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Best Elysabeth Faslund Poems

Below are the all-time best Elysabeth Faslund poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Details | Elysabeth Faslund Poem

Was This Poem Written Yet

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The poem was visualized on the front, screen porch, 
in silence, in wonder...
It swarmed the Autumn-purpled flowers by the door, 
leafed through reds, golds of the Chinaberry Tree...
sleucing words down Sunday-wet-tin, 
onto the wooden steps.

The poem never stalked like Lady McBeth, through
darkness to her ending hall, last line spoken...
Never flew too close to the Sun, as Icarus, 
gathered no Phoenix rebirth...
The poem did not herald a magical Sunday.

For the poem stayed on the front porch, 
and was never written.


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Details | Elysabeth Faslund Poem

Dandelions and Cement Cracks

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After the world has bottomed you up
like a brown bag, no label wine.
All. Day. Long.
Plopping your worn glass, 
empty, on a Whirlpool cardboard box...
Absorbing, drying
all once-upon-a-time, 'Made In China', 
condo-walled dreams.

Your buddy, 'Thunderbird', twitches whiskers
over glistening gutter teeth.

Dandelions in cement cracks.

Ah, life is good. Sleep peacefully.
No mortgage. No rent.
The morning brings a full glass
to hold you in escrow...

For Torquemadas
Of the World.


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Details | Elysabeth Faslund Poem

Allegra

Even the hollow reed voices across sand, dry plains, 
startling lilt, notes we can remember.
We can forget. Forgetting is our salvation, 
not reincarnation.
When memory is destroyed, we are spared
thorns, destiny.
No further life.
Peace be with you.
With you, Father.

To each the choice, known, unknown, of what the
heart can render. Rending forever, keeping us
worn, sworn to earth, dust.
Do not erect stones for me, they would keep me
company. I did not have companionship in
life, why plague the stones at sunset? 
Cover me with thorns, as in life, one reed, 
one drum. I clutch music of death, 
no salvation, yet reincarnation.
You are in peace. Let me.
Remember me.
Remember.

Who would leave their bed of winter's night
to light dark's ice with wax candle? 
Not you, priest...
bound by law to the body, not soul's grief
or expansion.
Bound to limit the soul in one direction.
Denial of reed and drum leads voices, 
in canto, to ceilings.
Captured. Tonal.
Never twice on key.

To each a choice...thorn, dulled thorn.
Thorn nonetheless.
Vine. Rose.
What redemption after salvation? 
Can salvation be redeemed? 
Must it, should it, by who's hand...
long the vine, short the rose.
Together...vining rose of headstones
rendering hollowness in winter's
dark ice.
For you who remember...
a candle.


Details | Elysabeth Faslund Poem

Guests of the Season

.......................Merry Guests Of This Season...sonnet



Crystaline laughter, greetings, and snowflakes. 
Tinselled trees draped with ribbons, laces, and 
Bows. Tiny, sparkling glasses of sherry. 
Ladies in delicate chiffon. Red berry 

Woven wreaths of holly, juniper, wound 
With silvered streamers, curling round the door 
Open to all, this season of Good Will. 
Winter not allowed, yet the outside chill 

Accompanies merry, homeward bound guests. 
Blazing fireplaces wait patiently to 
Warm and cheer those opening the door. Frost 
Breaths soon disappear. Parties are hosted 

Each night of this Season. Friends not alone, 
Family gathered again all at home.


Details | Elysabeth Faslund Poem

The Beloved Pool Game

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To the West, I looked.
Free-falling backwards, down.
Like Ripley into the furnace, clutching an alien
horror...destruction. Death.
Violet petal soft falling. No pain. Slow motion.
No impact. Peaceful.

