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Best Poems Written by Jude Herrick

Below are the all-time best Jude Herrick poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Jude Herrick Poem

Phi Poetry of Reality In Dream

"I have seen and heard the vibrancy of dreams,
and the way
of the crossings-through the ills
and through the barriered things."

A fleeting spark that perceives,
I, have seen it envision the winds,
be a corridor to a world that cleaves ;
on the back of a great Tortoise Queen,
her shell of Crystallized Diamonds and Obsidian
and winking sheen,
Pregnansing-the nautilus nigh-
milking the Oceans, green -
silken threads of tithe that wander- tied
to the explore,
checking in with a playful bounce off the shores.

In the whispers of the ancient cove that licks
beneath ticklish groves,
secrets of time are carried on the breeze,
each leaf a page,
each branch a story,
in nature's library of living glory.
Even the petrified tomes,
bones to juice amalgamation to the soil
and return its irrigation to report the elements in Delta-Forest,
Naval Seals of Armed Centrifugal Recourse.
Incarnations of creation,
Roses of it's standing, ovation.
Bows of the rains in subterranean dive of karmatic reconnaissance-of-palladium-investigation.

Or in the dance of the flames, memories rise
like a smoke sensered back to the lightning deSkiesed
agent of metamorph with experience's troll,
a ballerina witch in a ballad or a bounty wished in a bowl.
Versation digesting nutritives
lost in supper's mundane conversations,
they tend to veer from the flickering fire's guise
of that tugboat yet christened and yet launched of mind, voyaged tale untold of the by and buy.

[P o e ti c P h i, a Golden Lampstand in the darkness
keeps at bay, a sea of shadows to ghost our veins.
Lighthouse our waves into beam of stage]

To be uttered's of the past, shadowed in light
or is it shadows of the past captured in-
of reflection's fleeting moment,
before taking flight
into perception's miscellaneous bin.
To rummage through drawer
and visualizer and arbitrate equalizer-mender of
felonious reach where tacks hide in bite of warn.
This Realitception, she is a sweet delicious whorn
in the depths of dreams, reality weaves,
a metamorphosis of truths and make-beliefs,
and toll-bridges of entrance scorn.
In a dance of shadows, a play of light,
trance of starkness, wheel against stagnance,
wings for flight.
Food fir thought, in this realm of realitception,
day turns to night so it may yearn-to be
a juggernaught
so that dreams urn in the coming of possibilities
new burning oceans,
of liquid fire, crystal electricity
solidified in the here of here
lightning of desire
offering of daylight to yield a turn to bare.

(To be the dream plucked from un-requite
to be a spin of the wheel of fortune in the lime light.)

Always bet on the true colors of imagination.
They are there to season each in its time for reason.

Details | Jude Herrick Poem

Aint It Funny How It Is


   I like the accidental, 
incidental
way- the mist kisses and lifts from the timberline, 
like angelic lung 
that breathes it all in,
drifts to the next flowering, 
a honey bee in a land of fairy as our heart's 
flutter and are arrow stung, eros strung.

The way the sun facets its beam in
shutter glistened wink, 
balance hung in the cascadency of echo-system, 
beats, chirps, wakings strummed.
How loving that the lens is left open to show 
we are live radiantly in a song and not alone, 
not a curse of one.

I like how food just happens to be,
a bounty of giving, 
a consistent conglomeration congealed upon itself 
and presented as social happenstance 
of living happened stance,
aroma of heart lance of delicious varietal trance 
of sustenance. 
In colors decadent,
juices, magnificent enough to be
a cuisine, cuisinart machinery.

I like the sunrise, how it presents itself in 
a theatrical opening credit,
the greeting anew, all be it-
the salutationed dew, sparkling,
chirping song-ward, music impending- 
foreshadowed-Mother's teet 
sending milk in perfect flow,
"in a brilliance of only One who is in the know". 
A verse spoken  long-words tokened in a windswept mansions of Holy dimensions-vowed.
In patterned tale cameowed mosaic chord 
of harmonic scale to tell, the sunset to bow.
the grandeur of a days production, 
setting silhouette cast and an amen 
and again by the moon to watchover as sentinel 
who keeps watch for,
in the promise of dawn,
in wait, stagelight
drawing ready 
to perform from- behind the curtain again.
Aint It Funny How It Is.

Details | Jude Herrick Poem

Letter To The Editor

Your judgments have me grinning.
Don't pretend you were immune
from the Avarice of Pride.

Which you delved past cover packet
into the gutworm of stardoms naked lunch?

Unfolding the artwork of your Deathsnake Bands- ministering to idol hands,
wandering the scent of artwork sleeve.
'Scent of new jacket
with walking around money in the pockets
made of 'feited hourglass sand.

Do you not find it pathetic and ugly,
to keep chanting me me me?

