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Best Poems Written by Tikar Osuru

Below are the all-time best Tikar Osuru poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Fantasy

"Beyond lychgate lies future death" she says,
cucumbered eyes slid back under cauliflower sky,
brimming smithereens of harkening demons.

Been in saddle some time since torchlight began,
a child's silent castle ago. Chaos-times cut alleyways
through rose-lettered circles, reads trashy maid.

The journey fell sword north along shield path.
Peninsula late to temple-crawling fiend
and settle princess patter dust. Like trick glass

the moon palace emanates, a chain works
its crystal door. A shore of bane swims world-sick
with fire-wing ticks abreast, dragon-headed air:

happens to be, as the world burns...

Spring chickens looked at first
grasshopper leaves, blossoms.
Empty saddles of burnt Autumns
sit with moccasin thirst.

One ruby night ago, vampire night,
made movie set by tail light.
Wrench of fog came loose and fell.
Eye of moon too close, well...

Winged skeletal open sheet,
sanguine collar of his neat.
Began by serving up the meat.
Legs he tossed, and arms and feet.

A rise and shine ago, luster of sight,
out of scene the farmer goes.
Steel machine cranks horizon bright.
Scroll up the title i suppose.

Barn stall features dingy leather
where lasting gleam slips by candle.
Recall adventure, mural by weather.
Motion eye attached to handle.

Scoot across encrusted bucket,
folded over the eating depth.
Put filthy Kraken atop it,
swished around the damn mess.

Brave journal follows company
down the water-taped steps
to where there isn't any.
Sealed flame lights diver's quest.

A cave away, keys of hassle,
swim to shore with hopes unravel.
Brute force thunders far within.
Exact the sword to have them send.

Enter bar stool and order takeout.
Hostess charm enhanced the make out.
Her fuel adds flames to very fabric.
Her fists were fiery, action: magic.

Out of dust broom closet knelt good
ole nuke we ended up sneaking places:
peaceful village of the caring hood,
small reaches, to parking spaces.

Twisted hair in castle braids,
scoundrel bristles painting raids.
Countdown pistol official use,
punching bag for ogre face.

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Camping

Zeroed out fire
Airformed herring ash
747 crash

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Summer

Maritime concert
July's late night cellar steps 
Strung lanterns and moon

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Cinema

Theaters of trees 
Evenings balconies of birds
An hour early

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Ancient Honey Hunter

Golden annihilation of a lion's 
    spring cover.
Endless tusk of an elephant's
    mind water.
Innard heaping stewards
       sponging
Blood for cleanse:
   Giant sky narrowed
   down
   to the dream of a bee.

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Easterly

Bouquets of eastern starlings, raving. 
Reaching out, fledgling saving,
The garden sloth of heaven's hues    
Living in a bath of saffron dews.

Darkend the plough that snails follow
With troughs behind it tumbling hollow;
And up the steepend crag it crowns,
Margined off by aphid sundowns.

Violent garden of solar grapes,
some day we will barrel your shapes,
And your gentle filligree reigns retake-
Still cold before the Heavens's gate.

After death, mother's wake,
Finds her hatchling in the lake,
In the mud its last breath take.
Let these sail-white bones 
Forever sate
Mother earth's gentle wheat.

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Notes

Mighty behind desk and beak,
teaching chemistry earrings.
Glass rims speak of test--
new eyes flame begins.

Some books peek with hearings,
some hide their giggle as best,
while others lean out to confess
the test they'd like to take.

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I Know the Land Where the Lemon-Trees Flower

I know the land where the lemon-trees flower;
wild canarys of the teary beebrush drown.
Rest with me! O' darkened orchards of the hour.
Rest with me under the clutter of your swirling bones-
the earth is showing us how to make something round.

O' buxom flower, how your luster sways ones
eyes from the gurgling mud; I of withered breath
entreat your pretty nectar with my lips
that i may taste and reflect in death
my soused exterior enclosed in your hips.

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Haiku1

Mess of fish one morn'
Filament of God's cabin
Newly printed snow

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Not a Title

Anonymous-- like that one.
Ode to the pea-size hat
that likes to play a tune
wherever it's at.

Coming home, enjoying
one or two, put it on 
the cat who after cartoon
chased the rat.

Comes to dinner toying
and tossing thing of it.
Never needing it too soon,
never that.