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Best Poems Written by Randy Housh

Below are the all-time best Randy Housh poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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God's Lesser Children

Poem of Remembrance
Remembering Man’s Best Friend
   
    “God’s Lesser Children”
Who says that all must vanish.
Surely wilted flower's scent, does yet remain within its seed.
As they stood guard, 
Now, we too stand
To guard the memory of selfless acts
These lesser children, who knew us well.
Our gate and stride, our scent, our call,
Each gave their lot, no less than all.
To peer again beneath that gaze and feel the nearness of where he lays.
Such sacred moments, etched in stone,
Forever sacred and mine alone. 
But now it dresses you again, 
You whose life these lives did hold.
Clad in friendship, from breast to knee,
A life not long, but oh so pure, it's scent and song remains in you, 
with timeless honor, and future sure. 
                                                                                     Randall

Copyright © Randy Housh | Year Posted 2015



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Destiny's Promise

DESTINY’S PROMISE

Who will understand this path down which I lead,
Once black soil underfoot, now waves unsure and sunset fade,
   “Horizon far” 
but decision made.

Who will peer beneath this stalwart gaze and feel hopes breeze
brush the face and dry the tear for comforts sake; 
  “Horizon near”

Oh such joy, such laughter full, warm smiles surround me like
honeysuckle mornings that call to wake;
Warm sun on my face, the end of this journey, at last day break!
    “Horizon full”

                                                                                   Randall

Copyright © Randy Housh | Year Posted 2015

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Yesterdays Tears

Yesterday’s Tears

Today the rain seemed colder, than ever I had known.
Each drop awakes a memory, as cold and wetted stone.
Drops like tears of melted snow, yet frozen fast in time.
Appear again like stony steps, looking back on this path of mine.
Countless tears left standing, to peer through soulish gates.
Gates secured, and chained within, each tear awaits its fate.
A fate well known to all within, to all who fear to cry.
For all the tears that go unshed, denied the chance on cheek to dry.
Yet here again they stand at gate, as if to deny their destined fate.
And pour like rains deluge in spring, to sing their song with cleansing bring.
Oh to deny this salty death, this parched and painful swallow of breath.
To breach the bars of soulish gates and loose the chains where past tears wait.
If only one in earnest shed, could scale this briny wall,
Then pain’s dry dust would moistened be, removing taste of gall.
So cleanse now this palate of tears, salt and brine, 
And sweeten the taste of this path of mine.
                                                                                                                                                                                                    Randall

Copyright © Randy Housh | Year Posted 2015

Details | Randy Housh Poem

The Son of Three Fathers

The Son of Three Fathers
In all the days since first I knew, I ventured to find… the me… that is true.
Surely amidst all human kind, there stands oh but one… who in me will define,
the who and the why, and the where of my soul,
the meaning of shadows, my place in the fold.
A man of great wisdom? A lass yet divine? A prophet of old?
I sought to long find.
But just as the wind in hand never grasped,
the me… that is true, yet eludes the die-cast.
Now penniless in spirit, no flesh to exact
for the prophets and lovers and wise men of fact.
So here in the silence, standing void of speech.
At the end of myself, it’s within…. that I reach.
To a place unfamiliar, yet eerily known
Full of forgotten, reminders of home.
Those thoughts of my Papa, and his gentle way.
His smile and his laughter and blue eyes of grey.
Of Grandpa and Daddy, and their struggle to speak,
kind words that would heal them… of the fear to be weak.
To witness this drama, played out in my life,
Its strength, and its weakness, its triumph and strife.
Like carving a canyon in rivers forced flow, 
So has it etched, the walls of my soul.
From rage to a trickle as seasons prescribe,
This river of struggle has shaped me inside.
Now searching for courage, to see that long sought.
The portrait of struggle, this river has wrought.
In silence now standing, stripped naked and bare,
Eyes now wide open, of self… now aware.
What be the verdict? Oh what shall I see? The measure of men?
Or a portrait of me?
I again stand in silence, no utterance of need
No bribes from the sculptors, no halter or lead.
Only the portrait, the me, that is true.
The son of three fathers, behold…..I’m anew.
                                                                                             Randall

Copyright © Randy Housh | Year Posted 2015


Book: Reflection on the Important Things