Get Your Premium Membership

Best Poems Written by Ian Simmonds

Below are the all-time best Ian Simmonds poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

View ALL Ian Simmonds Poems

Details | Ian Simmonds Poem

Upon the Heath

After the greedily laden cirrus' lighten their loads,
a dog day returns to our suburban sanctuary.
As the mercury ascends like a climber captured in a glass tube,
the heath's heady aromas revoke our remorse.
Tangled brier and spiky scrub emit their balm:
a conspicuously redolent cocktail of coconut and cabbage.
Backlit baubles of liquid sunshine dazzle the view,
while defying gravity on their barbed roosts.
Suspended above the sodden, verdant heath, like an ethereal spirit,
another cloud hangs low, as if a subterranean lava lake -
once dormant - has been aroused from its viscous langour.
The transient torrent which incited the tribes to take refuge -
now passed - invites its flock to flood back onto the pasture.

Copyright © Ian Simmonds | Year Posted 2023



Details | Ian Simmonds Poem

White Rock Dreaming

Through Garreg-Wen’s nomadic hearth, we grew
and waned like lichen’s stole on Moel-y-Gest.
Her lustrous tablet’s cleaved expanse possessed
our sacred streams. Where plasma sands, in lieu
of blood’s endured aspects – our angled view –
was figured, flawless: all we knew. North-West
Nirvana’s alien tongues recite the pest 
of castle’s: tourist’s transient blight; so too,
ewe’s balk like doubtful dunes. Idyllic slants
in callow youth, discern, so seldom, tints
beyond the rosy realm of spectrum’s scant
surmise: stars, not blinkered by levant,
lost streetlights. Night’s insight may not imprint
the shape of time that teary-eyed stars grant.

Copyright © Ian Simmonds | Year Posted 2023

Details | Ian Simmonds Poem

Night's Shift

When my city unshuts below,
its crude, inured eyes: lewd its faux
regard for mere mortals that drift
amid cement and steel. Who flow

bereft; enslaved by night's shift.
Dissent its rude rebirth; in thrift,
withdrawn from grace of day's new dawn;
caffeine avers a spiritual lift.

Recede to homes' suburban lawns,
reticent lips, aside for yawns,
with ways to slog before they sleep;
paroled from drudge, trudging like pawns.

Climb ligneous cliffs: deeply steep,
onward, upward, on limbs that creep
to sterile slumber - their souls to keep -
until new toils throng them like sheep

Copyright © Ian Simmonds | Year Posted 2023


Book: Reflection on the Important Things