX. Unfortunately...
You write outside
of it.
You find
out who your real friends are--
They're the ones who DON'T ask
if you've sold your
book. The ones who DON'T say-
"Oh, I'm going to write a book one day."
Like it's easy.
Like it doesn't turn you inside out,
Doesn't wake you at 3 a.m. with plot twists that won't
wait.
Characters who don't behave, say what they should,
do what they're told.
And still you write. It's what you do.
It's who you are.
Then one day...one very special day, email, maybe...or
the phone rings.
No matter...you're not prepared, you can't be-not for
this.
Like a firstborn
child--life alters
Perception shifts,
You're elated, you're scared...
You're published.
You go
out, amazed. The world can't see?
There's a major
shift in your reality.
You want to shout
it far and wide and selfishly hold it deep inside.
Then someone asks, in all innocence, exactly
what you do.
And you answer, "I...." and then you pause and
think a bit-
Remember, this reality is brand new.
The words you
wrote, the tales you've told, so long
denied the light.
You hold your head up proudly...
"I'm an author," you say. "I write."
A
LETTER FROM THE MUSE
©2000 Cass Andre
No
part of this document may be copied in part or in its
entirety.
Dearest
Vessel~
He
feasts on prime rib
On a table of soggy card board
His fingers stretch to gold plated forks
His thumb, a butter knife
His heart is soft
His head, hard
His touch, warm
His tears, genuine
Tell
me his story, Vessel
Tell me his story...
She
bore pain
And sprouted despite
She grew and loved
And became a woman
Owning herself
Seeking to own others
She
smells of citrus groves
And warm apple pie
She swears 'til she's breathless
And is revived by touch
Form
me her words, Vessel
Form me her words...
This
cabin sits across a river
Waves rush upon the shores
Stealing memories...joys...toy shovels
The
scent of peppered mustard
Surrounds me
I see gulls in a place
They don't belong
And baby olive trees
Paint
me this picture, Vessel
Paint me this picture...
I
see an invalid
Banking gold
Cold, demanding, lonely
He
searches with determination
For the piece
To make him whole again
If only he could
Remember her name
Write
me his story, Vessel
Write me his story...
Close
your eyes
I'll paint your purple walls
And turquiose seas
I'll sketch your high cheek bones
And full, kissable lips
I'll
bring your fears to life
And create a reality
Stronger and more desirable
Than your hottest fantasies
I'll
whisper words
In your ear
Just feel
Feel and follow
Stop
searching, Vessel
For I can't be found
This is your frustration
Your block
Trying
to find me
Veils your eyes
Shrouds your hearts
Covers your ears
My
voice will disappear...
Take
a breath
Dissolve reality
Don't listen
Don't hear
Feel me
Feel me coming closer
Sinking in
Take
up your pen
Drape your fingers across your keys
Feel my voice consuming you
Let my stories weave
Let
me name the lovers
Let me build the towns
Let me work magic
Through your soul
Ask
no questions
Bury frustrations
Doubt becomes your excuse
Abandon it
Fear
not
I'll tell you in due time
All the secrets
All the answers
Will be revealed to you
And then to the world
Through you
So,
listen quiet, my vessel
Listen well
For I have many stories to tell
And
when we're done
You'll scribe "The End"
You'll sign your name
You'll
forget
The lovely words
The music
I whispered in your ear
And
I'll vanish to rest...
'Til
you come knocking
Muse? Are you there?
And
I can't deny my calling
He's
a governor, I'll whisper
She's a fiend
And their story will unfold
As did dozens of others
In times before
Light
will shine
Credit to you
With your five stars
And cherished reviews
But once again
You'll forget The Muse
Promise
one for me
Promise one not dedicated
To the physical
Who loved and supported
Give
me emptiness
A line dedicated to no one
And I'll know it's mine
I'll know you remembered
The Muse
For
this I'll keep on
For this you can forget
All I've done
For
this I'll keep whispering
Mysteries and clues
Of rolling hills
And sometimes
Not so happy endings
For
this
I'll make you a star!
Just
write of it, Vessel
Just write of it...
