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Best Poems Written by Bridgette Lace

Below are the all-time best Bridgette Lace poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Bridgette Lace Poem

Silent Song

Blackbird sitting in the dead ash tree;
He's the only blackbird I can see.
Stare,
Blackbird, I will stare;
Something about you pertains to me.

The brightest spring I've ever seen:
Blossoms white as milk, or cream.
I never thought the grass, I'd miss;
Now, I gaze upon the emerald bliss.

Sheltered by the bluebird sky,
What should chance
To catch my eye?
A lonely blackbird, calm and still;
I watch him from my windowsill.

Birds of a feather flock together?
Not this one, not this bird
With a different song that needs
To be heard.

One blackbird
In the dead tree,
Alone,
He's the most free.

Perched tall on limb so tranquil, proud,
I draw him out 
From feathered crowd.

When I wake, I hear his voice;
Lonely blackbird makes his choice.

Uniqueness
Holding my respect,
I wonder of his intellect.
Of all the things he thinks he knows,
Stern isolation
Is what shows.

If every bird doth hatch the same,
For another who's to blame?
All blackbirds sing among the green,
But one stands tall
In branches lean.

I watch this bird alone
For hours,
Pond'ring segregation powers.

Some say laws dictate behavior,
Yet I prefer to call
On nature.

Details | Bridgette Lace Poem

So-Called Teacher

I'm sorry I came here.
I'm sorry I let you trick me.
You have them all convinced they need you.
I do not.
I'm sorry that it seems no one cares
Whether this world is alive or dead.
May I believe in something?
May I please
Have a greater reason to live?
I wake in hopeful rebirth
I want this to work, you know that.
Our cycle:
I walk in with tranquility or determination,
My heart beats fast or slow,
I am silent or resounding.
It's not enough.
Did you plan it this way?
I see robots and I know their every move.
What do they have
That chains them to monotony?
Were they not here the day before?
Why should you live?
Don't you dare degrade my passion.
I am here to learn and live.
If you are not, 
So be it.
Had I a crueler bone, I would end your life.
Would you stop me?
Don't you say I am a blaming fool,
For I'm the one that's sorry.
I'm so sorry that I play this way.
I need it:
Love and passion.
Don't role your eyes at me.
What do you worship?
Money and half truths?
Just getting by, are you?
It hurts me.
Enthusiasm fermenting to frustration,
Mad sad, sad isolation.
Give me something more than words.
My joyfulness,
I could adore you.
I'm sorry that is wrong.

Details | Bridgette Lace Poem

Paper-Clip

Paper-clip on my floor,
I wonder what he's there for.
Holding all my life together.
That little guy's my friend forever.
Fixing fender-benders ending
Up inside my mind.

Little friend, you're very shiny
Even though you're oh so tiny,
I can tell you're mine.

Silly piece of wire,
Paper-clip, you never tire,
Holding all my thoughts together.

Here I find you, on my floor.
Tell me what you lay there for.
Maybe I should pick you up;
You don't belong; you know enough
To stay off my carpet, dear.

I see you, for I'm laying here.
I see you sitting, bent around;
I see you 'cause I'm on the ground.
Something 'bout you caught my eye;
You really are a funny guy.

Lay there on my floor so still;
I bet you'd sit there longer still,
If I decide to leave you be.
How 'bout I'm you
And you be me.

Paper-clip, on my floor,
I'll never know what you're there for.

Details | Bridgette Lace Poem

Quarrel of Thought, Word, and Hand

How is it that this mind,
So old,
Must be bound to a restless soul,
So young?

Have I wronged Mother Nature
In loving her?

My addictions return every day,
But am I helped,
Or hindered
By my ignorance for them?

Is it true
I may control my thoughts?
Likely not,
But maybe so.
I'd like to draw them out,
Let them slip through my tongue
For the world to ponder
Evermore.

In most instances,
I would see humanity is entertained
By my eccentricities...

But what of silence?

Is my identity to be known
Only for what I say?
Truly,
I do not do
Enough.

If it is so
That my actions speak louder than words,
Why ought I speak?
Perhaps my thoughts
Are undone deeds,
Awaiting their execution.

Do not let me speak my mind,
For I am lacking eloquence in the matter.
Let me show you.

Details | Bridgette Lace Poem

Super-Plan

Let's throw some junk on a wall
And call it art.
Let's act like we don't think miles
A part.
Let's say that we ain't losin' nothin'
Lookin for somethin'.

