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Best Poems Written by Candide Diderot

Below are the all-time best Candide Diderot poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Candide Diderot Poem

Within the White Noise

Have you ever pondered
shadows are made of 
softness, they are not 
hard surfaced like 
those of us existing 
outside of the white noise

unable to grasp -

the invisible, 
that speak meaning to us, 
whispering their sagacious platitudes,
we see them briefly, then, 
they disappear into the cracks 
in the walls of us,

we are blind -

to the shadows that stand
and walk beside us,
they make us jump, 
so we avoid looking
too closely, 
at those penumbras

we shut our windows,
we roll down the venetians,
those masks we wear daily - 
no one is an open book,
we are the bookmarks,
in our own recycling stories,
 
dog-eared each chapter -

returning occasionally
to understand what 
long sentences mean
in the shorter less than 
poetic moments 
of our purpose

intelligence scattered -

running from the hell hounds
those shadows we never 
successfully collar and lead,
they find us eventually 
and lick at our feet,
praying for us to take them in,

to love them, to tame them,
but they are wild things, living,
all in their own dimensions;
the shadows that walk beside us,
the ones we hardly ever notice, 
feed those baying Baskervilles light

to satiate, and to calm them, 
we try to love them,
those hell hounds - 
eventually they possess us,
for a while, their hunger strays
to other things

we ride the wild 
like we are them, 
they eventually turn on us
and take us by the throat, then,
we, unable to speak, resort
to writing poetry 

they rip our hearts out
greedily, the blood leaves 
a trail - and we look, 
for the shadows again,
to bring us light, still,
something of the hounds remain

you can see it 
in the eyes, 
something wild
romping in the mind, 
pulsing bright light
like a neon sign 
advising, 

"avoid at all costs, 
The Uncontained"

avoiding at all costs,
for it is far far too expensive
to entertain the loss of time
in such darkness, 
the ripening fear in others
steers them mercilessly,

they turn their backs
and walk away,
from all 
that singular madness,
"no! never that!", they think, 
that is never them;

that one, singing
beautiful unlearn’ed tunes 
to mirrors in the darkness, 
dances with ghosts 
who remember 
the brush strokes of a life,

listening to other channels -

who gift 
strange meaning
embedded automatically
between the magik 
refrains of music
of the forgotten 

the phantom heartbeat -

that one 
is with the Baskervilles
running wild and free 
barking with shadows 
loving the luscious life licking
the uncontained within





Candide Diderot. ‘24

Details | Candide Diderot Poem

The Pain Sweet

Existentially you think
you know me 
having eaten a slice 
of my mind 
delicious you think
the bubbling froth 
of this poetry
peppered with sprinkles
of rising undertones 
the sugar depth charged
unstirred, yet 
touch the lip of my cup
you’d feel the burn 
the tongue means to speak
unhoneyed
the kiss stings 
the pain 
swollen 
and 
sweet







Candide Diderot. '24

Details | Candide Diderot Poem

The Unknown




“The Unknown”


Something beautiful in the ugly of it all
raised its hand in the classroom 
and asked, 

is that all?

The Reader considered it all. 
Silently. 

Perhaps there is Life 
on Mars after all. 
Safely removed from the 
pages of this world. 

Who in their right mind
would query 
The Unknown?
give proper and correct 
answers to it all -

The Unknown. 



Candide Diderot. ‘24

Details | Candide Diderot Poem

Major Love



"Major Love"


My dear Major Love, 

are You following me yet?
all the sunrising storms read?
soliloquys too many to mention
my very brave Major Love

