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Best Poems Written by Bernadette Ignaciuk

Below are the all-time best Bernadette Ignaciuk poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Bernadette Ignaciuk Poem

Tom and Jerry

Let's play a game of cat and mouse chase. 
Like in the cartoon, life is Jerry the mouse.
Life hides from Tom the cat, which is the cruel world.

Tom always tries to chase Jerry but Jerry is too quick 
for him. That is how life is. The world chases afte life.

At times, Jerry tries to wake up Tom and let him chase him.
He does all sort of crazy things to wake him up and chase him;
playing tricks on him. After Tom wakes up, Jerry hurries into
safety; his tiny mouse hole.

This is how my world is. It is an evil catlike word that hisses at 
me all the time. I run, like Jerry, into safety, which is life.
It might not be the best mouse hole, but it is life.

I wish I were like Jerr; always running away from my cruel world 
of suffering and pain, and find safety in some hole in my Soul. 
But I need to stop chasing my cruel world and let it sleep; 
be aware and have a plan when it wakes up.

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Frame

How do I put my life in a frame? It would
make my Soul so delightful if I can put it in 
a fram and hang it o the wall for all to see. 
If I put my Soul in a frame, it will fall and crash
to the floor because it is too weak to hang.
You can hang me with nails; hopefully, I'll stay up.

I look at my pictures from my childhood. Some from 
catholic school, my 1st Holy Communion, and even 
from my high school graduatioon; they make me
sick to look at them because of all the pain
from the past.

Maybe, one day I will be able to paint a beautiful 
picture of my Soul and hang it on the frame; 
polished and free from wounds.

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Mirror

As I look at my reflection, in the flat glass 
hanging on the wall, I wonder who I'm really 
looking at. Do I see beauty? Do I see ugliness?

Ugliness, I see, with my disgust of shame and anger 
that makes the glass shatter; as is my half broken heart. 
Shame is disgustful because the pain and suffering that 
leads to the breaking of the colorful glass that seeks 
out my Soul.

As the hot shower  steams up, I clear the mirror, and I find
some type of comfort and warmth in my Soul. It is confusing,
yet, comforting. I wish that I may see the beauty in the mirror, but that will 
take many mornings to find it.

Details | Bernadette Ignaciuk Poem

Round and Round

Turning round and round
 is the crazed world of 
my young adult youth mind. 

A mind that like a 
hamster's wheel, races and races until
it is exhausted.

Exhaustion that pulls it out
of reality and enters
into a spinning circle
of fear like hiding 
in the closet of the 
Soul.

Fear races in its heart
and strains the strength that
has been built.

Through this fear, the mind
is suffocating; no air, no breathing.

Through all the suffocation, 
it finds some type of cool breeze.
A cool breeze of relaxation as the waves rock
back and forth with great agility.

No longer is there any fear, suffocation, or exhaustion,
but simply true relaxation, peace, and
tranquility.

It is confusing on how the mind 
works like that. One moment it finds itself
in total pain and then the next
it is relaxed, peaceful, and tranquil.

 I wish my mind worked like; to stay with 
the goodness that is within.

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If Only I Knew

If I only I knew why the sun rises each morning 
of a new day, my Soul would beam with delight. 
But I truly don't know why it rises; maybe, to 
brighten our days of existence in this cruel world.

Day after day, I wish I knew how my days will
flourish. It may not be even now, but, hopefully, 
some day I might wake up from a dreadful sleep
and rise in the morning like a flower waking up to 
the sweet chirping sound of birds dancing with their 
wings of joy; joy for their existence in another brand
new day.

How do I rise from my painful sleep? I awake to my
cell phone alarm clock, with Ozzy Osbourne singing, or 
sometimes even a nightmare that brings my sweat to a boil. 
It is wishful thinking to wake up with great relief to be alive 
for one more new day; a day to forget yesterday and take
the moment to thank the sun for rising with me.

As I awake, the sun smiles and greets my day with hopeful rays 
of a delightful day. If I could take those smiles and greetings into my
heart, my day of life might just be bright and joyful.

Details | Bernadette Ignaciuk Poem

Imprisoned Eagle

In a dark and malicious cave, screeching and 
crying is heard. They are the screams and cries 
of a beautiful young eagle.

Tears flow out of its sky blue eyes; it is imprisoned.
Its feathers are falling out like flowers that
are thrown into the furnace. One of its wings is broken 
but the other survives.

"How did I get here?" asks the eagle. The young 
eagle, out of curiosity, steps out of its boundaries of 
the beauty of life and nature. It got here to this dark
and malicious cave in the forest of its soul.

"How do I get out of here?" asks the young 
eagle. Silent is his world of pain in his curiosity.

