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Best Poems Written by Stephanie Cawthon

Below are the all-time best Stephanie Cawthon poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Stephanie Cawthon Poem

Beneath a Silver Moon

You spoke of a love you
seem to know so well.
An innocent declaration
that burns in my memory still...

smoldering in the corners of my heart.

A quiet blossom of love with tender petals
that cascade into a deep scarlet pool of affection.

Beneath a silver moon, I swam in those words,
saturated to my very soul.

Can you tell me now, with a solemn heart,
that you knew not of the things you shared?

Your soul cries for truth & I know it is there.
Because I touched it
Immersed myself in it
Drowned
in your love.

Details | Stephanie Cawthon Poem

Plucking Stars

You come here with your will of steel
and make me want to cry.
Fate laughs and spins the roulette wheel
as you sit patiently by.

I fear for what I feel is right,
I've felt it from the start.
How can we stop this soul's collide
without injuring a heart?

My angel with the fragile wings-
My gentle hero with those hands-
You lift me from these arduous things
and somehow understand.

You deserve the kiss my heart could give
if only it were free.
In this melancholy I shall live
till time brings love to see.

Which burning fire will love embrace?
Which cold heart can't stand the test?
To be about this simple grace,
fate gambles with the best.

But I say..

To hell with all these games of love,
come be with me tonight.
We'll rewrite old rules fashioned of
love's guilty wrongs and rights.

We'll pluck the stars one by one
and kiss amidst their light.
And when the morning's certainties come
we'll revel in love's plight.

Details | Stephanie Cawthon Poem

Lona

Blonde fury, vixen of conceit,
in the midst of filth, you 
played house. Acting out 
a glamourous life filled 
with ribbons and lace. 
Every day was your adventure, 
everyone, your admirers. 
We watched you ride horses 
through the verdant hills as 
if it were your own parade. 
Boys were in awe of you; 
girls were curious with envy. 
The tales you spun were 
long and shiny, like the
hair you brushed obsessively. 
Did you leave the forest behind? 
Or did you take my pink room 
and make it your own?

Details | Stephanie Cawthon Poem

My Frog Prince

All green and unkempt, he sat there so still
and he smiled as he hopped on my window sill.
Many days he came 'round with that sweet little smile
and so I grew fond of him after awhile.
There was such a lovely sparkle in those innocent eyes.
The color was like the bluest of skies.
One Thursday I saw his smile full of bliss,
I decided that I should give him one kiss.
A kiss full of love—then what should I see...
but a handsome young prince looking at me.
We shared many days and nights full of laughs.
Soon much happiness started to pass.
My prince grew stressed and saddened too.
It broke my heart to see him so blue.
He told me he was happier in his quiet green skin
and so this beginning soon came to an end.
I closed my eyes at his request,
and our last
kiss on his lips did rest.
In a moment he changed...his wish was fulfilled.
I carefully helped him onto the window sill.
One final smile and he turned to go.
Though I was happy for him, I'd miss him so.
He comes by still every now and again
to tell me he loves me with that simple grin.
Though our love was strong and his heart I did win,
I knew I must let him go to remain his friend

Details | Stephanie Cawthon Poem

Houston 2001

In this city of failed dreams
there lies a knowledge of paths
that lead in every direction that the
curious mind would want to venture.
Gold cross of resurrection in
the very midst of chaos.
Medicinal cures and healing hands
closely entwined with the
methamphetamines and promiscuous
fornication of the night.
While Picasso and Renoir
inspire a youth's ambitions,
gang wars steal innocence
by the handful.

A wide range of choices means
48 hours to contemplate
which sin to commit first.
Million dollar homes and
candy-apple red ferraris
create a facade of happiness
as they silently consummate
the adultery and addictions
that make them feel complete.

A Montrose prostitute brushes past
a local evangelist, laughing aloud
as she recalls that he 
was last week's meal ticket.
A depressed father wonders
"Why me God?", thinking of
yesterday's amputation, as he
stares out the hospital 
window, seeing the unaffected
world below.

