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Best Poems Written by Graydon Archer

Below are the all-time best Graydon Archer poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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The Gates of Hell

The gates of Hell opened wide.

Six million souls stepped inside.

Beaten. Shot. Starved to death.

The words of God still on their breath.

Screams of anguish. Cries of pain.

Abhorrent laughter of the insane.

Mothers beg. Their babies moan.

They smell charred flesh and smoldering bone.

Cords of bodies in a row.

Frozen corps in the snow.

Gas clouds creep across the floors.

Hinges creek on oven doors.

Idle boxcars sit on tracks.

Inside lie bodies in gruesome stacks.

The S.S. soldiers earn their pay.

They stoke the furnaces night and day.

To the insidious cruelity

Of a madman's hate.

Six million Jews met their fate.

Remember them! Remember well!

Those souls who entered

The gates of Hell.

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I Have Lived

I've experienced the exuberance of youth. Through endless summer days, of blissful 
childhood ignorance.

I have dreamt the most glorious dreams. The ability to soar with the eagles was 
mine, most any night. I was to live, forever.

I have know the delirious intoxication, of boyish infatuation. And to such a degree, I 
have tasted the bitterness of rejection.

I have lived amid nonconformists. I shared in their ideological beliefs. Old Guard be 
damned.

I have witnessed the gatherings of idealists, who's main purpose was to spread 
their premise of the brotherhood of man.

I have seen the chained and gagged. Beaten for their beliefs. Shot down in their 
youth, by those who's superficial dogmas kept them from the truth.

I have been among the ranks of the tens of thousands, shouting my incensement's 
against a failing war. And I have been to the "wall" and wept for my fallen brothers.

I have seen the rise of iconic performers. Some who would pay the ultimate price for 
their notoriety. I have felt the power of their karma and reveled in their idioms'.

I have witnessed the miraculous wonder of birth. I've had the privilege to hold the 
embodiment of purity, God's ultimate creation, in the hollow of my arms.

I have walked among the Angels. And I have delved into the pit of my own iniquity's. 
I have loved the un-loved, and scoffed at those who would be cherished.

I have lived as if, there were no tomorrow. I have learned there is just today. I have 
lived to be a better man than I was. I live to be a better man than I am.

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The First Flower

It was springtime in the garden. Just passed, the winter snows.

When first I walked the pathway. Along it's barren rows.

Late in spring, in early morn, through chance I happen by.

I glimpsed a newly blossomed rose, it's beauty caught my eye.

It's bloom was  so compelling, it seemed to draw me near.

 The depth of it's allurement,  made the others  seem austere.

It's dew drenched velvet petals, with color's  brandy red.

Were as soft to the fingers' touch, as silk on feathered bed.

It's  essence more alluring, than any there that grew.

No flowers of the garden, could match it's vivacious hue.

Came summer to the garden,  my rose was full in bloom.

And the lovers' in the garden, were drawn to it's perfume.

Throughout the summer day's ahead, it's beauty did unfold.

Until at last, at summers end, the nights were getting cold.

And the color's of my lovely rose, began to slowly fade.

And as the summer slipped away, I somehow felt betrayed.

Again the winter snows came. The garden stark and bare.

But come the spring, as God intends, my rose afresh, be there.

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The Passing of Twilight

The passage of time, betrayed by the age in my eyes.

Imbued wisdom now replaces the follies of youth.

The storms on the sea of life have taken there toll.

And in their wake, a resemblance of truth.  

The taste of innocence, long forgotten on my tongue.

Replaced now with the flavor of knowledge.

Vanity crept in somewhere along the way.

A validity I  was unwilling to acknowledge.

Night is in order. But twilight is a reluctant malcontent.

It wishes to linger, and tarry in the fray.

Alas, nothing has an alliance with time.

And soon, it will relinquish the light it holds so dearly. 

And night will have its way.

