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Best Poems Written by Mark Heil

Below are the all-time best Mark Heil poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Ocean Beach Babies

The eve of darkness they come out to play
creepy crawly with our senses. The street
wise, the waifs, the tiny cherubs all blend
together to form a society of sorts that is
out of step with time; they become invisible.

They come with their drums, their guitars to
serenade the unseeing humans in tourist
tee shirts. You can see the beauty of
this youth who dances and plays from a
heart that just needs freedom.

You look into their eyes and you fall in
love with the innocence of a child who
sees his place in time as cosmic.
You smell their odors, their very essence.
A not so spent youth and you wish you were they.

You find yourself being pulled in by
their ethereal nectar and song...you see
for the first time what you could of had.
You are pulled in and the fight leaves you
the unseeing being the unseen...welcome!



*My impressions of the homeless youths of Ocean Beach, San Diego

Details | Mark Heil Poem

Walker

She floats up and down the heartbreak sidewalks
Hungry, looking for the golden ticket from the
Next john that might not hurt her but instead
Rescue her from the depravity of the life she lives.

Everyone is happy, everyone is free, she thinks
Coasting and mingling with her fellow walkers
Of the night....a typical situation....she vibrates
And is alive with her erotic beauty and she

Is frightening to look at in all her glory....Only
If she had glory, to leave this tunnel of love
That never ends....her Ned to produce, to
Buy the little vial of prudence, is foremost.

She bends over cars smiling, glowing, so 
Sincere in her effort to offer the family man theFantasy of rebirth and explosion of a frenzied, Sweaty moment to be sent home sated and guilty.

She is so lonely for what it used to be like....
Was she ever a child playing with strings and
Golden things or did she just one day manifest
Herself into this life of solitude and ugliness?

Daylight comes blaring the start of another
Dingy day and crystal pipes to ease her
Guilt and shame with the knowledge that
Darkness will come and she will walk her mile.

Details | Mark Heil Poem

The Dance

Got a belly full of booze and I
Feel like tripping the light fantastic,
Dancing with the devil in the pale
Moonlight, whatever you want to
Call it, I feel like dancing!

Doing the two step shuffle
And wiggle my get along, twirling
And twirling, fall down a bit but
The blood will dry, as I don't skip
A beat. I'm a dancing magician tonight!

People laughing or turning away real quick.
They are all afraid of me in my drunken
Ecstacy, not wanting to admit they wish
They had the free will to throw down the
Briefcases and do a little jitterbug.

I'm Fred without Ginger, game without an
Umbrella, Baryshnikov with out shoes,
I'm Dorothy prancing down the yellow brick road
I'm a fool doing the fools dance for the
Kingdom of You. Km prancing fool!

Someone throws a nickel, another a rock.
Slowing down a bit so I go into a waltz with
A stick for a partner, oh what a sight I am.
Seems like the po-po are interests too.
Bad critics they are, those artless souls.

My dancing is my color in the black and
White world, in my head a Jim box playing 
The songs that make me cry and celebrate
My life as it is now, not what it was because
"what it was" is but a faint folly. Dance on.

I am done now, panting, breeding, and drunk.
I cry some tears of a  moron confused In his
Shell of nonexistence. I am so tired, the crowd 
Is gone. I huddle against a wall and him
A little ditty that echoes off the walls and 
Dances in the air.

Details | Mark Heil Poem

The Beating

I got beat up the night before
by some Mercedes kids with an
anger i don't understand.
Maybe i scare them.

i gave a good accounting of myself,
Hit one with a satisfying crunch,
Not much older than my son
Where ever he is.

i finally accepted my plight
And curled up in a ball
While the avenger's kicks
Rain down on me in a torrent.

Why are they so angry?
Did they wake up this morning 
On fine linen sheets and
Decide to hurt someting?

They must have parents
Who coddle them some.
Parents who each day hope
Little Johnny comes to and live life.

But little Johnny`s tired
Of the bullshit and drama that
Trap him in an existence of rules.
Well, little Johnny has no rules.

I feel them tiring some,
The blows are subsiding
As they snicker and spit
At me now, all bloodied and bruised.

What will they feel tomorrow?
Will they think back and shudder
Or will they go on their merry
Way and find another lost soul.

What will they feel years
from now when they have
Sons of their own to rule over?
Will they cry?

It`s over now as they run down
The street yelling their victory over
Their victim and feel accomplished.
In this life, everyone takes a beating.

Details | Mark Heil Poem

Holiday Tears

Plastic baby Jesus, little drummer boy
Decorate the tree along with Rudolph
And all the ho ho his of part time Santas
Doing time with Salvation Army bell ringers.

City parades, sparkly lights and garland.
Street candy canes all cry out, "See, were happy,
Joyous and free!" Such is the hypocritical
Holidays endured by us sidewalk thoroughbreds.

For a couple weeks you throw us trinkets,
Chocolate s and turkey dinners believing
You've done miraculous things that help
You sleep at night in your mansion on the hill.

Celebrities use the time for photo ops of
Comedy serving the rabble pumpkin 
Pie along with oily smiles of insincere
Wishes. Shut up and give me another Piece of pie!

Why do we need to be reminded about life
That no longer exists. Do you want us to cry
On our grubby clothes with gratitude? Why
Is us thanking you so important?

So, yes, I'll take your change when you
See my sign saying "I'm trying to get home.""
I'll take my change and buy the only holiday
I'll get this year. The comfort and joy of bygones.

