Home » Poems » Best » Cris Navarro » Best Cris Navarro Poems

Best Poems Written by Cris Navarro

Below are the all-time best Cris Navarro poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Cris Navarro Poem

Love Rests Between Us

'To see is to believe,' and the fact
Remains that all we believe may not be.
I see you, and you see me... but
Love you cannot not see.

si(I see not our breaths,

love,

but I believe we breathe)gh

Would you, could you - After all,
I'm disclosing this mask
Right here in front of you -
At least, believe in me?

Details | Cris Navarro Poem

Angel

Aghast I was as I gazed at heaven’s door,
I rise from my pain, mouth wide open and though
Mine heart stopped beating while I still turn red,
My eyes shed tears as I toil for each soft breath;
‘Tis fair that I tell you that I am not dead, however…
(Of course I still live, for me to write this letter)

A figure came out in a glowing ray of light,
And though ‘twas blinding, it hindered not my sight,
All was bright crimson when the whole sky opened
As an angel descended before the clouds of heaven;
I was thrilled at this sight and in all my excitement
Time stood still, at least, for this one brief moment…

She stood there before me, otherworldly and full of grace,
Her radiant beauty drawing from the smile on her face,
Gone were my bitter days through those patient eyes that kept
On shining so brilliantly like stars that grace past sunset,
With her lips glad and gleaming like the Moon in crescent,
I stood there grateful, to be with one so heaven sent.

Though overjoyed I was for I felt so blessed to be
In front of this woman who was so dear to me,
I became aware of her once unseen apathy
For I was just there, and yet...  she could not see
That I was in front of her, waiting to make myself known,
But in her head, I am not there, thinking she was all alone.
First I whispered, then tried to shout with all mine heart and mouth,
Still, I remained - unheard, unseen - and much filled with doubt.

Why couldn’t she notice, I could not ever know,
Maybe she was high and I was just too low,
‘Twas maybe the design between angel and man,
I’m stuck right here to do the best that I can
To do everything that's possible, in relentless pursuit,
To keep reaching out for this angel,
This forbidden fruit…

Details | Cris Navarro Poem

Not a Church Confession

Do forgive me, it has been a while,
And perhaps far too long, since I've been here last,
With you or with such burdensome weight. 
 
Hands clasped between my thighs, awkwardly sitting,
And I swear and I could hear the ants go marching,
As I scramble for a spiel, some wit, or some cliched formality.
 
But I've lost my over-the-shower outline, over those tangled
Imissedyou's and howhaveyoubeen's we've just exchanged.
I'm left no choice but to begin this awful rant free of an awful segue.
 
So flashing a smile, then a (scared little) chuckle, I take a heavy breath
Then try to die (and sadly fail), I guess there's no exit. Finally, courage
So here goes nothing. "Here I am, and you are here with me,
 
With your face ever transcendent and ears poised
To hear from me, what sooner or later will no longer be
My secret. And for what it's worth, thank you for coming.
 
You look stunning by the way, and maybe I could end here,
With you finding, that in my heart you've always been
Such a very beautiful thing. Need much else be said?
 
But just as well, you are with him. Or with nobody. I do not know,
As long you are not with me, I do not care.
But let me say that I think, you were quite the everything I was looking for,
 
Ah, that you are not with me when I miss you,
And it's annoying that I will always miss you,
But we all learn to live with the things we do not have.
 
And now I'm okay. My secret is just that
It had not been easy."
 
Beyond that, there is no making this right again,
And there is no further peace I would like to regain,
And there is nothing to absolve me from,
 
There's no need for resolution,
This... is not that kind of confession.
And having loved you is no sin.

