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Best Poems Written by Georgia Lackely

Below are the all-time best Georgia Lackely poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Ceramics

My thumb crushes the soft clay, pushing a single fingerprint into the malleable surface.
I take the clay into my hands, rolling it into a ball, methodically wiping the surface with water.
I jam my thumb down the center, and I increase the crater, using the tips of my fingers 
To create a bowl.
I wipe away the cracks with water, strengthen the surface with well-placed slivers of clay, 
Connecting the pieces.
The surface becomes as smooth as a glass mirror,
And I wonder,
As I wash my hands clean,

How many of my problems could be fixed with water?

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Catholic School

The checkered skirts my hell.
The checkered skirts that would make girls sweat in the heat with modest button-downs.
The checkered skirts that would sometimes rise up
To expose messy knees.
The checkered skirts that sometimes
Rose up to a forbidden thigh when sitting down.
I savored this.
The rare knee,
Evasive crook of the leg,
The elusive top of the thigh,
In between scripture
She would give me her eyes,
Laughing with a joke.
She would give me her hair,
Soft and easy to braid.
She would give me her smile,
Gap toothed and all.
They think checkered skirts and modest button-downs will stop us.
We instead give each other our elbows,
Our noses,
Our eyebrows,
All of the places that anyone could see
But were plainly ours.

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Henry

The Wildcats was the mascot,
The elementary school just a couple of blocks away
I would walk to school hand in hand with my mother,
Waving goodbye as I disappeared through the gates.
The playground was huge,
Blacktop for miles and miles,
The swing set was my favorite,
Named it Henry, I would
Talk to Henry in my head,
He was always interested in what I had to say,
Whatever classroom tidbit I had to offer.
If someone cut their hand with a scissor,
Or if that kid made that teacher go red in the face again.
Henry would sit there, willingly,
As I tried to touch the sky with my tip-toes.

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What's Wrong With Me

My breath is rank,
My teeth jaundiced,
My hair uncombed.
My face sullen,
Voice like a crow
If I had a hall of mirrors
I could have a murder,
Thousands of raven black wings
My beak, our beaks
Thrashing.
My ugliness will define
The only trophy I will ever shine 
As I sit on the power lines,
Croaking out harsh messages
To the passerby.

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The Jester

I could easily 
Give in to the spiraling
Thoughts waterboarding

My brain, ever the 
Jester, likes to place puzzles,
Challenges for me

Pose little questions,
Like a fish to a sharp hook,
Clutching its claws into me

Shakespeare loved his crude
Insults, my thoughts compete,
I swear that I love

My body, my face,
However, I cannot claim
To love all my strange 

Notions, like a bath
Draining out, going down down down
Leaving you empty.

Details | Georgia Lackely Poem

Echo

Tell me tell me
What do they say about me, what do they whisper, what do they say?
I don’t believe you when you say, “what?” as if you are shrugging off
My questioning, becoming suddenly annoyed.
What do they see about me, what do they notice, what do they see?
Wishing I had a telescope to peer inside their brains, pick out every single fleeting thought 
And consider it Shakespeare.
Tell me tell me
I need to know, I must know, I want to know
But you have become my Echo and I have become Narcissus,
Repeating me forever uselessly,
“No”
“No”
“No”