Below are the all-time best Patrick Sutton poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members
Hey there Owl sitting up in that tree,
What are you doing looking down at me?
So with a quick little wink and a short little sigh,
that old Owl just replied,
Well I don't see any mice or rabbits or bears ,
no Eagles or Hawks or Robins, any where.
No Deer or Elk or even a Moose,
So then; yes Mr Owl I was speaking to you.
That old owl just turned his head,
looked the other way and calmly said;
So with a bit of disgust I started again,
naming off animals, and even some kin,
I don't see an Elephant or a Zebra or even a laughing Hyena,
I don't see my brother or sister or even Aunt Myrtle,
Why I don't even see a slow crawling Turtle.
That old Owl turned his head about and looked straight at me,
and with a bit of chagrin in his eye which I could see, said;
I could see I was getting no where fast,
and this questioning I was doing was not going to last.
So I decided I would end it and just walk away.
I was wasting my time trying to get him to say;
So I turned and started to walk away,
when I heard these words, in a wise old way.
"I am the wisest of all the birds, because I listen to all I've heard.
I don't interrupt and I wait my turn,
these things are what make me the wisest bird."
I turned back to him and with a wink and grin,
and simply said;
I took a walk in the woods today,
I found a path along the way.
It appeared not another human had ventured this spot,
there I was, me and my thoughts.
All alone in the wilderness, my thoughts and me,
had I found my own little piece of security.
It's funny how sometimes in life you can search and not find,
or find and not search, it happens all the time.
What this little path has shown me, this little find,
where no other human has crossed,
this little part of the world I'm in,
right here, right now
I claim, as mine.
Twas the week before Christmas,
And all through Wyoming.
I was looking for another way,
To greet all my homies.
I in my jacket.
Ma, in sub-zero,
We drove to the local sandwich shop,
For a hot melted hero.
Two for the road,
I exclaimed to the gal.
Make it snappy,
Before Ma gives me hell.
We were back on the road.
Quicker than quick,
Then Ma yelled, STOP!
They forgot the Garlic.
So back to shop,
We rushed right away.
Only to find,
They done closed for the day.
Well, need be I say,
Ma was more than a little upset.
So she wrote "You A$$H@les" on the window,
With her hot melted wreck.
I watched Ma kicking and screaming,
as the officers dragged her away.
So I waved and I shouted,
"They say you'll get out, on New Year's day.
Guess you won't be needing that Christmas present?
I'll exchange it for ya.
Love ya Ma."
Poetry is like "Country Music" some times,
Lost my dog, my wife, my under-ware,
Come on, feel the life that is set before you please.
Feel the minutes ticking by with ease,
Don't sit and wallow in what has already past,
Put your mind to a new way of thinking and make it fast.
Life is too short to hover in sorrow,
move to a happy place, no time to barrow.
It comes down to this and maybe I'm wrong,
Why leave life up to an old country song.
40 below and it's been a rough go,
through the talons of a frostbit mind.
Months to go, before relief will show,
the signs of a clear blue sky.
The winter in me like the hoar frost it seems,
grows colder with each passing mile.
The spring of past shall certainly never last,
with a frown where once sat a smile.
40 below in the Wyoming snow,
like a compromise between it and me.
So in the end, spring can rise once again,
to the death of an old winter Breeze.
The winter in me, like the leaves on the trees,
have outlived it's seasonal pride.
Gathered in time are all that I've rhymed,
through the ghost of my past,
since I've died.
It happens every year around this time.
The winds starts to pick-up and change from a warm westerly direction, to the chill of the Canadian north breezes that ice over windows on the inside.
It seems, that these old bones can tell, as well as these old eyes, when the trees start whistling a-bit
to the chilly Wyoming skies.
But the last great photo of natures camera, before the howling of winter is at our steps.
Is the Wyoming colors of fall, that nature delivers to us.
Now it's nearly impossible to describe, what nature has spent eons learning to do right.
Blazing the colors from green to orange in the aspen groves of a mountain morn.
The cottonwoods shimmer their hints of tarnished bronze and copper leaves,
it seems damn near ridiculous, to try and describe these.
One can't even come close to drawing a picture with words, to the chaotic beauty of a Currant bush,
wrapped in buffalo berries that seem to defy gravity, hanging there all by themselves.
Not to mention the golden coat of a milkweed plant, overflowing seeds that glisten rainbow colors in the light.
It just wouldn't be describable, it couldn't be imagined in words,
The colors of fall, my eyes have heard.
I sit here each week watching the NFL, which teams are doing great and which ones are going to hell.
It appears to me that this weekly event has brought me to the point where I need to vent.
Now I'm not just talking yelling at the screen,
jumping and screaming and throwing some things.
My doctor said if I continue in this way,
I might blow a gasket or even pop a vein.
So I sit and mumble a lot and try not to give it much thought.
But the dang quarterback just dropped the ball,
so now I am listening on the radio,
hoping for a chance at the play-offs this fall.
In the blustery, Wyoming night,
comes another blizzard,
To soar over the tree tops
like an eagle on the breeze.
climbing ever so steadily
so as to eventually see
the face of God, pure and holy
as can be.
awakened to find
it was just another dream.
Have you ever looked at a tree in the autumn morn,
that shimmers a deepened golden tone?
You stare for a bit and realize that just one particular leaf has something special,
Something a little more captivating than all the others trying to position themselves for your delight.
Could it possibly be the dew that makes you notice this one, more than all the rest?
Could it be just the right angle that put's it in the most favorable point for you to receive?
It could just be, this one single leaf, can appreciate the time I spend,
admiring it's tree.
Patrick J. Sutton