Details | Cris Navarro Poem

You Are the Chicken and You Are the Egg

Wrote my dream woman on a blank piece of paper, 
Said she was this, and this, enjoys this, and that,
And most important of all, she must laugh at my jokes.
(You see, my darling, I do them no justice)
 
Said list was long, but I found it acceptable and true,
It was, however, uncanny how it seemed to be you,
Fitting into the interlaced riddle of my specified peculiarities.
(The chicken and the egg conundrum thus begs itself)
 
Were you simply the fit, or were you, in fact, the mold?
Are you the dream realized, or did the dream just materialize
After having only gotten to actually know you in this life?
(I'm just going to take a shot at making you laugh)
 
How did the chicken go to the other side? It crossed
Knock knock! I'm the one who's there.
My dream woman, and you. Now, which came first?
(Psst... The answer's here, but I'm not telling you where)

Details | Cris Navarro Poem

Small Talk

“Hello, nice to meet you
Again. How are you, now?”
(The only words I can say,
Looking at a familiar face,
No more ways to say that we are
So far away; that we’re way too late
For those Imissyou’s and wishedyouwerethere's 
Because the truth is we’re quite used to it.

But gosh,) “It sure is great to see you again, 
After all this time.” (Still, 
Your eyes captivate mine,
Still, with your familiar smile,
I'm melted into my humble beginnings,
My primordial soul was made for your viewing.)

“Yeah, I’m still trying to get those abs.
Don't you laugh at me!” (I can dream anyway,

What does it mean to love?
The question remains for three words,
Three years and counting,
You emerge from a sea of everything else,
What is it that you are to me?)
“And so, how is your life?”
(I hope you’re doing fine,

Wished I made you) “Mine,

The world’s still spinning,”
(And spinning, as always and so forth,
A world without you, and life goes on;
That is all there is, simply

A knowing that you exist, 
But doing nothing, save for
Counting each night and day,
You and I are so far away,)
“Well, look at the time,
You’re gonna be late,”
(Wished I made you mine.)
“Ah, but I’m late as well,

Nice to have seen you, I wish that
Maybe (I could tell you that
Sometimes,
I think about love;
And whenever I do -
I always think about) you
and I could see each other again.”

Details | Cris Navarro Poem

Dreams

This might not be a poem. I do not know what it is that is that a poem makes,
but it will have love, this one - this one that I'm making. And love...
Two swans with their long necks intertwined and a ring
I'd like to put on your finger sum' day. Hm, and also that song which reminds me
That you are not here and that makes me ask "Maybe I love you."

Or maybe it's "Baby, I love you." Let us begin with a question,
What if dreams are the glimpses of the other lives that we are living
In those meta-universes and elseworlds whose existence we've only pondered?

What does it matter? what if I say that I've dreamt of us together.
And to be quite blunt, I was sure I was pleased, and you seemed quite content.
I held your hand, or rather we've held each other. 

"Fingers lodged like branches in the river" and it was no burden. The burden is in waking up.

I wake up and that song plays on the radio, and you are not with me.
But "Baby, I love you." I wonder if you've dreamt of us two... 

too...

Wouldn't it be a bother if dreams were more than dreams and What we've seen
would be just as real as cake. I can be the eggs and you be the flower.

We're all we need to be sleeping awake. 

Then I remember that song. 
It tells me you're not here.
It plays on and on as I rise from my bed,
What does it mean to wake up alone,
to face the fear that you've been dreaming all on your own?

Details | Cris Navarro Poem

Me.R.Man

Lost, Found, and Claimed -- Reborn from the seas of entropy,
Its salt profound with the alteration of mass and energy, 
Bringing forth a new creation through the regenesis of "Me."

Its voice had beckoned so I've prudently listened
As it spoke of salvation and escape from the sin-ridden --
A land of so-called life, the incontinent libertine Eden.

 ‘Twas today, I’ve laid to drown but only to discover
New gills fashioned me for a life under troubled waters,
And below were fins for me to flee and move on faster.

In my new body I glide through the vastness of space,
Like a bird in flight, leaving Land without trace…
I swim farther away and further more into grace.
 
My abode now the ephemeral of sharks and sunken ships
In these troubled waters I dance until death’s final kiss,
Happy to have lived a merman, than a man of earthly bliss.