'Girl, get off my pool table, ' my Daddy, smiling, 
Chalking the cue tip. 'You want to play? '
'But you're...'
Clean break,11 balls scattered over the table green.
'Only if you think of me like that.'
Banked nine off five into the side.
'I can't beat you. Never could.'
Long green seven...back corner.
'Why is my daughter here? Now? '
Ball after ball, pocketed.
'I was falling, like a real dream...where is this? '
'Want a beer? ' Daddy's ice blue eyes were the same.
'Then I'll beat you! I'll take six! '
'Nope. You're going home.' Soft authority, so loved.
'No, Dad, no. I want to be with you.'
'Nope. A while yet. Where's your spunk? Fight! '

To the West, I looked. Daddy frowned.
I grabbed his cue, called, and sank the eight.
'I win, Daddy! ' 
'You're starting to. Now. Go home. I'll be here.'

To the East, I looked.
Towards the rising Sun.


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Details | Elysabeth Faslund Poem

Star Journeys: Vivace

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It came down, in the end, to starlight...
dusted lashes blinking, 
eyes trailing intricate arms of galaxies, 
thinking with breaths of blood, 
eons of blood...
one second...one life.
Wait for me, 
I will meet you at the edge of dawn.

It came down, in the end, to starlight...
raised hands translucent, 
nails embedding tenuous holds
as universes streamed past...
the footprints...
one song...one time.
Talk to me, 
I will tell you of the edge of dawn.

It came down, in the end, to starlight...
etching flame-aura shadows
around ancestors, scarred and sleek...
for laws bound to the
beginning...the end.
Walk with me, 
we go to the edge of dawn.

And there, sit with our kind, the home
we always sought...
beyond the speed of sight...
in our hands the while...
there to greet us at the Door
forever open...starlight.


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Details | Elysabeth Faslund Poem

Pre-divorce Lesson Number 3,697

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Being kept penniless was way too much! 
Gonna fix my ex's car...
hell, he couldn't do it! 
Couldn't find rusted parts...

needle-nose pliers, Phillips, 
ratchet, spit, gum...jack.

Hmmmm...reroute spark plugs
thru the injector...
ignition nutrition...ho hum.
Throw out carbuerator...
manifold's too round...

computer don't need this
many circuits...
turning signals' gotta go...
new fuses color the ground blissfully! 

Don't you agree, now that you see, 
he did the same to me, to me...
I kind of didn't like it.

Oh, and chewing gum shoved
deep inside
that key thingy place...
no spiteful binge! 

Just angelic revenge...


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Details | Elysabeth Faslund Poem

Celtic Mother

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In the time of dead leaves, 
when wide-eyed things
frowned at sound, 
and snow fell through fog, 
a red berry circlet
crowned her hair.

When hunger stilled infants
and frost shrouded ancients, 
wrinkled laughter dappled
forests, glades, fens.
Her talons clawed
life through death, 
veil through veil.

Mother. Hag. Virgin whore.
Giver, taker, wise before
gods' birth.

In the time of black robes, 
when men killed
for one mouth of meat, 
she walked naked
on frozen fields, 
and the earth
shuddered
its young
upwards.

Mother. Midwife. Woman.
She was breathtaking.


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Details | Elysabeth Faslund Poem

We All Get Bored--Especially If We

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...Actually polish with a furniture polish...
Not use it as an air freshener.
...Notice the surrounding wildlife...
Pick any room of your house.
...Finally do laundry...
And separate the colors.
...Strike up a conversation...
With that wrong number.
...Assign page numbers...
To the Internet.
...Watch a special on Hawking theories...
Then call the BBC to argue a point.
...Write a nonsensical toss-off...
Next day, it still makes sense.

You're absolutely Human...


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Details | Elysabeth Faslund Poem

Eternity's Beaches

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I stood on sunsets beach, gulls circling, 
skimming wavelets, 
hovering fish husks...long gone.
One, lone feather, spiraling ocean incense
of lost continents at rest...out there....
Below dolphins' arced grey backs...horizon storms...
Tucked in my hair....leaving footprints
to sand crabs, I walked far, as stars quietly haloed, 
crowning universes, folding glitter
into the night.

I walked to sunrise stillness, breathlessness.
Mirroring creation...one handful of water.
Down the dunes came a little child
running a kite.
'What do you see? ' Piping tiny.
'Nothing...no, nothing.'

And walked through the child, 
into Eternity. 


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