Home » Poems » Best » Patricia Cresswell » Best Patricia Cresswell Poems

Best Poems Written by Patricia Cresswell

Below are the all-time best Patricia Cresswell poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Patricia Cresswell Poem

If I Were Blind

If I Were Blind

I could see your face
with soft inquisitive fingers
trekking across the hills
and valleys of your physiognomy

you, of course, would sit quietly 
with eyes closed not wanting to
look into my broken mirrors
from which all sign of soul
had escaped long ago.

but I am fool and blinded
by what I see, unable to penetrate
beyond my fingertips into the truth
golden verity of the sweetness
the ardent nature that is you

your face is worn with life
it stops me like a wall
your depth will not catch me so I fear
instead it will demand from me
more than I can ever be
I will be unmasked.

Details | Patricia Cresswell Poem

Just a Toothpick

just a tooth pick


I pick up a toothpick 
from a half empty glass jar
stare at it dreamily 
actually some where else,
absently stroking its texture,

this was a tree once 
birds nested in its branches
squirrels stole its acorns
hid them, for the hard cold times
it was tall and stalwart
filled with life.
 
I pick up a rock, 
I hold a mountain.

Details | Patricia Cresswell Poem

Brief Encounter

brief encounter

a man invisible
but for his wit
landed on my world 
lightly it seemed 
until he left

Details | Patricia Cresswell Poem

Repentance Again

repentance again

old women kneel in pews
dotted about the shadowed church
black splotches they float
among the incense clouds.
faces waxen like the flicker candles
raised, softened, in the stained glass light.

hands tightly curled into each other
black rosary beads clutched in woven need
black, black, scary black
repenting for the world of sin
carried in their voluminous souls.

timelessness pervades saturday confessions
it is all the days and nights of transgressions
large and small they roll down 
the passages of life 
to be laid at the feet of god
well oiled with words of penance.

ritual, mea culpa, contrition chanted.
scrubbed clean as their kitchens,
one by	one they arise, genuflect
and disappear into secularity.

Details | Patricia Cresswell Poem

Poetess

Poetess

i am the twisted sister of a twister
lava lady just learning to boil
my words erupt 
yes they are mine
no matter the language
age or blasphemy
i will bid and they will obey

the garnet blood of passion
be it love or otherwise 
will spread its intoxicating infusion
to heat the feeble mind to intensities
that will make the priest weep in his vows
and down in the dives where the hip grinding
sweat soaking miasma of lust cradles
blues will be reborn 

I am the queen bee dripping with honeyed pearls
she who scratches with a stick in mud 
plays keys full of white lightening
here to spread sweet hot spice
on a gray woolsock world.

Details | Patricia Cresswell Poem

Upon Awakening

Upon Awakening

I see you morning,
curling down into
my front yard
like a big golden cat
come to play.

your paws ruffle the trees 
but they are only bones 
clacking noisily like 
.geese squabbling 
making your ears twitch.

you snuffle the dried beds 
wanting to rub against the lilacs
but they are sleeping within
the grey hard branches 
and will not answer you.

ah but there is a rose,
sheltered from rude November
by the cottage in a quiet spot,
one last hurrah as red as berries
you curl around it and purr.

Details | Patricia Cresswell Poem

Of Ghosts and Relationships

of ghosts and relationships 

when we meet again
I need to talk to you
to say things like goodbye.

use words that have eaten me
slowly
as they formed one syllable at a time
grown from tears of thought 
eked out over eons 
of loving you.

I watched you disappear one cell
then another
until you became so thinned
so fine
sun shone through
you were but a shadow
on the bedroom wall

yes promises were made
how long ago?
yesterday perhaps
when dinosaurs roamed the backyard
the moon was huge in a soft young heart
eyes scryer for the future
yet
could only see your face

I said I would never leave
but
just remembered 
you were never  really there.

Details | Patricia Cresswell Poem

Avec Amour

Avec Amour

softly seasons change
melting into one another
winter to spring
Sping to summer.

but fall strides
in seven league 
ice boots, hugging
trees so tight
they blush crimson
drop their tarted leaves
like brilliant skirts
around their ancient ankles
then sleep sated
through the winter.

Details | Patricia Cresswell Poem

Hall of Silent Women

Hall of Silent Women

in valhala
in a far corner
of this martial paradise
is one small unobtrusive hall
above the heavy iron door
these words are faintly inscribed

“ the war department
 regrets to inform you
that your son……
has been killed 
in action, in defence of……”

women 
silent
row upon row
straight backed, tight lipped, blank eyed
their amputated anger melting hearts
while words swift shot pierces soul

women 
from life first stirrings
through vaulted cave to clapboard ranch
crouched sweating over birthing pit
to numbed white linen labour
in their pain and joy shudders steel shod feet 
march through the womb.

women
ancient cauldrons
endless source of armoury
kept tongueless
then given tongue to teach
man made words
toy soldiers bleed rust.

in valhala
indeed in every martial paradise
there is one small unobtrusive hall
above the heavy door
words are faintly inscribed…

Details | Patricia Cresswell Poem

Sleeping In Nana's Bed

Sleeping In Nana’s

day concludes in glory
beyond the forest wall
suspended on a whippoorwill’s song

a muffled out board glides the narrows
past Hick’s farm
humming its sated fisher home

somewhere a screen door slams
crack, into the gather of night 
sharp contrast to settled sounds of dusk

while cow bells soft metallic clang
echoes the way home
for lowing milky cattle, through the wood

fire in the next room hisses greedily
welcome to another meal of logs
a briar pipe taps staccato on the granite hearth
now click lit to quiet drawing sound
the old daybed creaks from seated weight
a coffee cup thunks down upon the arm
nightly news rustles into place

outside again, the bullfrogs 
begin their baritone calls
a hungry raccoon chitters on the shore
then loons begin their plaintive calls
to distant cold faced stars
as wind brings a hushing of the night

each sound gathers to me
a cottage lullaby
rest safe and warm
drifting off to sleep 
in Nana’s bed.