You’ll find me yet
tomorrow 
is never too late
in this dreamscape

it won’t be the Love 
that everyone suspects
it commenced inside and yet
You made it out two weeks late

are You following me yet?
Footprints left 
oh so very left, yet You 
are right, so very very right 

it's all very 
black and white

messy and neat
romance of a lifetime
my brave Major Love
yet, somehow I know You 

this You know alone,
You feel incomplete

dear Major Love 
You’ll find me yet 
lost in the crowd of 
any leftfield audience 

their better minds in hand
do not fit this catcher’s mit
that is a fact, You can be certain
of that, my brave Major Love

but You, my dear Major Love
1st base, 2nd, and 3rd 
always watched, as if an eyeball 
in the sky hovers over You

holds You 
fast and intent 
watching for all 
the home runs you have spent

I am not in the bleechers
I am fixed on You focused eyed
the winning ball pitching Life
It is only for You

in dreams 
I will always meet You

are You ready? 
it is all for You
stoic Major Love
one two three owl 

one two three owl

eyes wide open You now 
strike matched and outrun 
winning the race, yet 
sometimes we lose, Major Love 

but We losers
get back up again 
there is no giving up
there is never no giving up

all the way home
my brave Major Love 
the game already won
the field wide open before You

You'll fall again, this much is true, 
but We get back up again
there is never no giving up
my much loved Major Love

the whole field before You
my gloriously embarrassed
heart read Major Love
face flushed, You are 

always Loved
my best Major Love

We dance
We love
We fall
We get back up again 

always for Love
it is always for Love
courage, my much loved
only Major Love



Candide Diderot. ‘24 
lux gvlm lux







"There's no eye in the sky
Just our love
No unobstructed view
No perfect truths
Just our love, just our love
And there's no verse
No monument of words
For our love
For they can't hold
All I know
About my love, about my love..."

Details | Candide Diderot Poem

small exorcisms

When your heart 
corresponds 
with your mind,
then, give it a shot,
you write 
back to me

what expressions 
you so badly 
need 
to bleed;

the characterisation 
of letters 
are alphabet soup 
to me, child's play,
peeling tattoos 
like bells ringing 
over a tongue 
not speaking,

I swallow words
hungrily 

then I spit them out,
bullets that pierce
a page, 
bulls eyes
staring back 
through the black holes, 
the other silent horns, 
all silently complicit 

small missions 
of truth 
cornucopias,
wearing through 
the thin fabric 
of ludicrous 
fantasy

feathers that fall 
from soft pillows
quaking against 
levees breaking
the barriers hitting marks 
the sands of time broken,
river banks splitting, 

the bodies drowned
and sucked up
like works of art
in a hyped up 
Hieronymus Bosch,
if you are in deep
you can make sense 
of it all, 

you know you're in it, 
that picture, way, way
up to your eyeballs

brushing against 
all the others, removed, 
flotsam and jetsam 
in the wash, sensing 
the path they all took,
but the mystery 
of never quite knowing, 
like a smell, pervades

charcoal tears 
melt all the ways
a heart can be kicked
down and gutted 
witnessed through 
gilt edged windows
full and jaded

to a gate opening,
the sound cracking 
like a mouth 
terraforming 

dustied and green 
the shaman soul 
found underneath 
it all, humourously
rustling sage over 
the external, 
a serious novice 
for burning 

small 
exorcisms

smoking out
renegades, those
stubborn seeds planted 
in long spent sentences,
those true romantics,
the forgotten ill-bred,
well-tilled, rebel poets

small 
exorcisms

for burning





Candide Diderot. ‘24 



violins.

Details | Candide Diderot Poem

Cascade of Reflection

You could look for me forever
in the well of words that 
float or drown in your mind
and I’d be forever 
your reflection 
lapping at your fingers
inky love rippling, 
teasing and intangible,
just a little out of reach,
like a fountain,
the sweet condition
slow burn, 
bubbling up,
you feeling 
the familiar,
you’re about 
ready to spill,
mind wet,
you take a sip
from the cup







Candide Diderot. ‘24

Details | Candide Diderot Poem

That Place



"That Place"