The poor young broke eagle starts to doubt
that he will ever get out of those chains; so, he 
waits for his fate.

Then, there appears a beautiful eagle with golden
feathers, and asks the young eagle why it is crying.
The young eagle respnds, " I am chaine and imprisoned,
bloodied and broken. I will nevr get out of here, so, I 
await my doom."

The golden eagle tells him what to do in order to get out
of this misery. "In order to become unchained, you must
think of your home of beauty and nature, instead of doubt
and sadness."

Before the young eagle starts to think, it asks the golden
eagle its name. "I am You. I am Your soul."

The chains are broken and his wing is mended. He brakes
the cave with his claws of majesty and starts to soar in the 
early rising of the sun.

The golden eagle is no where to be found but in the depths 
of the Soul.

"I am You. I am Your Soul."

Details | Bernadette Ignaciuk Poem

Motherly Soul

The sweet Soul of a mother is the sweet 
smell of Love made from the singing
of birds in the sky.

She holds her little one close to her heart; 
and when the precious listens to her heartbeat, 
it relaxes and is calm.

Night falls; she rocks her innocent back and forth, 
as he is in her arms; arms like a big beautiful bow 
around a presnt--a presnt that is Life.

Morning comes and through the sweet song of 
little blue birds, the lil' babe awakes. It awakes to 
the sight of his only hope and love; his Mother.

Motherhood, such a sweet and loving Soul. A sweet Soul 
that is forever in her young one's heart that lives
through her at every breathing moment of existence.

Details | Bernadette Ignaciuk Poem

Hide

Where do I hide? Hide from this evil within me
like a volcan of digust and shame as it is ready to exlode

Do I hide in poison? Poison that drowns me 
time and time again; but I rise out of the rocky dirt
as a dead black rose that pricks my blood that is 
filled with anger.

Do I hide on a park bench? A bench that wraps its
metal leg around my broken and bruised body.

Do I hide in the land of the dead, as they sleep peacefully?
I wish it were me. I sleep in the corner of the land, by an evi 
tree that bears its branches of snakes and thorns.

There is no where for me to hide, but in disgust and evil
within my Soul. I just want to leave and hide in a small cave 
that only a mouse can hide; but, nonetheles, I am surrounded 
with hopelessness that pierces my Soul like a curved sword 
with evil teeth that devour my Soul.

Help me, someone! I wish I had a Soul that can save me and bury 
me in that small cave and stay with me and comfort me until this everlastig and eternal 
dream.

Details | Bernadette Ignaciuk Poem

Cocoon

I wrap myself in a cocoon.

A cocoon that is a mushy, 
muddy, dark blanket.

I hide myself away from
reality because that is
the only way I know.

I try to come out of this
hideness, but I get stuck 
in the gooyness.

It pulls on me and it 
imprisons me with chains
that are thorns.

No ray of sunlight can 
touch it because the 
cocoon lives in a dark 
and wicked forest of 
my Soul.

At last, the Soul screams
a painful scream!

Someone get me out
of here!

I don't want to perish!

Finally, I go into this deep 
and wicked sleep, and I
dream.

I can't tell or see what I
am dreaming of.

I awake from this evil dream
in tears.

Loving tears because the
evil that grew and grew
int a disgusting cocoon,
becomes clear and I can
see the beauty of some
sort of warm sunlight.

Sunlight that melts away 
the ugliness of my body 
and Soul.

The cocoon, clear and soft, 
opens up its wings, like the
opening of pages in a book.

Magnificent! My Soul is Free!

I spread my wings, as Nature 
tells us, into a beautiful and
glorious butterfly.

A butterfly that extends its
wings and dances with
happiness that it is Free.

Details | Bernadette Ignaciuk Poem

Surroundings

I sit. I stand. I wonder. What am I pondering on? 
I have no clue. At times, I walk empty headed with 
no thought whatsoever. Other times, I ponder on paranoia.

Paranoid, I think about what others' minds think about.
I try to see their thoughts through their body language. In my 
paranoia, at times, I feel like people are watching, gazing on 
something so pathetic.

In my surroundings, I see the vehicles of life. In each of these
vehicles there is a Soul. I see human beings walking on the 
pavement of the journeys and wonder if I should smile 
and greet them.

Sitting on the bench, I ponder at the struggles that invade 
my mind and Soul. How do I deal with them? I get into 
depression; a sad and gloomy face. I wish that I can rip that 
face off.

My mind is weary fom these racing thoughts with paranoia.
What does that make me? Maybe I am a paranoid freak that
I can't even live a breath at a time. 

Maybe one day I will seriously be able to sit down and enter 
into my thinking, and pull one thought out of another.