From the Archives:


Previous Journal Entries

[We Are Worlds Apart, 05/19/2003]

It is not age or distance or race or gender that divide us; it is experience.

[My One Week of Summer, August 2003]

An insight:
The breaking of the waves is just an infinite sequence of derivatives.

A poem of sorts:
Brought in by the waves,
scattered throughout the sand—
remnants of long-gone creatures.
Dirty whites, orange-ish browns—
these cigarette-butt seashells.

A reflection:
…as i was leaving the ocean near dusk on that foggy last evening that i was there, i found a paper heart in the sand. i brushed it off and put it in a plastic bag. i brought it home, and sent it to Kara. i thought about keepng it, but after all, what use do i have for a paper heart?


Traditional Poetry

The Lost Art Of Poetry

I want to write an epic: a masterpiece to last an age.
Yet how can I achieve this if I cannot fill out a page?
For though I have an insight, it seems my inspiration flees.
A couplet or a stanza, and I can get no more than these.
I lose my motivation and I can’t seem to get it back.
I cannot write my poem. It seems that I have lost the knack.

©2003

Two Cans of Cream Soda

I had cream soda and drank two cans
I cut off the tops and with my hands
I tied the knot with string

A simple line-in, from me to you
A phone that’s heartfelt, between us two
A phone that would not ring

But two cans of cream soda
mean I dont care about you
Since I made myself a vow
to no longer be the fool

I doubt even now my heart could mend
if you would have been willing to send
a call that never came

Our line was broken but I don’t mind
I searched for your half only to find
the pointlessness of blame

So two cans of cream soda
mean I won’t think about you
so that I don’t break my vow
and once again be the fool

©07/08/2003


Tanka Poetry

Winter In Morgantown, WV

Morgantown winter:
The icy breath of winter
cannot blow away
the filth that covers this town
that will not shake from my shoes.
©2003


Broken Renga (Linked Verse) Poetry
These “renga” poems are “broken” because they lack the 7-7 linking stanza that should appear between the first and second stanzas.

Death Poem by Andrew M. Janeshek
(One stanza composed each autumn from 2001 to 2003, revised in 2004)

Single falling leaf—
floating in the Autumn air,
rests at dusk alone.

A leaf swept away—
and all that shall remain,
a faint blurry stain.

As a cold autumn wind blows,
my life—a leaf—drifts away.

©2001, 2002, 2003, 2004

A Walk Home (Along Walnut St. Bridge)

A low conrete wall
takes more than is deserved;
A shadow is cast.

I walk on the line,
a golden flash, here then gone;
one foot sees the sun.

From darkness, we rise in turn,
and then we fall like footsteps.

©10/24/2003


Haiku Poetry

Dining Alone

Always cook for two.
Even when I eat alone,
Je dine avec l’hope.

©2002

Why isn’t anybody here?

People are not art—
I thought life should reflect art.
Art is not true life.

©2002

Falling, and still in love.

The best of summers,
when life looks up, leads to this:
a terrible fall.

©11/19/2002

They Say That Drinking Alone Is A Sign Of Alcoholism

Alcoholic? No.
I never drink by myself.
Somewhere, someone drinks.

©2003

Happy Birthday Andew!

Blackjack comes but once.
Where do I cash in my chips?
I want to quit now.

©01/22/2003

A Commentary On This Alleged “LiveJournal Haiku!”

Haiku are not words.
As potent gems, the insight
should brim to the top.

©08/13/2003

Andy’s cavity haiku:

I just bit my tongue
and it doesn’t bother me;
Half my face is numb.

©10/16/2003


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