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Best Poems Written by Elizabeth Hipwell

Below are the all-time best Elizabeth Hipwell poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Poison Fruit

You raised me up,
	then brought me down.
In between we loved, fought and got caught
	in one another’s web of insincerity and deep-felt need.
The spaces were filled with warmth, passion
	and a chill that could turn your toes black.
I yearned for and felt your presence long after you were gone.
The after-effects of your rhetoric seeped into the contours of my brain;
	influencing my thoughts and dictating my deeds.
You were in my life for a reason.
To teach me what I can do without and to--
	damn it, I hate to admit this--
You taught me to love and think for myself.
I may have gone kicking and screaming as I learned to do this--
	obstructing your wisdom and negating the power you had over me.
Today I am better off without you,
	because I’m not the same me.
Thank you for helping me grow,
	but no thank you for weaving yourself into my very being
	to the point where I was no longer me.
The bottom dropped out.
The puzzle lost it’s pieces.
I had to reconfigure those pieces to fit into a whole new me.
The power of thought gives me the ability
	to choose to take what moves me ahead
	and disregard what keeps me still.
Thank you for being in my life, 
	because I wouldn’t be here without the good and the bad of you.

Details | Elizabeth Hipwell Poem

On the Streets of Kamora

On the streets of Kamora,
	a man sits at the Fountain of Angels,
	eying the days offerings
	which lie at the bottom
	of the tepid water.
The man remembers when he was 
	one of the click clacking masses,
	on their way to work,
	in the Main Dome of Kamora,
	ready to pass ordinances
	which allowed dogs on leashes in the park,
	bettering and improving the city,
	keeping it cobblestones,
	which were erected in eras past.
The man remembers losing his position
	and being put on the street 
	because the cost of living in Kamora came too high.
He sits where he can,
	sleeps where he can
	eats what he can.
The underbelly of Kamora is paved with grease and dirt.
The great unwashed populate the parks at night.
No clickety clacks.
	more ting tinging and swish swash.
The man notices all the details of Kamora,
	what he was too busy to notice in “better” times.
The mosaics of the great buildings 
	with the echoes of it’s former prominence.
Not the tiles of the great shopping center
	which resides in a newfangled
	behemoth of a building.
The birds in the belfry
	and still the click clacking of those who work.
The man swoops up a handful of silver and copper coins
	and notices the faces of Kamora’s founders 
	on the bottom of the fountain.
Like an onion,
	the city unfolds with new revelations,
	while the man sits and waits,
	watching the clickety clacks
	and the ting tinging swish swashes.

Details | Elizabeth Hipwell Poem

My Body

My body, 
	ripe for the taking,
	filled with shames voice.
Plunged into the fiery depths of self mutilation.
My sense of self lashes out, and when threatened, 
	curls inwards to my very core.
The stress creeps upwards,
	as if failing to reach the freedom of a hill top
	filled with weeping willows,
	that sway with the loaded failures of my past.
Disintegration comes when I buckle under
	the stress of reliving these failures.
My shoulders pull back and settle into my body
	opening up vessels of hope.
I take one step at a time 
	as if walking the line of steadiness.

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Family

Family is always there.
Then it pulls away,
	detaches and rips apart.
Lost with no anchor.
Alone.
No one cares.
It shows up with conditions
	that are hard to meet.
I may lose myself.
I can’t get back that aspect of family that I lost,
	but I can find myself again,	
	retrieve what is important.
I never went away.
I was always there.
I let myself vacate and I can let my self return,
	stronger than ever,
	determined and free.

Details | Elizabeth Hipwell Poem

A Caressing Hand

A CARESSING HAND

Leather-tanned skin
Wrapped around bone
Soft in its intention
Enfolds another

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Bucket of Shame

BUCKET OF SHAME
They made it easier
Standing in a bucket of shame
To be washed of all their negativity
And born anew to a
Trowel of meaning
Sharing in a group
Our insides
Made complete and safe

Details | Elizabeth Hipwell Poem

Terror

TERROR

Traumatic injuries to the mind and body
Entering a sphere of darkness
Reruns play over and over
Re-setting the many moments
Of one’s reality
Recanting what was once said

Details | Elizabeth Hipwell Poem

All Roads Lead To Change

New experiences, 
	like an uncomfortable piece of clothing,
	are hard to fit into.
They bind and pull,
	slip and slide.
One may tug really hard
	to fit into this change of clothing.
You slide into place,
	becoming at one with the fabric,
	or it bulges and splits wide open.
It can be mended or tailored to fit.
Different,
	yet just right!





*Inspired by TAKING LEAVE OF A FRIEND by Li Po

Details | Elizabeth Hipwell Poem

The Raindrops

THE RAINDROPS

Water, slate thin
Goes every which way
Large and small dolops
A romantic backdrop to new growth

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Stillness

Stillness leads to another place.
Stop and notice.
I can get past the fear of what will be there.
Understanding and compassion of self and others,
	an awareness of the sound of the walls coming down,
	to reveal a more pliant world,
	full to capacity with harmony, love and peace.
The flowers buzz with the promise of new growth.
The ions of the air tingle 
	in anticipation of what might happen next.
The world in it’s stillness offers endless possibilities
	in the span of a second.
Why be afraid of what happens next.
You cannot stop the ebb and flow of life,
	but you can get past being scared,
	to be on the still shores of calm and serenity.
Stillness does lead to another place.