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Best Poems Written by Bruce Creech

Below are the all-time best Bruce Creech poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Bruce Creech Poem

The Valley of Vision

Ah, that I were in the valley of vision
In the valley, yea, the desolate valley
Where there is sorrow like unto my sorrow
And the evening sand is gone over the sea

Oh, that I were in the valley of vision
When the shadows of evening suffered thee
In the valley, yea, the desolate valley 
Where there is the burden of love

Oh that I had wings upon the sea
The desert of the sea among the stars
Where there is only a love, a shadowing love
Going down more fierce than evening

Ah, in the valley, the desolate valley 
Where I went mourning without the sun
My words hath allured more fierce than evening
In the way by reason of my affliction

Ah, in the desolate valley of vision
In the wilderness in the way of affliction
by sorrow of my vision in the midst of the land
my love, my fair one, it is burned, it is burned

Ah, it is burned, it is burned, Gemeera! it is burned.
It is burned in the valley of vision
Where the earth mourneth and fadeth away
Whilst the shadows of evening suffer thee

Yea, in the desolate valley like the roaring of the sea
Where I went mourning without the sun
I awakened in the midst of the land
In the midst of the land with a shadowing shroud 

In the valley, yea, the desolate valley
Where I cannot weep mine eye, mine eye
In the valley, yea, the desolate valley
In the day of the whirlwind upon the sea

Ah, that I were in the valley of vision
In the valley, yea, the desolate valley
Gemeera in the valley of vision
Here, O fair one, in the valley of vision. 

Gemeera, I am bereaved in the desolate valley
Alas! It hath devoured the great deep
Where the sun goeth down as the evening eagle
Gemeera, in the valley of vision

In the valley, yea, near in the valley of decision
It is burned, it is burned, Ah! It is burned
Ife it be marvelous, Ah, it is burned
Where the sun goeth down as the evening eagle

Lo, in the valley, the desolate valley
As though I had not cast with a shadowing shroud
Take I, under the shadow yet I will look again
Near in the valley, Alas! Alas! The vision.

I will look again in the valley, the valley of vision
Oh Gemeera, Gemeera, in the desolate valley
Where there is no sorrow like unto my words
Here in the valley of a shadowing love

Therefore, behold, I even I, will allure her
More fierce than the shadows of evening
For I am the man that hath seen affliction
Here in the desolate valley of vision

Details | Bruce Creech Poem

Exsquisite Melancholy

Time is like a shadow bright
 It fades and never can requite
 A lip, a shade, a palest kiss 
The sorrow that my heart did wish
 Clasped upon the rose and chain
 When fate cannot thus so agonize
 Time my love so silhouettes
 As though a vogue of deep regret 
These words of subtle renaissance
 Is the cross that beauty haunts
 When the vampire of my love hath gave 
No touch thus blossomed on the grave
 Where love it’s final rose hath laid, 
Ife a cross of tragic waste
 A ghost unkissed that none can save
 Whom haunts upon the untomb’d hills
 Of souls no sorry hath so filled 
Save in an orb of perfect form 
Which revolves its orbit ever more 
Like words of God I whisper thus 
To become no wretch of love untrue.
 Time, my love, a shadow makes 
Beyond where memories never wake
 And shades of fate do silhouette
 The seas and evening’s last regret
 When I alone in loneliness
 of all I ever did desire 
Shouldst ever neath a cross aspire 
To see the sunlight rise again
 Within a coffin made of stone
 Without my dark and final home
 My heart in chains of irony athralled 
the romaunt of this lost abyss
 the seas that thrall the mortal chains 
of every tear so phantom-like 
shouldst thus beneath a cross restrain
 shouldst fall ineluctable
 as though a ghost whose heart bereft
 yea! ghost of every thought our love has kept
 when the iron hand is turned
 throughout the world of circumstance.
 No soul! No solace! No sepulcher! 
On seas of sorrow my soul has thrived 
Into the sunlight of my tears, 
Where eternal is the cross of mine. 
Yet despair! I do not so enthrall 
Nor linger in its gothic halls 
Where haunts a sorrow so forlorn
 The chords of fate are thus so torn. 
Shall not a kiss at last confess
 till every silhouette of love regrets
 the time which did thus or less
 rendezvous with true affair 
for how should a moment thus unbe
 unequal to my tis a thee? 
Yet if a shadow thus can reach
 Just like a phantom in the fire 
As far as any shadow can beseech
 To fall beneath the final breach
 Every pillar made of stone
 Into the coffin of my soul 
Where all my life is laid 
To find my way across the sea 
And back to my surreal belief 
That shadows conspire to be free. 
Yet if a gothic lash of love
 Shouldst caress my very soul
 As though a lover loved untouched
 Couldst thus become unloved 
In shadows I like woes do dream 
Of all that never never seemed 
as though in darkness a faith did boast 
what faith a face did not so recognize 
when met by those most solemn stars
 that ever like the cross are ours.
 My sorrow should confess so close
 Thus a prince and pauper I become
 The pauper prince of love!
 Thus now I see with gothic eyes
 Thy shape as chased by candelight
 As grey as melancholy in the shadowlight
 Where every shadow left bereft
 As grey as melancholy I regret
 One season and a shadow knows
 Whose shape reflects no shade to show
 as far as vast beyond the phantom sea
 thus like fate shall thrive in misery
 though fate fortell what I believe
 yet if in visions vast as true
 as God or man hath given you 
then all my souls so lost forlorn 
shall not thus regret no heart untorn
 o wraith of my most forlorn woe 
my heart no tear my shadow knows
 upon a cross of gothic light

