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Andre Smith

@double_entandre

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Lets be real, this page is just nature shots, sarcasm and the occasional thirst trap.
Jack of all trades, Master of no-one

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I was not going to post this one but here goes:

Disclaimer: Do NOT kidnap your interviewer's family, friends or pets the day before your job interview!!!

...(Preparation is key you'll need at least a week in advance). #interview #interviewtips #goodluck by @double_entandre

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4 years ago

#interviewtips by @double_entandre

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4 years ago

45k

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3 years ago

So based on feedback after the reading I might split this poem into two parts.
Keeping the descriptive first verse as a poem in itself then expounding on the metaphoric second verse in another medium.

More Lessons from Time
Andre Smith, Sep 19, 2026

Not long enough after we reach the age where our grandmother’s die,

There returns a familiar spiral,

As our parents slow down,

And get clumsy ,

And/or forgetful

And/or quarrelsome,

And/or delicate,

And you’re angry with them,

For not trying anymore.

But you’re really angry at time,

For taking them away in increments,

And at gravity for pulling them skin first, then muscle, then organs, then bone,

Slouching them slowly into the ground before your eyes.

************************************************
(PART 2)

The rock that used to occupy the entirety of your small pond,

A boulder to cry on,

Big, imposing and all knowing,

The spring from which all the knowledge of the world flowed.

Before the years washed smooth their once sharp brain,

Like pebbles in a creek,

They have now become a frail grain of sand you hold between hands pressed in prayer.

Begging the vast ocean not to drag them away to soon,

Like countless others.

Or at least to be kind, and gentle,

and maybe bring you all together again

One day,

When the tides turn. by @double_entandre

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5 days ago

#DunnsRiverFalls by @double_entandre

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8 days ago

For Novlyn.

Lessons from Time
(By Andre Smith)

She passed away one convenient Thursday morning,
She always wanted to be no trouble at all,
But the family had long begun mourning,
When the cancer made her whittled and small.

We returned to her house to get affairs in place,
For the wake and the guests it would host,
But without her it felt strange in her space,
Like it was haunted...but we were the ghosts;

Drifting aimlessly
With unfinished business
Moving pictures and furniture around,
Disappearing and reappearing every few minutes,
With occasional wailing sounds,

Even trying our hand at possession,
Figuring out what should be yours, ours, mine.

I'm not even sure Father Time had a lesson.
Or we're just at the age where our grandmothers die. by @double_entandre

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15 days ago

#Belize by @double_entandre

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a month ago

#MayanRuins by @double_entandre

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a month ago

When I wrote this poem in my 20s. I lived out of town and didnt have the agency or knowledge or time or confidence to find poetry readings. But I always pictured being able to get to share it somewhere with a mic and an audience.

Now that I've started on the journey of publicly sharing what I write.
And as I dig through the poetry I used to write, this one from 12 years ago stood out because it was so predictive and relevant.

I'd say to anyone who wants to write. Just get your ideas down from your head on to the page. Because it gets a low of its own from there, and you (or someone else) can uncover it later to find that that life still has breath.

Poem:
Epitaph
(Andre Smith, Dec 22 2014)

I have'nt been posting much lately,

Just writing in a book,

Unseen to anyone,

Almost like a burial,

(With mourning, a ceremony and all)

I dig some up from time to time, (rereading, editing)

Though it feels like,

Desecrating a gravesite,

I drop verse after verse in (t)here,

Hoping they form a vast catacomb,

Of ideas.

And hope that in the future,

I can excavate this book,

And see which ones have rot,

Or

Stood timeless.

As if embalmed. by @double_entandre

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2 months ago

#MayanRuins #TombRaider #TempleRun #IndianaJones by @double_entandre

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3 months ago

Still have a few revisions I wanted to do with this. But since it's on the interwebs already. I'll just review and post a nee version at a later date.

In Lieu of Free Samples
(Andre Smith, June 30 2026)

‘A ugly man mi like, Me LOVE ugly man!’
What would the queen think of the site honoring her coronation,
Would she roll in her grave thinking of what the vendor said,
Right before;
‘One fifty a pound fi carrot, Beet root a tree hundred!’

I abhor market shopping,
My comfort zone,
Is clearly labelled prices,
Free samples,
Pushing a trolley down air conditioned aisles,
Meandering,

Not fi come bawl out and bawl down price,
And grounds up grounds up fi di likkle provision,
And taste and buy,
And feel up feel up wah my mumma nuh bring.

But the vendor knows more than I do,
That theres a beauty in the ugly thing.

I walk through mud so impossibly brown and shiny
Our footsteps slicks like paint on canvas
I hear excerpts of raucous conversations where eavesdropping is a mandatory public event,
I smell peppermint so fresh it reminds me of my grandma’s
So much that when I sip it in the morning it reminds me not to leave home without breakfast,

Have you ever considered our market for what it really is?

Architectural ingenuity sprawling,
From sticks, ropes and tarpaulin,
Shaded from sun, Letting in wind,
This is a form of air conditioning.

Leaving just enough space for foot traffic,
And the ornate handmade handcarts,
Marvel of carpentry and mechanics,
Have you ever thought about The Sustainable engineering involved,
In recycled tires and wooden parts,
A trolley problem solved.

The lifeblood of this country bringing produce in bundles,
from our farmers to the heart of the concrete jungle,
Every vendor is an entrepreneur,
Loosening the stronghold of monopolizing stores.
Have you ever regarded, the market as the place of necessity and connection that it is.
Where I buy so much vegetables they melt in my fridge,
Because I don’t yet fully appreciate their value.
I pick around the wilt and singe,
Finding the beauty in the ugly thing.
‘Three hundred a pound fi cabbage, two hundred a pound fi yam’
In lieu of free samples heres a sample of freedom. by @double_entandre

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3 months ago

A Moment of Silence (Andre Smith March 2015) Read at @poetrysocietyja Open Mic May 2026 by @double_entandre

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4 months ago