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Best Poems Written by Mike Samford

Below are the all-time best Mike Samford poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Mike Samford Poem

Barefoot Boy, With a Fishing Pole.

A man I am and near my end.
I have other men to call me friend.

And women round me for the lust
And four leaf clover for the luck.

Beer or buttermilk to drink
And time I have to sit and think.

I have meadows which to mow
And I have crops which to sow.

I have men that call me sir.
I have work to be concerned.

I have obligations piled.
Work to do from mile to mile.

I'd trade it all, to be, you know
A barefoot boy, with a fishing pole.

To rest in the shade by a river bed
Soft grass to lay my youthful head.

Fish and skip stones on waters calm
And sleep out all night -when it's warm.

To unravel natures mystery there
Why the turtle wears a shell?

How the Oriole's nest is hung?
How the frog's croak is sung?

Why the Blue-Bell does not ring?
Why the hornet likes to sting?

My work keeps me shod like a mule
Only in dreams, youthful things I do.

When work here ends, to Heaven I go
To be a barefoot boy, with a fishing pole.

Details | Mike Samford Poem

Sadness Farewell

Oh! Farewell sweet sadness, forever farewell.
We must part now that all my tears have dried.
All the pain of my past, no more to hide.
It is joy that causes my heart to swell.

Go, I set you free from this prison cell
To see you leave and not feel you’re cold 
arms around my chest; I release my hold
I speak of you no more, no more I tell

Oh! My sadness, you’re free; run from this hell
For I must stay and we must part, so go
For love has filled my heart to overflow
Around loves joy I know you can not dwell.

My odium lies with you memory
For love was come and brought her joy for me.

Details | Mike Samford Poem

Seven Stones Seven Rocks Seven Sands

I have a small gray rock placed by my bed
Each day it is the first thing which I see.
It stands on guard and watches over me.
Alone a gray, smooth rock, it stands on guard
Well weathered, polished stone, from wind-blown sand.
It was wind-blown and lost in dust of time.
I found this stone near covered with such sand.
It had lain lost, I think, since time began.
Without another rock to call a friend.
There was no other rock, one stone alone.
The God of sand, I may well keep this thought.
No other stone to judge its size I found.
I thought at first it was a grain of sand
One stone alone, in all this sand and lost.
This stone would save me form this sea of sand.
My guarding rock this rock became my friend.
My rock I love and loves me back, my stone.
It sits, it guards me, guards me from the thought--
I am alone in all this sea of sand.

Details | Mike Samford Poem

A Self Silence

Oh! Have you heard a stone's grief?
An inward pity shrieked in vain. 
It resonate beyond belief,
like a rose's scream under winter’s strain
or crumbling of spirit by parting’s pain.

Echoes of longing for inner peace
the hum of want and wonder why.
A ringing in ear that will never cease
from a shrill of passion's passing sigh; 
silent as stones when they cry.

Details | Mike Samford Poem

Burning Sins

It is for sure, not springtime here
Shorter days now how bare His trees.
And looking back draws eyes to tear
For waste and loss of all my greed.

To sail the seas and not return
My ship sinks in the straight of dire.
Its keel has split, its hull to burn, 
A spark to start my driftwood fire.

My greed will feed this driftwood fire.
Heap high this waif to be no loss.
No wisdom from my follies liar
Burn high! Oh! Burn you holocaust.

My ship of dreams I build no more
Fragments be hacked my vain desire
To toss like trash and be ignored
Upon my filthy, driftwood fire.

Self-indulgence fed driftwood fire
Now as to turn from what it seems
Left to me a works of priers
Never to sail my ship of dreams.

I pondered from my window long
Fanning my passion ever higher.
I cursed His name to sing my song, 
A blast to stoke this driftwood fire.

Arrogance torched this driftwood fire.
Let my sins perish with my ships.
To right my wrongs I now aspire.
So let them burn without my kiss.

Resurrecting souls dreams have killed
To pull myself from deep quagmire.
And warm my heart which time has chilled.
Remorse now fuels my driftwood fire.

Self-pride will feed my driftwood fire.
These cords of which I gladly burn
Dreams or follies of mud are mire
No loss to me and no concern.

I've heard the sirens song too long
Uncharted seas with sails which tire.
With all my dreams and fancies gone
Let crackling rings my driftwood fire.

Steam hisses from this driftwood fire.
Stream's me toward sweet isles of peace
Bright flash and gleam of my attire
Shall fall in lour of my decease.

For fortuned Isles my eyes have cryed.
My dreams I leave to whom I sire
I'm cremated before I die
Consumed within this driftwood fire.