A cute young girl driving 
a Lexus, in one hand a cell phone,
a drink in the other, is unaware
of the cursing man in the
beat-up Pinto behind her.
He fingers the pistol lying
in the passenger seat, as
he daydreams of
pointing it at the slow
b_tch ahead of him and
blowing her brains out.

My own reality comes back to me
and I realize that none of this
matters to me.
It's merely an observation
of the Hell I drove through
today.

Details | Stephanie Cawthon Poem

Egomaniacal

I had visions of you today.
You were so very blue
and in need of sympathy.
Then,
as compassion rose inside me
I noticed that behind you,
looming proud, was your ego.

You were unaware-as you
spouted words of romance.
It circled 'round, stealing
quickly those beautiful words
from your lips.
You seemed not to be concerned
that it was about to devour you.

And so it did.

Consuming your words, it 
continued down to your
barely beating heart.
Showing no mercy, it ate
that too and your chest was barren.
The consumption was long
and tedious as it searched
for the soul you spoke so lovingly of.

But, alas...it didn't exist.

And so it finished
the meal till there was
nothing left but you.
Raw
and tasteless.

And yeah...it was gruesome.

Details | Stephanie Cawthon Poem

Kitten

Beneath her rowing 
and the pornography of my death, 
springs an inspiration to 
rescue that dark-haired child. 
Within her smile lies 
razor-sharp cobwebs of misery 
and a heart full of impatient words. 
Proud words that fornicated 
with despair and expelled 
only truth. 

I want to be your saviour 
and call you my kitten. 
I'd give you red ribbons 
and stationery where 
we could interpret the crimes 
of every institution. 
Oh Anne! 
Oh lost, tortured soul-- 
my hourglass tears 
could never reach 
your hand.

Details | Stephanie Cawthon Poem

Punishment

Your deceit is transparent. 
The time to beg is drawing near. 
Darkness descends around you, 
what lies ahead--your greatest fear. 

You Are Deserving 
Bow Down & Serve Me 

Unclothed in your innocence with 
your bindings securely tight, 
you struggle and scream... 
I find only delight. 

You Are Deserving 
Bow Down & Serve Me 

Discretions remain unforgiven until 
the last blow is done. Your 
sniveling humiliation only 
adds to my fun. 

You Are Deserving 
Bow Down & Serve Me 

Soon the floor beneath you, 
stained red from my rage, 
becomes your only solace in 
this dark and filthy cage. 

You Are Deserving 
Bow Down & Serve Me 

Will new love-wounds open 
before these are healed? 
How well you behave 
only time will reveal. 

You Are Deserving 
Bow Down & Serve Me 

Every swing of the paddle 
makes you feel you are complete, 
so dry your selfish tears... 
once again, I will repeat: 

You Are Deserving 
Bow Down & Serve Me

Details | Stephanie Cawthon Poem

On Becoming a B_Tch

Disillusioned fairy tales have
blinded our vision.
No longer would Cinderella be
the belle of the ball, for
her appearance is unkempt
and her a_s has grown wide.
Prince Charming ran away with
Barbie after finding out that
she can't reproduce—
and, yes, the size of her tits.
Who cares if she can fend for herself
as long as she looks good in a bikini?
Reality as a woman has changed.
Women grow hard.
Women evolve.
They learn not to give in
to those feelings of betrayal.

A strong woman is so much
more than she used to be.
A strong woman reads Cosmo,
takes on 2 jobs and therapy
once a week,
holds down the fort-
alone,
and pleases herself
without any help.
Her emotions are a roller coaster
of "Who am I?"'s and
"Why can't I be loved?"'s.
She longs to be held, but
not at arm's length.
She is wise
She is tough
She deserves respect,
encouragement,
reassurance,
and although she secretly
takes pride in the title—

NEVER
call her a b_tch.

Details | Stephanie Cawthon Poem

Blur

The shards of my life never
cut so deep, as when you're
holding them

An addict in disguise,
I beg to go deeper

Crimson rivers can't
bring yesterday's tears
Dull throbbing of a
sanguine rush invades
my erratic tranquility

Suddenly I recognize
the carvings of a familiar artist
and the hand that is mine..
hard at work.