Home » Poems » Best » Tom Woody » Best Tom Woody Poems

Best Poems Written by Tom Woody

Below are the all-time best Tom Woody poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Tom Woody Poem

Poe's Untimely Demise

*Note
I had to bring this one back, though I've been posting mostly new writes here that PS hasn't seen before. This poem has been edited many times over the years. I consider it to be among my best. The meter and rhyme structure are borrowed from the final stanza in the famous Poe poem, Tamarlane. One of the theories proffered as to how Poe died is rabies. I just took it a step further. This won't be everyone's cup of tea, since it is old style traditional poetry. Still, I hope you like it.

Come close and learn the mystery
buried long ago on yonder hill.
The truth revealed in whisp'ring winds
was veiled these past two centuries-
a penance paid for wanton sin?
(To swallow now this bitter pill
cast down my throat against my will
has left me in a troubled state,
and yet this tale I must relate).
An evil gale on that night blew
and terrors that he never knew
would visit him in black of night
as threats were made demanding flight-
he sought out refuge in the heights.
No starry night to light the sky,
no moon o’er head the sky to ply,
just darkness thick as London fog
as ebon creature took to wing-
his old unearthly mystagogue
hovered o’er head - a ghostly thing.

And the raven flew into the night
And the raven flew into the night

(Earlier that night)

A wager made the ante in-
the loser who for want of heart
throws in his last remaining coins
and prays tonight’s the night he’ll win.
The dealer laughs and then enjoins
each one to play, the game to start
before the twilight should depart.
He loses all but pleads to stay,
his title deed now on display.
And so once more a playing hand
is dealt before a wretched band
of sharks who’d never prayed to God,
whose backs had often felt the rod,
the holy path they’d never trod.
But fate once more would him aggrieve,
no winning card hid up his sleeve.
Without a friend or place to go
he leaves the hall with face aghast
and whispers words of hope and woe,
“O that this night might quickly pass."

And the raven flew toward the east
And the raven flew toward the east

The deed a closer look is made
and ‘fore too long ‘tis evident
that all is not quite as it seems,
‘twas nothing but a rook's charade.
Revenge is now the plan they scheme-
this band of thugs with cruel intent
on finding Poe are now hellbent.
And so into the night they sped
with brutish beasts inspiring dread,
the rabid dogs held fast by chain
in chilling wind, in blinding rain.
A movement in the distance seen-
a man alone or so it seems,
the hounds set loose in low ravine.
Their prey runs high upon the hill,
each howl his craven spine would chill
until ill fate caught up with him-
his future prospects rather grim.
The evil jaws upon him clenched,
he screams aloud before the fall,
the poison in his blood entrenched-
delirium soon cast its pall.

And the raven flew toward the light
And the raven flew toward the light

There as he lay upon yon hill,
the chase now o'er, the silence sweet,
he gazes 'bove into the night
as clearing clouds betide goodwill.
He sees an angel dressed in white
and hears a steady rhythmic beat,
so low and calm and quite discreet.
The heavens part to his delight-
the figure standing in the light
extends to him an outstretched hand-
a voice like waters bids him stand.
He wonders now if just a dream
or are things really as they seem-
a voice or just a nearby stream?
Then suddenly he feels no pain
as wind abates and same the rain.
The hand then grabs him by the throat,
another tears his woolen coat,
his life flashed up before his eyes
and thro’ the brightly illumed sky
he sees Miss Clemm to his surprise
whose mournful plea to him is, “Why?”

And the raven flew into the sun
And the raven flew into the sun

He breathed his last then bade goodbye,
that troubled bard who’d gone awry-
the mystery resolved at last
on how it was that Edgar passed.
And if you wonder how I know
these secrets held from long ago…

Details | Tom Woody Poem

The Spirit, The Water and The Blood

last thing I remember is the look upon his face
shot him dead right where he stood then left without a trace 
killed a man while robbing his white castle for some change 
if I could I'd take it back my life I'd rearrange 

(chorus)

as I lie here on this prison bed I look up toward the sky
His Word says He still loves me though I can't help wonder why 
the man I am today is one He pulled up from the mud 
I've put my trust in these three things
 
the spirit, the water, and the blood 

growing up I never knew the man who caused my birth 
the only dad I ever knew destroyed my own self-worth 
the day he beat my mother was the day I thought I'd die 
I swore it'd be the last time this young man would ever cry 

as I lie here on this prison bed I look up toward the sky 
His Word says He still loves me though I can't help wonder why 
the man I am today is one He pulled up from the mud 
I've put my hope in these three things
 
the spirit, the water, and the blood 

(bridge) 

looking in this broken mirror I see a man redeemed 
my newborn faith in God above uplifts my self-esteem 
the One who sent his Son to die forever set me free 
these bars that keep me locked up now will soon no longer be 
(I'll pay the penalty) 

the time has come the needle waits I find myself at peace 
today's the day to pay my dues before I find release 
forgiveness I have begged from Him for causing so much pain 
my hope is He remembers me and that I'll live again 

