Poetry Forum Areas

Introduce Yourself

New to PoetrySoup? Introduce yourself here. Tell us something about yourself.

Looking for a Poem

Can't find a poem you've read before? Looking for a poem for a special person or an occasion? Ask other member for help.

Writing Poetry

Ways to improve your poetry. Post your techniques, tips, and creative ideas how to write better.

High Critique

For poets who want unrestricted constructive criticism. This is NOT a vanity workshop. If you do not want your poem seriously critiqued, do not post here. Constructive criticism only. PLEASE Only Post One Poem a Day!!!

How do I...?

Ask PoetrySoup Members how to do something or find something on PoetrySoup.

Best Ruben O Poems

Below are the all-time best Ruben O poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

View ALL Ruben O Poems

Details | Ruben O Poem

Don't Come


     I don't want warm fingertips touching my name.
     I won't feel those left-to-rust letters,
     not even read them—Don't come

     with lashes under waterproof mascara
     for same-day return flight
     —those wings were mine.

     No need of somber daisies,
     I won't pick petals anymore.
     Naked of all care to unclose my eyes,

     I'll be quieter, simpler, easier
     to understand. Don't knock on the stone,
     I won't be around

     as whisper, as tickling, as shadow,
     nor sudden silence, no crying wolf.
     You won't find me. I'll be gone.

     My every sunset consumed in tundra,
     devoured by questions that tore skin and
     dreams. Forget it—nevermore.

     My best smile, my blessed hands, my better world,
     nothing will be left of them. Don't come,
     it'll be late. You should have come earlier,

     you shouldn't have gone.
     This stolen flower pressed between our lives
     never wilted; yet,  you didn't know.

     Your constant walls, my depth of doubts, our equal loss,
     blow them off into the night.
     But don't come,

     once I'm gone—I swear,
     not even as a tiny blade of grass—
     never, I will never return.



Copyright © Ruben O. | Year Posted 2010

Details | Ruben O Poem

Mirror, Mirror


            To Chan "Archaic" Hurst

            I see you —in a way— caught
            held captive from escaping
                              from inside
                              a broken mirror
            beyond curse or superstition,
            staring at yourself:      fractured     fragmented
            with your need to unfold art
            arising through every fissure
            no further tricked by soothing pills.

            I see you —in a way— laying awake 
            counting cracks when pain pierced the air or
            kicking in amniotic fluid:
                              a mirror breaker
            who throws crystal's shards in all directions

            Torch confined to lead light in
            technicolor, through pentagrams
            within flamboyant kaleidoscopes or
            stained glass windows. Unsolved
            puzzle on the verge of your own Walden 
            where nothing will be enough
            where you will never belong.

            I see you —in a way— a dreamer
            who fosters fantasy with nesting habits 
            discovering Tolkien in Star Wars pajamas or
            racing a Nimbus 2000 over Gotham city.
            Child-brother sharing Hakuna Matatas.

            Yet, there you stand: 
            Who's the best rhymer in the land?
            cause it's all just Greek to us
            to mock the geeks, perhaps
            we rolled our eyes

            Today, a guitar grieves and revives
            euphoric notes. We know 
            there is no stage five life
            and although its knots seem to be untied

            I see you —in a way— still alive

Copyright © Ruben O. | Year Posted 2014

Details | Ruben O Poem

A Solstice

Thoughts of death, one after another, 
mourning a loss. They fall like hailstones 
cracking tiles, waking the night
—its perceived substance—
things not seen but feared. I could care less.

It's the longest night of my years
caught in the toils of doubts, of despair
of the noise of falling ice that reverberates inside                                  
my faith in sudden slices. Impotent to 
kiss resignation's toes
advocated by those who want my obedience

and tithes at all costs. Impotent to 
listen to duty of silken stole 
that pulls creaking faith into its coils. Impotent to 
accept sacred writings chosen by lot. Impotent of 
praying more and thinking less. Impotent 
to breathe, to see 

to walk through wind-blown salt and s  i  l  t 
measuring a time dark and lost. A ruptured soul
over versions of interpretations of 
oral traditions already translated into lies: Greeks, Romans, 
monarchs, despots, rulers, reformists, stoics...  
Thoughts of death like tears of ice

Where will be the lice that sucks my sins and tics
that coughs and gags and vomits my unfulfilled temptations into a cist? 
Thoughts of death tickling upon my bare soles.
It's tonight, at its farthest point from my Sun—still so close. 
I need to believe it—God—you need to believe it:
You'll die as soon as my faith is lost 


