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Best Poems Written by Robin Ray

Below are the all-time best Robin Ray poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Wolf and Osprey

Wolf sneaks up on finch. Grabs her in his 
canines. Osprey avenges finch. Snatches a 
hare from the glade. You fool, wolf howls, 
that hare meant nothing to me. Osprey 
swallows last bit of meat, says, Wasn’t that 
your dinner for tomorrow? Obviously, she 
was something to you. Wolf and osprey 
tango. Blood flies like ideas, wounded flesh 
exposed. Both predators exhausted. You fight 
well, osprey huffs, but I still win. Wolf glares 
at bird, asks why. While we were tussling, 
my brothers stole your pups.

Moral: 
Avoid poppy seed bagels or they won’t let you
take your preemie home from the hospital.

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Departure

I saw the crows in dark escape
from foggy death, live another day.

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Jules - Tet

Jules
Buoyant
Inspired
Sylph in his eyes
Lost in the fog where restive hearts reside
Will she surrender her passionate flame?
It's all he wants
To be named
Whispered
Craved.

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Tender the Sky

Pain resonates in the mud. Unbalances
you, sticks you in centuries one can only
imagine. Toppled spheres atop
consecrated pews littered with charred
Easter missalettes. Doesn’t count as
abstract art, your canvas. Bleeds, 
splattered hostile wails, upended 
concrete and tea whorled into one. 
Colombo, port on the majestic Kelani 
river. Sri Lanka’s heart. Suffered a 
cardiac arrest that day. Triage, the
silent saint. Florence Nightingale
stirred to round up the troops. 
Revenge you say? Ambassador suites 
were available. You had the means.

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The Last Noel

Twelve accusers hoping
Eleven charges pending
Ten summoners summoning
Nine lawyers proselytizing
Eight defendants screaming
Seven protesters protesting
Six reporters reporting
Five ambulances on call.
Four morticians digging
Three activists sitting
Two clergymen preaching
One hangman salivating
And zero politicians waking
from their dreams.

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The Templed Heart

You've lost your mate one decade gone,
a longshoreman who bode his time
upon the seas from dusk till dawn.

Knew every route, when he should climb
the towering waves to safely ground
his skiff, bring men home in their prime

to families, lovers, safe and sound.
After those years spent in your arms,
to deal with him not being around,

you potter in an empty farm
where laughter used to scrape the sky.
Despondently, you sought to calm

your loneliness with Kentucky rye.
On certain days it's overdone,
like anniversaries. You sigh

about the past, thinking if the one
thing that can save you is a smoking gun.

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Greyhound - La To Ny

Taxied to the terminal. The fare paid,
vagrants begged for alms, some too drunk to care.
Shrunken faces, weather beaten, they played
a sad tune of which I was unaware.
Some had the means, even possessed the fare
to transport them to towns with better care.

I passed the huddled poor, stepped on the bus,
took my seat at a window facing west.
Soon, the highway’s open arms greeted us.
No longer stranger, a solemn house guest.
Believing the ride would force me to test
my endurance, I slept. I’m not a pest.

Vegas came, sponged every cent from my purse.
Should have listened to the driver. He knew
how slots are rigged; still, could’ve been much worse.
Could’ve sold my soul since winners are few.
Back on the bus, we zipped through burgs so new
to me, I ticked them off my map on cue.

Three days passed. Felt like a tree that was felled.
Then I saw my love. So nice to be held.



Urban Sonnet poetry contest: 5/17/19 by Emile Pinet

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Neighbor Upstairs

neighbor upstairs / elderly / maybe schizophrenic /
lead footed / restless / every day / rearranges furniture /
vacuums carpets / nails picture frames / drops pots and
pans / rolls concrete marbles across the floor / slams
cabinets / blasts 60’s music / interrupts my solace / grit
my teeth till flat / I complain / others complain / promises
lamb quietness / fails / owns monkeys? / petting zoo? / she
speaks / voice aroma of suicide / leave her be / won me over /
explains why the ugliest spiders spin the prettiest webs.

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Manic Expressions In Black

It's a fact: poems write themselves
on their way to creating life.
Drop a dollop of ink on a sidewalk,
a body with arms and legs emerges
from the point of impact. North,
south, east, west, every point
between. Sometimes a familiar
shape appears, like a starfish,
New Yorker, or an epiphany. It 
can also be undefinable, quaint, 
or a beautiful mistake. Often, you
nudge the edges to attain the
shape in your musing. Does it ever?
Pen to paper is good news, a
coupling sanctioned by Eros himself.
No color-by-numbers road map 
necessary. An idea is a drop of 
paint waiting to be splattered.

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Peddling Angst On Main Street

I woke again to fight a war, the
same as yesterday. Plastic shield
met blood-stained boot in blistered

feet of tattered youth. Ideals ran 
amok at dawn then parsed the 
evening’s jagged light when night 

shoes danced with tangoing flames
on buses, cars, the random truck. 
Smoke choked every lung. I was the

field you plowed to sow your grains 
of holy manna on. Step lightly through 
my troubled doors, I’ll make you
 
whole, I’ll clone your form. Of known
and knowing, I’ll pretend the beast, in
dreams, was slain. To live here is to die, 
well, then, redundant is this war.