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Best Poems Written by William Coyne

Below are the all-time best William Coyne poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Living Rooms

. for public domain


Where we hung our overcoats I don't remember,
or at what time winter snow fell late December,
I barely recall the living room
with the television or radio on,
snuggled in a chair, wanting weather of September.

The living room, our family's sanctuary,
where we prayed for a quickly passing January,
we held our tongues from bitter comments,
mostly, but one slipped out on occasion,
which made for an unpleasant colder February.

Spring and Summer came with outdoor body odor,
showers and sweat all through the harvest of October.
Comments on sore bones and blisters,
exchanged among my mother and sisters,
kept the conversation lively through November.

Our parents have long passed on, as we have passed on,
alone, or enduring lives we have created,
lording over our own living rooms,
to keep them from becoming tombs
of the silence that awaits us at the end.

Details | William Coyne Poem

Tenement Tombs

. for public domain

Every crack in the ceiling,
dries up every river of dreams.
When idle eyes can't view their skies,
wadi minds flood over with schemes.

And every hole in the floors
becomes a bottomless well,
where loveless hearts go wishless,
dry up in a dusty old hell.

The mission bells may toll and toll,
but our dungeons, they fill and fill.
Sweet flowers off the garden path,
wither away for want of will.

Details | William Coyne Poem

All Day Tomorrow

. for public domain

All Day Tomorrow

( a cast of characters in song )

Homeless Jo and Jane:

We've got all day tomorrow,
to wait by the New Jersey shore,
to beg for a nickel
'cause we're in a pickle.
No end to us being so poor.

Tonight let us rub off our bruises,
tonight let us sing bright and gay.
We filled up our bellies,
the storefront has telly.
Tomorrow may bring a good day.

Parson at the pulpit:

We've got all day tomorrow,
to dry all the tears we will shed.
Our Blessings are fickle.
'cause we're in a pickle.
We can't count the hairs on our head.

Tonight let us kneel with our Savior,
tonight pass on worries what may.
Hand all of our cares
to Jesus upstairs.
Tomorrow may bring a good day.

Children:

We've got all day tomorrow,
for skinning our knees out at play.
We've no butter brickle.
We haven't a nickel.
We're poor as the kids in Bombay.

Tonight all our bellies will grumble,
tonight, while the folks are away,
we'll run through the halls,
and mark up the walls.
Tomorrow may bring a good day.

And so on, and so forth with Parents, Fire Fighters, EMT's, Police Officers, Imam's, Rabbi's, Old West Gunslingers, Suffragettes, Pig Farmers, Bankers, Bad Guys in dark alleys, Peppermint Patty, Goldilocks and the Three Bears, Odin, Cats, Screen Guild Members, and the Shadowy Neighbor next door who no one wants to meet.

Details | William Coyne Poem

Fear Itself

. for public domain

We went for a walk after sunset in the dark,
among the shadows of chestnut trees near a park,
where howls in nearby cornfields
brought fear of what the sound yields,
and rose an unfriendly but wary question-mark.

"What fiend sets to prowl this auspicious time of night?
What fearsome, bold creature may show its teeth so bright?
stalking fresh flesh for its meal,
no mercy for those who kneel,
praying rescue them to the Heavenly Spirit of Light?"

After our walk, we stood on our porch there trembling,
collecting our calm, peaceful thoughts assembling,
endured a gauntlet of fear,
survived what did not appear,
yet ourselves nothing thereafter resembling.

Details | William Coyne Poem

Spanish Fly

. for public domain

A folded, yellow lined sheet of legal,
taped to a railing of chipped red paint,
caught my eye as I stepped down the stairs
from a Lower East Side dark street.

A note from our ancient Chinese landlord?
A scrap captured from chaffing winter winds?
A secret message from a foreign spy!
A Dear John letter hastily written

by my betrothed on her journey to Spain.
"I need to find myself, and a better
life, a rich suitor, a seaside villa.
I still love you! Take Care! Good Luck! Good Bye."

I unlocked the door and fed the cat, Jack,
nibbled a sandwich of honey ham and rye,
peered out the window at heels passing by.
Go all you, and wither! Die in God damn Spain!

A knock at the door, "I missed the last coach.
Can I stay here with you? Is that alright?"
I got out spare blankets. "You get the couch."
"43's in the pantry. Put out the light."

Details | William Coyne Poem

Thread and Weave

. for public domain

Thread and Weave

Her fingers, more attuned to the thread and the weave,
through years of darning our socks and sewing patches,
by touch alone told her the difference between
silk and satin, which we children could not see clear.

The palms of her hands felt the quality of cloth
of our backsides when we were guilty of sloth,
but never she judged her children's rough texture
was unfit for stitching, was not worth a whisker.

We were the burlap, that often scraped her fine skin,
that brought her to so many tears, then and again,
but "doing hard time" she softened our crusty fabric
for Mother to enjoy our comforting embrace.

Details | William Coyne Poem

Atlanta

. for public domain

Atlanta! Atlanta!

People laid out in the street,
dying, diseased, and broken,
poets in old Atlanta
found few words betoken
what none would read out loud.

Scattered in blood soaked streets,
torn body parts and brains,
human devastation,
none like nature's wrath rains,
what none should see unshroud.

Bodies hung in the streets,
smeared with mud and blood,
uncivilized civil war,
more grim than Billy Budd,
what none could sing too proud.

Details | William Coyne Poem

Heart Conditions

[offered to public domain]

Loving hearts may often soften
brittle hearts in living coffins.

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Kind Words

. for public domain

Kind words
flow through windows barred,
seep through concrete walls,
rise under prison doors.
Wanting only a hearing,
they glisten when we listen.

Details | William Coyne Poem

Anne

I seek your eyes often that I may see
you looking lovingly and soft on me,
and as the days shall go on passing by,
I need you more closely nearby.

More than a chair to rest myself upon,
you welcome my heart to rest in your arms,
and with no word spoken from unspoken me,
you read my soul to fulfill its need.

Oh Anne, oh my Anne, how do I feel so,
one moment from you is an eon ago.
There's no life without you, no life I know,
and no love more tender wherever you go.

. for public domain