Home » Poems » Best » Jim Hirtle » Best Jim Hirtle Poems

Best Poems Written by Jim Hirtle

Below are the all-time best Jim Hirtle poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Jim Hirtle Poem

The Longings of An Old Man

I long to—
Walk one more time
To where the land ends, and the ocean begins
To listen expectantly for the sounds of infant waves
Grasping layers of golden sand
I long to—
Hear the fat gulls with white bellies
And ebony eyes
Floating on invisible wires
Calling for the savory morsels
Hidden inside the curled fingers of an old man
I long to—
Stand beneath the tangerine sky
Lazily descending into the cradle of the sea
Vacating heaven for the snowy celestial sphere
Hung upon Vincent’s starry canvas
Ten thousand lights scattered forever
I long to—
Be embraced by the tenebrous sea
Her loneliness engulfing me like lovers of yesterday
I long to—
Gaze beyond the past wrapped in sorrow
The years of trudging through cheerless mire
Searching for reasons without answers
Answers without questions
I long to—
Remember only moments worth remembering
A twirling montage of love and hope
And dreams
Of a time when two became one
Hearts pulsing in harmony
Minds ascending to tidal floods of ecstasy
I long to—
See your face
To walk hand in hand
To where the land ends and the ocean begins
I long to—
Do it all again

Details | Jim Hirtle Poem

The Death of a Poet

I read my obituary
Accolades run afoul to lighten the souls of the living
Trite clichés, forgotten kin, melodic tributes
Boring and meaningless

Upon a granite stone etched for an eternity
I was but a ‘A faithful husband,’
‘A good father,’
And ‘Never Forgotten’

They have it all wrong

If they had read my sonnets
Mystical offspring scribbled on napkins
Consuming stale coffee in late night diners lit by neon lights
They would have known

Had they paid heed to my limericks
Nonsensical rhymes of fairytale fantasies
And polka-dotted panties created to amuse only me
They would have known
 
Had they inhaled my free verse
Painstaking hours spent
Creating worlds of exquisite harmony
Carrying the reader on endless voyages
Guided by the inspired lyricist through emerald forests
Royal seas, white-capped mountains
And never-ending dreams
They would have known

Had they met my only mistress
One called Haiku
A quiet damsel
Her beauty lies in brevity and endless seasons
They would have known
More than a husband
More than a father
More than forgotten
I am a poet

I read my obituary
I should have known

Details | Jim Hirtle Poem

Pink Lies

“Did you dream of me?”
She asks, opening her emerald eyes to the morning’s bright sun
“Yes, I did” I lie
I sleep little these days
“Was I beautiful?”
“You still are,” I tell her, bending to kiss her brow
“Pink lies,” she smiles

Across the room, stands her dresser
Covered with cards
Get-Well cards
Nice cards
Funny cards
God loves you cards
Pink cards
Hallmark loves Alzheimer patients
She keeps them all
Never throwing them away
To her, they are new everyday

“You are beautiful,” I whisper
Kissing her cheek
“What did you dream about?” she asks
“It was about you,” I tell her
“Was I beautiful?” she asks
“Very” I say
“Pink lies,” she smiles

The sun falls into yesterday
A nightbird cries
“Did you dream about me?” she whispers
Her eyes hidden behind thin paper
“Yes,” a tear warms my cheek
“Was I beautiful?”

Details | Jim Hirtle Poem

Be With Me

You should come be with me
Stand out on the back porch
Gaze up at the night sky
Count the stars with me
Hundreds, no thousands of sparkling lights
Diamonds cast on Vincent’s canvas
From inside
The sounds of Bruno, the one from the sky
Singing a song for lovers

You should come be with me
I will hold against my heart
We will dance under the diamond sky
Creating warmth greater than Winter’s chill

You should come be with me
Until night grows into day
And the skies declare what’s beyond the stars
An endless Heaven of hopes and dreams

And then I remember
You are already there

Details | Jim Hirtle Poem

Seasons of Doubt

Stony gray clouds of Winter’s night
Spurning Spring’s arrival
Snaring hearts in the darkness of hibernal chasms
Stubbornly rejecting wretched souls a rival’s kiss

Seasons of Doubt lasting beyond hope
Swiftly shackling yearnings of youth
Softly whispering slanderous words—
Surely all is hopeless
Steadily sinking toxic barbs
Surrender your foolish prayers
Serenades the Shallow Liar

Shall I lurk endlessly in my secret place
Surrounded by ashen walls of uncertainty
Stumbling blindly through dubious grime
Snagged by roaring reticence 
Silently anticipating a response yet to come

Shall you withhold your words until I succumb
Submitting to bristled taunts
Subliminal sneers of unseen foes
Sauntering scoffs scarring my soul

Should I stand from upon bended knee
Surrendering my incessant pleas
Seeing with unveiled eyes at last
Sensing with tingling nerves the
Silence of my God of past
Spurning the end of
Seasons of Doubt

Details | Jim Hirtle Poem

Vincent's Sky

I heard…
he was higher than the starry sky he painted
a genius’ stroke with a sable red brush
dipped in white opium dust 
of pain hidden from the mirror’s occupant
agony twisted darker than the starry canvas
concealed behind glistening constellations of doubt 
to live or die
the artist painted Vincent’s Sky
I know…
the piercing pain of abandoned nights
allegations echoing the deeds of a sinner
bearing track marks on rawboned arms
chained to opium’s ether
blinding sodium vapor stars
broken asphalt lulling my dreams
to live or die
straining to enter
Vincent’s Sky