In that place where you were abandoned,
that place, they never thought, you’d come back from, 
in that place where it is believed nothing grows 
in the long night’s tortured darkness, deep down, well,   
a spark lit something quite quiet, far removed and forgotten, 
and now it grows rapidly, coiling inside, 
snaking sharp-edged like mother’s tongue root 
it transmits something alive, something like love, 
its veins drawing back in again a loquacious life, 
the moisture from tears, a necessary nourishment
from the lake of disbelief, betrayal, trauma and grief, 
a bless'ed blooming in disguise, 
the succulent luscious life those all important tears gift;
what spreads from the darkness and its erratic reach, 
calling into it all embers of ethereal light? Now ultra-lit,
some revolutionary reincarnation arrives back from the dead,
it soaks the unseen light up greedily, for it is extraordinarily hungry,
to taste if but just a drop of sunshine in the glory of forever and ever,
this is what it dreams when it sleeps; 
after the amen, hibernation, 
it grows and it spreads robust, rigorous (not necessarily), yet,
like a beautiful irregular disease, there is no turning back
once the light kisses it and it has a taste for life, 
it goes looking for some kinder heaven;
yes, this is accurate, I do believe -
from nothing something blooms 
from nothing, the arrival, awake, 
life lessons learned,
what is poor, and what is rich, 
what is true and untrue




Candide Diderot. '24

Details | Candide Diderot Poem

All Hail



"All Hail"

Within the sky of blue,
embedded liked jewels
the many hidden colours,
the truest hues
arrive in storms,
where all the hail
like eyes falling
from the vaults
of heaven
melt bad dreams,
and the better,
lost in cloudy vision,
are drawn back in
and up again -
all hail 
the Inclement,
and their 
cloudy whethers



Candide Diderot. ‘24

Details | Candide Diderot Poem

Somewhere Safe Little Ghost, in your Mirrors


"Somewhere Safe Little Ghost, in your Mirrors"

You asked me, 
what happens when we go -
then what next?
I replied to you, 

“God, only knows, little ghost”.

You asked me,
“When you visit, after you go -
how will I know you’re there?’
I replied to you, 

“Look for me 
in your mirrors, 
the windows to inside 
never lie, little ghost.”

You asked me, then, 
“What if I’m scared? 
Will you visit me then?”
I replied, 

“You won’t be scared.
You’ll be looking for me in everything,
you’ll know me inside out, by then.
I'll always be with you, I'll always be there."


Candide Diderot. ‘24

Details | Candide Diderot Poem

Cocoon


"Cocoon"

They say...
a New World 
traces over the old,
leaving the unaware,
erased, far behind 

the old unaware, 
left far behind,
crawls the walls
in its web of lies
spinning suspect 
strings of silk 
in the air

glistening diamond nets
slick and sticky with the sense 
of capturing a life 
drowning in teardrops
that camouflage the trap it set,
feeling little of nothing
harbouring in its well 

tended lack of empathy,
its tricks of confidence, 
walking the mucky 
sterile floors of Freedom 
shining a smile that hides
a crime far beyond incarceration - 
another terrible premeditated theft, 

there they walk, that paragon,
cruising, no less, with the 
cargo they’ve thieved
from that which is remissed,
they talk the talk 
and walk the walk, 
and they live and breathe,

brokering shallow promises 
and stealing dreams 
of the sleeping Other's 
blueprints
of a rich inner world, 
a beautiful life, the architecture
within that which sleeps, quite complex;

while The Cocooned sleep,
exhausted, they find it 
succours them that pleasurable
avoidance, it is an isolated habit, 
a symptom brought about 
by breathing in the constant untruths 
of dodgy Freedom salesmen