I like how they are stringed pearls of sos-,
smokerings,
death row-,
'peals of that Apple
"standing up to be counted with pi
and to give account"
as a bridge to understanding your insanity
and to give creedence to your selfish lies
of phi,
relational patterns of why is the sky...
-
Maggots of your own carrion luggage
left to fester to the Son.

Sacrificial Poseidon Aquariums,
Babylon Hanging Gardens,
Bloodsport of perceived insects in arena of jar, of Leviathan Media Priests and Running-man television,
(Black) arts.

Did you invent the term movie star?
(Vanity Smurf tearer),
take a look as reality draws nearer.

Symbiose of the mind's chemical- sea trench monsters.

Rally the sheeples to stampede by your musical serenadings,
box spring snakes coiled
in union of souls call of tune.

Do you court the Druids to "tie a yellow ribbon round the old Oak Tree..."

Such Romanticide, needy.

(Your True : CHORUS)
A falling star hung in the air by insindiary glare
legislating from your bench
like Hephaestus tears
tinkering above a lossless accomodater
puppeting to speak your own truth
while pride sets up another soothsayer booth

Lucy, you got kisses for five cents,
while the world is monopoly
burning your marketplace incense,
falling for the fallen to pay for incoming recompense.

So, Nephilim pretending to be our Creators
is your next one, huh.

Soon, the World will see, your sumptuous gush
of trans-humanity
is just mental masturbation
fantasy
escaping the real thing.

Details | Jude Herrick Poem

Knight in Lying Amore




            James Dean Bob Marley,  
       a Valentines Hunter on a Harley, 
            ties his horse hog down, 
    enters the house saloon of get "lucky" town,
             Offers imbibe after imbibe
         as suggestinal ingestinal bribe,
         but forget about her tolerance,
          she fell asleep on the couch,
              out cold as if she'd died.
         So romeo with advance 
      he missed his chance, ouch!
     And he with a wine on his hands 
          and  ****happens-stance,
said goodbye to his smooth plans,
said goodbye to romance.
Was also left with his....in his hands.

Details | Jude Herrick Poem

GenieUsGenusPlan



In the darkness of the night, 
a ruby gleams 
to contrast a slumbered eye awakened 
to feeling, 
reflection, light, 
Lady "Genie", eyes aglow
like a beast, in mid-stride,
lost in her midnight dreams is clothed in a revealing,
one that will go to show.

Her beauty is like a million stars in a constellation,
radiating with undeniable fascination, 
strobes at the mind's ceiling.
Her essence a spell that enchants 
for a chance meeting with starcrossed soul, 
in mutual translated meaning, instead of blindness
seeing only
money, power, fame, or a throne.

Her countenance
leaving a trail of wonder wherever she goes,
she moonlights in the beam of a sisterly moon 
well to do, curtseys well meaning entanglements
her care that is shone.

Before Time's fermentation-
leaves her unknown, 
to wraith the shadows of regrets malign,
an unsown family forever mourned, is not fine.
I am not a stalker, a black widow either !
Just an unnoticed wraith in the ether.

In her present darkness under the persistence of Time, 
a ruby gleams to contrast a slumbered tithe, 
like a beastly eye awakened to 
scan the surroundings for possibilities and this time
construct a dream and make for a hunt of sudden life 
from sudden death
two minutes to midnight- ovulation tick tock 
click click boo...reverberating berating again 
and again in her head, clothed in a song of gong.

But this time the voice urged her, encouraged her with a knowing whispertron "Get it on..."uttered from unknown breath, "
dance to the beat of your own drum."
Though her beauty was like a million stars 
in a constellation conjunct Venus and mars,
and radiating with undeniable fascination that strobes 
the mind's ceiling in a cure'dArs- 
and probes with a strung out heart
Her essence was trapped in a spell that enchants 
only others, only duty, only to play for others' a part.
"oh if but once, I hope for a chance meeting 
with starcrossed soul,
who will wish for me as his booty to dragon guard
and be like a reward."

Though she leaves a trail of wonder to finger 
"this way" each way, she goes,
she moonlights in the beam of a sisterly moon 
saddened in her aglow,
both of these keeping traditionally the accepted way 
things usually go,
but tonight something beckoned to
leave an intangible, abstraction, an indelible mark 
to market magic to oscillate ovulate action, 
in a new wave and freakWenchSea 
under moon's attraction.
She saw the vision clearly in the hourglass reflection
of black widow symbol upon the snow.
"No more haunting visage ! I will decide how it goes", 
she bit down on her lip-
blew the locks out of her eyes,
planted hands on her hips-
and put a new plan in motion,
"if I be but setting set -to allure 
before menopause cures d'Arrears its cruel conjure  
plasters its iconoclast death canning of chasted though urned, 
living wine- plucked of passions vine, my vintage stock whisped by the willows
and plumped bottling rack goes dry 
before the bellow air of time burns arid turn, 
before the falling
leaves leave me unknown, 
an unImbibed fermented tear- 
spirit sown of the light's- own tinder 
sliding sympathy beer.
That's not gonna happen, 
I must have faith in the great design, 
of that magical burning ember bellowed to shine.
I will not wraith the shadows of doubt, 
a family forever mourned by a conceding regret, that is not yet,
still borne of member, 
nor membership spent on the sea to beget, 
the currency of nows voyage, salty sprayed 
and newly wet," she smiles, "and savely met !"

