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Best Poems Written by Keith Miller

Below are the all-time best Keith Miller poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Keith Miller Poem

The Rock-Garden

Come with me, to where the river-water
Snakes around and through the rocks,
Lit by the sun,

To where the rushing stream
Cools hot, tired feet
 Where  all noise is stemmed by the stones.

Join me in this world 
Of grey and green and blue
Where the old river sings its tunes;

Its hymns of hidden springs,
Its ballads of the valley,
Its memories of folks old and new,

And I'll tell you of the river-men
In their earthy dress,
Grinding meal and weaving reeds and singing all the while.

Of the hidden tomb,
Where a robber laid his tired mount to rest,
And of the cryptic tracks in the muck, which we'll try to guess.

The birds will entertain us,
With their piping discourse,
And we'll be soothed by the smell of sage on the breeze,

Borne down from the high hills,
Where tenacious climbers labor up steep paths,
Chasing a view spread before them like a living map.

But this struggle is not for us today,
The day is far too clear and warm.
We'll rest by the river , our bodies cooled by boulder and breeze.

We'll pass an afternoon in the garden of God,
Stealing a slice of the halcyon world,
Before the Fallen Star's meddling lies.

We'll lie there, you and I,
Surrounded by the sweetest sounds, the choicest sights,
Time will be irrelevant, and the sun will be our clock.

And as the day ends,
We'll walk arm-in-arm back down the road,
Our warmth staving off the dusky chill,

As we return to the dead land of automata,
The grinding cycle of mammon,
And the vain, callous masses numb to nature's perfection.

So come with me then,
While the summer and our youth last,
Let's be prisoners no more.

Details | Keith Miller Poem

Flower Girl

I saw you from across the bar,
Your eye shadow immaculate,
Your skin a pleasing, pale hue,
Your brown hair laced around a band of plastic flowers,
Your supple red lips engaged in fluid conversation.

I saw you, decided I loved you,
My bawdy, lusty companions thought so as well,
We cast dibs and lots for you and dared each other to speak to you,
And acquire your phone number,
As if you could be owned by possession of such things.

I turned away from our idle chatter and barter,
And glanced to where you spoke with the girl presumed to be your sister.
I may not love you tomorrow, 
The feeling may have faded by then,
But I relish the aesthetic of the moment,
Lovely Flower-Girl.

Details | Keith Miller Poem

The Afternoon River

The light is golden,
The water spills and gushes over the ruined brick wall,
Its onetime captor.
The air is warm, yet not burning,
The warmth of the hearth.

The air is alive with the idylls of the birds,
Spiced with the aroma of sage,
As the sun makes its lazy way West,
Beyond the high, rocky hills.

Onward goes the river,
As it slows to enjoy the idle afternoon,
Between sandy banks lined with old, gnarled oaks,
Scowling at the river's apathy as it goes along its sleepy way.

All too soon, the sun closes its great eye,
A chill descends upon the old brick wall,
The night wraps the land in its cold embrace, this day never to return again,
As surely as the hands which laid the bricks,
In ages past.

Details | Keith Miller Poem

Beastriders

From the shore we watch
The beastriders plying their trade.

They charge into the watery arena, waiting for it to yield its monsters.
All of a sudden, out of nowhere, a great, blue behemoth rears its white head.

Feigning retreat, our heroes paddle like mad,
Only to be caught on its great, round brow.

There, they stand, mastering the elemental demon,
Twisting and turning with its every move,
 
Gliding effortlessly upon it,
Riding back to us on its great, white head as it crashes, dead, into the sand