Creative
regards,
The Muse
The Light
©2001 Cass Andre
No
part of this document may be copied in part or in its
entirety.
I
saw light in the sky
A moment ago
Loneliness eludes me now
I saw stars disappear
Silver and gold
And magnificence fill the clouds
I
saw light in the sky
In the wake of the day
Distant planets twinkle for me
I saw bright headlights stream
Along coarse asphalt, black
And the light from the neighbors' porch beam
I
saw light from afar
Colors red, white and blue
Folks cheering another new year
I saw light from my mother
And father and friends
And thost that I ever held near
I
saw light in your eyes
The moment we met
And again when you said 'I do'
I saw light in my baby
Her first baby breath
And a light throughout her little room
Light
snow trickled down
And lights in our tree
For too many years to count
I saw lights on our cakes
Another year passed
And light over-brighten our doubts
I
saw ligth eating dark
When we were alone
I saw oceans twinkle the same
I saw light in your eyes
The moment you died
Though you didn't remember my name
You
brightened my life
With light near and far
From a spark that shone from within
Though my heart disappeared
On that sad, lonely dat
I knew I would see you again
I
saw light come to rise
In bright newborn eyes
A grandbaby to hold to my heart
And bright light in the days
That passed by my way
On those quiet trips to the park
I
saw light in new moons
And during sunrise
Knowing that today was my last
And a bright twinkling history
Litters my days
Consuming most of my past
I
saw light in my eyes
The moment I died
And I knew that I'd soon be with you
And you're waiting right there
Light everywhere
Because once you saw light in me too
Empty Is The Child
By
Cass Andre © 1998
No part of this document may be copied in part or in its
entirety.
Empty
is the child
Who cannot cry aloud
Perhaps their soul is dying
They're searching for the clouds
Pain is interpretation
Hurt is just a word
A child's never seen
And never being heard
Don’t waste your breath
With dry tears
Close your eyes and sleep
Shrinking down to nothing
Where the secret always keeps
They say silence is golden
Pretend the flesh is dead
No one’s in your bubble
It’s only in your head
Rest at the gate of Hades
Where else is there to go
For it’s a long and losing battle
To reap, but never sew
Empty is the child
Who cannot cry aloud
Perhaps their soul dying
We'll always have the clouds
The People On The
Streets
By
Cass Andre © 1998
No
part of this document may be copied in part or in its
entirety.
The
streets are filled with broken dreams
Grief keeps pride at bay
Blurred faces attached to outstretched hands
And we choose to turn away
If once you lowered your chin a notch
If you'd ever chance to peek
You'd see true souls inside the eyes
Of the people on the street...
She lost her mother three years back
With no where else to go
A kind old man, he took her in
Warped love is what she knows
And she, the girl with a long thick braid
She once had dreams so grand
She left a house of drunken rage
To wander in this land
And what of he, the stubby fellow
Clutching that brown sack
Vague voices whisper in his head
And keep him where he's at
And he, the little boy right there
With smirched hands and chubby cheeks
He's never known the place I know
He was born upon these streets
You see that woman in the distance,
Her baby never makes a sound
It'd been inside the house she owned
When the fire burned it down
They look at me with large dull eyes
A color no longer shows
Hope falls upon deaf ears, blind eyes
I can't pretend to know
If once you lowered your chin a notch
If you'd ever chance to peek
You'd see true souls inside the eyes
Of the people on the street...
Still A Child
By
Cass Andre © 1998
No part of this document may be copied in part or in its
entirety.
Scarce
memories twinkle of long ago
But mostly faded shadows show
A silent dream like cotton balls,
Passed this life where rainbows fall
Where wishes dreams and prayers come true
A sacred haven that once knew you
You’ve long forgotten that place inside
Your heart’s desires now left to die
Where once you ran and jumped and played
Replaced by bills and working days
It’s still there, inside your soul
Visit the ground you used to know
Where imagination’s running wild
And each of us remain a child
Someone’s
Knocking At My Door
By
Cass Andre © 1998
No
part of this document may be copied in part or in its
entirety.