As she travels her lonely road distancing 
from the pier, she peaks through windows to glean 
whether this is the home of a single man alone, 
(so that she may place her vacancy lamp at his door with just the right feng shui as to get him to peak interest back
to rub her lamp and fill her empty void of cursed Tesseract.)
Not a black widow shaped hourglass,
or raven tapping at the window in 
CinderUmbrella time torn disdress !

In the silence of this particular night, a melody softly sings,
__________ is where he dreams,
dreams of ancient tales, of forgotten things.
The stars above, a tapestry divine,
a masterpiece of a mapped design.

A lonely star, a wanderer is new in the sky,
longing for a muse, it chutes the eye.
This time, a short time later, Time is on her side,
is a daredevil where events collide.
"He has collected my lamp, taken me inside.
I wonder if I should make the drapes match his eyes, feng shut them and see if his wish is compromised by lights dimmed low in compromise."

That is what she did, and was no longer hid from him in
the World's turns, as he would normally recluse and be hid, 
he recused himself from his agony-long enough to
invest investigation upon that deja vuic glint
looking for her nightly, would gaze out his widow,
now the window showed that makeshift urn brightly
at the everence of the moon- to send him a beacon, 
a symbol, a sign of his reborn. In a curiousity of hope
still afloat in the salt of his belief, 
as it 
sprayed him in eyewash, fountained from the deep.
But we see, he got more than that, we may initially see,
in that new medium, of belief and hope 
came a super sized family, shone of timing, 
breaking his lover's servantly bands, 
to be able to serve of her own accord, 
a higher calling granted,
with love to a lovely plan.

Details | Jude Herrick Poem

Blame it on the Rain

"Blame it on the rain", for business
on your sunny day,
though it is a provider for you,
you provide a poo poo.
World, obstain or remains In your dusty bowl,
she be more precious than gold
and the price must be paid- as payment due-
of diamonds true for ungrateful fools.
Gladness must be dew-
likened to sunny days, may seem so bright and clear,
the rain's gentle kiss, is a soothing veneer.
Keeps hydration to the maximus,
at her station of holding the trust
containing the dusts in gatling bomb tears.
Wash away staleness of time,
gives life to thirsty orphan seedlings, seeds a new beginning in a flourished brine.
Cascading effect affectionately,
is her embrace
is a lofty kind, the world is reborn,
to new heights in kind.

You are a heavenly sight not to be scorned, a site adorned with the ability to forecast chance of survival.
Our emotions glued to your soap of
broken necklace- of sky,
Thunderbird arrival.
With great wings span of expanse bridal gown/drown of tears renewed, our calming trance, eyes
of a past cycle look to return of circumstance.
Gaia's daughterlings, eggs of Life's Circle brings
waters breaking slight of bands, relieving stress with slide to a forsaken and arid land.

Yet albeit imbued like a dance
of an Angel of Mercy pattering
dulcimer primal dance.
You groom the Earth's creatures and Man.
Cold feet at the altar is no problem when it just enhances anticipate-precipitate-eager sweat gland.
You have never narked on couples making love under your theater.
Happen stance, buckles-weak at the knees of falter.
Joy-ned of conciliate-troves, your reign.
Of her highness,
state your piece,
but honor her procession.

A non-void-confetti parade is in order,
in your condensate pangs.
Rein in
our busy scatterbrains with board games,
Family zeal,
moving still, to new frontiers
as you make the Weather-Person a liar.
Now that's something I can respect, for real!
But waving to gatherings like a pregnant cloud,
suggests hot soupy meal.
instill your fertile glade of ladle and our stomachs and imaginations, fill.
As you make your way down the isles, veil in a vapor shroud, vowed to precipitate thunderous spray,
the groom of liquid feel.
To shower upon to vow, off-spring,
chance of
honey-moon.
This poetry is not aloud, just thinking to myself.

Moon says wow, peaking through- to this wedded Life.
On cloud nine aren't we.
Oh I see your "witchy ways", winks, drinks in her radiant pours, says aloud,
"well, played". "Blame it on the rain."

Best Poems Written by Jude Herrick

The Parable and the Penguin

Hades Siren

Crowning

Do You Remember Too

Phi Poetry of Reality In Dream

Aint It Funny How It Is

Letter To The Editor

Knight in Lying Amore

GenieUsGenusPlan

Blame it on the Rain