Home » Poems » Best » Andrew Herrera » Best Andrew Herrera Poems

Best Poems Written by Andrew Herrera

Below are the all-time best Andrew Herrera poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Andrew Herrera Poem

The Music Box

A child’s music
box, painted in gold and dust
is left to the flies

Details | Andrew Herrera Poem

F.A.G.

A fag is something you fear? 
A fag is nothing but a
Fabulous and
Awesome
Gentleman.
A fag,
comparable to
a bunch of sticks.
You’re afraid
of a bunch 
of sticks?
Who’s the sissy
now
Macho Man,
Mr. Testosterone,
Captain Incredible?
A fag,
homosexual,
gay,
comparable to
pure happiness.
Does
happiness
threaten you?
Don’t you want
to be happy
Macho Man,
Mr. Testosterone,
Captain Incredible?
What kind of
person doesn’t 
want to be 
happy to 
become happy?
It’s your
natural 
right, or
at least
the pursuit is.
Be happy.
Be gay.
You’ll like it. 
It’s fun.

Details | Andrew Herrera Poem

Shining

Today I met a man without a name.
When I looked at him he looked my way.
I was curious as to who this man really was, 
so I tried to group my words in my mind, 
but I couldn’t find the ones 
that form my thoughts.
So I stood there,
and he stood there,
silently staring in complete
wonder and amazement. 

The moon was shining through 
a window behind him and I wanted to say 
What a beautiful moon we have tonight. But it 
seemed to soon to ruin the silence with 
unnecessary sound. 
So, I stood there, 
silently staring into his eyes, 
which were a deep, dark brown. 
We seemed to have an entire conversation 
without ever opening our mouths.

He said he’s gone through half his life
and not a single moment has passed by
that he’s a bit proud of. And I said I,
I can change that. I can give you a life 
that you can take home to your parents, 
that you can brag about in your locker 
room rants to your, so-called friends,
to your quasi tolerable co-workers 
who can’t stop bragging about the
promotion that they got and 
you thought you had in the bag. 

He listened,
though he saw a future that I didn’t. 
I couldn’t see that it was just a 
fantasy that I couldn’t get out of my head. 
Soon, he made me see. 
He made me see the closed doors and the
broken floor boards of this 
not so squeaky clean dream.

Today I conversed with man, he had no name. 
And without ever once opening his mouth,
he told me about the nothings that cloud
his entire life so far. 
I looked at him and he looked my way. 
I couldn’t help but figure out that his
life mirrored mine.
A life like a cloudy April day. 

Staring into the doorway of our future 
selves, we couldn’t speak. 
And when I say we, I really mean me. 
Because I’m
silently staring into a combination of 
silver and glass made to reflect 
the innermost self. 
But who am I? 
Who is the man that stares back at me?

Details | Andrew Herrera Poem

My Great Escape

Sittin' here, feelin' uneasy
Not at all sleepy
Sweet sounds of Norah Jones
Tickle my ear drums
I find refuge in the blues
This is not NEWS
to the people who love me
If this is a crime
Please, do cuff me

One Rhythm, One Rhyme
preps me for the climb
to the top of the world
Where I will find
Happiness in a swirl
of chocolate on the mind

Rhythm & Blues, Rock N' Roll
Stirred up in a big bowl
The recipe for the perfect Led Zeppelin
add Hip-Hop, Metal, and all the fixin’s
Then you have Linkin Park
Just Crawling, not quite Crawling in the Dark
I laugh, I love, I listen
To the bands that make me glisten

For dessert
Happiness in a swirl of 
Chocolate on the mind
One Rhythm, One Rhyme

Details | Andrew Herrera Poem

His Plaid Shirt

His silence
outlines 
His beauty

As does
His 
shy 
demeanor

A small tug
of His
faded
plaid shirt
sends me
into
blind 
ecstasy

Mutual acquaintances
have
brought US
together

But not nearly
as together
as
I’d
like

Waist; Body;
Beauty; Smile

A shy smile
with His
eyes down

Bliss

He gives me
a loud peace

Heart, 
jumping
in my throat

Will this 
ever be?

Leaving him
Irks me
Twists me
Burns me

But I must

Unaware
He is
of 
my
lust 
for
Him

Pushing me
into the unknown

Without 
the satisfaction

of 
Knowing Him
Having Him
or
Loving Him

I’m
Left with 
my lust
and His
faded
plaid
shirt

Details | Andrew Herrera Poem

My Muse Is a Boy

He slinks to his place under the tree,
carrying his bag of art that swings
against his slender legs, and
he sits on a leaf-littered patch of grass
that’s surely brown beneath the
dull oranges and yellows of the leaves.