(as
printed in the Above The Clouds
anthology-1998)
Someone’s
knocking at my door
But I haven’t got the faith
To let this stranger in my house
I demand he go away
Greed demands what life will give
Anger rages deep inside
And a piece of me is empty
So I cloak it with my pride
Someone’s knocking at my door
Wants me to understand
No time to hear his “sales pitch”
I turn away his hand
And that void inside my heart
Has doubled into two
For a longing that I can’t name
And the things I yearn to do
Someone’s knocking at my door
He says I’m just the same
As the countless vacant souls
That were lost before he came
And I’m armed. Ready for battle
Looking out for number one
As a distant voice reminds me
Help was offered early on
Looking out my window
He’s still waiting on my porch
For me to stop my pity
And listen to his voice
Humbly, I ask him in
In an instant he is near
His promises and caring words
Are music to my ears
He wraps his hand around me
He guards me with his sword
He says, “Many call me Savior
But you can call me Lord”
I ask, “Why did you wait so long?
My life has long been dim.”
He says, “I waited at your door step
But you never asked me in”
ETERNAL
By
Cass Andre © 2000
No part of this document may be copied in part or in its
entirety.
Forever
you looked at me
We saw
We touched
Hearts
Souls
Bodies
And we whirled
We wound
Spiraling
About one another
'Til the moment our sparks linked
Vows exchanged
Promises made
Hearts bonded
On truths between our lips
On love undescribed
Never existing
In print
Or legends
Only between two souls
In indecipherable words
Rings of gold
Define not us
The spirit is reborn
Not only in us
But in those who touch
Who reside within our circle
Never in words exchanged
But in gestures
Actions
Truths
Effects of passion
The creation of "I do"
Breeds confidence
And never perfection
Time vacates
Time arrives
Coming and going
With emotions
We once held dear
They grow deeper
Understanding
Predictable
Yet, comforting
Coarse and comfortable
Lazy and long
Eternal, brief
Quiet, screaming
Busy, stagnant
Fulfilled
Corrupt
Inspired
Moments equal decades of time
We'll never hold again
A streak of lightening
A drop of rain
Regret...
Not I
Not you
For the spark remains
Despite loss
Despite gain
As the world now spins
Around us
Continually growing
Always changing
But you and I remain as one
We Remember...
©2001 Cass Andre
No
part of this document may be copied in part or in its
entirety.
Grandmother,
tell me how much you remember
What happened on that fateful day in September
We had
tragedy preceding and fought many wars
What made this one-day so contrary and more
Dear
child, you're right, we'd fought in the past
We'd defended the weaker against many a-wrath
We'd
offered our hand whenever in need
And lifted up others, that they might succeed
But on
the eleventh, so early that fall
A strike fell upon us and changed one and all
Though
many we'd helped forever in past
Now we were the ones who were under attack
But
Grandmother why? Why did they come?
Because, dearest child, they sought your freedom
In great
jets they roared through, they demolished the towers
Mistakenly deeming that they owned our power
Two more
strikes hit us then, in P-A and DC
Thousands were murdered and billions still grieve
We
watched in deep horror...with anger and hate
Until grief overcame us, nearly sealing our fate
Yet,
somehow, and really I'm not quite sure how
Peace settled the country. We heard not a sound
And
voices rose then, so loud and so strong
We stood shoulder to shoulder and challenged the wrong
As
warriors, our spirits we held up on high
Like the red, white, and blue, you see up in the sky
But the
evil had vanished, They'd managed to hide
They'd dared scoff a country with God on its side
And, oh,
what a shame, for He had a plan
And delivered the cowards right into our hands
We
remember for families who needed us most
We remember a unity joined coast to coast
We
remember for all that we could have been
For what once stood for and stand for again
We
remember for mothers were taken from daughters
Our sisters and friends, our uncles and fathers
The day
we as a people were brutally wronged
Yet as a strong nation continued on strong
Remember
September, for we did not fall
Indivisible with liberty and justice for all
We
remember all this. And, child, you should too
For this country of freedom it stood strong for you
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