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Blog Entry 5 of 5 Gallery Of Soul Reflections

The poetry of Andy Newman is archaic, post-modern, and timeless.

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Clint Eastwood

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Contributed by: Andy Newman on 2/11/2007

Clint Eastwood
By Andy Newman

To be so cold! A silhouette
At first, held from sway by earth, turned livid after dusk
When all surround him turned to dust.

A shadow passed
Over his face
(Held sway like a gentleman)
And then holy beams,
Lines sent straight from heaven,
Exploded in the canvas that
Was stretched about his head.

Jutted out like the sea,
His chin launched into space
Deep pools of fate sunk into flesh
That rippled like the tides of time.

Were he damned, so my reflection
Would reap fire.
"Crucifier, we come for blood!"
They left in time for dinner.

Corpse, strutting to the waves
Of patterned sound,
Swung his pendulum in time
As he drew the line,

Turn the station downward,
Echo into a land of trust
And sacrifice, I must
Behold fate, that dry sand,
In my hand.

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