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Best Poems Written by Irene Hammer-Mclaughlin

Below are the all-time best Irene Hammer-Mclaughlin poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Irene Hammer-Mclaughlin Poem

Tiramisu

Decadent ladyfinger
Infused with coffee
Layered, rich, cheese filled delight
I long for your taste
My Italian love
And your rum
Yum!

Details | Irene Hammer-Mclaughlin Poem

Writer's Block

Hours spent in wondering
About absolutely nothing –
The unwritten poem
Too routine to read,
Too dreary to discuss.

Contemplating what could have been 
Belief in magical endings –
Impossible outcomes
Too stunning to let go
Too enchanted to write off.

I’ll write it
Yet don’t
Still hoping to receive
Some sign
Not to shelve it…

You’ve got the right idea!
Just go with it.
Free flow
Sans censorship.

There’s no rhyme here
Just extensive obstruction.
No reason for longing
After something 
That simply cannot be…

What could live up to 
These –
Impossible expectations?

Even if you won’t return
These feelings,
Please 
Don’t let me go.

Details | Irene Hammer-Mclaughlin Poem

The Snake's Complaint

You may wonder why I went after Eve.
Let’s face it: That was a big mistake.
At nun-time, attuned to the earth,
paradise on earth was mine…still I wanted more. 
So, I pulled myself up, joined with Re, and got heaven, too.

That should have done it: got creative, worked, achieved, 
partnered, advanced… merited a little reputation even.
But some revisionist considering the Egyptian myth
merely an approximation of happiness, and therefore
out of character, went with a more ambitious agenda 

(Give me more!) and altered the script. Red lined and marginally 
questioned for review, it seemed to call to me.
Beckoned for attention. Not one to settle for mediocrity,
I took on the challenge, of a vastly improved edition –
sought standing… and slipped.

Guess I misinterpreted the signs, didn’t understand that the 
surface itch might have been only for another version of me. 
A newer skin would feel so much more gratifying
than contracting myself around some same-species body.

It was and remains within me a discomfort in my being
a slow rise to the surface of squirm, a need to slither
from the source. Uncomfortable. Annoyed with the lack of 
consultation, nothing I would have ever turned 
down or dismissed – I just wish I had been in the loop.

She has separated from me already. 
My leaving the scene would only be
the physical manifestation, like the itch, 
a physical manifestation of discomfort
tangible to the one who feels it.

But, you can’t feel it, can you?
On the surface it appears calm,
but my skin burns for wanting, an escape.
Can you shed your own skin? 

I slinked up with it at all because of the promise of youth sleeping 
soundly in the garden, with no itch to complain of. No reason.

Still she will leave slivering down her own trail
then even a new skin wouldn’t hide the tells of an old mind: 
a new wrinkle in the scenario.
I’m getting old, the casing’s flaking off,
and I’m just itching to get out of here.
So what’s with the ironic punishment? 
God, He just evolved me from my fingers!

What a card, dealt summarily;
destined to tingle and unable to scratch.
You’ve been dismissed. So, let us give thanks to god. (Amen?)

How’d you like to be in the serpent’s shoes? 
Just some extra muscles running down a semblance of a spine,
Perhaps it’s evil to hold out apples like promises. (Give me more!)
Built to entice. Destined to disappoint.

If there’s one thing to be said in my own defense: I am flexible.

Details | Irene Hammer-Mclaughlin Poem

Nothing Wrong

Apparently nothing wrong happened here:
Some tales are simply meant to end with pain!
Nothing wrong has stifled this voice with fear.

Perhaps communication was unclear,
Or the conversation a bit inane?
Apparently nothing wrong happened here.

So -- big smile! Chuckle. Manifest good cheer,
Or at least look up to ignore the stain;
Nothing wrong has stifled this voice with fear.

Opposite plain language, most insincere
Utterances usually explain
Why apparently nothing wrong happened here.

Over nothing, don't shed one meager tear;
Do not question the arrangement again...
Nothing wrong has stifled this voice with fear.

It certainly doesn't help to complain --
All one can do is try to persevere.
Apparently nothing wrong happened here:
Nothing wrong has stifled this voice with fear.

Details | Irene Hammer-Mclaughlin Poem

Tooth Fairy's Lament

Baby teeth, two of them
loosening in her mouth force me to tears.

How under prepared for the coming of age
that will devour the entire night
in a prayer to a god not visited
since who knows when?

A complication all along
by the strangest of men who
somehow believes himself
impossibly responsible, sneaking in letters
sans a return address… 
No way to respond.

