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Best Poems Written by Mark East

Below are the all-time best Mark East poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Blond Hair

Blond Hair


Today the gods blew out of the skies
bright paintings, with a deep long held breathe
A million golden strands of sunshine.

To rinse the air and brush her dress
with the sun dappled strokes of Renoir's
bright paintings. With  a deep long held breathe

I saw in her eyes a daylight star.
In her arms the edge of day loosened
with the sun dappled strokes of Renoir's

touch,  I felt again the days of youth
in childhoods iridescent glow.
In her arms the day loosened

and melted to a round flame, and so
far from the black night and pointed stars
in childhoods iridescent glow

I wander in a daydream, and so
far from the black night and pointed stars
today the gods blew out of the skies
a million golden strands of sunshine.

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The Birth of Spring

.                        THE BIRTH OF SPRING


                    To see and breath the birth of spring,
                    Ripe with the taste of soil and grass
                    You feel the freshness on your fingers.

                    Birds chirp pieces out of the morning
                    Silence, and the speckled colored bass
                    Float in lakes or up and over fly 

                    Painted waters of pebbled streams.
                    In violet night, stars shine like glass                              
                    And the sweet smell of earth lingers        
                 
                                                            
                    The crickets and whippoorwills sings
                    The songs of the virginal lass
                    And a boy clasping her fingers.

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The Scorpion

Fierce thoughts,back and red
Waits the dark quiet creature
Everywhere and out-of-sense
Stays and waits the sting of death.

In the desert sick with heat
Where burnt sand and dust does reek,
Lurks beneath and crawls thereon
The spider-like red scorpion.

Ages dried by hot suns burn,
Brusquely quick, sharply brittle
Forms this skeletonized lizard,
Fear this small burnt red devil.

Blind to you in gleaming light
Or blackened by depths of night,
Fast as fire and tight with rage
Stone mind unconsciously brave.

Pity on the weary man
long traveled over life's land,
Or the young unknowing lad
Who's suddenly stung by chance

Fierce thoughts, black and red
Waits this dark quiet creature
Everywhere and out of sense
Stays and waits the sting of death

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The Universe Is Not Ideas

.             .  The universe is not ideas
                 That gloom within the brain,
                 Cram into convoluted spaces
                 And memorize themselves into more perplexed complexity 
                 The universe is one round winged beam one with itself.

                 We humans are the demons of complexities.
                 We are the bearers of brain.
                 We are the haunted ones.

                 We think in gray pools of thought,
                 Reflections of the earth
                 Diving deeper as we grow.
                 Shadows of ghostly waters
                 A clout in an ocean of thinner air.

                 But one day this life will die and we will rise,
                 A shimmering mist.
                 Powered by the universe 
                 We will blow the clouds 
                 And then the stars asunder.

                 Light widening forever away,
                 Uncluttered by usual matter,
                 Above the rubble of mortal thought
                 Blown on and on.
                 Like a fish deferred of water,
                 Like a bird awing in airless space,
                 Blown on and on.

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The Furture

.                            On a cold March night
                             From the frozen stone that's earth
                             I stared at the distant stars
                             As the cold and mortal wind 
                             Flowed though my veins instead of blood
                             A tingling rose up my spin, and in my head.
                             And I asked the universe, " Where do we go from here."
                             And the universe explained, " I am not evil or good.
                             But with me you will always remain 
                             Rambling bone or living ash,
                             Consciousness will be your future 
                             As it was your past. "

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Old Man

.         An empty man lives alone
          Sipping from his can of beer
          The impotence of his years
          His memory forgot, all but how he got lost
          In the wood and shadows of taverns:
          The thundering music, 
          The mangled voices of drunken crowds,
          The maze of colored lights,
          Him seeking in mirrors his own fractured image as he danced,
          The false elastic conversations with rabid strangers,
          The smoke flooded rooms,
          The hot flux of drunken visions,
          And the terrible insanity of sexual desires.

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Fall

I,m as dry and bleached as those downed leaves
                         That litter the lawn.
                         
                         And those crows that cough  for the coming
                         Of winter or death.  
                          
                         What turned here so while they swirled and fell.

                         Was it the leaves ?
                         Was it me ?
                         Or was it the calling of those crows ?

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Memories

People are followed by their shadows 
                 That rise and fall in their heads.
                 From the womb of the mind emerges
                 (Like feathers of an owl stirred by a breeze)
                 Faded gray images. Squares of moving pictures
                 Rise from the depths of unconsciousness
                 And make little ripples of light in the mind.

                 Below the lights still beats the memories of youth
                 Not quit black and dead;
                 A yearning deep as love, from a simpler reality.
                 Full of long summer dreams, unbroken moments
                 And thoughts that are long long and singular.

                 Another life where there was no worry to be in the world;
                 Somewhere In the depths of dark and night
                 There,s still a sunlit boy throwing pebbles in a pond.