Upon my filthy, driftwood fire
When in my grave I take my task
Point for my Lord my vain desires
As chilled ember and cooling ash.

Details | Mike Samford Poem

The Secret the Wood Fairy Knows

In deep forest with rotten leaves and wood
Where the sun’s light finds it hard to reflect.
Where wind won't blow even if it could
below dense undergrowth, it’s deadwood wrecked.
There is much silence there; all sound in check.

Here’s where the webs of spiders hang and cling
few flowers bloom, but weeds and mosses grow.
Broken branches and twigs which the trees fling
shrivel mushrooms that smell like sour bread dough.
In there hides the things the wood fairy knows.

A secret of life the wood fairy knows.
His burrow dug deep in the undergrowth
as he hibernates under winter's snow
to sneak out come spring to run to and fro
to play tricks on man and animals both.

As he plays in the light between the trees
while hiding in shadows of moss clothed stones.
So very often heard but seldom seen
is his deadwood follies with fancy tones
like the shadows themselves the forest owns.

Here in the deepest woods man seldom finds
the burrows of fairies or nest of crows
for we only go where the bare trail winds
and we walk as if our eyes were closed.
We seldom find what the wood fairy knows.

I have pilfered in deep, dark woods in vain
probing for what the wood fairy owns.
I have concluded we are all the same.
It is in oneself where happiness grows. 
This is the secret the wood fairy knows.

Details | Mike Samford Poem

The Lady I Love

The lady I love is true to herself
and in that respect she is true to me.
She has cast her eyes to see no one else.

Such a love as ours is ordained to be.
To loves sweet song our hearts beat as one
and in that respect she is true to me.

The game of life, it seems, we both have won.
With our children raised grows our family.
To loves sweet song our hearts beat as one.

Although we are old, we live cozily
our days pass quickly in a hurried style,
with our children raised grows our family.

When I close my eyes, I can see her smile.
Our love is still strong yet our time grows short
Our days pass quickly in a hurried style.

We will be together in Heaven's court.
The lady I love is true to herself.
our love is still strong yet our time grows short.
I have cast my eyes to see no one else.

Details | Mike Samford Poem

Songbird's Song

My mind freezes as a birdbath
on a chill winter night,
It cracks like glass, soon dissolves
in sun-drenching midday light.
A thought of my winter parting
completely clouds my sight,
Like morning-frosted window's veil
gives an obstructed view,
I can't hear songbirds in winter
or feel me without you.

Freezing wind blows mournfully
through our lives without regard
for time lost, love's tender touch
or beatings of one's heart.
Cold and chill of midwinter
render leaving slow to start.
Anguished hearts as whipping snow
color life hard to see.
Songbirds fly late fall,
winter will be time to die for me.

I can feel a snow before it falls.
I smell it as in a breeze.
I know the North wind blows
after a turning of loose leaves.
Like slow leaving of songbirds,
a tossing of dead weeds,
I sense well signs of winter;
she seeks her strength this year.
When snow is gone, flowers bloom,
please shed for me a tear.

Place my grave atop our hill
on a shaded plot of ground.
Do not cry for me my dear
until springtime rolls around.
Songbirds will sing me hymns
as springs sweetest sound.
A fortunate man I have been
to have loved you for so long,
Remember, I still love you
as you hear a songbird's song.

Details | Mike Samford Poem

Afflatus

Cavemen thought only of self preservation and sex.
In someway evolution was faltered.
Man learned to measure:

You cannot hold an inch, or a mile,
you cannot see a pound, or a ton.
They are but measurements.
They do not exist but in our understanding 
our understanding of what they are.
You can hold a stick that is an inch long.
Yet, it is only a stick, and not an inch.
You can see a tree that is a mile away,
but it is a tree and not a mile.
A pound of butter is only butter and the pound 
is but the measurement of its weight and is invisible.

So is the same for innocence and evil ;
Measurements.
Innocence is love in ones heart for others
and how far a heart can stray from love is evil. 

Measurements of love.

Details | Mike Samford Poem

Fire From the Sky

Fire from the sky a burning July sun
In worship of flesh this scorching heat strikes.
Rant river of sweat from every pore run.
Every tranquil cloud spent in tempered skies.

Frosty dawn gone from my memories
Remembering not, those cold winter days.
Odious, abhorrent sun roasting me
Making each movement a labor of blaze.

Taking my breath, waving firestorm fills air
Hot air seals shade, a reprieve hard to find,
Etch bright shade burns, to give no relief there.
Sitting to rest is hot work of a kind.

Killing this sun, oh, this fire from the sky.
Yet, hotter is hell, souls surely there fry.