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Best Poems Written by Jennifer Cahill

Below are the all-time best Jennifer Cahill poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Redemption
She slowly uncoiled her gray streaked hair that fell to her waist. She removed her
spectacles to see more clearly the windswept icy snow clinging to the branches. A
pause, settling something deep within; then her gaze shifted to me.
I reached out, but found my reach was frozen, too stiff to touch her. For if I touched
her, the burden we shared would lapse and slide away, slinking off to be buried,
uncoiled under the ground.
A pinched, dour expression settled her features into a mask that would never
betray the inner darkness which created a shadow of an existence. A mask that I
must wear as well, to ward off the hopeless life within me, growing every moment of
the day, days upon days retreating into the too long nights, hopeless to survive in
the world we have created, together as “want” and “ruthlessness”.
“I carry no idolatries, no false hope.” A breath are these words as I receive them,
knowing they are too bold to give forth a safe humility.

The nurse, starched clothing as stiff as her countenance, paused, a look of
condemnation briefly shadowing her face, the sun passing in and out of the clouds.
She could not help herself. No matter the role we are chosen to play in this world,
we are not free of a deeply flawed human nature, ice softening dangerously on a
winter’s pond. I turned away.
I came to hours later, the rejected life in me gone, a searing through flesh never
immune to a free will taunting, tearing the fabric of life so fragile. I would not cling. A
passing briefly witnessed, a single brown leaf blown by the window in the darkened
room where we sit for tea, hopes slowly elapsing like the sea waters
receding.
Tomorrow we can only envision; today we must let go of a part of us we will never
again possess. A coursing through the veins of life no more, we push, and push, an
existence wishing to sink into the yawning chasm of what is unknown and coming
for us.

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Wooden Shoe

House on hill apart 
from the rest of us. Sometimes  
its lights mimic the stars.

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Rise

And the westerly wind,
Will blow a sea of waving grass
And the sea's fine mist 
Will breathe drops like dew
And the sinking suns
Will cloak the sky's horizon
And the moons of Autumn
Will beckon the golden fertililty of the harvest
And the violet tinged edge of night
Will cry for the white bursting of the stars
And the carved thrust of the mountain range
Will challenge the forever yielding blue
And the hovering tunes of the dawn's awakening
Will mimic the lullaby of my dreams

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Advice From a Psychiatric Nurse

Charcoal clouds 
thunder heavy rains-the glowing eye 
of New Mexico's sky

is bandaged, 
cushioned with silver. Drops of rain 
slide silken 

down her wrists
mixed with red colors of sunsets
in June, 

as is the month in her mind.

October is black; 
September yellow gold orange,
the month of her birth is green 

with white- grey 
mixed in as stripes, curving like the road 
she lost herself on. 

The Moon rises 
with the evening star, 
night suns. 

Visit New Mexico, 
view the skies- diamond cut nights 
and sunsets 

spread colors 
expanding like the universe. 
A sky writes her poem, 

flinging 
her winged soul
into fresh air startling,

a flock of birds 
taking off, soaring.
It is dewy softness suspended, 

after the rain. 
The colors are rainbows reversed
or upside down...

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A Midwinter Pause

Trees fingering the bone-
white of winter are stripped bare
under the chilled blue sky.

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The Golden Fertility of the Harvest

He is the sinking of the final red orange sun of the glowing summer 
Warmth no longer oozing and seeping into the pores as I lie bare under the skies 
Jeweled dewdrops on the morning grass to dampen bare feet all softness under  
And the shimmer on the surface of the lakes like the diamonds in your eyes 

He is the golden cusp pf Autumn's Fertility 
The ritual dance of the scarecrow in the breezes 
(Straw coming loose and flying towards you, most certainly 
will brush up against you and tickle before he ceases)  
 
And this thinner less lumpy all seeing scarecrow  
Seems to be in no remorse: his knowing face will always grin  
And his arms will always be raised in a wave to show 
He will protect the yellow brown stalks that bend before him 
 
He is the crisp wind that caresses the crinkled foliage 
Their rustling like long flowing skirts on a 1940s ballroom floor 
These winds chill the fingers and toes and your face with the stinging red roses  
Yet when winter beckons the retreating light, we will be frozen at its core 

He is silent snowfalls and many winter moons  
And the brown earth beginning to expose itself  
The uncoiling of green and mud beginning to ooze  
And all new life breaking free from its fragile shell

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Within Her Eyes

Obliging black arms, their crooked
fingers cut freezing as they
reach for winter greys, blues of sky,

untouchable. Shaking, bending.
Mulish winds sweep lands- violence
loved, admired. They are framed


within my eyes green as last summer's
carpeting, where the trees were rooted.
Embroidered. Weaving native 

life. Earth milled, the purest white 
hush to lull. Charming. Dreamlike.
Persistent as memories.

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Sun Shower

The heavens 
shimmer above the soft blossoms
of Springtime.

Petals open 
for the sun as it clears.
Mystical wings..

of Eden..brush sunset 
colors, touch the light golden 
sea tints splashed

onto an Irish shore; 
become an immaculate 
Artic gleam..

The sky becomes cool 
finely woven blue silk washed 
by the sun-lit rain.

Details | Jennifer Cahill Poem

Autumn Beckons At the End of a Summer Affair

Autumn’s leaves fall and 
The wind pushes through the branches
That sift the sunlight

Casting shadows upon
Their dreamy moonlike skin, soft
And damp like dewdrops

And their lips, the
Color of crimson twilight,
Kiss their long farewell