Songs of Samuel Andreyev

1 The Final Days
2 The Back Yard
3 Lame Drops In
4 Regions Reach
5 For Silver
6 Song of Night
7 Stacks
8 Closeup
9 Phantom Bays
10 Pathrow's Thirty-Six
11 Nine and a Half Bars
12 Legions of Sleeping Crabs
13 Life Story
14 Invention
15 Ladle Days
16 Whichstand
17 Opener

The Final Days

In the ordinary life the deals made are fraught in barrows
such is as is as the case when made up of a thinner marrow
gilding all and gliding hair until apartments shake with envy
where would one go to cash the alps in for love
and lose the elegance in the hay

Tiny movements of the glass will likely move the trees to teary
late confessions nightly as of late the plants have grown so weary
hidden in a drawer somewhere out in the deepes controlling every
sigh given out by either one of the dwarves
as long as elderly ladies hide

Of the clocks that wash the rocks as well as clothing that discloses
every notion of a game like chess which too often disposes
more than one or two of gambling firefighters playing chess
upon the old banques of well-made elder ravines
to hide from all of the quills they seek

Once or twice success is had and horses get their wishes granted
what a joy to be un-segmented at last even if slanted
but that’s but a minor gripe in light of all the fights
that have been lost on these rocks and quartered well into time
but with a good long way still to go

The Back Yard

Looking out in back the house worn lightly
what will grandeur say
thwarting age is timely once you’re in the backyard
In the blue I found a trench for fishing
or a basketcase
cape the wall and dam the squall out in the backyard

Cyclophone climbing the fence in back. Brush off the glance
angletone busy with surplus of knack. What will enhance
overblown patron of henceforth hack. Deals with lance
to bemoan one of the streets of tack. Leave it to chance

Yas reudnarg lliw tahw
ylthgil nrow esuoh eht kcab ni tuo
thwarting age is timely once you’re in the backyard

Lame Drops In

Lame drops in again to wend
the corners of relief and finds the
sun withdrawing from its battered
clue. In ten years’ time the logic
falls and drapes the few remaining
stumps from tragic view. Along the
coastline watchful eyes seem to be lost.

Nothing can be straight when shadows
link up in full view of restless
stones. Removed from all the world’s
lakes, where must they go? In light of
breaks in every panoramic
view, sleep tries to hide its stripes but
waits to see if any covers move.

Regions Reach

At long last along a line of lambast regency out of line of lithe
to bring forth a lyre hidden lope of flailing places where the boated blithe
those who wind the dined a lucky region’s reach

A horse knows its place among the dealings whereupon washerwomen weep
for those who have left the ranks and leaned so slightly arc in cellular so steep
those who wind the dined a lucky region’s reach

Wonder where the window winds our hero up to fortune’s arms. So
likely in the planks where ranks are lightly laughed and no alarms
one to know. The perfect lean on slant at slanted take on this.
A laugh’ll last a wit to one who’s got a window there
deans will fling from far-flung floorings inadvertently open
dangling from the branches randomly retaliate

Light lowly lions lying lowly linen lazily Lilly lining
so just to clarify the wind winds wildly when the worn lean by the way
them that wind the dined a lucky region’s reach

For Silver

Four silver dollars bright in rite of rain rays when wetly
buffered with a lead equivalent of fencing spears as
only one to know exactly dashing days
ore is more for prospective gents than trenchant citizens

Spend thrift eel like a married man parading dough
for all to see from trees a nicely kneeled knave all day on
one up undulating sense of tightwad tad
if a subject leaps from the fold it’s just a break

Under rain of the thunderous silvery sky
when sever potassium shows on his arms
a curious mode of delirious rhyme
facing mules of the fabulous scenes in the know
an arm out extended with hat full of coins
a catch of the day for the lucky trader
waking up in a marbelous room in airy
get-up and a constable feeling upright
along a great staircase up one to the door.

Bakers will sit in rain forget me not whole loaf
for busy people with a limited expense account
for only one sale an hour of powerful leading
if it comes it comes and there’s grateful chance and saving

Song of Night

Tumble down from rest dwindling away
the eve in the eye of night raking
themes for the hour of implicated
darts to stray along evening stains

Singing of night isn’t going to shoo fish
stinging on sight. Fins shifting into nothing
sight thinning ghosts going
into night's fog to fight hogs

Strains of need heed long days at the darts
of underhanded relapse swiftly
teeming with quakes so small they might be
dreamt to raise the bid mumbling down

Go in tonight, shifting soot so it fits in.
Night is so oft not too soft in its sights of
infighting hosts tossing
gifts of soft figs onto thighs

Ignoring the Dovex Milk Law
he did what he wanted

Rumbled fleece thieves all day from the carts
that cry outside every door, rolling
swiftly from halls exclusive in the
ferns that cross the bridge undeterred


When cold and parted park for new
apartment locked up tight afar to glimpse the due
it seemed a thrill to seek the sights from lighted air

As if by magic at the springs
to bring a glance at life where Pernod glasses ring
It seemed a thrill to seek the sights from lighted air

In time and barely out of place
wherein attention turns to mount the saving grace
it seems a thrill to eke the sights out from the air

Light at night to poke a hole in the wall
parted partway through a telephone call
seen from room the slightest sight is grand
spark of yonder waves in air on the bay
quotes aplenty seem to indicate way
dusk on driver’s road makes lovely fall
parting wind on high-rise riddled height is right and tall