Details | Cris Navarro Poem

Saddest Lines (Inspired By Tonight I Can Write... By Pablo Neruda)

The saddest lines begin tonight, with a lone soul 
Bare but for the thin veil of a pale white moonlight,
Beside myself, and taxed upon deep reflection,
For the night is starry, and my empty cup has fallen -
Shattered glass refracting even more of the stellar sky,
Mapping out the universe from THE single static point -
That is to say, finding myself amidst all creation
With nothing but time, and the realization
That I am alone.  And I cannot move on, for you are
Not with me.

On a night such as this, our story had taken root
And had blossomed from its simple magical beginnings, 
And tonight, I write my saddest lines simply
Because stories have their endings.

I remember, in nights like these
We have held on each other's arms,
That you have loved me once,
How the tenderness of your eyes radiated even from
The darkness that follows each day,
How your touch told me that you were here to stay,
How you whispered to my ear,
I was all you'd ever need;
And in my arms, I have always loved you,
And In my arms, I could have never loved you more,
Yet oh swiftly, from these arms, did you walk out that door.
The night grows colder as I bask upon the curse of your memory,
The night grows colder as I lie in fear of my forgetting.
Still, we have changed. Still, I feel the same.

You will be another's, perhaps, you are another's, 
You are away, and your love has lost itself in the distance,  
Will you be back? I've spent many sleepless nights like this one,
Begrudging the self-same sweet mendacities of your love
Which fuel the hope of your return to my arms once again.
I lie awake and waiting as the soil waits for rain,
And each day I find that you are no longer with me,
And each day I am left barren and emptied by your apathy.

(Darling, how could it be that you've once loved me?)

Tonight, I wish to say: 
That I will not love you,
That I will forget you and grow better,
That I will be strong, I will move on,

But tonight, I write the saddest lines:
You still are, 
For some reason or another,
The love of my life.

(This love is the bane of my each and every night) 

I write all of these, my darling, my beloved,
Simply because you were my everything,
And simply because you've gone,
And I pen it all to you
Because the lines burst from the well spring of my tears,
For when you have left me my love, my true...
You have simply left me with nothing else.

Details | Cris Navarro Poem

How Do I Say

(Subtly,
 
There is that which is
That previously was not,
 
A singular globule speck stemming from the void
Which by pure happenstance crossed into being,
It is almost nothing in its smallness,
 
But in its quiddity, it is everything.
 
Well, obviously it is quite negligible compared to things so easily perceptible -
Those sorts such as politics, or arts, or flood, or food,
       Or even our foolish talk, and laughter, or
            Even that way that you crinkle yourself a sneer
            To try and shrug off the awkwardness of my compliments.
But colossal enough it is in proportion to an entire cosmos of things that never-ever-would,
       I mean, for such a thing to even begin to be,
       And, believe you me, it is,
 
And what would it be to you if you knew that
       At some point in time, those compliments have purposely been quite awkward?
       For you see, it happened
           that there was this thing that previously never was.
 
And still,
 
Despite it being just a small insignificant thing, 
Quite nothing really,
 
How I cannot ignore it,
 
Parce que il y a 
      There is still something
 
Existing even when my eyes are closed in the darkness of night,
It makes all the spaces in between quite massive,
 
For, perhaps, maybe, it is, precisely,
      That I admire you
 
      only a little,
But in its quiddity, clearly,
      it is everything.
 
Ah but how do I put it?
How do I tell you without making you crinkle yet another sneer?
 
Bluntly,)
 
I can't.

Details | Cris Navarro Poem

We Think and We Do Nothing

Care to think of yourself,
Sieving through the mundane,
I wonder if you're expecting anything,
Is this the life, or has it not yet begun?
If so, then what is it that is this?
A preparation, a practice, perhaps
An exhibition? Or is it the one true thing,
Has it started? Am I too late,
Should I begin leaving my words behind
Lest I dare be carried downstream,
And continue dreaming the world's end,
Hopelessly begging, "When will life begin?"
As it slowly inches past me.