I don't wanna be alone no more.
You know how this life 
Is such a bore.
And I think two wrongs can make it
All right
Tonight;
Let's play pretend.

I bet if we fake it
We'll make it
Yiou be a different boy
I'll be a different girl
We'll live in a different world
Together, 'til the end.
Let's play pretend.

I'd say
The real world's getting old
(Pretty damn fast, too)
we got nothing to crash into--
Except each other.
Let's ditch all the good advice.
Let's keep it real.
Does that sound right?
We've got make-believe dreams to mend.
Let's play pretend...

Let's throw some junk on a wall and call it art.
Let's say that you hold the key to my heart.
How 'bout we say there's something there
When there isn't...

My friend,
Let's play pretend.

Details | Bridgette Lace Poem

See Inside

I can see inside your backpack.
What I've told them,
I can't take back; they know
I've liked you for a while now.

I wonder if you know
That I'm walking behind you.
Your bag is kind of see-through,
The kind you might have
If you're cool.

I talk to you sometimes.
I wish that you'd say more.
Nobody understands
What I'm crushing on you for.

Across the classroom,
I sit...and stare;
There's got to be something
You're dying to share.

You're walking down
The hallway, Jack.
I see inside
Your green backpack.

I wish there was a diary
Inside your bag
For me to see.

Would you ever say the first word?
Do you even
Want to be heard?

I didn't understand you, Jack.
I can see inside your backpack.
Perhaps there's nothing there at all;
Maybe I just like to fall.
I can see inside your backpack,
Jack --it's empty.

Details | Bridgette Lace Poem

Straight-Face

I'm not sorry I know who I am.
I'm not sorry I know that I can
Understand
What you are,
What I want,
What we need.
I'm not sorry.

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Awakening

It's dark.
Even through closed lids I've perceived the
monotonous treachery 
the day has in store.
I suppress a moan within my chest,
and my bones creak with illusory age.
Another dawn which is not
impedes upon my shallowest slumber.
The persistent knockings of raindrops
voice my doubts and shortcomings
of the day ahead.
How long must I bear
the imbalanced sleet
extending winter?

Though I sleep no longer,
the spirited fingers of motivation
do not see fit to untwist
the lashes of my resting eyes.
I seek no better reason
to lie in my nest
of deepest self-pity.
My burrow of darkness may ease
my aching body,
but it cannot soothe the dread
that churns my soul and mind.

Who can know?
How many sifting moments passed?
What portion of my day
had faded
gently
into nonexistence...
before that tender song rang out?

Yes...
I hear it.
Not a figure of my desire
dragged out to taunt me.
No: a simple, cheerful song...
perhaps three, or maybe four.
My eyes unfold with the wish
to validate these incoming perceptions.
The gayest chirp of birds
amongst the pressured rain?

With booming curiosity
I stumble from my bed
and arrive to a covered window.
I draw back the shade
as my eyes squint in anticipation
of the coming intensity.
And it is exposed:

the brightest sunlight of the country
pierces my tired mind,
as there is not one cloud
for miles.

A smile breaks across my face
as I discover
the source of raindrop noises:
the snow is melting,
and the gutter collects its tears.

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My Pennies

Find a penny,
Pick it up.
All the day,
You'll have good luck.

Just one penny
That I found,
Heads side up
Upon the ground.

My silly grin
Won't go away:
I know today's
My lucky day.

I'll take my pennies
From the bank
For all people
I'd like to thank.

I'll put them there;
I'll put them here.
My friends will
Help them disappear.

They'll find those pennies,
Pick them up...
And all their days,
They'll have good luck.

Details | Bridgette Lace Poem

Obsessions In Vain

I like to think I know every thing, but I don't; that's obvious. I wonder if it would take a 
scholar to see that I am making the same mistakes every day? Do you see this? 
Blasphemy! Sometimes I cannot believe my ability to twist the truth around lies and end up 
with something I like to call a friendship. Does it mean nothing to me? Perhaps I could move 
a thousand miles away and forget your face as if I hadn't spent hundreds of hours laughing 
upon your childish mannerisms. I love to laugh. It is difficult, however, for me to distinguish 
the empty guffaw and the heart-warming kind of giggle that makes me want to live a simpler 
life. You know what I'm talking about. You know that there's something missing. You can't 
put a finger on it. The grass is greener on the other side, of course, but did you realize the 
season would never change?