If one night she finds her good nature abused
for the unfathomable, seems 
one of us might feel that terror again.

The most selfish of bearers reckons that
loss bites bone deep. Devours.

Such little bones –
how heavy.

Details | Irene Hammer-Mclaughlin Poem

Querulous Shoe

Querulous Shoe


    I'm all worn 
   out. Would you 
   look at my heel? 
   She leaves pieces 
   of me all over this
   campus. Whoever
    bricked the walkway
     did not consider the 
      stiletto's plight. And my 
       chafing toe cap, awful.
       Given what she paid for
        me you'd    think she'd take 
         me to           a  cobbler once in a while? 
         Give               me a makeover! Show me some 
          love                -- instead the girl walks all over and within me, 
           by                      me. Her need breaks my sole. She just cannot 
           go	                           a single step without my most supportive arch.

Details | Irene Hammer-Mclaughlin Poem

Fugitive Spirit

This is the last of us you'll ever see.
You've executed that initial thrill.
With this goodbye, at last you're free of me.

Though you might miss the way we used to be,
Of recent suffering, you've had your fill;
This is the last of us you'll ever see.

Resist arrest, no penitentiary
Can hold an edgy soul against its will.
With this goodbye, at last you're free of me.

Be agile and elude captivity.  
Embrace no fondness that you wouldn’t kill.
This is the last of us you'll ever see.

You'll live a life now as an escapee
Concealing yourself with uncanny skill
With this goodbye, at last you're free of me.

Accept the fact however you did flee
You have emerged a harder person still.
This is the last of us you'll ever see.
With this goodbye, at last you're free of me.

Details | Irene Hammer-Mclaughlin Poem

Trash Talking

You indicated I don’t listen.
I respectfully disagree.
I hear you.
I just don’t like what you have to say.
Pretending to ignore you takes tremendous effort.
Quick to dismiss
that which emanates from a source
other than your own lips –
and it’s not like you’re the only one who likes to hear himself talk.

Trying to sleep
never should be undertaken.
That’s why we fall asleep.
There’s no effort.
Fall’s inevitable.
There’s a season for everything.
But this one’s 
short lived
and seemingly doesn’t come as often as it used to
before global warming and other major concerns
evidently.

… thinking about our earlier discussion
makes me wish I lacked lips
and that the cliché about going in 
one ear and out the other was more
literal than figurative.

I figure eventually this noise will
QUIET DOWN!
so that trying morphs
to falling
and dreamless sleep supplants
the constant drone of something
terribly wrong. 
Panic attacks that 
neverend
or seemingly seem so
prior to this pillow talk –
a case for a better 
container:
containment is key.

It turns out
that my point of entry 
always my biggest nightmare.
Big is such a small word.
I wish it was more attentive
of its status as an anomaly –
just a monosyllabic
monstrosity of awfulness.
B-I-G
A word so tiny
even toddlers
master its annunciation.
BIG!
From that which is so small.

If I said I forgave you
it would be nothing but a lie
but you would not apologize
anyway.

So all this talk is trash.
Be the big one. 
Say you’re sorry.

Just refuse for another  
Pronouncement
of lackluster
underachievement.
My comfort zone.

I’m sorry.
Yet again.

Details | Irene Hammer-Mclaughlin Poem

No Reason, Just Rhyme

Give it a shot!
Let's see what you've got...
Jot it down
Be a clown
Go have fun with the plot.

Take a crack at a rhyme -
This got wrote in no time!
Pick a path
Have a laugh
It won't cost you a dime.

Try for a tough stanza -
It will be a bonanza.
Got a sec?
What the heck:
Poetry extravaganza!

A little much, don't you think?
So throw me into the clink.
Toss the key...
Goodness me,
This thing sure does stink!

Details | Irene Hammer-Mclaughlin Poem

Security Checkpoint

You had to pass through security
and insisted you could stand 
on your own two feet
and progress of your own volition.

Though your wheelchair
and diagnosed dementia
evidence to the contrary,
I figured: Who would it hurt?

The stares of strangers
as I held your hands
and helped you to your feet
informed me that I might be hurt --

Poor dear, so young to have
to care for one so old!

Or, perhaps, hurting you --

How could she put 
him through this?

With the weight of their eyes upon
us, you leaned on me and lurched:
arduous, shuffling, inching on
until you passed through security.

You made it to the other side
with a walk you won't remember,
and I'll not soon forget.