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Best Poems Written by Iris Blade

Below are the all-time best Iris Blade poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Iris Blade Poem

My Warrior

Tall and bold
with the heart of a lioness
Seas open before her feet
And her fingers pull 
The anger from your
Lips.

She’s a fighter
And she know this
Too strong to be beaten
So most nights she succumbs
To past shadows
That never have reflected
Her worth

When she fights back
It’s a firework display
Beautifully contrasting explosions.
Don’t stand too close
Cause she burns

But reach for her
Because all alone
She,
Can light the sky.

She’s got the control of a dancer,
And the elegance of a sunset,
With the hesitancy of raindrops.

She’s the reckoning to my
Force and the
Strength in my weaknesses.

She 
Is the beauty behind the
Scars and
The story behind the
Broken.

Details | Iris Blade Poem

Caramel Macchiato, Please

I’m tapping my feet to the music escaping an old man’s saxophone
On main street
I can feel the raindrops hit my hand
I roll them in my palms like marbles
From my childhood
They apologize to me
And I ask for what?
They say, for making you feel smaller than you are

I look up at the sky, water like whites from an egg
Sizzling on my skin
The sun breaking like the yolk
Like me

The old man’s sax is drowning
Filling up with storm
I decide the rain is too much and disappear
Into a coffee shop
I’m at the counter waiting when
The man in front says
“What’s a pretty girl like you doing all alone?”
It ends in a question but not the one he said
Out loud.

Blink 182 cuts like static through the silence
I try to force my mind to the song but
I can only hear the lyrics
“Friday night and” “Nobody likes you”

My smile is already frozen from the cold
But he makes it shatter like a mirror and
Gather itself on the floor.
The server asks my order, slowly
My face rewinds like a VCR and
My smile puts itself back together
“Caramel Macchiato, please.”

I trudge to my home smelling of cardiac arrest
Brush my teeth
Spit out the coffee and distaste on my breath

At night I dream of bowing in front of red gold curtains
Costume only on my lips
A playbill
With my name an elipseys from the heaviest role 
Happiness
People throw roses for fake smiles.

Details | Iris Blade Poem

Shattering

Without counting the pendulum swings
I fall from trees without leaves for I am simply the bird
Don’t you know what it feels like to kiss the horizon
I am at a crossroads so why not play tic tac toe?

I fall from trees without leaves for I am simply the bird
With you becoming the silver wrapped around my finger
I am at a crossroads so why not play tic tac toe?
For your footsteps turn to rust like the heart you left them on

With you becoming the silver wrapped around my finger
I reach to tie my shoes but they are knotted together
Your footsteps turn to rust like the heart you left them on
I still know the sun tells me to hide my heart

I reach to tie my shoe but they are knotted together
The mirror of my soul is prone to shattering
I still know the sun tells me to hide my heart
I only listen to what keeps me silent

The mirror of my soul is prone to shattering
You have forced me to fade out like a firefly
I only listen to what keeps me silent
My eyes are soaked from weeping willows

The mirror of my soul is prone to shattering

Details | Iris Blade Poem

Stars

He’s beautiful.
Laying across from me,
Eyes a confused green.

I know his skin is soft
Because in one moment,
He placed a coin in my palm,
And I had the 
Overwhelming desire
To run my fingers
Through his hair and

I know
I can’t help myself
My hopeless romantic 
Tendencies have 
Taken ahold of me.

And him, he’s just
Simplistically hopeful
And so am I.
I can see the good in him
And he sees the good in me.

And I think,
I don't know but I want to
I think 
Hidden in the dark,
We could outshine the
Stars.

Details | Iris Blade Poem

There Is No Grace

There is cranberry sauce somewhere
Three dimes in my left hand
An eight of spades in my right
My mother
Is making nervous conversation
The relatives
Are too old to care 
I am looking anywhere but the lines on all of these faces 

The conversation moves on, I don’t follow it
I win the next few rounds and
It is when I see my father grimace I really listen
Some other relative is talking about the homeless in their 
Freezing state of Minnesota 
Except they call them other things instead
Question why they don’t just ‘get a job’
Someone 
Chimes in with ‘they must be lazy or something’
Says God must want them to suffer
My grandmother is what I call ignorant and she calls catholic
I lose another dime because i’ve stopped paying attention to 
The game 
I am too busy texting my boyfriend whom my grandparents remembered as
‘Mexican’ then ‘painter’ and then ‘whats his name’
He is so much more beautiful than anything either one of us could create
The conversation still revolves around street corner statues 
I am feeling less and less alive with each word and more and more suffocated with each second of silence
Every time my brow furrows and mouth opens my mother hurriedly asks me
If I’d like more apple pie
To which I quietly respond ‘I've had enough apple pie family for the rest of my life’
There is nothing thankful about harassing people with no voice
There is no grace in this conversation 
I mutter to my brother something about god creating the rainbow, and street corners, and laughter, and anything that is not white picket fences, anywhere that is not the suburbs
He says ‘Amen sister’
The longer I sit here the more the walls look like they are closing in 
I go open the garage door just to feel the light on my skin 
I do not belong in this cage 
They ate the only other thing with wings in this house
And although I do not believe in God I know some hold him like a gun filled with blanks and others have passionate affairs with faith
And although I do not know what it is like to be home-less
I do know what it is like to be homeless.