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Mousy Mouse

Mousy was a little mouse. He had a mousy tail.
And Mousy had a giant friend named Francis.
Who’s a whale!
Now you might wonder how a mouse
could be friends with a whale.
Well, Mousy Mouse was a mouse
And he knew how to sail!
For Mousy was born on a sailing ship.
Far, far out at sea.
And having been born a sailor,
What else could he be?
The sailing ship was a mighty one !
With sails tall and white.
And Mousy would stand on the deck
And watch the stars at night.
Now Francis was a great big whale
Who came up once for air.
He looked up at the ship
and saw Mousy standing there.
"Hi there little mouse! Ahoy!"
Francis called up from the sea. 
"The waters great this time of night! 
Come down and swim with me!"
"I'd love to swim with you great whale!"
Mousy shouted out with glee.
"My name sir, is Mousy Mouse"
"And what might your name be?"
"My name is Francis. Francis Whale Write!
And now that you and I are friends,
Come swim with me tonight!"
"And so I shall!" cried Mousy.
And he dove into the sea.
They swam around for hours! 
It was quite a sight to see.
They swam and swam and swam some more.
Till Mousy finally said,
"I really should get back on board.
For I must go to bed!
Then Francis sighed a little sigh
And said "I understand.
"But your down here while the decks up there!
"I best give you a hand."
So he sat little Mousy upon his giant tail,
Gave it just a tiny flip
And through the air he sailed!
Mousy landed on the deck.
As easy as you please.
"Thank you!" cried out Mousy Mouse.
"For swimming round with me!"
Francis said “that’s quite all right,
We must swim again someday!"
And that’s how they became friends
And still are to this day!

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Mother Earth

Shimmering pools of water.
Amisted a forrest of green .
Mother Earth in her splendor.
Quells my restless soul .

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Is It the End, Or the Beginning

Death doesn't barter, it bares no remorse.
 Death doesn't falter it's matter of course.
 It bares no false whiteness, makes no mistakes
 It never brings back whatever it takes.
It gives no warning of it's arrival
Death has no match, It hasn't a rival.
Death isn't gracious, courageous, or kind
Death isn't pleasing, it's rebuked and maligned.
Death has no lover, no friend of it's own
Except what it favors, mans flesh and bone.
Deaths seldom wanted, except by the few
who open their arms, and bid life adieu.
Death can't give back, it keeps all it's winnings
Is it the end, or just the beginning?

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The Sirens'

I did not feel the spring slip by,
But now in summer, Neath deep blue sky,
to their persistent calls, would I relent.
My belongings, did I gather,
left the meadows against my rather.
Thus began my answer to their call.
Long the path did I wander,
All the while did I ponder.
Fearful of the things that might befall.
As my days approached the Autumn.
my resistance was now on bottom.
To the Sirens' song, I did adhere.
Now the winter of my life,
the song is sung, it's meaning rife.
Why that spring, the Sirens' called to me.
Looking back across the ages,
Over my life, and all it's stages
The Sirens' sung my sojourns' destiny.

Details | Graydon Archer Poem

To the Sirens'

Beyond me in the far off distance,
I heard a voice with strong persistence.
The voice at first, I could not recognize.

Was in the dawn of early spring,
when first I heard the Sirens' sing.
Their voices so intent to mesmerize.

At first I feared them, not at all,
Their songs quite lovely, as I recall.
Back before I knew of their intent.

I did not feel the spring slip by,
But now in summer, Neath deep blue sky,
to their persistent calls, would I relent.

My belongings, did I gather,
left the meadows against my rather.
Thus began my answer to their call.

Long the path did I wander,
All the while did I ponder.
Fearful of the things that might befall.

As my days approached the Autumn.
my resistance was now on bottom.
To the Sirens' song, I did adhere.

Now the winter of my life,
the song is sung, it's meaning rife.
Why that spring, the Sirens' called to me.

Looking back across the ages,
Over my life, and all it's stages
The Sirens' sung my sojourns' destiny.