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Best Poems Written by Tris Tram

Below are the all-time best Tris Tram poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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I Am Not Macbeth, I Am the Fool

You wanted to give me everything—
everything—
every last thing— 

you bared yourself and said—I am yours. 
You said— 
we would out-do Mellors and Constance! 

And I, l'idiot— 
I looked at you through the eyes of a man—
voracious—cunning eyes. 

When I stopped—mid-stride— 
I saw it all—suddenly—clearly—through your eyes. 
Too late. 

Je suis Le Fou—non, je suis une fou.

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Blue Eyes

Oh aye, the roiling  waves
with their come and go, like friends,
keep company when it suits
and when it doesn’t, oh aye, alone.

I say, Blue Eyes, come walk with me,
come leave prints with me in dusky sand
to be washed away by hiss,
and, oh aye you say, oh aye I will.

Oh aye, the spirit of the beach is grand,
‘tis grand indeed, ‘tis the third
of the trinity, the noisy one, the wind,
the gull, the surf, the chaperone.

The cold beach, the winter beach,
the rainy beach, oh aye, the dreary beach,
and why, Blue Eyes, would you walk with me?
Oh aye, the beach is fair on dreary days.

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Newel Post

. . .  a fancy, a chimera in my brain, 
troubles me in my prayer . . . 
— John Donne 

—

Standing 
at the top of the stairs, 
a shimmering— 

an image so light 
and ethereal 
that she does not descend 

but alights 
upon each carpeted tread, 
and each gives an ‘umble thank you 

to be of this small service. 
She stops, 
hand on the newel post 

shaped by the lathe 
to a state of curved and graceful perfection. 
Then, sitting on the last tread, 

she straightens her halo, 
draws tight the laces of her trainers— 
and is off.

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Shakespeare In the Park

Romeo lies in a puddle
of self-pity,
his sword flung aside,

the blood of Tybalt
already darkening its blade,
while Saturn,

above and to the west,
is in alignment
with two stars, names unknown to me,

a celestial, hot-tipped arrow
drawn through the bow
of the crescent moon,

drawn and aimed
at Juliet.

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Sage

. . . thoughts of the high desert, Oregon, 1971 
Sage is a member of the Salvia family . . . 

—

Sage

is the aromatic Salvia
    the high desert bloom
    the scent of inland Oregon
    the one I would retrieve, could I

are the hills 
     are the exposed ribbons 
     of hard rock that remain after
     the soft scree has flowed to the ocean
  
is the scent 
     I choose to associate with you
     and the night we spent under the stars 
     the red rocks behind us, the river running near.

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The Light-Stepped Girl

The light-stepped girl 
standing before the mirror 
slowly comes to realize 

that the child is a woman is a child. 
It is winter 
and the light is low 

and almost warm through the window. 
This person is between herself, 
recognizable, almost, 

as if she were in line 
with her past and her future. 
For now she is a child-woman, 

a little scared, a little proud, 
a little cold.