Details | Iris Blade Poem

Here Is An Anger Poem

Here is an anger poem, a slamming doors poem, an I told you so poem, a look what the cat dragged in poem, a finally comfortable in my own skin poem, a 
A battle cry, a restraining order, a sharpened scream
Here is a redemption poem, as in i know the crown isn't worth much but i still want it anyway
It still glitters, so perfect it looks fake poem, still knows how to catch the light, 
A somewhere in between me and him you forgot how poem,

This is a poem in which my skin boils, in which you can smell my hair melting, in which my hands forget how to be hands, so they become oceans
This is a poem in which I turn into so much water I could drown you, girl
I could freeze over and not let you up for air 

This is a violent poem, a gladiator poem, a thrown to the wolves poem, too dangerous to write on my skin poem
Your teeth chattering, you become a skeleton right in front of me poem, your bravery with everything else you left behind, 
I am running out the tumbleweed door and into the desert of dry, in which my skin refuses to become an ocean, where my hair denys she was ever a whirlpool, until my eyes forget the meaning of water.

This is a vulture poem, an the end is ny poem, a guillotine poem, 
A the crown should have been left at the palace poem, for it has cost me my head poem. 
He is the executioner, you were the blade poem,
An I don't know you poem, but I did poem
And there are moments where I don't regret it poem
An I can feel myself unraveling from the seams poem, 

This is a lost limb poem, a goodbye blue sky poem, a field of dead sunflowers poem,
How could a piece of me hurt, streetlights are falling like stars, he had opened his arms the moment mine fell off, the school bus has broken down, the smell of gasoline is rising, flames are licking up the side of the metal coffin poem. and
I cannot blame you for filling your body with the kind of wanting blood you knew was once mine
This is an I don't know if i can hate you poem
But I try

Details | Iris Blade Poem

Depression At It's Finest

Your own soundtrack
white noise in my ears
in my years

Pictures in scars, maybe a 
lightning strike, an
x to mark the spot
anything to take away the 
pain the
waiting

Anything to distract from the
Teardrops drizzling down a windowpane and
a deep breath feels like a
pain to your chest your
heart and
I've had enough of those

Flesh wounds to the soul caused by
little boys who whisper
pretty words that sound
sounded 
like fulfillment.

Ferris wheels break,
Carousel rides never 
last.
a wasted quarter,
Just a wasted quarter of me.

The promise of rain
is a 
broken one.

Details | Iris Blade Poem

Art of Destruction

Tiny sigh 
Drop of whiskey on her lips and
Gold glittering around her 
Neck
Tipsily she smiles
And it’s a christmas card happiness
Not raw enough to be real
Take a step closer you’ll see
A world on fire
Reflected in her eyes
Her world and
This is how she watches it burn
There is an art to destruction, 
Or rather,
Accepting it
The glass clatters from her hand but
Luckily it’s dollar store plastic
Luckily it’s empty
The stilettos turn in unison, in
Surprise
And she falls as
The bass drops
Out from under her.
Alone on the floor under a crowd
Tomorrow she’ll forget
By the time she’s home she’ll want to
Her damned destruction
Is an her art
And she’s a museum full of 
Paintings on fire.

Details | Iris Blade Poem

Age

She used to think age was an abstract noun
Then I told her she was wrong
I told her you could see the years set in
You can see hands begin to tremble
Minds begin to shake.
The blank never filled.

I told her about the shuddering sighs
And the memory melding identities together
I become my aunt.
I told her about the moments when 
He couldn't remember what month it was
Or he forgot my dog’s name.

And when I told her about the days 
That were good, 
Like when he told me about his childhood
And he knew his old address,
She seemed to be looking past me,
Focusing on the present.

And I spoke of the days
Oceans dripped off my cheeks
Because I could tell he knew
He knew his body was his cage 
He knew he wasn’t himself anymore
Because he was buried too deep to find.

And when I looked up from my sorrow
I saw a girl
A girl with red eyes and 
Mascara tracks down her nose,
Shattered and broken
In front of a mirror.

Details | Iris Blade Poem

Languages

I know six languages, 
The one I write in
The one I speak in,
My mother’s words,
My father's verse,
And those of my brothers.

My mother speaks quickly 
In baking terms and 80’s slang
She speaks in sewing materials,
Starbucks orders,
And references to Bon Jovi.

My father speaks with nature,
I just happen to hear him. 
He converses with trees, 
And pebbles worn smooth by time.
His language is filled with bar chords,
Childhood lullabies,
And culinary jargon.
The words he shapes are crafted by knowledge that I won’t admit I see.

Two years younger than me is an entirely different language,
Though one I understand.
Covered feelings form a language 
I used to know quite well
Spoken in anger
Or begrudging hope
He lives in a pixelated world 
With his eyes glued to a screen
He speaks in accordance to what is thought,
Usually not his thoughts guiding his actions
Strict participant in social norm,
Too much is said about what he hasn’t done and not enough about what he has

The youngest speaks in an entirely
Too innocent language
One I have come to detest 
For the unwelcome flashbacks it brings
I don’t speak his language 
Doubt I ever will again. 
His quick words are full of legos,
Cartoons,
And Kung Fu Panda.
His actions are a reminder of a song I have forgotten.

I speak in limericks,
Dramatic monologues,
And Iambic Pentameter.
My words are full of colors and grasped by few
For they float by much too quickly
Full of mentions of J. K. Rowling 
And pop culture. My wonder is stuck
In the impossible,
For I have yet to believe it is so.
I speak in song lyrics and quotes.
My words are full of grudging resilience,
Quick wit,
And sarcasm.

It does not matter what language we speak, 
Or what percent Irish we think we are,
We are alike on what matters, 
Like our love for literature,
Our patriotism of Gryffindor,
And our intrest in politics.
The languages we speak tie us together, 
They are what make us unique.