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Best Poems Written by Melissa Schwartz

Below are the all-time best Melissa Schwartz poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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In Forbearance

Where was I 
when repo men invaded,
possessed,
boxed me up within his cool heart
fragrant in its distaste of warmer climates?
You know,
climates governed by love.
(Daydreaming of knights, that's where.)

Now I have only so much patience remaining
for this slapstick brain-
a nasty reminder, the heckler of my heart,
what spews sensibility
when I simply yearn to err. 

And I scarcely have time to mourn
his devil's smile
leaving southward in moving vans
transporting my pieces
(all the valid ones)
with him
as I sit numbed,
next to climbing ivy poisoned by my disbelief,
broken
unpaid for.

Details | Melissa Schwartz Poem

Sunglass Envy

Siphoned light gropes passengers
Hopeful for luminescent hearts,
Arching underneath bombazine drapes
Dusted with passionate legacies
Of original sin and the primogeniture son,
Wicked for nighttime plots savouring
Spicy love, exponential in a vivid darkness.

Details | Melissa Schwartz Poem

Regarding Rising Hands Girl

She weaves brilliant lattice reeds
as clouds yawn precocious,
fumbling over themselves for a glance
of Great Spirit patterned by tiny hands.

As clouds yawn precocious
her origin entwines with myth
of Great Spirit patterned by tiny hands,
embossed only with Tsalagi soil.

Her origin entwines with myth
and other children covet, envy her wicker magic
embossed only with Tsalagi soil
of buffalo morning landscapes there.

And other di-ni-yo-tli covet, envy her wicker magic,
fumbling over themselves for a glance
of buffalo morning landscapes there
she weaves brilliant lattice reeds.

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Upon Learning

We reap and we sow,
an emergence of pleasure.
The harvest begins.

Details | Melissa Schwartz Poem

I.O.U.

Drivel
dribbled from those lips of ours
while climbing streets and chasing cars
peeling back our velum skin
removing duty, tasks again.

Drivel 
trickled from our sanguine lips
reddened by a vibrant sun
infinite, treasured, playful trips
of youth perfected, minds begun.

Drivel 
fueled creativity in our veins
more effective than any lecture
more durable than the double AAs
powering flashlights at bedtime.

Drivel
was never 
just 
Drivel.

Details | Melissa Schwartz Poem

Cancer Chaser

Sneak, coward, eater.
To you, ravenous creeper
know this: He Is Mine.

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David and Goliath

There once was a voice that took flight,
I chased after prepared for a fight,
we fiddled with fickle 
and stumbled a little
then scribbled with all of my might.

Details | Melissa Schwartz Poem

Silence

Silence,
mutely vibrant,
whispers over mossy
covered truffles and maneuvers
softly.

Details | Melissa Schwartz Poem

Shameless

Curry. Cumin. Saffron.
Mmmm, the hallways always smell of spice,
her seventy-year-old body perfecting the rhythm of movement
from icebox to oven in her efficiency kitchenette.
Tangerine wall paint cracks and mixes carelessly 
with bits of spice yet lingering in the air; it
follows her, this aroma that eats the eater, 
dancing around her skirts
like faeries honoring their faerie queen.
She knows this, and smiles at the sliver of sun peeking through her window.

Down the corridor
people begin their ritual of recognition, then sniffing,
and finally a smile that reveals anticipation. 
No one goes hungry inside Apartment A6 and everyone has seconds.  
Lunch and dinner, breakfast too 
if a body is moving about as dawn surfaces. 
Though small, her main floor seems to expand
beyond the boundaries of walls,
everyone cross-legged and eager to devour dishes 
few could pronounce and none could forget.

A legend among the two hundred desperate palates;
today, however, souls wander lost through the hallways 
because the lucky have snaked their way into heaven
and left the masses to a barren, tasteless fate.
As the onions, okra and potatoes, flavored
with a hint of saffron and even less ginger,
entice bodies five deep and ten across,
our greedy fingers and mouths offer no thoughts of others
going without while dripping sauce falls onto our legs
and Berndi seems content with the pleasure she’s wrought.

Details | Melissa Schwartz Poem

The Pruning

You posture that smile
'Til it fits beneath guile and
Straightens my essence.