as I lie upon this bed of death I slowly close my eyes 
his family's all gathered 'round no need to wonder why 
the man I killed's dear widow helped to pull me from the mud 
(because like me) 
she's put her faith in these three things

the spirit, the water, and the blood

Details | Tom Woody Poem

Why I Became a Poet

Because there is a God in heaven who demands an accounting. Because there are demons on earth who never sleep. Because the wind whispers words into my head whether I want it to or not. Because my little Caitlyn loved toads. Because the world has flipped upside down and its goodness has been lost. Because little children keep crying out in anguish. Because my voice must be added to the din of those seeking change. Because the sky bleeds red, black and blue. Because hope cannot be silenced. Because darkness must be exposed by light. Because my bones ache when I keep poetic words bound. Because freedom of speech demands it. Because the words and ideas that awaken me at three a.m. must be committed to pen and paper or I cannot sleep. Because a kind word can heal a broken heart, or a crushed spirit. Because the world can be harsh and cruel to the most vulnerable among us. Because I want my unique style to be recognized and lauded. Because Thomas Woodward, Winky, Sam Dumpty and other characters that have sprung from my brain have a right to exist, live and breathe. Because I am lonely sometimes. Because I want the world to be better, brighter. And most of all, because I want you to accept me into your heart where I can feel wanted, safe and secure.

Details | Tom Woody Poem

To The Dad I Once Knew

* Note My dad passed away today, a little over seven months since my mom passed. After a thirty year estrangement my dad and I reconciled when mom died. I figured I'd write this today, while everything is raw, otherwise I'll never write it. In some ways, it is the story of my life.

Small children see their dads as gods of a sort, for better or worse. In my case, I was lucky enough that it was for the better. Supporting five kids on a Rate Auditor's salary had to be tough, but we never went without the basics. You were quite the athlete in your day. You taught me all the sports; basketball (my fave), baseball, football, golf (I still suck), ping-pong, bowling and more. I still remember how proud you were when I made the all-star team playing CYO basketball for St. Matthew's. You always came to my games, even when it wasn't terribly convenient.

You were the neighborhood dad, playing all the sports with me and my buds. And they liked you, teasingly calling you Geezer (ironic and hilarious since at the time you were only in your late thirties, and as I write this I am now sixty-two). My siblings tell me I was your favorite and I believe it, though I'm not sure I ever merited it. Maybe it was because I was your firstborn and a son?

Anyway, things got a little funky later on. It was the seventies and long hair and heavy metal were all the rage and little Tommy grew up quick. Black Sabbath, Uriah Heep (a band you absolutely hated and always called Dung Heep), beer, girls, cigarettes, funny smokes and hanging with the wrong crowd. Oh, sure, we were likable enough, but were unholy demons at night, terrorizing the locals. Why? Bored teens who loved the thrill of running from the cops through the back yards and streets of a little town called...

But teens eventually move on and so at twenty-one I got married to a girl with a kid and within a year had one of my own. I learned what it meant to be poor and it was rough, but you made sure I lived with my choice to become a man, probably (no, definitely) before I was ready. And then at twenty-three things changed.

I changed. I stopped smoking, drinking, cheating, cursing, dropped heavy metal like a lead balloon and embraced the Bible and a new religion. But instead of being happy for me you hated it, so much so that within a short time you cut me out of your life entirely and kept my mother from me as well.

Fast-forward thirty plus years. Mom dies and you have an epiphany. Suddenly you want to reconcile. Sure. Why not? Holding grudges is for the unkind and punitive, right? So, we did.

Last night as I watched you laying in that hospital bed in the throes of death, mouth opened wide like the near dead always do, unconscious and breathing erratically, I gazed intently at you and felt...

nothing. And when I heard of your death today shortly after noon, I felt nothing. They say the heart dies a slow death and it's true. It becomes cold, hard, numb. I'm sure there will be a price to pay. One day it will hit me when I least expect it. Maybe I'll be reading a Bible passage and Boom! Or I'll be watching some sappy television show and the tears will start to flow, for no apparent reason. Or maybe everything will stay bottled up inside and one day my heart will just pop, like a balloon that has held stale air for too long. Or maybe, just maybe I'll be okay. Time will tell.

See ya dad. I'll choose to remember you for what you once were, since I have no idea really who you became after my fall from your graces. Such is life.

