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Best Poems Written by Christopher Mason

Below are the all-time best Christopher Mason poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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In the Garden of My Soul

In the garden of my soul
there fell a seed
wondrous smooth
and dark as evening’s shadow
from which emerged a tree
tentative
its stem twisting uncertain from the soil
as a lover estranged
contriving an oblique path to bliss
unassuming seeming
yet in every subtle arc and incline
betraying desire by apprehension
its bark was gray as dawn
concealing colors dimly recalled
of a forest perhaps
or the creatures within
subdued, but of a sudden
illumined stark
inspired for a moment to endure exposure’s hazard
lest their beauty rest unrealized
unto death in fear’s embrace
and so it was
intrigued by these discreet shades of delight
I stayed the instinct that bade me
cut this curious guest
before it deprive all plants 
cultivated by slow discipline
of nourishment
thus intact 
from infancy it passed
until mature
its roots entwined with every cherished flower
and sweet-smelling herb
it issued forth a blossom
purple as melancholy
as it touches solitude’s warmth
and is rendered akin to joy
too gentle to endure
it yielded swift to fruit
its surface saffron
its flesh red
and seeming in its succulence
to entertain all contradictory moods
suggesting rose and berry
and lavender and peach
their certainty contaminated
but through intimacy grown vivid
as melodies may
by contact resonate in opposition
and in this way I was enriched
by eating of the tree’s blessing born of doubt
though through its flourishing thence
my garden has become a place most strange
transformed by lust untempered
into the home of myriad beasts and briers
possessed of claw
and thorn that rend
and streams that flood
and fungi that rise silent
from the wetness over night
and deep
where no thought penetrates
a seed awaiting propagation
dark perhaps
and wondrous smooth

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I Sense a Yearning

I sense
a yearning in your body
a trembling
through thirst
poised
dry immersed 
in thought
of rocks 
that lie afar
jagged and dramatic
sharp and dark and wet
their outlines lost
in the haze of waves
in the spray of the sea
as it rises
and crashes
in futile rage
you fancy
for the stone is strong
and will not crack
but I know it crumbles
I know
you dream
of standing upon islands
your eyes sparkling 
with defiance
and I see further
into your secret fear
of the goddess
who lives within the water
your terror
of she who foams
and hisses
like a serpent
so devious and inconstant
and so you strain
perpetually to perceive
places you will not venture
noble places you are certain
to so resist
the malice of the tide
while I swim
I swim
in darkness deep
and you say
I am a conspirator
but I have touched
the distant crags
I have faced
these dreams
and found them barren
found them cold
yet you will not listen to my stories
for you insist
my soul has been infected
with the deceit
of the sea
so you pity me
my weakness
and forgive me my infirmity

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This Night By Your Embrace

This Night By Your Embrace

This night by your embrace
I recall the odor of rain
within a wood at dawn
the new light drawing
green from grey
through shades of blue
while wetness
caressed by the leaf in its descent
or rising from the soil’s warmth
through fern and flower
saturates my soul
all passion flowing soft
describing the texture of my flesh
cracked as the surface of the oak
yet subtle as the shimmering web
woven between its branches
reflecting the obscurity of the morning mist
as crystal
the threads too delicate
to sustain the weight
of such delight
they may
at any moment break
as I am broken
challenged to trace anew
a self sufficient
to realize the beauty
of your touch

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Recoil Child

Recoil child
from the light
that burns all rivers dry
though some might seek
to persuade you
to endure its heat
I say
retreat beneath the rock
where thin roots cling
to the living dust
and creatures lie still
amidst bones
licked clean and sharp
for there
where life reveres
the silence 
and the shadow that conceals
you will learn
to crawl and feed upon filth
as your flesh grows coarse and pale
and your eye more subtle
and your hand more savage
while those without wither
sustained by the frail conviction
their souls are nourished
through anguish
are purified
through their fierce contempt
for we who breathe the fetid vapors
which linger warm and close
to the fertile soil
forever singing their disgust
with voices shrill
for all who savor
the sweet stench of loss and birth
convinced in their condition
of violent fever
the seed is defiled
in drawing strength from the corpse
and the spirit contaminated 
by blood or color
but I who have discovered
cool and secret caverns
within which to rest and feast
know that truth flows capricious
over stone in dark places
and grace rises
green from the earth’s wetness
and I declare
paradise is sacrificed through deprivation
and gained of a moment
through love
impure

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There Is a Sentiment Akin To Joy

There is a sentiment akin to joy
known to the leaf
as it is touched by the breeze
and gains thereby a voice
to speak of green to the root
though seldom may the passion
sink so deep
as to persuade the soul
of color
and if it does
by some subtle means
saturate the shadow
such delight can but grieve
the twisted source
cleaving as it must to soil and stone
so establishing a tension
between life and love
that may in some invite despair
while others perceive therein
the origin of beauty

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The Dust Beneath the Fire

The dust beneath the fire
remembers the forest
as I recall
my youth so twisted
dark and capricious
before love burnt
through the shadows
before my soul sickened
and was consumed
searing withered
I screamed for the sea
to swell and soothe my pain,
but the tide refused
to rise in flood 
against the flame,
for it had not forgotten 
the misery I cast 
into its depths,
or the malice whispered
of delicate isolation 
in its presence
and so compelled to endure
my fever
I writhed 
as a beast, indecent
until with fervor reduced
to cool ash 
I lay at rest
and new life began
to rise through the scorched earth
to feel the breeze
and in its folly
crave the warmth of intimacy

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The Stream That Once Seemed Mythic

The stream that once seemed mythic
shimmering about the
saturated green of moss
speaks less clearly now
of delight
or else my spirit’s appetite
has by imperceptible measures
abandoned its audacity
withering toward serenity
as the deer’s corpse
beside the path
seen at first still grey
as the maple’s bark in Winter light
and even later
when all softness had succumbed
the arc of the neck retaining yet
the implication of grace
at last the flesh grown dark
stretched taught upon the bone
and death’s honeyed stench conspired
to eclipse all splendor
now occasionally one may discover
beneath a briar
beside a fallen branch decaying
a rib or tooth
that most callous
within the lissome beast
preserved amidst love’s slow corruption
to be claimed by the curious
and placed beside the shells
and twisted roots
a source of fascination
that once participated
in joy too lithe to grasp

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Happiness Is a Shadow

Happiness is a shadow
cast upon the moment
as a bird’s upon the forest floor 
fleeting
glimpsed in motion upon a 
fern or fallen tree
too swift or dim perhaps
if the light is frail
to discern what creature
might have inspired such
a sudden darkening of green
so we gaze through the canopy
in search of a color
or some distinctive curve in flight
to guide us to a definition
of that barely sensed
so we can claim
such was the true shape of joy
responsible for the pattern upon
the moss and browning leaves
not conjured by evening’s saturated
glow drifting through foliage
set in motion by the breeze
but a thing possessed 
of eye and pinion
and grace we imagine
though the shadow is long since lost 
and clarity restored

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In the Place Where the Mountain Touches the Sea

In the place
where the mountain touches the sea
the rock proclaimed
in time all moments will return
and such was echoed
as a whisper
by the oak and the willow
but the ocean
who knows much of recurrence
remained mute
being too entranced
by each waves subtle difference
to appreciate the meaning 
of the stone’s conviction

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Seldom Does the Soul Pause

Seldom does the soul pause
knowing it may
through stillness dissolve
yet I am drawn
as Summer’s clarity cools
through brown
to succumb
inspired by the forest’s celebration of decay
to rest within the flame
beside the oak and maple
where there is no beauty
only color’s discreet
conspiracy with delight