Details | Mark Heil Poem

Inviite Tranquility

The Sea,----
Something to look at
When we are angry.

Details | Mark Heil Poem

Bus Ride

The winter's torture rumbles down
The street, through my meager abode
And pierces my skin and inflames my bones.
Need to get out of maelstrom for a day,
Perhaps a day long bus ride.

I count my money and I'm a few
Beggings short of the five I need
To ride the system of citizens
Who don't realize they sit in a 
Castle meant for a king.

So I dust myself off, look the
Best I can for one of my means.
Put on my gentleman's face, check
My breath for last nights taste and
Position myself so you can't avoid me.

"Hey buddy, got a quarter?" "My
Car is out of gas..." " 'scuse me, dear
Lady, just a quarter so I can eat."
Twenty-five, thirty-five, one dollar!"
With glee on my face and a sprite in my step, I move on.

I take my fiver and purchase a pass.
I feel like a gentleman of sorts with my
Golden ticket to tour this megapolitan
Cage in comfort and warmth from the
Ingredients of a dreary day.

I take a seat in the back, of course
Not wanting to be the object of
Stares and distain, whose
Territory I invaded on this blustery day.
Sorry but I'm riding in style today.

As I doze a little bit from the warmth,
My dreams become congealed with
Reality creating a world of surreal
Rapture of peace. "Hey, driver, there's
A drunken bum on the bus!"

My world becomes shattered with
Those few little words as if I
Actually ought I could be one
Of them for a brief moment
In time, but I suppose not.

So, in despair I climb down
The steps to face the grit of
The storm that rages through the city
And in my heart. Man, I will
Sure miss that bus.

Details | Mark Heil Poem

Yesterday's Boys

I saw my boys the other day while
Digging for hidden dumpster treasures.
I had wondered back to my yesterday
By sheer fortuity, a destiny created by
Hooch and instinct. They have grown
Into youthful perfectionism and I'm 
Afraid to be seen.

I hide behind the dumpster nor ready or
Not wanting to be seen by these perfect
Little gentlemen lest they suffer the trauma
Of a bad dream. I hear muffled conversation
Perhaps talking about a new computer game
Or maybe, God forbid, about me.

Are the scarred from my lack of being
Or have they washed themselves clean
Of me? On my birthday do they remember
And weep for my nonexistence or do they
Simply live a child's life with all its
Wonder and unknowing joy?

I want to hold them in my scarred hands.
Pet them and coo to them my love but I
Would scare them and thus put an end
To their innocence. Why has fate played
A hand of inevitability on me? They are
Smiling now and laughing. God, let them leave!

I panic....they are leaving now and my feet
Are frozen solid and heavy. I want to reach
Out and touch them but I am a statue of ice.
They pull away on their bikes and peddle
Out of my life once more not knowing how
Close I was to yesterday's boys.

Details | Mark Heil Poem

Morning After

Blue dreams filtered through blood soaked eyes.
Dreams that swept by with tornado speed
creating a vacuum that pulls my very being
awake to face another day. i`m thirsty.

My skin crawls with a thousand chills from
the cheap wine from the night before
when everything was grand in a way.
When the world became etherial.

The thickness of my smell berates my nostrils
as i open up one eye to inspect the damage
to my battle weary body and to see if
my spirit has any spark left to move.

Move i must to get what i need to
get well again, perhaps the dope man
won't come around today, then what?
Must not think of such horrible things.

There. I`m up on all fours like a bitch
dog waiting to be mounted by whatever
intrusion comes along; some days i don`t
know if im pitching or catching.

I`m standing leaning against
my trusty cart that i push down the
cement yellow brick road where
at the end there is no wizard.

i merge onto the byway of people
seeking the elusive neccesity of life.
Winds of memory encompass me
as i was them and they were me.

i hug the wall flying under their radar
not wanting or needing their stares and
admonishments of "Hey look, a lost one!".
i slither down/the avenue if used to be.

Another morning in the life of me.
A destitute from a scarring life
of nothing worthwhile.
Another damnable morning.

Details | Mark Heil Poem

Camp

The smell of wood smoke drifts through
The air with no presence of mind to settle anywhere
Except on the clothes of old men who struggle to 
Open tin cans with the anticipation of a child with
An unopened gift.

Cardboard schemes and wooden things create
Shelter for the menagerie of characters who dwell within
Their sanctuaries of loneliness and pipe dreams...some
Have made little windows to view a world that is slightly
Askew to their likening.

Around a fire grumblers grumble, jokers joke about
Their predicaments of life and sing songs of Camelot
Where no knights slay dragons, no same ls in distress
To be rescued by this tortilla flat would be heroes...
A sense of normalcy exists here.

We count our blessings like we count our coins.
We count on our friends and we count on no one
To bring a shovel and dig us out of the sludge
Of life that we live beside this river in makeshift
Castles of trash.

Sundown and you smell pots of what's not cooking
And the nervous chatter of women holding Steinbeck
Children whose eyes long for wishes and dreams
That only reach out as far as they can see...I weep 
For their innocence.

Darkness comes and the drunks are drunker...me,
Myself and I chase the dragon once more to escape
This reality of camp life whose existence is a foreboding
For society to take heed...don't they know they are one
Paycheck away from being me?

The smell of sleep surrounds the camp, some
Dreaming, some not, but all aware of tomorrow and
Thee morning's smokey haze of disillusionment and
Paranoia of leaving this secret seclusion...actors
Without a stage.