Details | Tom Woody Poem

Rainbows on the Moon

in hyacinth and heather my true love dwells
and in lush lavender her bones rest in peace
no mere human can project nor can foretell
when in this life one's vitality may cease
yet this I know and of this I can be sure
that her soul was white as snow and truly pure
thus in God's new world I know I'll see her soon
and together we'll chase rainbows on the moon





* Inspired by Chris Bowring's wonderful rispetto as well as others

Details | Tom Woody Poem

Romantic Rendezvous

you're so far away...

tantalizing temptation was always your forte
teasing me, drawing me in
making me yearn for your passionate kiss
desperate to be lured
into your amorous arms 
by those luscious lavender lips
and the sweet scent of your sultry sensuality


alas, my love...

this cruel chasm created by your passing
has left me melancholic 
how I remember our romantic rendezvous
and savor the memories of our marital mergings
bodies entwined in erotic embrace 
reaching heights of euphoric ecstasy
that left us spent and satisfied, time and again

tell me where I can find you...

sun and moon are distant lovers, languishing
in an uncaring universe determined 
to keep them from consummating their vows
even still, every eighteen months or so
they meet at the appointed time
a galactic eclipse where two become one
the cosmos cries out in joyous refrain

wait for me, my beloved...

and tho' sun and moon may fade away into 
an eternal ether of nothingness
my love for you, dear one, shall never wither and die
for ours is a lasting love, destined to deliver
this bereaved soul from the bane of loneliness 
and loss on that great day when our two hearts
reunite in rapturous, rhythmic rhapsody -
forever

a day for a year, a day for a year...

Details | Tom Woody Poem

Emergent

And yes, she will rise and conquer

She is queen of her own destiny

Her spirit is indomitable 

Her eyes aflame with passion 

Her warrior heart beats to its own drum

She will not just survive-
(let the world take note)


but thrive



*Dedicated to all warrior princesses, wherever they may be found

** Poetry on photo art mine

Details | Tom Woody Poem

I Found Someone To Love Today

* Inspired by the Joni Mitchell song - Tin Angel
** My first pantoum

I found someone to love today
Her firefly eyes light up a room
In dreams I heard an angel say
Her sunshine smile makes flowers bloom

Her firefly eyes light up a room
Where shadows scream and devils haunt
Her sunshine smile makes flowers bloom
In beds where weeds would tease and taunt

Where shadows scream and devils haunt
Red blood would drip from steely blade
In beds where weeds would tease and taunt
She'll no more cut nor be afraid

Red blood would drip from steely blade
But that was like, so yesterday
She'll no more cut nor be afraid
I found someone to love today-

ME




Dedicated to every teenage girl who has ever been bullied at school or online

Details | Tom Woody Poem

Kensington Avenue

"Sweet child in time,
you'll see the line
the line that's drawn between
good and bad"

Having cold sweats again in this godforsaken ninety degree heat. Shivering uncontrollably. God, what I'd do for a warm comforter right now. Zombies all around me mumbling incoherent poetry no one understands or even cares to hear. Young people half my age or less without souls, without heart, without vision.

Nam 1968. The nightmares won't stop even now, fifty-six years later. Nineteen years old. Just a kid. What did I know about good and bad, right from wrong? I did what I was told just like everyone else. When I was young, I used to dream of Eden.

"See the blind man
shooting at the world
bullets flying
taking toll"

Deep in the jungle, trying to rest but sleep is elusive. Out of the corner of my eye I espy a young child, a girl I think. Or is it just a dream? She looks ragged, hungry, sad. Tears are streaming down her cheeks as she stumbles through the brush toward us. The air is suffocating, a train is rolling through my head when suddenly I hear a blast from an M16. Sarge yells "Everyone down!" Then an explosion, but this time I can't hear a thing, just debris flying everywhere. And then the child is no more. When I open my eyes, a tiny hand lay two feet away. So delicate, so precious. What the hell am I doing here?

"You'd better close your eyes
bow your head
wait for the ricochet"

Kensington avenue is hell in the real world. It is here I exist and it is here I will die, homeless, sick and alone. The needle is my one last and true friend, for when I am high I am free. It is then that the dreams of Eden reappear, if but for a moment. I am seventy-five years old now, but I never really got to grow up. For you see, back there, in '68, I was just a child in time.

dreams are illusions
white lady offers solace
forgiveness denied

*Kensington Ave, Philadelphia PA
**Song lyrics from Child in Time by Deep Purple

Details | Tom Woody Poem

Superstar

The adoring crowd here at Red Rocks amphitheatre awaits. Tonight, like every night, I will go out there and give them my best. They will show their love by means of applause and whistles. When I am on the stage it's like being on top of the world. The adrenalin rushing through my veins gives me a high that is hard to explain. I am invincible, indestructible, free. 

What the fans don't know is how terribly lonely I am. Each night, after the performance, I go back to my hotel room and try to drink the emptiness away. Food has become a loathsome thing to me. I starve myself to give them the look they crave, the stick-thin waif living the rock star life. I die a little after each show. How I abhor this life. And yet the fame addiction is too strong. I hate it and desire it all at once. To become comfortably numb before I enter dream world is the best I can hope for.

Well, I've just received my cue. Time to give them what they want. If only they could understand that what I really need is someone to hold my hand, to tell me everything will be okay, that I am loved whether I perform or not, that I am a good person, that I have worth just as I am. But for tonight, the show must go on. I am a puppet on a string. And they, the puppeteers.

playing the fame game
standing on top of the world
empty soulless life


"Fame has a tendency to destroy otherwise good people" - Me