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Best Poems Written by Saint Alphonse

Below are the all-time best Saint Alphonse poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Saint Alphonse Poem

A Dark January

I

Boastfully, I regret no deeds,
my sins are minor, lame, and weak.
These children, though born dead, are strong,
like a necromancer, I make them dance.

Machineries, and wretched whores,
all linger midst my core's hollow depths.
So violent, I reproach their names,
like demons, they return the favour.

Silence now, no not a sound,
save for my gears, grinding gold.
A littany, these vicious lines,
meant to be enjoyed in Death.

So let me sleep, wake me not,
the Grave is my truest home.
Quietly, I shall decay,
and I will become my art.

II

Burn this body, this sinful cage,
bound to Earth's pleading ways.
My soul is chained within,
the keys just out of reach.

Pleasantries, I crave emotion,
intoxicated, I find them here.
Cells may rot, the better then,
so that the soul may roam.

Spread the ashes near and far,
somewhere left unseen.
Not valiant, not brave,
I am the Coward's King.

So still my heart of violence,
let the impurities flow.
Diminish all your foolish laws,
this soul belongs to me.

Details | Saint Alphonse Poem

Sitting Room [a Chair's Tale Contest-- 8th Place]

So here am I, are we, sit us,
a chair, a chair, a davenport.
White; blue; floral; bright;
we linger, and are never used.

Soft carpet: plush, divine.
So clean, untouched,
we wait for a miscreant.

'So you,' said I,
'how long, sat here
have you?'

'Too long,' said she,
'years too long
it seems.'

That chair, so soft,
she has eyes for me.
Yet here, away,
I may merely gape.

'Davenport,' said she,
'look away, have
some courtesy.'

'I'm blind!' said he,
to she, then I.
'Fifty years, seven 
months sat here, have I.'

And there we sat, for
years, for months.
And never sat in that
room did they-- humans.

Details | Saint Alphonse Poem

Réel

What,
          this velvet ocean's shore,
down-side up 
              and up-side 'round is:
uncouth,
    awash with painful memories.

How,
        requisite solitude,
in the glaring sun does blaze;
                 like this fear, shaking my every fibre.

Real? Or as yet unknown,
                seen only as a fantasy,
with images just beyond my grasp.

A breath, misty and grey,
                                      so cold that I may shudder;
              distinctly fading into the distance.

Yet I fathom not a future,
                                      what,
         when everything is lost.
How, when nothing seems as real...

as that distant shore, of velvet or of chrome,
        where one day we all make landfall;

poised and resolute.

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Drowning Not

Human
       without
    cause.
Is that human?

          I watch;
       discretely;
              he doesn't know, and won't.

          Faith
        hold
      true.
Is this worth it?

       Occultist dreams,
       killing sounds,
                  violent taste buds,
          silent fears.

A catalogue of pain:
  Unfelt!
  Unknown!
  Unrelated--

a smile, hollower than his eyes.

Details | Saint Alphonse Poem

Spring

Chlorophyll,
dissected hearts,
painfully
realized.
Atom bomb,
broken glass,
finally
putrefied.
Sanctuary,
is absurd,
heavenly,
dramatized.
Warming sun,
fragrant bloom,
fitfully,
cauterized.

Details | Saint Alphonse Poem

Amplitude

Glistening in you palm,
A simple shining blade.
Scalpel or a razor,
Sharp to spit my flesh,
To make me into you.

Shadows in your dreamscape,
And nightmares in my head.
We whisper lost prerequisites,
And sample broken fares,
But in the end, its on your head.

Contortion of reality,
Bound but not beheld.
Loathed through the fear of it,
And never brought to light,
Though a sunset is in your eyes.

Everything has ceased,
The silence is so loud.
A complaint of inadequacy,
Uttered for a charlatan,
Will the prophets listen?

Details | Saint Alphonse Poem

A Decadent Heart

Darkened, soiled, burnt.
The maggots squirm in love.
Felt through novel nerves,
a litany betrays your senses.

Inflated corpse of blood,
it savours its own demise.
Hollowed and enlivened,
it spews poisons freely.

Plain cobbles whine,
tortured by the resident.
A meaty bit of pain,
left to lesser means.

Leaves of death flutter,
brilliantly coloured bits.
The the hour of Hell,
and the season decay.

Time passes haltingly,
not wanting to progress.
The clocks will move,
but no longer do they tock.

A rhythm of solitude,
a beating at the door.
The caution will depart,
and the flesh will descend.

Details | Saint Alphonse Poem

Herbal Remedy

I
Rosemary

Peeling back the layer,
reaching into my pain.
Bleeding at the touch,
and seeping through with tears.

Relishing such agony,
I'm luscious and alive.
Writhing in ecstasy,
I await your penetrations.

Blood flows from my lips,
onto these pages.
Staining white with black,
you adore this outpouring.

Christened poetry,
and laid to rest with hate,
my children are all stillborn,
and shall take my name.

II
Sage

Forever unto me you sing,
my songbird, my lullaby.
Eternity is not enough,
I demand you for longer.

Canary, you are yellow!
Corruption breeds decay.
Look at all your reapings,
prizes from my hand.

The nature of a vulture,
the talons are so sharp.
A beak used for singing,
is just as good for pain.

Inflict this race with hate,
tear them all to shreds,
label them demonic,
and rise again from ash.

Details | Saint Alphonse Poem

Libra

Livid with unexpected rage,
Intended as a cure, 
But fraught with
Ravenous venom,
Antipathy runs amok.

Details | Saint Alphonse Poem

Apple of My Eye

The smallest sin,
still lingers where,
within your heart,
it hides, a seed.
To grow with doubt,
and fear and hate.
It gradually becomes,
a gnarled tree.
Upon such limbs,
grow wicked fruits
containing sins
committed since.
And though they taste
of loving care
they burn the gut,
and sting the soul.
Encased in love,
and feather lore,
the pain subsides,
and you want more.
Addicted hence,
forevermore.
To live with sin,
and die within.