Details | Bruce Creech Poem

A Poet of a Thousand Words

A poet of a thousand words
The pen garnished by the flame
Like a sea no desire knows
And love becomes the same
As poet to my love for thee
I confess between the lace
Of time and every sorrow made
I find my dream just as agonized
As seas of fate where time
And words exquisite as your faith
And face can make no memory
Like a rose aspires in both sunlight’s rise
And wake upon a cross of lucid belief
Where love and lace find no shame
Surreal beneath beauty’s chains
A Poet of a thousand words
But if my love I think that time
Can bring me to all destiny
Time as statuesque as truth
Shall bring me again to you
For there my love the shadows know
Every shadow I have yet to show
In shades of sorrow and distant hope
Where words become each touch I yearn
I find no sorrow made in rhyme
A blush of time and poet’s blood
For there is sorrow’s exquisite sea
It regrets not nor ever again can be
But like a renaissance of vanished love
No ghost can haunt me now enough
Nor thrive expired beneath the sun
Each moment when the day is done
As poet to my love for thee
Every time I die
A thousand words are brought to life
With words I love and poets fire
Yet ambition conquers not desire
Yet still there lays between the lace
Exquisite words of love to give
Shall I die within desires touch?
Like the pen desires in all tranquility
A kiss clandestine as the iris of your heart
Or mine which waits both in sorrow and in time
For I find in dreams of thee no like
Though Helen once gave beauty fame
As poet to my love for thee
I boast a vision so serene
Which could woo all poet’s hearts
No urn of passion gently carved
Nor horizon gracefully hesitates
Upon thy lips and brow
For now I see with gothic eyes
Thy shape as chased by candlelight
The movement makes no travesty
Where death waits bereft of thee
And beauty conquers all that is not free
If my love between the lace
Of time and poet’s pen
I find that love is yet again
For like a poet needs sweet beauty’s touch
Until beyond all desire
Sometimes my love a poet makes
The tear within the coffin of the past
From creeping with tormentous heart
Athirst aghast to never see
Such visions I have dreamed of thee
The dusk when waning melts so free
And nature blushes on thy cheeks
But there I find restrained with wings
The love a thousand words can bring
A Poet of a thousand words
And words as such no pen may write
Nor time may rust so mad expire’d
In breath, no earthly candor falls so grave
But like a tablet born of truth
it brings us to eternal youth
But death and time eternal thrall
Upon the stone that love has made
If my love a face can make
One vesper to blush or haunt my tears
Then I have seen where dreams are made
And poets made mad the same
A poet of a thousand words
Yet no words can boast of beauty’s face
Nor silhouette eyes that give birth to fate
I thought that raven shadows made thee fair
With daisies crowning in thy hair
The very fragrance heaven knows
Like a naiad in the snow
Serene this pale nosforatu of love
I suffer like midnight meeting dusk
Upon the rose that silhouettes
Every touch of rain and tears
to stand atop towers of oblivion
Thrice wretched this mortal saint
A poet of a thousand words
If my love a tragedy
Nevermore undying in belief
In loneliness as gothic as can be
I thus in faith aspire
Yet ambition conquers not desire
As poet of a thousand words
Ife thus I hope like sorrow yields
Both in the shadow and the light
As smooth as lavender and lace
No pen nor monument might so trace
Both the beauty and the face
Engraved in time’s own memory
As Poet of a thousand words
There lays between the lines of time
Both words and rhyme
Like romance desire makes
If only thus sometimes to take
The autumn when the sunlight’s true
The season when thus rendezvoused
Upon the sonnets of your face
Whispering thus what beauty makes
What beauty makes and I partake
With time and ash I cannot touch
More perfect then for God has made it such
Unique blossoming in paradise
The paradise of all that I can dream
Though dreams and romance often make
Every sorrow man has known
Yet I a poet of a thousand words
Burst suddenly like a comet in the heart
To wake and rise each brilliant beat
And know perfect beauty has its enigma
Desire, thought, and truth
Ife I garnish every word deemed so infinite
Then I find it bland that fate can cry
Or that fate itself should die
When cast upon the shadows of thy face
For if thralled in darkness deep
As dark as sorrow can so be
The pen becomes the comet of the heart
And desire keeps all paradise asleep
In mystery but not in truth
A Poet of a thousand words
The flame cooled by the sea
Of time and every sorrow made
Yet exquisite faith where time grows
And dies upon the palest rose
Like a metaphor after life
When death itself has died
As poet to my love for thee
With words I touch your face
A lip, a shade, a palest kiss,
A blush of time and I have wished
As poet of a thousand words
To sail beyond a thousand leagues
And leagues that find themselves no end
For there beyond desire’s sea
There lays between the lace
Exquisite words of love to give
To sooth this pale nosforatu of romance
When ambition conquers not desire

