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Best Poems Written by Lex Treenie

Below are the all-time best Lex Treenie poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Funerals

“Coffins. Who’d of thought it? Catalogues for coffins. And the speed and efficient nature of funerals in general. I mean I know we’ve been doing them for years, but we’re very good at it aren’t we?”
Everyone laughed.
“No, but really the whole thing has just been one task after the other, call the funeral home, call the hospital, call the crematorium, call the family, call the papers, call the lawyers.” She paused, “I’d half-forgotten someone had died!”
Everyone laughed.
“And the things that always seemed like jokes – he always said he thought he should hedge his bets with the man upstairs just in case the religious folks got it right, but was that serious?”
Everyone laughed.
“And the funeral director, oh the funeral director trying to tactfully ask if he was a fat man, by asking if we needed one urn or two.”
Everyone laughed.
“I mean the whole thing is just too funny.”

At the funeral everyone cried.

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Friend

She fell into familiar arms.
She cried, she screamed, she abused, she used. She explained, at length, the obvious, the previously discussed and the unspoken. She sipped her tea. She insulted, she weeped. For loves lost, for time wasted, for family, for fears. She tried to be calm, she blew her nose. She took off her stockings, she had some chocolate. She spoke with irrational rationality.
She caught her friend.

She held her close, she took the tears, the abuse and she was there. She listened; she discussed the previously discussed and the unspoken. She made tea. She took the insults, wiped the tears. She stroked the hair, and made jokes. She passed the tissues, she wiped the makeup, and she provided the chocolate. And she explained how life was never meant to be rational.

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Gift

I see you
I understand you.
With all your faults and idiosyncrasies
I want to be with you.
I want your smell and your taste
Your faults are part of your perfection.
Your insecurities are your strengths.
When I’m with you I feel home, safe.
Anyone else is wrong because you are right

I love you.

I am utterly content.
I want to make you happy
I want you safe.
I will heal your pain
I will protect you, I will care for you, I will provide for you in every way.
I do not need to own you
I do not want to stop you.
I love what you are.

I know you don’t love me.

I know I don’t make you happy
I know you don’t want to hurt me.

I will leave you.

It is in my power to make you happy
It is in my power to relieve your pain
It is in my power for you to find love.
It is in my power to give you what I have.
I will provide, I will heal, I will make you happy, I will leave you because I love you because –

I understand you.

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The Dream

“I dreamt about you last night.
We were walking through a car park that didn’t end and you picked me up, pushed me against a wall and kissed me.”
She turned to face him.
“You kissed me like you haven’t kissed me in months.”
“Then you took me by the hand, looked at me with such love and stabbed me in the face.”
He looked up.
“Slashed me with a knife,” she gestured with her hand, “from here,” she pointed to her left eye, “To here,” her right cheek.
“I cried out in pain, but you drowned it with another kiss.”
He looked pained, went to speak and said nothing.
“You did this repeatedly for the entirety of the dream.”

“Kissed me, and then cut my face, there was a lot of blood.” She smiled, “Weird huh?”

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Violin

The father dragged the boy into the room and pushed the violin into his son’s hands. It felt heavy, heavy with the weight of expectations.
“You will play beautifully.” He thundered as he turned to leave, “I will not allow you to fail.”
“But father,” the boy replied, “I don’t want to play the violin.”
“I will lock you in this room until you understand.“ His tone was firm, “I do not want you to regret not being able to play, as I do.”
The door was locked.
The boy looked at the violin in disgust, he played, and he grew bored. He stared at it as time spilled out. He kicked the door, he shouted for release. There was no reply. The violin mocked him. He hated it, he played again and its tune was different.
His father returned, standing in front waiting patiently was the boy, violin in one hand and bow in the other.
“I understand now father.” The boy announced.
“You can play?”

“No”, said the boy, “But I’ll never regret it.”