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Best Craig Cornish Poems

Below are the all-time best Craig Cornish poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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A Perfect Storm

Beyond the bay the sun peeked over waves.
The calm belied what destiny would tell.
A statue peers where young men served and gave,
so far from Gloucester shores where seagulls yell;
so far from sheltered harbor's gentle swells, 
undaunted sailors dared the Flemish cap,
too far, as nature mixed a hopeless trap.

Like hungry beasts tempt fate to catch their prey
and stray beyond their tribal hunting grounds,
the George's Bank was left to stern that day
to go where surely greater catch abounds,
but while their hold was filled with bounty found,
two angry storms swirled in a deadly dance
and left the Andrea Gail without a chance

Her captain turned for port but could not know
such wrath of nature blocked their pathway home
and all the crew on wings of angels glowed
the face of God to trust, and not to roam.
Though oft in tumult's grasp they will bemoan
and think to sell their souls in Devil's waves,
yet safe in Heaven's grasp they will be brave.

Copyright © craig cornish

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For You

For you through every gate of hell I'd run
and rattle Satan's door and laugh at fear,
then soar beyond God's stars to hold you near,
to capture in my heart a thousand suns.

I'd fly through angry squalls and call it fun -
make each and every sadness disappear
so only happiness would draw a tear
and even then I can't say I'd be done.

But if you ever felt I'd do you harm;
betray the precious love within your heart
and toss aside your trust and say adieu;
fall prey to sultry other women's charms
and every guile temptation could impart,
then that is something I could never do.

Sep. 5

Copyright © craig cornish

Details | Craig Cornish Poem |

The Peach Orchard

Done in an iambic rhyme scheme similar to Tennyson's Lady of Shallot.
This, however, is about one of the conflicts at Gettysburg where thousands died.

The Peach Orchard

Oh such a spring in sixty three,
the orchard there for miles they'd see,
light shades of pink that tinged the clouds
on blossoms where the bees would crowd 
and dance from tree to tree.
The sun dropped yellow all around -
young lovers kissed outside the town
beneath the copse of trees.

The rumble of a summer storm
disguised the din of truth forlorn
as thousands marched this summer day;
our nation's sons in blue and grey,
like bees of spring they swarmed.
But not for life and not for play,
instead a pyrrhic death ballet -
the worst that man performs.

The orchard where they struck was shattered,
both limb of man and tree were scattered;
the rubble of their hate was thrown
where once a fruit of peace was grown -
blood and life is splattered.
But in these fields a seed is sown
and grows to bear a fruit that's known,
nourishing what matters.

The tears that drop like autumn leaves,
shed for the dead and those they freed
are buried by first winter's fall
and mourned by hound dog's lonely call -
now joined by mother's pleas.
While there a girl with tattered shawl
sobs for her love lost in the brawl
beneath the copse of trees.

Copyright © craig cornish

Details | Craig Cornish Poem |


Adorned in silky taffeta she strides -
cool, crisp, and confident.
With delicate lacy trim she glides,
a snobby sophisticated countenance
behind which a volatile temper hides.
Once quiet and sultry,
now chilling and unpredictable, she chides -
burning cold upon her breath
and breast where nature's wrath resides.
We've seen her dance before ...
our tempestuous winter bride.

Copyright © craig cornish

Details | Craig Cornish Poem |


A million crystals made by God
now float in space like finest lace,
each one perfection - never flawed,
unique in six-fold symmetry;
then fall to earth in cold embrace
where moonlight dances brilliantly.

Reflecting back prismatic light
like nature's crystal chandelier,
embellishing this winter night,
then landing on your blushing cheek
and melting there just like a tear;
still drifting with the night's mystique.

A million crystals made by God
reflecting back prismatic light.