Details | Bruce Creech Poem

The Pasquinade of Life

I am the Mozart of my name
And I wait for you my Je’amour
To paint the parfai’d affair
And cross the fur elise of time
O vogue of vogues
Love is written in visions of glory
Even where the vogues of fate do not rescind
Nor can my sorrows un nascent
This is my golden Gilgamesh
The epic of my holy phobia
The triumph of  a poet king
What is the pasquinade of life?
I have heard Arabic tongues confess
The heart of liberty knows no tyranny
Therefore give death his due and I shall be a king
For thus one shekel of her love
I do not tauntalize the vampires of my soul
Whom rest not nor woe upon the nails of war
Therefore,
I unleash the Venus of my tongue
For I am Ghetto pale with words
O, shazzar shalom, with a kiss, shazam! 
And there shall be peace in Jeruslaem.
No Mona Lisa smile shall touch my sorrow
Nor cliché my love with roses pale
For this affair is more elegant than Paris at night
They say at night even poets fall in love on the riviera
I monsieur, in dream of tyranny
Triumph in the tombs of love
Thus I awe with jealous rage
 Sweet nymph of ordinary revenge
I am the villain of my own heart
Au revoir 
O! ghost of sorrow so bequeathed
I fancy some curiosity embraced with orthodox misconception
I drink to the elysian in your eyes
Thus I devise upon the forge of time
My soul aghast with ravishment
What romance then of poets makes
When their vogues have thus incensed?
I shall vanquish these professed libertines
In bondage and in passion
For
I loved a Grecian girl of exquisite lace
With agarazo eyes
She is magnificent
Her tongue is a blasphemy of gothic love
She is absolutely absolute in beauty
This is the genius of the French noir
Nights in white satin will thus confess my ravishment
For I was born in Toulon.
A fiend aflame in the vogue of suffering
Pass me some gothic and I’ll open your eyes
Beauvoir my mon cheri
As you blush like last summer’s rose
Make love to me in my ancient castle of romaunt
For
I am vexed with Aramaic memories;
As I gasp and sigh upon the memory of the cross
This is my exquisite sunas
For even the voguest Byzantium desert is filled with sand
And Zion shall romance me!
The camels are on the horizon 
O! exquisite sands of love
I thrall the chains of fate
Because
 For her beauty I am ego vain
Just like Picasso, I am a fiend for simplicity
I shall ascend in death
For
She loves my gothic forte
the slow thought of public vows
Brings me to my knees
Beneath the cross eternally
No vogue of broken hearts to break
For in death we kiss the scars of fate
Bethralled in tongue thy hand has touched
When I have put the hand upon the eyes
My sweet fatigue!
Let not mine eye bethrall the tongue of truth
For one rose shall hint that summer wakes
One rose in death shall not forsake
Its hue of loveliness
Therefore
A kiss of tet a tete and Paris is mine
Your lips move geniusly
As you dominate my heart
When
All romaunt is crucified
Revenge not the sorrow which I must indulge 
for 
This masquerade of innocence is my les miserables
for
I am a gentleman of thy kisses 
Madam, a lunatic of such mundane
Shall languish in the void of fame
One shekel for a grain of sand
And 
Yet
She conquered me like Paris at night
Who is the connoisseur of love?
Ah sweet romance!
Now I have the lute of paradise
For even a goddess can break a king
Her name is lady Liberty!