And as he sits, his shirt lifts up,
revealing just a taste of that delightful
flat stomach, which is only one thing
of beauty about this boy.
There’s a list.

A long list of beauty and perfection
and even grace as he taps his feet on 
the ground and drums his fingers on
his lean thighs, listening to whatever
music is his preference.

I can’t help staring and
I can’t help feeling like I’m
stalking this boy that’s just a few
years younger than myself.
But his beauty enthralls me to
the point of hypnotization, to
the point that I can’t look away,
until he looks in my direction
then my eyes go north, east, south,
west, whatever direction he’s not in.

But seconds later I’m back to 
taking in the shape of his torso and
the strong muscles of his forearms
that are revealed by rolled up sleeves.
Then, I’m back to his lean thighs
and the way they taper down to his 
thin, but strong and firm calves. 

He looks over in my direction 
once again, this time I’m frozen
and can’t look away. He smiles 
and my body starts to tremble 
and I feel as if I could crumble 
away at any moment.

He rises from his patch of grass,
leaving his bag of art behind him.
Now he’s next to me and I can’t seem
to open my mouth to say a simple “Hello”.
He’s silent as well, but then he
Kisses me
Kisses me
Kisses me

Now I’m back.
Staring into space.
I look to the left a bit and
he’s there, now lying on his
patch of grass, 
listening and tapping and drumming.

Details | Andrew Herrera Poem

The Birthday Party

I was a boy; about nine or ten.
I asked my mom for a birthday 
Party, and this is what she said:

But we had a party for you last year
Don’t you remember?
There were balloons in every different
Color of the imagination.
There were clowns and we ate cotton 
Candy in blue and pink and even green.
But you cried.
You were scared of the clowns and
The candy gave you a tummy ache.
There was a petting zoo
And it was filled with animals
From all around the world
And a giant red rollercoaster
But you cried.
The animals stunk of poo poo you said
And you wouldn’t get on the rollercoaster;
You have a fear of heights.
Don’t you remember
The clowns
The chickens
The balloons
The coasters
The games
The prizes
The party?
You cried and you said
That you never wanted another
Party ever, ever again.

But now I recall that
party never happened,
I was never afraid of clowns
and I’m not afraid of heights.
Mother never through me a party.
That I remember.

Details | Andrew Herrera Poem

Life As a Tree

Light
illuminating
life as a tree
with wrinkled
trunks of
character and
prickly ends
of sap,
pulling and
pushing it
back to earth.
Life resists 
and  retracts
to what is
right which 
is Earth’s
natural light.

Details | Andrew Herrera Poem

I Witnessed a Drowning

As soon as he was gone she changed. 
As in never the same. As in 
she’d gone through a complete mental breakdown 
and I had front row seats to the worst show of my life.
Six bullets took my brother one night, 
and they took a part of my mother with them as well, 
because every time I looked up, 
her eyes had tears, 
her nose was red, 
and her face was blank. 
She’d look away and “sorry”
seemed to be the only word that I could say. 
I could never say that everything would be okay 
because day to day everything was different 
and day to day I walked behind her, 
leaving footprints in the train of tears she left behind, 
waiting for her to crumble, and ready to catch her. 
Though she was too heavy for me to hold, 
I still felt the responsibility to cushion her downfall 
and it happened often, but that, that was all I could do. 
After that, I had to watch her descend into complete darkness 
and sometimes she was gone for weeks without any word. 
Not one word. 
She was physically present, yes, but her mind was gone 
and I watched my mother sink deep into the cold abyss of depression 
and not even try to get to the surface. 
She’d float with an expressionless face 
And eyes that stared into nothing.
I have no doubt that she was searching for him. 
But did she find him?
I can never know, but can’t help but wonder. 
This was my childhood. 
Most of it was spent wondering and waiting. 
Waiting for the answers to come floating to the surface, 
and for her to break through, 
gasping for air and ready to come home. 
But, when she did, all I could see was her blank face, 
looking down at me, not knowing what to say, so
once again, she’d turn away 
and I’d open my mouth to say
“sorry”

Details | Andrew Herrera Poem

Perfection

Oh my God!              
It’s David. 
What do I do?
What do I say?
How do I portray
my feelings for you 
without sounding
completely gay?

Oh David,
your beauty,
your perfection
silences me, leaves me
without the natural reflex
that I most need
to live, to go on.

Your shy little smile,
your thin little waist,
your long slender legs, 
and 
your cute little face
makes me want you 
in a way that should not
be said aloud to you 
or to anyone.

I don’t know you
and I don’t care to

I just want to worship
you, I just want to
lust over you - David
you and your tri-colored
plaid shirts and your tight
thigh hugging black pants

That’s it. That’s all I need.
To vicariously gain pleasure 
Through your glorious perfection.