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Best Poems Written by Robert Kinard

Below are the all-time best Robert Kinard poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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As a Poet

As a poet
you have the right 
to remain silent.
If you give up that right.
Anything you say
can and will be used
in the court of public opinion.
You have the right to use
a computer keyboards.
If you cannot afford one,
a pen with a piece of paper
will be provided for you.
You have the right to speak like an Attorney,
to take your readers on a trip or a journey.
Giving them a feeling of anticipation.
Using words out of context or connotation,
or use long words like conversation.
You have the right to give feelings a voice,
to express yourself in every 
kind and category of poetry,
or muster a musical group
like the one called Floetry.
You have the right, to recite, day or night
to speak out loud! in front of a crowd!
To make yourself heard!
With the freedom of the spoken word!
To stand and proclaim, to entertain,
Or choose the words to describe your pain!
You, have the right to complain.
Know that for you, no subject is taboo.
Only season your words with grace,
as you may have to eat them,
if they are thrown back in your face.

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Talking To the Trees

The seasons change with time,
picture mother nature 
as a fashion designer 
who can't make up her mind.
Talking to the trees:
Ok, everyone, everyone,
fashions for fall.
Green is no longer in,
let's try red.
yellow.
and brown.
Oh, never mind 
let everything 
fall to the ground.
I know! 
Why don't I let you trees go bare?
you’re not bashful,
it’s not like you need underwear.

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They Speak of You

They Speak of You 

Hey beautiful,
How often
have I called you softly 
by that name?
Your voice is a warm whisper
more soothing 
than a gentle rain.
You are lovely in so many ways,
I could spend eighty-eight days 
times eighty-eight ways,
just writing poems and plays.
Dedicated to just how beautiful you are...
From your head to your toes 
to your near perfect nose
and all your girly parts in between.
...
You have only to look in the mirror 
to see what I mean.
You are the beauty 
of a single sunflower
in the middle of a desert oasis,
as twilight sets fire 
to the sun baked sands.
You were created by the hand of God
and wanted by every man.
You are the beauty 
of a cool glass of water
on a world where summer is eternal,
and no one has had a drink 
in a thousand years.
What I believe to be true,
the word beautiful 
was invented for you.
So, when anyone, 
anywhere, at any time
utters the word beautiful, 
they speak of you.
Perfect in all your imperfections
you've been beautiful all your life.
And if it hasn't happened already,
one day some lucky young man,
is gonna beg you 
to be his wife.
For your a natural beauty,
that kind of beauty
where make up makes no sense.
You’re the answer to the question...
Why mess with perfection?

