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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

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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

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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

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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

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Old Red Maple

Too long since smooth sapling skin
bent supple with the slightest breeze;
now stretched, fissured and furrowed,
bored, burned and bent,
sliced, scarred and carved, yet
I have lived wonderfully and fully.

Old limbs that once swung
a laughing child and sheltered
more than one forbidden kiss;
... the only witness to many lonely tears
and, at least as many hopeful prayers.

Why pensive then, when so many
would wish my fate?

Perhaps those melancholy desires
for what was, when I stood not
quite as tall, when many
proud elders surrounded me, 
wise and strong but now gone.

I will soon join them but
today a robin tickles my crown
... a home for one more brood,
and October will find one last shout
of crimson beauty ... I am still proud.

Written August 23. 2015
Inspired by Charlotte's Personify a Tree Contest

Copyright © craig cornish

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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

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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

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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

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Aurora Borealis

Her aqua skirt flows in the sky,
like curtains of the God's they play;
a Monet brushstroke low to high -
like life itself they go away.
But for now they dodge and weave
as in a phosphorescent pool;
a flirting dance before they leave,
behind a veil of colored tulle.
Behind the veil are sapphire eyes,
behind the skirt, there lies the night.
The curtains are a brief disguise;
seductive show of pure delight.
     Now deeper to the heavens drawn,
     within the night before it's gone.

Copyright © craig cornish