Details | Bruce Creech Poem

Seas of Time and Fate

Ife my love I dream that time
Should haunt or hesitate to be
A whisper exquisite till it requites
With love every rose upon the sea
Then memories wake each crimson blossom
Sometimes aspiring till when free
If my love on seas of time
We sail beyond the very brine
Of all that fate hath made to be
Then time on seas of fate should find
Tis true the moment questions less
When chained to words of renaissance
And beauty gives what is best
Redolent then when laid to rest
In chains and coffins so serene
That love is thralled in me
When fate has thralled the shadow pale
On seas of all I dream avails
A nosforatu dark in solemn sleep
Where sorrow withers and the eve
Of twilight comes indeed to all
Whom in the gloom of night
Find love as tragic as is life
Love as tragic as is life, to have
Should silhouette in the least
All the dreams that we see

Ife my love I dream that time
Twas but a tomb of grey regret
Then every shadow that I find
Should find that all I have is left
Within the tomb of grey regret
Within the tomb where we once met
And there in darkness deep as true
Find my soul still loving you

Sometimes my love a fate forlorn
Bereft of every gothic light
Should find for me and all the more
The anguish that the torment might
In ashen hearts and roses dust
And sunrises dawning till they rust
But ife I suffer in unbelief
No tragic waste or travesty
Should make belief then more to me
For love believes that time might sail
On seas as vast as soul may go
And sailing till assailed no more
On Seas of time and fate thus so
Every emotion I’ve spent on thee
Becomes as real as my belief
That time can languish in the gloom
Of every ghost of love untombed
Till fading in the raven ruin
Twilight comes to light the night
And find that even in the gothic grey
Of love and dimmest candlelight
There burns no heart upon the sea
The sea of all my true belief

Ife my love I dream that time
Should thus like fate unthralled confide
When all the torment of a life
A gothic as a phantoms tear
Could fall in love and still belief
While seas of fate do thrive indeed
When all the torment of a life
And every sorrow that is ripe
Awakes within the grave of love
And finds within the tomb of soul
Every rose upon the sea
The sea of time and fate in me

Details | Bruce Creech Poem

Sexy Sex

Sexy Sex
Lavender & Lace
Smooth love
Beauty lives beyond desire
Exquisite whisper
(Pure virginity)
Sex or love
Smooth Orgasm

Details | Bruce Creech Poem

I Dreamed of Beauty Thus In Time

I dreamed of beauty thus in time
 A rose beneath desire
Where every heart thus unbeat
Should wake and love eternally
I dreamed beneath the lucid sun
That sunrises thus undone
Should come again when morning wakes
And waking thus to not forsake
The love that in my heart was made
And like a sunrise knows no shame
Restrained by wings of paradise
Should find the moment in your eyes
As true as any moment made in life
But sometimes my love I dream that time
Can never in its chains define
The shadows that are left undying
The rose that in the sunlight knows
That love is all that heaven shows
For if my love I reach beyond
The vast eternal distance sea
Of all that love was meant to be
I find that sorrow knows my name
And in its presence I am the same
But love is all that heaven shows
And what lays beneath the rose
Save sunlight waiting thus in time
To shine
And there is faith as true as love

Details | Bruce Creech Poem

A Sense of the Cross

Gender fate

                                   Dressed multisex society

                                     Bicycles and bisexual

                    The road traversed is by which few are called

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The Pen and the Writer

Nothing, nothing is vain until the fog has lifted 
I have been brave, whom did you love? 
I left her standing next to the morning originality 
Adrift in the country in mild astonishment 
Chanel paintings, magazine oils, and museums  
Recognize mundane hellos 
The pen and the writer

Details | Bruce Creech Poem

Like Lace Upon the Touch

Ife my love a sea can wait 
Like a ghost bereft of love 
Then every sea that I have dreamed 
Still waits like lace upon the touch 
And every kiss that I have lost 
Another profound confession 
And every desire that I have touched 
Becomes like morbid coffins pale 
In a solace forbidden now 
Of despair and tragedy  
Like lace upon the lips 
Exquisite sorrow needs 
Lavender and burdens cruel 
Memoires of making love 
Ife my love a sea of time 
Partakes in all of beauty’s prime 
When making love is practical 
Then in practice I restrain 
Every desire romaunt denies 
When I in love still propose 
A Pulitzer of cliché words 
To make or birth every pursuit 
That man without enigma can 
In quaint fashion raise 
Ife my love I dream that time 
So quiet so exquisite can abate 
Without abstinence thy suffering 
Then with maudlin mourn 
In meadows flaunted unblessed 
I quietly nearly touch 
Though ignorant not of fate 
 
Ife my love a sea can wait 
From immediate desolate perception 
Yielding with a thousand reluctant words 
Ife my love a sea can wait 
Where lavender touches love 
Desire subtle beyond desire 
Is grandeur never laced 
Ife my love a sea can wait 
Ife love laced touches words 
I quietly nearly touch