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Storm a Child's Playroom

Come with me in realty, 
as we weather an approaching storm. 
Dark clouds gathering 
like people coming to see a fight. 
And something about this thing doesn’t feel right. 
A flash of lightning and thunder rumbling right over head. 
A few drops start to fall here and there 
then a sprinkle that slowly start to drizzle. 
You’re getting soaked to the skin 
as you make time to get the clothes off the line.  
The wind feels warm and wet,  
and yet, bits of hail start to fall. 
Holding your clothes like a beach ball 
you run for cover as you trip
and lucky for you landing in your clothes
as you fall. 
Picking you and your now dirty clothes off the ground.  
While you’re being pelted by Beebe's that feel like golf balls.		 
A torrent of rain begins to pour  
if only you can make it to your door. 
You are caught between the house  
and the car and both are just as far. 
Somewhere in the distance you hear a siren. 
A storm warning for people to cover.  
You hear what sounds like...  train engines.  
But there is no train station nearby.    
The wind is making it hard to breath, 
and yet the dust makes you sneeze. 
You can hear wood splitting, 
branches breaking as trees start to give way...    
The muffled sound of them hitting the ground 
can be felt in your feet. 
The force of the wind in your face has you 
leaning forward in retreat. 
The rain is relentless like weather gone to war. 
It’s never been this bad before.
Now, if only you could just make it to the door. 
Caught on the fence as it snagged your dress, 
and fear has your heart  jumping out of your chest. 
Dropping the clothes, as you make it into the house, 
into the bathroom.  
Trying hard not to pee on yourself, 
as you climb in the tub. 
Water running down your legs so you let go.
No one going to know. 
Pulling the shower curtain closed. 
The rain sounds like an avalanche pounding on the roof. 
Falling to your knees praying, 
like a deeply devout person. 
Heavenly Father please if you take the house, 
please take the payments too! 
I know the house and everything in it that I own, 
I know it’s only on a loan.  
I pray you let me live a little longer  
and with your help I know I will manage to be stronger. 
The noise of rattling windows as train engines roar! 
Lighting strikes a telephone pole right outside your door. 
The loud crack of thunder is deafening  
like God choose that moment to speak, 
leaving you in the dark, feeling humbled and weak. 
Frightened you recite the Lord’s prayer as if for the first time.
But he also made you a poet, 
so you remember to thank him in rhyme.  
The wind sounds like a pack of wolves howling at the moon 
This storm won’t be over none too soon. 
The storm rages all of that night. 
You don’t remember when you fell asleep. 
You woke early the next morning. 
Thunder rumbling in the distance the rain stops 
And then...   And then...  all is quiet... 
A single bird starts singing... 
Then you hear the muffled sound of your car alarm 
on the wrong side of the house. 
You gather your courage 
and venture outside where (to put it nicely)
 the neighborhood looks like a child’s playroom.

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The Poor Man's Poet

(A Carnival Barker)
There’s no shame in my game,
I write to entertain
This is from my upcoming book 
that has no name.
Poetry that entertains.
 
I am the halftime show 
always ready to go...
A delightful distraction,
sharing that verbal interaction.
I’m a good time on two feet
An Army of one.
And a legend in progress...

As history repeats itself,
and criminal’s return 
to the scene of the crime.
I like reciting my poetry 
before an audience 
each and every time.
My name is Bobby K,
and I am 
The Poor Man’s Poet.

Another wizard of the word
that live in Williamsburg.
I appear before you
like an apparition on a mission.
Reaching deep
within your intellect,
bringing forth knowledge
in the form of old 
forgotten memories,
that become epiphanies.
Making you aware,
that you now know
what you didn't know
a moment ago.
Here tonight, right now 
in this room,
I am a little man
among poetic giants.
A veritable light weight
in the power of the word.
But as I'm relatively new
in the history of poetry.
You'll have to forgive me
as I find myself at fault,
for being wise 
within my ignorance...

My name is Bobby K, 
and I am The Poor Man's Poet.

Details | Robert Kinard Poem

The Visit

Hey!! wake up!!  
you don't wanna miss this!!
The soft voice that woke him, 
he didn't know.
Opening his eyes 
and seeing two grim faces.
Along with one that was 
angry and beautiful.
And the startling fact 
the last thing he heard 
was the hammer 
being pulled back.
Click Click Click

None of them 
were family or kin, 
never mind the question 
of how they got in.
Waking up to cold steel 
touching his skin.
But wait!  
...
This is not where the story begins.
A young no talent Rapper, 
pimp wanna be, 
just turning twenty-three.
Running the streets 
trying to be somebody.
Not a member of a gang 
speaking nothing but slang.
using every four-letter word 
except B-E-L-T.
That he needs to hold up 
the jeans hanging off his behind.
Thinking he's fine and in fashion 
and always looking for some action.
Got the hook up 
and now carrying 
a black 38 Smith & Wesson. 
The young blood is in need 
of a good lesson.
Saw a beautiful young lady 
and not wanting to miss a chance 
for a little romance.
He showed the lady 
the caliber of his conversation.
Of course, she was not impressed.  
But ask for his phone number.
Saying playfully, 
you'll be hearing from me.
And well you know the rest.
Hey!! Wake up!! 
You don't wanna miss this!!
Click Click Click

Details | Robert Kinard Poem

Weather

The Seasonal family 
of Mother Nature
and Father Time
When it comes to
a family reunion,
they are never far behind.
Winter, Spring, Summer 
and Fall.