Port-au-past, a lowly plank afar from top o’ shore to you today sir
flanking down towards the rank of author steppedown as it were
all in all a low law for sighting
hauling thrall and plowing a fighting sense

In up close. A bowling memory reminds our hero of his peril
as it were. A jag identity or entity cuts through the barrel
deeply South for slouching in wonder
sheepish mouth will vouch for the plundered word

A hand of need apply to surface as
though kindly held the card
of glass containing one’s lifetime
holding onto joust, necessary
in time a faded grouch
will wipe the years from sofas past

Grab the pane. The cutter over there and threshers feel the leg of cotton
oh for sure. The way it happened only one could reel the fish in rotton
ash for cash dashing bash asunder
rashly slashing cache-cache in wondrous

Phantom Bays

Phantom bays light the moonript grays
above the cold air staggering nude shores
are mounting fissures on pointed light
as the spooks swell and the windows slip away

Bantam staves lose their wanton graves
when Snore-At-All raids all the old railroads.
A vanished spade bites at ghastly crates
rendered potent by the permanence of ink

Bands of cranes make the dormant creases
wake only as a steep falling into
rain check lakes. Funny how the banes
swiftly shunt to all the piers

Hampton crays of the sanded plates
climb through the days on their rosy bones
while towing harps over misted strips
in the floating shade of disappearing dimes

Pathrow’s Thirty-Six

Everybody’s letters burn
to align the whining curves
we will run up and grab
Stan’s alibi sheets
we will slay the beast

Streamers float on dwindling time
as the honor goes to show
they want Pathrow to find
his thirty-six fine
it will be arranged

Coaxing water from the mimes,
keeping ongoing lions thin
as the new gloves arrive–
publicly pure ones–
well, at least they’re plain!

And the ghost is out of line
and the moon scoped out for spores
we will run up and grab
Stan’s alibi sheets
we will slay the beast

Nine and a Half Bars

Cutting through a crowd of quails
glass is lost as though it cannot run
old Muhammad, tough as nails
looked up at the nearly-hidden sun

Legions of Sleeping Crabs

Mainly a jumptrack at three am a train derailed
coughs and smokes to slough the spokes and
then emitting peg-leg mermaids rolling over dinghys on the
beach heads a window that
takes apart a dozen cubes a second

Gurgles retire and set up shop sometimes the circles
swim in glue and buy a brand new
pair of kid gloves old giraffe shrugs moving bugs lust lately after
lady anteaters and
tongues will melt from here to here at high noon

Jaundice and snake eyes may oil up the coiled pups with
nary but a three-shot putter
climbing giraffe riff-raff towers stacked around the hedges round the
point of a model for
giant blokes to water mopes in certain

Low living crab grass attention to the top of savings
humming with the springs attached
below the ground for certain what was spilled in seven houses round
the block will resurface and
those with pipes light up the spite with sandbags

Life Story

Born into braces balanced in trials,
aged over water with every motion.
Sculpted in likeness of wedded balkers
in time for tempest points in winter’s veneration.
Lone before the peat hauled in the
replica of athletes. Long in metal shade
found by the stone once turned by hand

Appointed matter hangs up the diVerence
not budged by swimming in angry hours.
In the wreckage of spilled attention
the air is lost for what intends to guide the sentence.
Limpid poses, stacked beside a
mutilated statue, ranking without thought
of eyes to see the palest rose.

Lining is prone to release floating cards
from the bat’s only hand. Five-fingered ferrets are
played with the chops of an alphabet band.
Hollering pieces float down from the hub
of a storey or two. Flightless attire descends
on the raft of an organized view.

Grouped with the anvils in crimson fetters,
decked out in foldings of sick erosion.
Beside the skiing that tickled feathers
lay in the dark a newly disappearing ticket.
Now or later on the mirrors
resonate with languor seldom found outside
the realm of elongated dust.Ladle Days

Grim codgers curve the days alongside
shelled bunters weary of their highchairs
hauling a pair of salted umbrella bakers
fretting, mauling the dunes for
silent sarsaparilla strokes

Yearn up the weighing on the cool side
speaking of soupants supping dovetops
tapered to stoops of breezy greetings
to clearer seasons, all bleeding bores return
at end of day to sleep

slip on a dream

Ladle days come with the fatal jays
bays are moved into a cradle
aching steps attack the latent depths
only to remain unheard

Battle caps included with the naps
after taxis in their twilight
having stepped en masse for tragic vets
scrapes deduce a touch of grain

Stable ways will bustle thousands by
mussels wash up through the sidewalks
ladle days contain the fatal jays
bays are given up to sleep

Yes, now I remove your little coat
fat in hand to shell the haze


Fins dash, sit urban and local.
Later an emetic error
ruptures a bad nap.
Let’s, oh yes!
Omni in mosey hostel
A panda base rut
purr or recite: “men are tall”
a cold nan, a brutish sad snif


Taskmask around on nimble lime
lightly aroused on dewy mining berg at night
stage fright

Part of the port remains undone
the chute is there for what remains on stilts at night
quite right

And as the belt conveys a
payrolling to those who share a
one-day belt for fare and bankrolled
time for one last turn. Relearn

Down with the sand at deepest night
around the plane where housecats lining with the lime
regard the stance as paile bay
for once a footprint points to duney dunes at torque
move York

Which sand is partly given
over to the architects who
saved the way for lapping ways
at last we shall return. In turn

© Sam Andreyev 1999, 2000 & 2001

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