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Best Poems Written by Terrence Tennessee

Below are the all-time best Terrence Tennessee poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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I Ain'T Here

My name comes from the Greek men:
'Alexandros' - protector
of man and the enemy.
My purpose became such that
the joy of others must be
found. And help to found what makes
that joy preface to the start.

Born, my name was shortened by
my mom, she dropped the 'man' part.
Who does an 'alex' protect?
And who does that name defend?
The etymology was
my only clue for a goal.
But what of my purpose now?

Even today, my self has
yet to be found by my soul.
Haunted by the thought that a
house not rented cannot host
love. Me, protector, scared of
the dark.
But darkness comes from the sun
and my answer comes at dusk.

No 'i' in this poem.
6/21/2021
Emile Pinet - Lipogram Poem Poetry Contest

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The Highway Witch

I'm into astrology and reading tea leaves,
while others in the coven read their palms.
                          A west coast look;
                            a beginner.

I sip tea with a halo from the morning brew,
others write lines like they've seen the future.
I'm my own judge, buried before the kill,
but I sprinkle my tea leaves on the LA highway.

        Drunk during my own rituals,
        do I blame magic on my love?

                          My tea spills on
                          the asphalt dawn.


19/2/2021
Emile Pinet
'Fragmented Verse'

Details | Terrence Tennessee Poem

Sylvia Plattitudes

Lying in my bed, I gazed at the ceiling.
A star's advice ran through my head:
Don't let other people define you,
You know yourself, no one else does.

Lying flat on my stomach, I felt my feelings.
Accustomed to the white noise of the dusty AC.
Zealot to my own daydreaming, I lie to me. 
Awake, but only that. I wait for a savior.
Redemption for my complaints, I speak in venoms;
Ushering friends to a land of red tears.
Styx and the Rolling Stones, the carry-on Charon.

Average temperatures are 90 degrees Fahrenheit;
When can I cease drinking air, like warm milk?
All around my ceremonial bed: cats and guts.
Kryptonite had the best of me and my
Eulogies are sung by my dusty AC.
Salvation brought by the alarm clock: just five more minutes.

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Paper Cutouts

My house mothers             the sweet sting of cooked nettle,

Nothing nailed to the walls              for these come with me.

   And I hear the airplane groove,                   I'm on the move.

                       Like thin oil in water,                         I never settle.

Liberum Divisa 6, 31st of May 2021. These lines are taken from my poem "Burning Papers Fly" written on the 26th of May 2021.

Details | Terrence Tennessee Poem

Mantra: I Will Create As I Speak

Seventh,
In the taxi,
The driver's arms fan out
like a praying mantis, ready
for the kill. Old thin arms.
In the backseat:
the prey.

Seventh,
Today is mist.
Dark blue buildings grow high.
But disappear into the sky.
Their heavy secrets swim,
incognito,
in me.

Seventh:
I wear layers
And I was born ready
To show off a crop top cover
Over my thin pale skin.
Freakshow for fans;
I'm me.

Seventh:
I'm the killer,
Killing time with poems.
Just like Salem hangs its witches.
I wait for my trial
My justice served
Too cold.

Seventh 
And it could be
Eight or ninth after me.
Life lived, waiting on a park bench.
Tall, slender ghosts and I
Moan across time:
Judgment.

Seventh:
White picket fence
Limit my lime green grass
Of home. I await my return,
Spiritual,
Cosmic.

Seventh
This is my last
True American line.
Dear Boston, please don't rain for me. 
Grow your Fenway leaves and
Kenmore brick tiles,
I'm gone.

Details | Terrence Tennessee Poem

Burning Papers Fly

The vines' tips grow slow, lime green, still no petal.
My plants are in pots, my garden is empty.
I'm on the move, and I hear the airplane groove.
My wedding finger smells of rusty metal.
The laundry spirals, hungry, with just one sock,
If I choose home, am I Hansel or Gretel?
Time to make a cake, I buzz the microwave.
My house mothers the sweet sting of cooked nettle,
Nothing nailed to the walls for these come with me.
And I hear the airplane groove, I'm on the move.
Like thin oil in water, I never settle. 

May. 24th., 2021.
A new Abracadabra poem Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Emile Pinet