The Cocooned, 
close their eyes
returning to that safe 
dark far away removed place,
it is warm and comfortable,
and there The Cocooned 
find themselves at peace,

and The Cocooned sleep 
and they sleep, 
closing out the noise 
of the denials 
of the paroledphiles
and their cloistered 
devil's advocates;

it would seem, 
for many seasons 
The Cocooned has 
contracted this sleeping 
disease, lost in the 
ghostly cathedrals and 
spooky vestal halls of poetry

forging friendships 
with other 
phantom beings
who partake in the art 
of seeking answers 
through the writing 
of witchery, 

casting their spells
of grisled beauty, 
romance gone amuck
the love for lost children,
wars, their vengeful birthright,
blue skies, daffodils, sunshine, 
holy ghosts, broken bread 
and wine, chalices of blood, 
the letdown of  milk and 
hellelujah honey – 

far far away cocooned

in the far removed place 
of Love and bitter endings
they dream 
of new beginnings,
they turn as they sleep,
hibernating on the chance of victory 
in deep dreams to be achieved, 

erased, left far behind;

They say a new world 
traces over the old
leaving the old unaware 
erased, far behind 

yet in the highest corner 
of the room, there is a cocoon
hidden, unthreatening,
it’s been just hanging there
for years and years,  
sometimes you can 
even imagine you can 
see it move 

inside 
the web of lies 
wrapped around the treasure 
at the core of the cocoon, 
witness the thing 
still beating 
loud and clear,  

Love 
is still fed constantly 
to that thing
with the scarlet fat of Truth, 
it is blood coloured vermillion
and pumping Pimpernel 
it feeds on the grit of 
strange hymns and poésie 

and unaware, 
it sleeps and it dreams,
that it is glory bound,
cocooned like a mummy 
in vast decades of spider webs,
it waits and it waits
and it waits, and waits

the hidden blows by demons repeat
the bludgeon in a bad dream, like insanity 
the dare of the thing inside 
inconceivably upstartful, continues to fan 
the miniscule embers of hope
holding still a little light
to firestart better larger things

the patience of it 
is hard earned, 
and commendable, 
it is like a little death bit by bit,
inconseqential, to observers
the thing inside burns truth-full
and it becomes exalted, well lit

the observers are oblivious 
to the Light of real things,

the smaller life of the better,
that remains living inside
the living shell of itself, 
like a soul - it carries those 
it meets in their dreams -
it carries them along 
for the grand ride, 
they have a purpose,
they have a role

there its past is exchanged 
for better currency, 

the myths and legends 
embedded in dark woods
the lost lovers of strange ghosts
of former beings monked, 
all meet The Cocooned there,
dressed in scrolls of hidden shining, 
gems like Re’ems of poetry, 

these odd 
elfen beings and spectrals

walk The Cocooned to streams, 
where they are dunked 
and baptised forthwith – by 
overzealous do-gooding priests,
they are then intolerably carried away
on the backs of brookish books
to become Calypso creatures 
swimming a Life in deep deep oceans - 

meanwhile, back to reality, 

buffeted 
in its cocoon 
by slights and the tawdry
breezes of misfortune
The Cocooned rolls over
and creates ...
a new world, for, 
it is still growing 
after all

the heart of it 
pierces through
the “T”hird eye, 
(capital T for Trouble),
situated firmly open
above a sharp mind 
and a recalcitrant 
spine of steel

sticks and stones 
opens further the mind 
of the sleep cursed Cocooned, and
like a scarab inside,
the idle heart -
to assuage its hunger -
feeds the smaller bugs to its mind, 

nutritious 
little morsels, like 
the trust, to believe
in birthing 
something unseen,
something entirely new
and gloriously revolutionary;

the mind listens to 
the heart’s ideas, and
for once...it doesn’t think -
it remains still and cloistered, 
and like all things 
fed “Love”,
the mind is now opening, 
it begins to feel

the mind feels something 
new and exciting in higher realms
warmed by a strange Light 
that penetrates The Cocooned
from the heart inside out,
and the sadness rises
on the divine notes 
of dulcimer music and poetry

what is fed Love, 
is never left behind
with the old unaware 
erased, walking far away
hand-in-hand with the dead
far below;

They say a new world 
traces over the old 
leaving the unaware,
erased, far behind 



Candide Diderot. ‘24 






Re’em. 
Kali.
"Tarantula"/This Mortal Coil (Lyrics).
"Kubla Khan"/Samuel Taylor Coleridge, excerpt.