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Best Poems Written by Eric Specian

Below are the all-time best Eric Specian poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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A Note Left On Leaves

Reposed in the ghost of light below the dell
Where brunette pine needles and thirsty oak leaves dwell,
The wind hisses in the canopy
Delivering dreams from the crabapple tree:

The cotton white petals flutter toward my lips
But brush on by with soft ginger wisps
That shroud my eyes from the blinking sun,
Then dusts the ground in a snow-like pollen;

Ripe round blooms cup fondly in my hand,
And the flesh blushes while it nears my breath.
The taste revives my memory; I stand,
And float to the tree which marks her death.

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Full Moon

Her face is wrinkled, cratered, and scarred;
It’s far from flawless; agèd; hard.
But when the night is right, she’ll overflow,
For about her is an indelible glow;
A glorious white that lights the sky
As I kiss her surface with my distant eye,
And stretch out my fingers for a feel
But she steps an inch back, arousing appeal;
I wish the nights would bleed over days
So I could bathe in her luminous ivory rays.
Cursed be the sun, for when comes the dawn
With an opalescent yellow yawn.

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Top Rip--Typer Or Writer

You require to pity our queue.
To you, it were quite quip.
Yet peer your true eye
Ere our quiet ripe turret.
Try to retry to
Pour your weep or woe or
Eerie I.Q out to
Outer property.
Europe?

You wore toupee...or trout?
I too utter pi. Or were it two?
Re-route your prow to port;
Put it to proper etiquette.

Pry our top tip
To your toe poetry.
We worry; you quit.
Poor you.
You, we pity.

I write to rye,
“Pour it,
I yet to try two.”
You type to I,
“Wipe it up.”

You write ore.
I type terry.

Yet I equip
to your wit;
You tie your
Top to rope,
rope to tree
To pop out.

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Humelity

The Lord has tore me down.
My knees lick the dirt;
spiraling, I crawl from a high trench
dug with a rodomontade mouth.
The rocks stacked in insolence are now rubble
and are lapped by kneeling blood.

Although I am made low
and my fingernails scratch the earth
kissing my knees, I hallow the Lord
with my head meekly raise and eyes in the sun,
for my mouth has been scoured by blooded mud
spilled for me to grovel thorough
that the ablution of His hands and robe may
silence my lips and tongue and teeth from insipid pretensions.

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In the Heat of the Moment

Twisting in to glimpse your chest undulating,
(Mine surges with your ear to my ribs)
A letter framed between fruit, caught the street light
Glitters gold and orange, blurred in the rain windshield;

My fingers run the road on your head,
U-turn as they yield toward the back,
And you shutter, eyes close, neck up,
Lips spread, and gasp while I coast forward.

You pressed hard, harder, to my breast
Carrying my other hand along you seat,
And your fingers twinkled along my arm-
Goosebumps injected through my leg.

You tug at my collar, drawing me in
Until your espresso eyes burned the dashboard‘s time,
And the door opened, defrosting the windows,
Leaving me with perfume and your print on the cushion.

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My Heart, 'Tis a Caged Bird

Love, what shalt I speak for what thou dost see

Through most offensive blackened iron bars

Where sky is sick and hides away the stars

Because my heart pounds ardently for thee.

My Lord's old mind was poisoned with debris

By vile council to banish thee afar

For if we came and called an infant ours

Their worth would thus be scorned, ruled by part flea.


Thou mustn’t think mine soul belongs to gold

Lest be that gold which flows from out thy head,

Then ye'd be right, and know I could not bear

A breath away from ev'ry rounded fold.

As thou dost read, I draw nigh to thy bed

To set thee free and stir the midnight air.

Details | Eric Specian Poem

Lost At Sea

When my eyes weep, like glaciers in the sun,
And cheeks flush red like rusted coral rocks,
Will she be there at the end of the dock
To catch me when there’s no more planks to run,
Where waves slice like the wings of a raven-
Black blades that my broken heart cannot block-
That cast me in the voided ocean’s box,
A silent ink where life is birthed to none?

She will not appear in boat at the edge
Nor carry rope to fish me back to shore;
For she will, in white robe and open arms,
Seize me before I reach the first board’s etch,
Lay my head to her chest, and stop the pour
Of tears and storms, then breathe me her heart’s charms.

5/28/12
Hopeful Heart