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Best Poems Written by David Colquhoun

Below are the all-time best David Colquhoun poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Pyramids

This is not the first of our great steps.
   It begins in an alcoholic stupor
      Someone carves in stone -
        "Khufu must be drunk."
                 Just so,
                Red-eyed
          Up here, a hot
        Sun rising glues sand
     To burning skin with sweat.
Another stone is raised - a head drops,
   Dwelling on it. Complicated is not
           Chiseled here alongside
             The river;we breed,
                  We stink,
                 We vanish
             Into the sand like
           Dung-beetles This is
  The Old Kingdom and what is seen
As new is tomorrow's murderous sun.
   We have more runes to carve.
         We have grave issues 
             With an afterlife,
                    Period.




                               
                               Notes:
                               Khufu: King and builder of The Great Pyramid.
                               The Old Kingdom: The time of pyramid building.
                                                          2700 - 2100 BC.

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A Shining Visual 1

that shine of background,
that spread of fruit, flight and flesh,
an erotic gloss?

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Tunneled Vision Visual One

Recalled,
That country road
Between the knowledge trees;
An arch of truth, a freshening
Of soul.

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The Perfect Limerick

Here lies O'Tool, Irish and Brother.
He treated his wife like his mother.
His poor wife, sex-starved,
On his tombstone has carved,
Under this grim sod lies another.

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On Armed Teachers

For your charges
Wear a bandolier diagonally
From shoulder to waist.
Fill it with rounds
Of crayons
The color of a rainbow
With that arched calm
Following a terror rain.

Let this be a lesson
To ring from bell to bell
For children 
Without number,
Without interruption.

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The Party

They come from darkness,
Eager to the lighted place.
Cold hands clasp warm -
Hi! in a welcoming embrace.
Proffered camaraderie cuddles
Kindred spirits in a cloud;
Buzzing breezy banter oozes
From a jesting jocund crowd.

Rum raucus pleasantries tipple
In tailored pin-striped suits;
Convivial capering denim does
A cabaret in cowboy boots.
A painted celebrating clown
Greets gingham in a merry mix,
While a furtive feigner in a corner
Shades eyes from his tantalizing tricks.

Restive ribald revelers gather,
Garnishing gushing smiles.
Snared eager effusive faces
Trap a miscellany of styles.
Each one pursuing pleasure
In a convulsing carnival of joys;
Each one a bubbly bauble sparkling
In its own peculiar noise.

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Nighttime Crossing

A good part of the day is night,
In at the beginning, there at the end,
Like another kind of dark called death.

But whenever to our father's house,
Some nighttime crossing in a yellowed light,
To hold yourself against the night, and cry -

I want to cross another cobbled bridge,
To view the other side; and yes, a starlit trip
Upon the deep to islands where I never went.

Just so, a spangled sky of possibles and probables,
To have the stars gleam back - "I told you so".
Then go, and have the moonbeams shed some light

Upon this path I'll call my other walk.
I want to cast a shadow of my future self,
Part then, part now, beginning with an endless end.

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Scotland

Surrounded by an ocean, seas and England,
Creates ships, sailors and a long suffering
Only a diet of oatmeal, whisky and Calvinism
Taken daily, eases. Then there is the rain,
Like a liquid gift sent down from heaven,
As if to grow the heather and the kilted pipers
Needed, to let the English know we're here,
Damn' well, for all their shenanigans.

   Could this be why the bagpipes have their drones,
   To send wee messages abroad to Scottish homes?

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An Afterthought

this is how it is,
scribbled on a midnight script,
one thought is to play -
a hare takes a moonlit leap,
another smells its warm blood.

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Party On Second Street

Me a piece

Me a blast

Me a hit

Mea culpa