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Best Poems Written by Ben Throne

Below are the all-time best Ben Throne poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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The Ice Cream Man Cometh

“Your cone's so thick, can I have a lick?”
(Bill, surprised, dropped his wad on the brick!)
Not any vanilla,
nary a scintilla,
did poor Susie’s sweet tongue get to flick.

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What a Woman Wants

“All a man really wants, is a girl who looks good in a bikini.”—Jack Freestone

All a “man” really wants is a “girl”
who looks good in a bikini?
All a woman wants is someone
who really doesn’t care, or is it
just to feel warm sea-side air
caress her chest instead of nylon
and play once again, summer child,
outside a body of which she’s too aware,
alive in movements unbound by eyes
and unweighted by prudish gravity,
to wade into the froth of waves breaking wild
around her, an improvised dance that swirls
in cadence to life’s rhythms, wise
to no man’s guile, unresponsive to his gambit.

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High

an elephant sitting on my brain--and telling me to like it

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Something Fishy Happened On the Way To the Litterbox

There once was a fish kept in a bowl.
In his little sphere he had control.
But then that damn cat
Knocked it over—splat!
And proceeded to gobble him whole.

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Representative Lauren Boebert

Representative Lauren Boebert
said to her date that her boob hurt;
the poor chap only gave her a hand,
and for that they both got banned.

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The Release

a brown manatee
swims at last in blue freedom—
then drowns in whirlpool

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A Memory Without Regret

Particles of the air you breathed,
all that now remains.
Caught in sunlight, filtered down,
and rendered into dust;
faded red lipstick stains, 
the record of your lust.

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Ekphrasis of Edvard Munch's Bathing Man

Behold the bather astride the river,
resplendent in rainbow-dappled nudity
his sense of light and air and wetness
ebbs and flows like his emotions,
colors shift and swirl in response
to the universe of his creativity.

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Verisimilitude

Strange, after living so long apart
the things that resurrect the memory of your touch;
a vanilla-scented candle, the taste of Turkish coffee;
or the way flower petals graze my skin so softly;
the feel of waves beneath my feet,
the light of a parking garage…
the aching’s almost too much.

Sometimes I think I see you and set my eyes to follow after;
but it’s just ardor’s chimera, just a cruel mirage,
summoned by someone else’s laughter,
sounding from someone else’s street.

When I close my eyes the hundreds 
of miles melt in my mind
to a single point in time.
We can’t see the water lap around us
but we hear its suggestions,
and sighing fold in on each other
like a glowing paper crane
nesting in the waters of the sky.

Once again I think I see your face--
the moon wreathed in penumbra--
And numbly grab a pen,
recording your ghost’s fading trace
in journals of sinew and cartilage.

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The Humphingbird

Everyone loves the Turtle Dove.
Our hearts thrum for the Hummingbird!
But have you heard of the Humphingbird?
With each failure and success 
He exhibits neither joy nor stress.
Whether he finds loss or triumph
He greets both with a bored “Harrumph”.
Beyond that I have naught a word
To say about the Humphingbird.