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Best Poems Written by Lou Schreiberg

Below are the all-time best Lou Schreiberg poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Ring of Fire

It was a dark and dreary night
Hardly a star shone bright
For the dance of life in the ring of fire
And the gypsies brought the light

I had come upon them by chance 
And eyed their spirited prance
From behind a tree, secretly
Enthralled of their exotic dance

A fiddle cried in magic hands 
Melody remind of ancient Pan
As a softly breeze kissed the cheeks
Of the twirling gypsy man

Their garb glistened in colored choir
Raising the music higher 
The frolic of the night emanated 
From that mystic ring of fire

Dance, O gypsy, spark my eve
Allow my thoughts to never tire
Of the watch from behind my tree
near that enchanting ring of fire

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Being Productive

Most of life, 
I thought being busy 
is not the same 
as being hectic,
and the question 
and answer remain

Then, I thought, 
how does 
being productive fit in?

Choosing productive 
made sense
Yet, who is my judge,
that was time to look up,
look for an angel
to judge from Heaven
I never found one
which strangely
declared me confused,
my first judgement
so arrived

But, when one is hectic,
one is busy,
quite a merry-go-round,
a never ending whirl

Whoops, I know my answer,
I'll look at the blue sky,
Wave at some bird,
Smell some flowers,
and
do absolutely
nothing at all

Now, I feel productive!

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Fantlee Tree

Tickablee, woe is me
'Tis the blane of fantlee tree
Where buds of greenlee
Sweel and slerl 
Magiclee whynd in fantlee curl
One tickablee just fell 'pon me
Ouch! i-vouch, i-pain to me
If I ponder as a perl
'Pon the highest fantlee tree
To breen a bud so green grandlee
Sweel and swerl, woe is me!

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

-

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Abstractionism

I met a man, forever wishin' 
Who could not align of his condition
His head , he knew, was in his mouth
Which certainly hurt his health

He found a friend on the roof
Whose shoe, exactly, fit his tooth,
Together, they found a prognostician
To advise of their conditions

“Lucky, both, I will paint your perditions
Toes in mouths, with arty renditions,
Perhaps, you’ve heard of me, 
I’m Dali from Paree”

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A Worthy Man

A worthy man would hope to be
With esteem that stays his course 
That from youth will ere agree
To carry pride thru best or worse

Though mind may own a driving storm
He withers not from errant stray
And when the sun appears each morn
He rises high to meet the day

Choice may come to essay worth
With shoulders high in redress of luster
Softly, quietly, he values berth
With dignity of life's muster

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Father's Day

Dear Father, long gone,
quietly aching a wrong,
an air of melancholy
a memory now free,
a refrain you taught me
upon a saddened knee,
for that was HaShoah,
the age of Holocaust,
a dirge of family loss

It's time anew, another start,
and I wish that you may
find peace within your heart, 
Happy Father's Day

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Or, Why?

I sit and watch the passer-byes
        Not staring back my curious eyes
        I wear a mask of oak-like tree
        To judge that fare of humanity

Walk, they do, with robotic pace
         A grip of stride, a steady race
         What they do, where they go
         They puzzle me, but do they know

Do they persuade an oath of life
         An evasion of the surly knife
         Maybe, they see a random fool
         A wasting one, a stubborn mule

        To each his own, or why?

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Asking Zeus

O Mighty Zeus, your anger roars
Casting whelm each ravaging storm,
Is your ire so driven as to show disdain
Of nights for those so worn?

This mortal mire, so spent with drear
Has bent to the limits of homage,
Grant us ease and quiet lee,
Our tire wears no plumage.

Ask us not to bear your pains
Or the thunderbolts of your cyclops,
Soothe us with welcome patter
Thru rains of gentler drops.

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The Last Warrior

Assume a world, our planet, in full destruction.......the total outcome of nuclear war. The 
ultimate battle is now over and all in sight is in ashes, a gray mist in eerie silence broken by 
the tired wisp of wind without a target to bend. 

The questionable token of victory is a lone survivor. His face is in shadow as his identity is 
meaningless, his lines a grimace known only to his soul that perhaps may rename Adam. He 
stands in garb of rag, desolate and forlorn, an empty sheath, wondering of his next step, his 
direction, a wander of path. A thought occurs to him. Could there be one more monster to 
slay and, if so, where is his sword? He thinks, 'could he be the monster, the vestige of ill 
directed humanity?' Never before, had he thought of himself that way. Now, he is not sure.

He had made a pact with Death, a prayer of sorts. He wished being on the victorious side, 
not ever thinking he would be the lone survivor. Life was to be his reward, but not in demise, 
a wish now hoping he had never asked. 

Man is tired with anger spent, wondering why his ire was ever ablaze. Are the vanquished 
the losers, he wonders. What has he won? The sound of taps is no more.... Nevermore, a 
parade.

Death does not ask for more. The Last Warrior is the vanquished!

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Mitzvah

Quite often,
We give thought 
to the meaning of mitzvah,
not thoughts loosely thrown,
but deeds with passionate undertone,
that give the good in life a dressing,
it rewards with Godly blessing.

Oft given,
it's a balm for the heart
when the unfortunate occurs,
it may be a mitzvah in rise,
becoming God's 'word for the wise'.
Though many tears have been wept
we graciously accept.

A mitzvah, in deed
is not just a token,
but a gift from the heart,
with best intent, not for show,
most important to know
that mitzvahs are God sent,
for true mitzvahs never end.