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Best Poems Written by Ellinor Sador

Below are the all-time best Ellinor Sador poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Nightfall

As the day decays 
Her rays of light defeated 
sun retreats westward

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Letter To Rosie

I could tell you about the souls that I borrow,
the words that I swallow,
but that is my own sorrow.
 
Let's stick to me,
because after all these years you still do not see;
that what you have got is really me.
 
Last night I wrote you a poem,
about how lovely you looked in that new gown.
You returned me a frown.
 
You told me ":Let's talk about you for a change."
My writings just don't seem to do.
But what can I tell you?
 
I thought you already knew,
your dear Edward, a writer that's true.
Just listen, to these words that I brew.
 
There is not more to me, then there is to you.

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The Old Fisherman and the Hummingbird

Lazy I lingered on the porch of my terrace
a hummingbird was softly picking on a daisy
this reminded of the time when I lived at the coast
I use to watch seagulls as they dived into the sea
that ancient symbol of the strife to survive
 
But as I turned my eyes away from the sand
the hummingbird started to sing a melody
my soul surrendered to harmony
gone that old vision of agony
 
When I returned to the comfort of my lazy couch
in my head the hummingbird's song went on and on
took me back to times of innocences so clear and so pure
it finally won from that old cynic I'd become.
That was the day, I  heard a hummingbird sing.

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Full Moon and the Pond

as moon reflected 
silverfaced  in the pond 
vision of delight

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Jazzy Poem

In a smokey basement a saxophone plays,

while the singer sings: "Nordic blue wanderer, why is the grass green?
Not red like the cherries in the tree."

The baseline is covered by the strings.

The saxophone plays, the singer sings.
The tune goes on, carried by the beat of the base.

All of a sudden, and out of tune: "Times up guys, closing time!".

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Oldtimer Love

Silvergreyhaired,
and one can say rather old
yet she's all I got

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The Medicinal Curse

This is the story of my madness, which flung into rage.
I was no longer allowed to that free zone,
a mind off my own.
All off a sudden, I was owned.
 
Owned by doctors, judges and nurses,
believe me, I have seen their curses. 
They killed the free-thinker in me.
 
I met you the killer of thoughts, the blindfold, the veil.
I had no longer acces to my own head,
I met the zombie instead,
The blank I had wedded.
 
Owned by doctors, judges and nurses,
believe me, I have seen their curses.
They killed the free-thinker in me.
 
Up and down, up and down, the same corridors
Those hospital hallways, so endless and long,
in there I belong.
And I no longer belonged.
 
Owned by doctors, judges and nurses,
believe me, I have seen their curses.
They killed the free-thinker in me.
 
Grief, rage and despair that's what you brought
I do not care about your college-degree,
Maybe one day you'll see,
me and Foucault agreed.

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Young Reader To Writer

I have got you in my pocket;
pocket edition of your history. 
Remember when I first met you in school. 
I did not like class but gosh, you were cool. 
Our teacher told us how you jumped drunk into a pool. 
To me a Hero, to her a fool. 
Now I have read all your stories, 
even the biographies.
Scientific but yes, they were terrific. 
To my teacher your life and work is rather close, 
to what we call nowadays pornography.
Maybe the teacher never knew, 
that when it comes to controversial, there is worse.

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The Forgotten Poet

I am the poet, the drunk and the madman,
the junkie of the soul you have borrowed
it is my collapse that you witnessed 
it is my arise that you see 
in this book here with thee

Gone the disgust, gone the disguise
Just look at at the stars and forget my scars
What remains in this embrace is the grace,
even the grace of a single phrase


I  am still the poet, but no longer drunken or mad
You remain the junkie of my eternal soul
You might be a poet, or might be not yet
Your only difference with me, 
is that death, did not catch you yet

Gone the disgust, gone the disguise
Just look at at the stars and forget my scars
What remains in this embrace is the grace
the grace of even this single embrace

You might even be, the single one to read me
but yet I survived in this piece of paper
which might be seen in the future
so paper does have a memory

Gone the disgust, gone the disguise
Just look at at the stars and forget my scars
What remains might only be,
the grace of my embrace with the paper