This is a Cornish Sonnet invented in Cornwall UK centuries ago.
It is 14 lines consisting of two sestets followed by a couplet.
The rhyme scheme is Abacbc Dedfef AD
Note that in this form the first line of each sestet are used in the couplet.
I chose to write it in Iambic Tetameter (not required but lines must be of similar length and flow.
and I chose to use enjambment (also not required)

I like the sonnet form because it is the right length @14 lines 
it has many varieties of sonnet to choose from and when it is done correctly
has a smooth flow. I think longer poems require more work to keep
the readers attention when a sonnet says it all more quickly. In my opinion a
poem should leave something to the readers imagination.

Written Dec. 8, 2015 By Craig Cornish
For the contest Poetry Writing #1
Sponsored by Broken Wings

Copyright © craig cornish

Details | Craig Cornish Poem |

Await The Breeze

(Fiction, at least for a few years!)

Oh pity my decrepit frame,
with ever step I cry -
to see myself through clouded eyes
and hardly know my name.
Oh God! To be that youth again
when skyward I could fly,
bereft lament that now abides
with not a soul to blame.

So should I ride on plaintive wind
or wait the gentle breeze,
to climb with wings on upward drafts
or stay where I have been?
I think I shall await the breeze
and ride it till my last.

This is an Italian sonnet rhyme scheme but written in Hymn Meter to echo a style that Emily Dickinson often used.  Although she admired and studied Shakespeare
she didn't write true sonnets and rarely wrote pentameter, but often used iamb meter in this tetra and tri form.

Copyright © craig cornish

Details | Craig Cornish Poem |


What is this thing love, that makes fools of kings,
that makes a once low and lonely pauper dance
or the most cheerful heart now cry when singing -
yet ready for another awkward chance.
Is there anything in this mortal life
that thrice bitten     we reach out again
to where angels and demons dance with knives
and where pain seems too common an end;
I think not ... I think it is our soul's gold,
a quest that is never, ever ending,
then once in our grasp, to no one sold,
nor value in a heart pretending.
    I look upon this love I hold   and pray,
    that never can I let it slip away ....

Oct. 16, 2015

This is a transitional modern sonnet because some of the rhyme is slant
and some of the meter is mixed and some variation in syllable count,
more "outside-the-box" so to speak.

Copyright © craig cornish

Details | Craig Cornish Poem |

Dungeons of the Soul

Beware the secrets castles keep,
in empty chambers tucked away,
within your soul they do not sleep.

There, quietly within they creep
kept hidden from the light of day.
Beware the secrets castles keep.

Lost down behind where conscience weeps,
the secrets know they cannot stay.
Within your soul they do not sleep.

Through many walls it slowly seeps
'til when our peace becomes the prey.
Beware the secrets castles keep.

We're warned that what we sow we reap;
at harvest time we'll have to pay.
Within your soul they do not sleep.

Loud echoes from within betray
the secret truths that were delayed.
Beware the secrets castles keep.
Within your soul they do not sleep.

Copyright © craig cornish

Details | Craig Cornish Poem |

A Daydream

When in a moments sweet repose
I paused in midst of thought and knew,
it was this place in time you chose
to stop and think upon me too.
Your favorite poem was on my lips 
and melodies swept through my mind
until they stopped and softly kissed
the dreams each memory provides.
Then through a fog of thoughts you strode
and reached as if to beckon me,
"You are the blushed and fragile rose
that in my heart will always be".
   With that you smiled and turned away -
   in daydreams born another day ....

English Sonnet in Tetrameter
Written from the viewpoint of a woman

Copyright © craig cornish

Details | Craig Cornish Poem |

L is for Love Yourself

Herbie the frog with the lopsided hop
would travel in circles till he tired and stopped,
then jumped into the pond with a giant kerplop,
as the bullfrogs laughed and croaked till they dropped!

It mattered not where Herbie was bound,
even when swimming he went round and round.
Amongst all the pollywogs he was renowned
for going and going but not gaining ground.

Poor Herbie had no trouble just staying busy,
but circling and circling made him so dizzy.
He lived in a pond he never could cross,
but one thing's for sure, he never got lost.

So, no matter your problems, or where you start,
you'll always get home, if you just trust your heart.

A very silly, serious sonnet

Copyright © craig cornish