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Best Poems Written by Nathan Logan-Cooney

Below are the all-time best Nathan Logan-Cooney poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Existential Storytelling

“I heard a note once,.” Charles said with conviction and bass from his gut.
Every night with chuck we reached this point ,
Existential storytelling, usually after four drinks or eight drinks.
Talking about government and it’s corrupt nature, the idiocy and beauty of religion,
And even the joy and sorrow of love, tonight’s ramble is brought to you by our
sponsor
“The Joy And Sorrow Of Love, making and breaking the dreams of many to come and
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Taking a slight sip of some brown alcohol Charlie smiled and giggled,
putting his drink down with one hand
and covering his smile with the other wiping away the dribble of “Tela “from his chin.
“One that sung strong and proud”
Than he kind of shifted himself for comfort
With raspy sad reflective tones he stopped all our babble
With whiskey staring off into space or the wall
The side of me that is more romantically inclined would like to
Think at the time he could still hear this sound
in the dead silent pauses in between speech
“It’s funny, as I heard it was like it was already there
And the horn just reminded me to listen.;
A single note sad and sweet.
Walking the line of beauty and horror
A sadness only heard by those reminded
By some brass and a girl.”
We all sat and took this in silence
There weren’t that many of us,
Just four drunks and a bartender (I should of rounded up to five)
In a dimly lit wood paneled dive both happy and sad.
I asked.
“What was the name of that song?” they all chuckled
as the young one sat in awe of all the others .
I was shammed by there disbelieve of my lack of comprehension
“Hey chuck, name that tune.”
They all chuckled a little more and shook there heads.
As the bartender filled our cup Charles lowered his head close to me grinning
Perking up as he told me,
“Hey man, there ain’t no name foe that song, well there is but it’s different for
everyone.”
“??” I responded with my hand out in a “what the ?” manner.
“I’m telling you the song is the same for everyman but it has a different name for
everyman too!”
stopping to sip once again and my receive response.
“Ok, Ok, I guess” I responded still with a slight ignorance in my voice.
I could see there was love and pause as he stopped to crack the silence .
“The birth of my daughter”
I shrunk, no really I did, to such a tiny proportion
that I could stand in the barstool jump for my drink and fall violently to my death..
Frozen and tiny I sang up to him “I must of missed that one!”
The room exploded.

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Cocoa Butter

I guess it’s not a giant revelation to most people when I say we are all
So many different things at once.  Constantly changing but remaining the same,
 As we do this metamorphosis, we travel along in this invisible cocoon .
Clumsy and blinded by our own shell.
We wonder into each other. 
Crashing into each other.
In love we force reconigniton of ourselves onto there self.
Loving the interpretation of energy that they are today not twenty years ago or twenty 
years from now.
Most of the time we don’t see our true selves, In each other or inward,
 We just see the dream of our own fairytales.. 
Not ready for the sobering mare of our reality
In love we must remember that we are all just great big old piles of triumph and 
tragedy 
Mostly tragedy, Scared, looking for that person to act as our cocoa butter . 
Making those scares fade away

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Obituary of the Mastodons

Attention to all the feeble masses
The massive ones have gone,
The one’s who once ruled the prairie’s of Kansas
Wooly cumbersome saints they were ,
Yea those ones, yea they are gone, they have left. 
Now we are left, all, to be unchallenged, un thwarted
From our goals of glamorized mediocrity 
We are now the Conquers , but some how smaller.
Attention to all the second rate hacks, fist pumping
Jack’s, 
Attention to the High-heeled  princesses vomiting next
To an Escalade at three in the morning, 
Wake up from your reality, 
 it is your time!
The great ones have gone!
There are no more of the mastodons 
Weep,for the great hairy Behemoths have left  us,
Left us, 
To keep all this beauty.

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The Unlikely Existence of Paradise

I wonder, are we better in heaven? Now I’m not completely sold on the fact there is an 
afterlife, but if there is than, are we better than what we are here? Are we a 
manifestation of the best of ourselves and if so is that really who we are? I don’t know, 
I mean also from what I gather heaven isn’t the easiest institution to be accepted in. 
and most of us aren’t even the best of ourselves all the time or even close to half of the 
time. 
	I can only answer this question from my own perspective, I am one who is almost 
never the best of himself, but wishes to be better.  I fall, I cry, I get up. Even though 
falling hurts, and crying is sad, there is not a greater joy than getting back up. To know 
that you are stronger than the fall, able to swim through the tears, and rise once again. 
If I were in heaven  that would be the manifestation of me, Just a man standing on his 
two feet again for the first time.

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Untitled

Men are good for the most.
Except when they are tempted by
Anger and greed.
Ambition and recklessness 
Fueling there gnash of teeth
At spit and air.
Men are corrupt.
Except when they succumb
To love.
Laying down there arms and sickles  
Seeking out the peace
Of comforts embrace.
Now is the part where I tell
 You of honor.
How you are blind to it
Unless you open your eyes to it
The faith in man we all 
Have. 
Not god but man.
Not good but human.
Not corrupt but new.

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The Mirror

Today on the way into the liquor store,
I saw a man on the curb with an unlit cigarette in his mouth.
 As I approached, he sat staring off into the distance.
 Blank, Tired, Drunk were all things that he appeared. 
He was a skinny sort , 
with a washed worn tank top on and loose cotton shorts.
 He raised an eyebrow to acknowledge my approach.
 “what’s up man” I said timidly. 
For his desperation both frightened me and intrigued  me. 
“Nothing  here man, just waiting for this rain to come“, 
he raised his cigarette to me in a cheering motion and continue to sit
as I walked on to get my booze. 
“It was weird to both pity and admire someone  
I thought out loud as I walked away”

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Chord Cutter

A feeling is all I am.
That sadness in my gut.
It permeates from everything inside me
But I’ve been told that gut is really my head
I still feel it in my gut.
When I smile, truly smile,
It is when I see her. 
Although I only see her with my eyes shut.
Despite being told  the sight, is really a thought.
I still shut my eyes and see
A feeling is all I am.
I am sick inside 
Alone 
Coping with a promise of  significance,
Broken.
Yearning for the days
Of floating.
I was a fish in a tiny sea once.
Now I am a god in a godless
Universe
A feeling is all I am