Home » Poems » Best » Emma Forrest » Best Emma Forrest Poems

Best Poems Written by Emma Forrest

Below are the all-time best Emma Forrest poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Emma Forrest Poem

Four Nights

The first night I arrived on my own.
Streets were darkening, yet kept alive
by lights in café’s and couples
walking arm in arm.
The driver carried my forlorn bag
into a bright, over ornate foyer.
Preliminaries over, I checked into
a room that at first glance
was sultry to my eyes.
I sat on the bed and, taking
out my red not pad,
doodled lovers’ scribbles
and the vagaries of life.
I drank one glass of
heavy merlot, and as tiredness crept
I slept alone beneath covers
of tightly cocooned childhood.
Breakfast was solitary,
as families chattered.
I held my cup between two hands
indulging myself in wonderings.
He would arrive by lunchtime
and so I placed myself behind ferns
in an over-panelled side room.
It’s strange people watching,
their lives re-enacted
like a drawing room drama.
I watched, and he arrived
as nervously as I,
love on foreign soils
without familiarity of lies.
Beneath rose glow we made love,
then rose and explored,
tasted food, drank wine
Copious sensations as if
before we had only fasted.
W indulged in the pleasures
of opulent enjoyment
where we are strangers
and not conformed by rules.
The remaining nights
we looked into each other’s eyes
and on the fourth, I left
alone.
©EMG05

Details | Emma Forrest Poem

Journey

We clambered on board the train, 
amidst the heat and jostling bodies scrambling in humid air 
that swirled about us. Chatter, noise, whistles 
and barks of laughter. As laconic guards look on 
with impassive and seen it all faces. 
Our fellow travellers carry lives with them, 
grease stained paper parcels tied with string, 
fresh killed chickens with legs tied and salted, 
strong smelling meats and spice leavened bread. 
One man appears to carry his whole garden produce 
with him, leaving his wife to struggle with 
impatient and excited, melting doe eyed children. 
We have tickets that entitle us to seats, 
yet I feel a tinge of envy, as young agile men 
clamber, loose limbed onto the top of the train. 
There is chaos, yet amongst it, there is also 
order. I watch my fellow passengers exchanging 
lightening chatter, their quick silver approach to 
life and all its viscitudes exhaled like smoke 
through careless stained teeth. 
Our travels pass with men sitting on the dusty 
floors, sharing jokes and making bargains, as 
patient wives are left to admonish and administer 
mothering upon numerous children, who seem part of a 
group, not a separate family unit. 
The smell of sweat and spice, hangs like a smog on 
the atmosphere, permeating hair and clothing. 
Months later I take a silk scarf, left forgotten in 
the bottom of my rucksack. 
I stare at lush greenness as grey drizzle falls. Breathe deeply, 
taking in yet again, that heady, 
heavy scent of travellers dreams. 
There are journeys that you remember, 
and some that you forget.

Details | Emma Forrest Poem

Spilt Silk

Silk spills from her suitcase
and love is a careless thrown scarf
around long elegant necks.
She watches through the scented night
of unfamiliar décor,
as packet teas and coffees
lie like soldiers on a tray.
She idly wonders if he likes his coffee black,
or perhaps they will dispense altogether
and lie like lovers beneath 
crisp white sheets
sharing bubbles of surprise
from cheap hotel glasses.
This is not the midnight raids
Of laughing childhood,
eating stolen food beneath a
canopy and jumble of bedclothes
cross legged with nightdresses
 bunched around their knees.
Crumbs are no longer fun
and fizzy drinks are bought
in bottles proudly bearing labels
of an indifferent champagne.
If she opens the drapes
just a shade
will she watch that long lost innocence
cavorting down unfamiliar streets?
Nowadays she likes to lie
with one leg possessively stretched
and the lines and sinews of their bodies
elongated and filled with
Sated sighs.

© EMG05

Details | Emma Forrest Poem

Just Once

Once I was there 
Snatching glimpses 
Through the minstrel gallery 
Watching dancers 
Cavort across the floor 
Once, for just a second 
I caught the falling petal 
As, tucking nightdress up 
To bunch over knees 
I ran, barefoot to hide 
In the lushness of the orangerie. 
There amongst the ferns 
And the sweet scented yet 
Sticky lemon plant 
I watched you kiss, and 
Stroke her hair 
Caught the fragrance of 
Two lovers lost in bliss. 
It was only once 
But you never knew I saw 
I saw you with my mothers’ eyes 
Watched you look 
And as you gazed 
I held my breath 
Until my heart just thumped and thumped 
Pounding in waves like 
The sea upon the shore 
Felt the rush of water 
Singing in my ears 
Just once, and it was over 
And chances died like dreams.

Details | Emma Forrest Poem

The Lion Waits

Amongst the potted palms 
And aspidistra’s leafed cover 
The lion paces 
Eyes agleam 
The only light 
In a darkened foot well 
Alert to sound 
Body poised 
Ears cocked, listening. 
Laughter, merriment 
An echo in the cavernous hall 
A sponge, wettened, waiting 
Drip, drip, drip 
Inaudible to all but he. 
Giggles, excited chatter 
The sound of footsteps 
On wooden floors, clatter 
Breezy “byes, good luck” 
Doors closing, with catch click 
His victim, chosen prey, descends 
The lion from cover pounces 
Sponging dreams 
He aims straight for the jugular 
As tears of black mascara rain 
Leaving greasy trails 
On water marked taffeta. 
The lion retreats 
His maiming done 
Leaving heaving prey 
In pools of lost dreams. 
Through his jungle 
He seeks to find 
A watering-hole, to quench 
His now ravening thirst. 
This king in a domestic jungle 
Of spoilt memories 
And lace picked holes 
Family proud 
His killing done 
And just the drip, drip, drip 
As leafy plumage 
Conceals. 

©EMG04

Details | Emma Forrest Poem

Crimson Sky

Such thoughts are complicated in my mind 
and confusion draws me onto paths 
that I would not otherwise walk. 
I look up and see a crimson sky 
as blood then pours from my own eyes. 
It is brief, yet I know I have to shed blood 
So that I can be shown all the what ifs. 
She stands again like a virgin waiting, 
tied by need to a hobbled gate. 
Daddy stands there, as he never had in life 
his shotgun, handed down from his father 
with its worn wood and smoke dark grey. 
I keen to the sound of my child’s cry 
as surely as I had cried as a child, 
when in a moment he had grabbed and 
held me by the throat, leaving red bruised marks. 
Daddy, yet in truth I never called him that 
He was spun by a mother’s weakness 
and was just a tool to bend and bruise. 
I watch him shoot the virgin, me 
and the blood that pours is clean. 
The virgin died, long live the virgin 
slain by her own hand. 
“Did Daddy die?” I hear her ask. 
©EMG05

Details | Emma Forrest Poem

Sometimes

Sometimes it's called being alone 
Even when you stand in a crowded room 
Tears fall that others don’t see 
A hairline fracture of the heart. 
Sometimes the mists cloud the views 
Your eyes are blurred, unfocused 
And the smile on your face hurts 
Like cold ice cream eaten too quickly. 
Yet through it all, there is a strange 
Peace and contemplation – a renewing of 
That part of you, always held in check. 
Sometimes, may not be always 
It’s just a feeling. A fractured space in time 
Like, sometimes I love you and others not at all. 
Quixotic creatures that we are 
We build our barriers. 
You blew me a kiss today 
Which I caught 
Snatched at the sky with my hand 
And tucked your love away.