Copyright © Ruben O. | Year Posted 2012

Details | Ruben O Poem

The Poet - To Carrie

                Dedicated to Carrie Richards

I am ...
the wandering breeze in the wheat field
the pawn advancing to the eighth rank
the ocher leaves under the window
the One Hundred Years of Solitude
the One Thousand and One Nights
the disappointment of the elderly
the pile of dirty dishes in the sink
the water trickling into the sewer
the hand that calls and defends
the vast ocean that drowns me
the widower feeding the doves
the five drops of Chanel No. 5
the saddest verses of Neruda
the insect hidden in a cocoon
the impotence of forgiveness
the Tango and the Tarantella
the windmills of Don Quixote
the colors and the shadows
the sadness of the hunger
the barking dog that bites
the prelude and the fugue
the glass of wine to share
the illusion of the outcast
the puddles on the street
the new kid in the school
the orphan in the asylum
the lies of the politicians
the rain on a sunny day
the message in a bottle
the petal and the thorn
the laughter of children
the blindness of Borges
the feather in the wind
the moss on the stone
the beard of Whitman
the Nuremberg Trials
the door always open 
the underpaid worker
the mistletoe waiting
the hair in your food
the tangerine wedge
the gasp to nowhere
the last surrenderer
the beggar's refuge
the pointing finger
the foam of anger
the broken mirror
the clocks of Dali
the curving road
the Trail of Tears
the garlic breath
the bitter vomit
the Nazca lines
the lost island
the false note
the joy of sin
I am death
the poet.


Copyright © Ruben O. | Year Posted 2010

Details | Ruben O Poem

Afternoon Magnolias



                            Your magnolia tree
                            filters the afternoon sun
                            I carved our names in its trunk
                            Those beloved flowers
                            impregnate the sudden breeze
                            You are miles away from here


Copyright © Ruben O. | Year Posted 2012

Details | Ruben O Poem

Innocents of All

     Let's retro walk decades to the sun 
     dried affiches
     — its thick finger at us— 

     calling up: we want you 
     when wars began in guttural tongues and 
     used to wait. It seems

     we've been trusting for so long in posters
     since the antennae, now pixels.
     We-want-yous in circular ritual

     a scheme of half-naked excuses
     maximizing                       fear:
     strings pulled to upset puppets

     who run to slap bumper stickers
     who, hand over heart, shake pom-poms or flags;
     innocents of all. 

     We seal-clap to swallow 
     blurred chimeras, opportune abysses 
     abstract words circling up above our minds

     in continence. We lie 
     down on concentric lies,
     stretch our legs, pretend freedom, and live the same

     day twice. 
     Inside us, trapped in our flesh,
     implanted wars distend, throb, march on

     for the salt, for the sand, for the sake
     of our Asian fetish. How many sequels?
     Those masks we wore weren't ours.

     I think I saw a pregnant nun—in her habit
     of exhorting us 
     as voters, tax-payers, heroes ... no matter

     what, our side has been picked for us. 
     Above ground, we belong below. Buried 
     beneath our uncritical support.

     Manufactured wars
     from desks—behind them—cyclically reinvented.  
     On and on: Enron, Exxon, Halliburton wars.

     I won't feel less terrorized.
     Who would? Would you?
     Defined by corners

     rooms adjoin rooms of chronic echoes
     broadcast live. Sons return as heroes
     in complimentary caskets—as crude

     as it may sound—parts of them never do.
     Or split in halves, lost somewhere in-between
     longing to be rescued—somehow.

     Walk with me
     even if we tangle with strings and stripes.
     Let's walk staring straight—into someday.


Copyright © Ruben O. | Year Posted 2016

Details | Ruben O Poem

Goddess of the Moon


                                          Shine, Mediterranean Selene
                                          unique goddess of this dark life
                                          glow with pride and forget the strife
                                          all my nights are lonely and serene.
                                          I'm yours, only yours, pure and clean
                                          and although your distrust is rife
                                          soon, so soon... you'll become my wife
                                          believe these words of sacred mien.

                                          Do not let envy plant those seeds 
                                          of fear, of jealousy and spite
                                          from the demons come those breeds
                                          whose gossip and lies seek our fight
                                          They're who expect your heart concedes
                                          to steal what lives just for your light.

Copyright © Ruben O. | Year Posted 2010

Details | Ruben O Poem

Rain and Stars


Sudden summer rain soaks the garden before dusk— Cat licks early stars

Copyright © Ruben O. | Year Posted 2010

Details | Ruben O Poem

Midnight Pearls


                 Shine, midnight pearls!
                 The smoke curls up in whirls of doom.

                 On the wet sand 
                 my own hand draws unplanned pierced hearts.

                 Deep blue-black sky
                 I play by rules and sigh despair

                 to lay aside 
                 starry-eyed dreams that hide a sin.

                 Shine, distant stars!
                 through guitars notes, through scars of time.

                  For her first kiss
                  an abyss drains all bliss from me

                  and far away
                  shadows play down their spray of doubts.

                  Opaque pearls, shine!
                  On this fine night, define my north.


Copyright © Ruben O. | Year Posted 2012

Details | Ruben O Poem

In Twilight

               left behind
               fading trails across the sky
               in twilight
               at the nursing home
               my father asks me my name



Copyright © Ruben O. | Year Posted 2015