Details | Jim Hirtle Poem

Counting Waves

An old man ravaged by age
His gangling frame impelled against the cancerous bark of the forever weeping willow 
Lined with wrinkles of time, his ashen face unshaven
Cast down among creeping shadows

Folding my legs, I sit beside him, placing my hand upon his
Immalleable bones pressing against gossamer flesh
Once spry with the strength of Theseus
Lost to the land of youthful reflections

His fallen eyes gaze at hands entwined ere’ turning to the sky
“I can’t find my home”
His voice shattering
Like Autumn leaves beneath Winter’s grip

A friendless tear dares to fall from his pale eyes
Pride of unremembered years pinching the descent of others
Clinging to thin gray lashes
Vanishing as quickly as it came

“It was once here,” he whispers to the morning
“Between the Crying Tree and Briny Sea”
Built by his hands
Blessed by her heart


I search for balm to pour over his broken heart
A meaningless quest hidden in the shadows of my guilt
My words silenced by shame and regret
I sit silently beneath the Crying Tree

Reclaiming his hand, twisted fingers scrape across biting whiskers
As if the answer lies beneath his crinkly veneer
“She curled her toes in the wet sand, I stood on the edge of the sea”
“Gazing westward for a something not here”

Bristling winds steals his gravely words from my ears
Leaning closer to the graybeard man, he dwells on in the past
“She sang out to the sea, what are you doing my love?”
“Counting waves” I tendered

One for each year 
He had told me before—
Many times—
He doesn’t remember

A boy and the girl together
Upon jagged rocks over the crystal bay
Watching the sea bathe the moon
Snowy gulls awaiting the new day 

She whispers to the night
“What are you doing”
“Counting waves, one for each year,” he answers
“Never stop,” her breath upon his cheek

“I can’t find my home” 
Words suspending the past, yielding to the present
“It was here, between the sea and the tree”
“Can you help me find my way; she’s waiting for me”

Besieged by the truth of Nevers
Truth resting on my lips
Never coming when he called
Never without an excuse to be somewhere else

A young son ravaged by rueful pangs 
The pendulous canopy sways overhead
Emerald aromas faintly caressing the air
He turns from the face of the Old Man

“What are you doing?” he asks his son
“I’m counting… the times I did not come”
The old one takes my hand
“I can’t find my home…”

Details | Jim Hirtle Poem

Behind Broken Memories

I can’t do this today
Peering through dirty windows at citizens disappearing
Behind shells made of unconvincing paper
Masking unspoken fears, unshaven faces
Unrealized hope
As I sip on day old coffee 
Listening to church bells ring meaningless summons
And politicians competing to weave the biggest lies
As the forgotten ones stand in lines separated by social space
To acquire food with borrowed money on borrowed time
From vendors looted the night before
Under the glow of torched cars, flaming buildings, and burnt down lives that don’t matter
Streets filled with hate for brothers and sisters
Whose skin is darker, whiter, different
I can’t do this again
Sitting hour after hour
Watching, waiting
Alone
 
Behind broken memories
Wondering where you are
Everywhere I look
You are not there
I can’t do this
alone

Details | Jim Hirtle Poem

The Dancer

You numb my eyes
From tippity-top
To eight count plies
Rhythmic grooves 
Crossing hard waxed floors
Bouncing orange orbs denied	
Double bass pounding, pounding
In my ears
Heart
Pride
Moving like soft water
Untethered sass
Yesterday’s child
Today a Dancer
Numbing eyes

Details | Jim Hirtle Poem

Stained Glass Pane

One day—
The sea will be my backyard
Every morning, standing upon the deck
Of the one called Going Numb
A “Greatest Dad” mug in one hand
My last vice burning orange in the other

I will watch the sun rise like the formidable Phoenix
Warming the blue green sea with her touch
As tender fingers of a salty breeze
Run through my silvery hair

A time worn wharf will serve as my threshold
Warped planks and crusted pilings 
Proffering a story of victories against the storms of sea
Aromas of fish and diesel oil
Making promises of resilience yet seen

Seagulls as nameless neighbors
Charmingly silent until beckoned
By day old bread and salty crackers
Perched upon the strakes of the Going Numb
Black eyes praising me as they wait
To devour the next gratis morsel

A galley will greet any wingless visitors
Who happen by
Barstools for three, plus me
Wait obediently before the coffee-stained counter
A toaster and tea kettle from yesteryear
A hidden bottle of rum
Is all this old man will need

With but a few steps, travel with me astern
Over the worn colorless carpet
Past the curtain of puka shells
Hung by stranger before I knew her
A sturdy cot with too many pillows
Serves as my nighttime rest
Where the sea’s gentle waves
Lull away loneliness
And Adele whispers love songs to my soul

Between the galley and my humble nest
A room where I attempt to do my best
A small writing table with pad and pencil
A beige shaded lamp provides the rest

Nostalgic bookshelves of cinder blocks and planks
Against the portside wall
A stage for those who have inspired—
Hemingway, Atwood, Tolkien, and Plath
King James and Lewis as bookends
Hold it all together

Three windows each, port and starboard
To look out
Or in
One with an untold story
I will never know
Or tell

A stained-glass pane
Cracked and old
Beauty in a way
That will never be told
By prose or poem or
By me

One day—
A new chapter in my life will come
Closing the pages of before
My purpose complete
Children grown
Now with ones to call their own
Having moved from a time of needing
To the days of occasionally calling
The old man on the sea
One day—
I will stand alone
On the deck
Of my new home
With seagulls as chaperones
And briny air in my lungs
I will watch the sunset
Through stained-glass pain