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Best Leo Larry Amadore Poems

Below are the all-time best Leo Larry Amadore poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Things That Seemed Poetic

Things that seemed poetic were always sad,
though I yearned for sparkle
and my dad's guffaw, which never came.
Familiar things were always drear --
repeated motions in the same old game.
There were only distant glimpses
of budding spring, fleeting views
of daffodils. The strongest
poems dealt me death and dying.
Yet I always hoped, never went under
to gray despair, always dreaming
of a garden of love that we could share.
But those forbidden delights faded
quickly away; the only reality
I understand is the ever-looming
and final one. Nothing's changed.
The strongest poems deal death and dying.

Copyright © Leo Larry Amadore

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An Early, Experimental Poem of Alternate Lines

The mirror reflects, obliquely,
a peculiar yellow butterfly -- it flutters, flutters
the specks of black my beard is made of
on the breeze.  A daffodil hangs down its treasure
and I spread shaving cream, in great white puffs,
shielding from the wind and rain its yellow
across my face.  The nose protrudes, ridiculous
excrescence.  A leaf half green sweeps up in circles
in the whiteness all around.  A weak chin, think I,
of windy sighs.  Squirrels crack acorns, crunching,
down into a patchy neck.  Very unsatisfactory
remembering winter's almost famine.  The trees --
appearance.  Altogether so.  Oh well.
Quiet.  Steady.  Sturdy.  Oh well.
The mirror reflects, but not uniquely.

Copyright © Leo Larry Amadore

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For Suzanne, Green and Golden

“The October night comes down; returning as before
Except for a slight sensation of being ill at ease
I mount the stairs and turn the handle of the door
And feel as if I had mounted on my hands and knees.”
----- “Portrait of a Lady;” T. S. Eliot

A golden afternoon,
Late October, and my thoughts
Are all of you, Suzanne…
Vestiges of your being
Appear on visages of 
A hundred different people;
But none are you, not one 
As green,  as golden.

Hard it is to know no miracle
Will mend, no giddy hope assuage,
The scourge that slowly puts an end
To our valiant green and golden girl.
Memory takes us to days of indolence,
Of innocence, of children lying on a levee,
Deep in lush, green, summer clover --
In sunlight almost as golden
As your hair -- beside a flowing river
Bearing away our golden hours
And the painless green  of youth.
 
Now, in your green room, reclined
In shadow, our golden girl reposes.
Your courage lights the coming night
That does not dim the gold and green
You always shared, and still you share.







Copyright © Leo Larry Amadore

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Bright Birds

Deceptive, drowsy,
the gray cat, Tempus, in doldrums
lazes, purring, stretching.
I have watched him:
cunning eyes half-closed,
he stalks bright birds in the garden,
near day lilies.
Wings wet from flights
through the sprinkler's sweeps,
the birds swoop, glide, flutter.
They light on dry grass,
strut and shake themselves,
are lulled. Then,
Tempus pounces on one bird.
The rest are routed…
And Tempus fugit.

Copyright © Leo Larry Amadore

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Sensationalism or Journalism

(Another childhood or teen years poem.)

Newsprint small talk
in Mediocrity's lead pot
rustles and gossips while,
splashed spectacularly across
the speckled page of
Society's intellect,
a murder making column one
hides the hushed massacre
of minds.

Copyright © Leo Larry Amadore

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The Mountain Speaks

(This is a "childhood" poem, written many years ago.)

High above the pristine falls
the looming mountain lifts its walls.
A monolith of stony gray,
with bulky lips, it seems to say:
"Eons passed since I've been here;
nothing have I seen to fear
while above my walls, from year to year,
about the world below I peer.
My walls so high, so steep and strong,
protect me well from all that's wrong.
Would that Man below could see
how I keep all harm from me.
Would that he could build a wall
about his home, his family -- all --
to keep them safe from Evil's charm,
which causes Man unending harm."

Copyright © Leo Larry Amadore

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Bill


R.I.P. William Dale Eubanks
d. July 1, 2012, aged 68 yrs., Tennessee Ridge, Tennessee

Death came as no surprise
the first Sunday in July;
it claimed you, on a ridge in Tennessee,
with kin who took you in and waited with you
through the last hard days.
You kept what fears you had well hid,
did not betray with loud complaint
the fate you could not but know awaited.
A smile, a joke, a hug – exotic meals –
And genuine interest greeted all you met.
And you were, certainly, never boring
but well-traveled and smart
beyond the telling.
We’ll miss your wit, your bright demeanor,
and will remember all you freely gave ---
and what you took from us
with your passing.

Copyright © Leo Larry Amadore

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Dreams of Louisiana

Dimly lit, I sit
in a Mexican kitchen
near the Tropic of Cancer.
A TV is tuned
to inane noises;
dogs at my feet,
oranges in a bowl
on a table:
a specific place and time.
And I am dreaming --
dreaming of Louisiana
in twilight hours --
dreaming of short winter days and
summer's green, bright mornings.
Country time, mostly empty,
was quiet, seldom interrupted
by human utterance;
but my busy brain
was full of fantasy
and subterfuge.
The world was new, was big,
was yet to be explored;
possibilities seemed endless.
Oak and cypress,
willows, pines -- and magnolias --
were all around, and cane fields
stretched for miles.
The bayous that had always been there
were there still.
Change was slow in coming
and childhood lasted long.
I dream now of Louisiana:
poignant vignettes... dreamy glimpses...
all those slowly fading
recalled moments
of the past...

Copyright © Leo Larry Amadore

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Louisiana Bayou

Chilly late October;
early morning fog banks
the roadside, cloaks
a trickling bayou...
in the thickets of dense trees,
the wispy tufts 
top man-high
goldenrod, Queen Anne's lace,
dried-out thistle stalks...
A school bus, solitary,
yellow, slowly passes
on skinny black asphalt
where wet spots reflect
the newly risen sun.
Only rustles of high,
green cane fields and 
intermittent bird songs
interrupt pervasive quiet...
Timelessness, and solace --
calming, soothing --
a Louisiana bayou:
Bayou Sale.

Copyright © Leo Larry Amadore

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The Park -- Part Two

(Please read The Park -- Part One first ...
This is a continuation from Part One, due to space limitations)

Yes, kids at play are bold and wise
with flashing smiles and knowing eyes.
Children bore easily with grown up prattle;
their thoughts turn to cake and to toys that rattle.
They know that Belles and Bills tell lies.
Time is but a birthday gift or new surprise;
more games to play; a windy day for a kite one flies;
coins that shine; toys that squeak;
a trip to the zoo at the end of each week.
But Belles and Bills persist in their story.
Some even mention forgotten glory.
Children go home to eat, to sleep.
Belles and Bills their vigils keep;
falling leaves and darkening sky
shows them their truth and the children's lie.
Nothing is forever; all things die.
Then, Belles and Bills go back to flats,
to wait -- to wait till morning comes.
They listen to the rustling rats
and slowly sip their gins or rums.
Eyes are glazed; minds are dazed.
The atmosphere grows dim and hazed.
They will await, once more, the sun's first ray --
the birth, in the park, of another day.
Before they leave, they look all around,
surveying the world to which they're bound;
then, they shuffle away, with airs of sadness
at being, always, on the verge of madness.
The echo of an unheard bark
reverberates throughout the park.
Fallen leaves and darkened sky
confirm the truth.  Children lie.

Copyright © Leo Larry Amadore

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