With her daughter 
always on the ball.
Mother Nature’s 
first born, Weather.

She is not as predictable 
as we would like to think.
Weather may be 
in the mood for
named hurricanes 
or devastating tornadoes. 
She'll place water spouts 
over the ocean.
She may feel like a little
Wind, Rain, Sleet and Snow.
Weather has been known
to let a blizzard blow.
A drought in the desert 
together goes well
with scorching heat,
and on some occasions 
she has been known 
to give us hail
in the middle of 
a thunderstorm.
Just to let you know
Weather is always 
on the go.

Details | Robert Kinard Poem

The Soaps

(As the World Turns)
It’s (Ryans Hope)
(The Doctors)
and staff at 
(General Hospital).
With their
(Love of Life) and 
(One Life to Live).
Will share their (Passions)
and show
(All My Children) 
(The Brighter Day).

In their 
(Search for Tomorrow),
at (The Edge of Night)
in (Dark Shadows).
(The Secret Storm)
hit (Sunset Beach)
(Port Charles)
(Texas)

With a (Loving) and 
(Guiding Light),
(Santa Barbara)
shows (Bright Promise)
as (Another World) for 
(The Bold and the Beautiful).

Details | Robert Kinard Poem

A World of Cravings

When you have a desire
for something,
You have an intense craving 
that just won’t quit.
For some people 
it’s called a Nicotine Fit.
Desperate people will check 
the ashtrays
Before they ask…
Can I get a cigarette?
They crave and enjoy the pleasure,
that first satisfying drag.
Moving their arm in that wonderful 
back & forth motion.

Those of you who crave,
already know it’s no joke,
You want that morning fix.
Most of you know 
what I mean…
You’re addicted and need
that daily cup of caffeine.
We all play the game,
It’s a cup of Coffee 
by another name.
Java has that smooth taste 
You don’t want to waste,
to start your day,
You desire and enjoy that
first satisfying sip,
keeping you in stride,
And some bring cigarettes along 
for the ride.
As Java goes down your throat.
Some grab the car keys 
and others grab the TV remote.

Now, one of the sweeter things in life,
Like when a man takes a wife.
A craving that has both 
Men and women 
going out of their way.
For something chocolate 
to make their day.
Some say it taste like sex,
And if it does, 
then I’ve been eating 
the wrong chocolate.

Now on their exciting
European honeymoon,
Traveling by Train.
33 countries one rail pass.
Something they both crave,
To see each other,
As they see the world.

And then there are cravings
that ladies have had,
it’s not that bad.
They delightfully suffer
when life is about to 
make them a mother.
When a little one is on their way.
Being pregnant comes with a
wish for a short and painless delivery day.
But before that day,
Cravings are cravings,
Like liver and onions with cheese
and red grapes.
Like Crab legs you can’t seem 
to get enough of.
Like Apple sauce with ketchup,
Cucumbers with Pepper and vinegar.
Like Argo cornstarch 
Strait out of the box with a spoon.
Like Green grapes and Nectarines.
Tacos and nachos,
need I say more,
People have cravings
of all kinds…
What’s yours?

Details | Robert Kinard Poem

One Perfect Rose

I’ve giving you flowers since we met, 
with this gentle message   
I hope you won’t regret.
Your natural beauty is what I chose. 
Like this flower, 

One Perfect Rose.

Life is a garden full of 
Daisy, Dandelions and Daffodils. 
But you are the one I chose,
 
One Perfect Rose.

Cupid uses a bow I suppose, 
a flowers language always knows, 
that within these peddles  
my heart is enclosed.

One Perfect Rose.