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Best Poems Written by Crystol Woods

Below are the all-time best Crystol Woods poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Crystol Woods Poem

The Poetry Souper Heros Association



Welcome to the Poetry Souper Heros Association
 (or, P.S. HA!)

Sensei, Daniel Henry Rogers the multimillionaire philanthropist has collected and trained a group of fantastic souperheros!

Sensei- Daniel Henry Rogers
With Sensei Rogers at the helm 
We'll capture any ne'er-do-well!
With witty words and social concern
The puzzle of humanity we'll learn. 

The Empress of Ink- Ink Empress
The ruler of the written word
The Empress’s voice has never been heard.
She has power over all Ink…
Which will draw and write what she thinks!

Verityman-Tom Woody
Telling the truth is his souper power
Making all criminal liars cower
Yet Verityman can tell fantastic fiction
With beautiful language and perfect diction!

Femme Fatale- DillyDally
The strength of a woman in every curve
More likely to hiss than to purr
Her souper power won't surprise 
All villains melt at the strength of her mind!

Double Trouble- Benjamin Bartley
With a souper power so unique
Two will find the criminal they seek
With a hidden twin within his mind
Double trouble you will find!

Pretty Prosey- Andrea Dietrich
Her beauty great but greater still
Her way with words and writing skill
Like a plant with healing powers
One touch, one word a healing flower!

Details | Crystol Woods Poem

Bone In Her Back

Oh, how we are poisoned!
The Yonega, the Wasichu,
a new creature,
different from us in more than just their
white skin and sunflower hair.
How did such a people come
across the great waters?

They come to our people with gifts of death.
Their ulcers wrapped in calico cloth.
Their fevers traded to us for our good food.

Oh, they do share these devils, equally,
with all the tribes on mother earth.

Baskets of evil spirits in jars of glass
and crockery made by hands not their own.
Pouring toxins, shame and sloth,
into our proud warriors.

Our people are blinded
by their shiny metals
and made deaf to the ancient beat
of our ancestors drums.

We weave their stories
into the braids of our youth
who forget the stories
of our people.

Oseronni eyes of blue and green
cannot see the wind that moves the land,
shaping it and making the soil sing.
Sunlight steals their sight.

Mother Earth and Father Sky, and Brother River
nourishes the Three Sisters who sustain us
with their corn, squash, and beans.
They are offended and leave us to our folly.

The white man teaches us dishonesty and sloth,
making of our backs the bow
that draws the arrows
that break our hearts.
The bone in our back bends our faces to mother earth.

The only color left to us is
the crimson in each salty tear that falls.
Oh, how we are poisoned!

~Bone in her back, as named by the Cherokee, her mother's people. Sometimes called Elizabeth Thomas by her father's people. Written by her hand on this day, January 28, 1812, New Orleans, Louisiana
(Fiction)

Details | Crystol Woods Poem

A Kiss on the lips

                                Oh,my!          Oh,my!
                     Eyes focus    lazily      on my lips
              A hunger for something other than food
          Innocently imagining nothing more than this
         Me                                  &                                 You
          Only the tension of desire for the intimacy of
         Sweet mouths pressed and mingling of breath 
         Beating hearts entwined.. the passage of time
             The expression of tender love and bliss 
                                     Sharing a kiss.

Details | Crystol Woods Poem

I couldn't talk about it so I wrote a poem

(I couldn't talk about it so I wrote a poem)
Predator
Heartbreak comes in many ways.
The first one will haunt me for all my days.
My every nightmare and dream has your face
to ignite my screams, my heart beat haste.
Time won't heal this shattered trust,
the lies you told of the future “us”.
You used your power and prominence,
used the pulpit as your lance.
You claim God's voice was your own,
“His” words from your lips like honeycomb.
Sweet to the ear, a seductive flow,
still just a child, I didn't know.
Just like a sick soap opera or Lifetime movie, you set your sights, began to groom me.
I feel so foolish and naive looking back …
at seventeen, innocent, easy to attack.
Like the lame and young ones trailing the herd, predators take the straying,easy kill first.
How patient you were, lying in wait.
You took careful steps as if I might escape. Sneaking up on me in plain sight
until your touch, familiar, I didn't fight. Spinning this elaborate fantasy, our destiny. Ordained by God, you made me believe.
Then you struck, like the viper you were,
after years of a patient petting, persistent purr. A velvet vice, an auspicious anchor,
held me captive in false love’s languor.
Then the poisonous venom began its work, you used me in ways that only hurt.
I was a willing, if deceived, participant…
so in love, no evil intent.
Then some wisdom from above,
in the form of family and out of love.
The truth so evident with blinders off,
some won't believe me, will only scoff.
Five years of his amorous attentions,
with promises of forever never failing to mention.
The patina of youth and vicious game of prey, his sick desires for me, began to fade.
You found a limping, more vulnerable gazelle, and knowing this my family tells.
Although I find it hard to trust,
my faith in God is deeper and thus,
He's used this pain to help me find
peace and truth, leaving the past behind.
For my faith is no longer in any man,
and gratefully, never will be again.
Justice on this earth is not guaranteed…
but from his wicked spell I am freed!

Details | Crystol Woods Poem

The Rose and The Briar



Some may imagine Paris in the Spring;
 Champagne kisses that heat love's burning flame. 
Some say romance dies with a wedding ring.
 Oh, but I believe that is such a shame. 


Too often it's confused, true love and lust,
 as well as what sweet romance truly means.
 Two become one, in bone, in blood, in trust,
 commitment, one thing romance supervenes.


 Not only whirlwinds, thunder beating breast;
 lusts that burn to ash in tongues of fire. 
 It's the gentle caress, your lovers breath,
in loving both the rose and the briar.


 Romance, is in everyday little things,
 from seeds sown through the years that bloom in Spring.

Details | Crystol Woods Poem

You Are Always On My Mind: A Note From Your Stalker

You Are Always on my Mind: A Note From Your Stalker

Today I saw you leaving
I watched you pull away
Then I jumped into my car
And followed you all day
You are always on my mind
You are always on my mind

I love the way you dance
Like no one is watching you
And how you make funny faces
Like your curtains aren't see through
You are always on my mind
You are always on my mind

Tell me…that you'll never cut down your back yard tree
Give me…give me one more chance in your bathroom to peek
And I'll take a little peek.

You are always on my mind
You are always on my mind.

Details | Crystol Woods Poem

Bio

 Mama, Sissy, Hun, Chris, Baby, Beloved, Crystol Lynn
 Compassionate, empathetic, self-conscious, undisciplined
Brother or sister of: One sister, three brothers, and all fellow Christians
Lover of : My family, Reading, studying the Bible
Who feels: With my hands, with my whole heart, and with my soul
Who fears: The unknown, humiliation, my child being hurt
Who wishes to see: My grandchildren one day, my name on a published book I've written, more love than hate in this world
Resident of: Dille,WV
Last name: Hundley-Woods 

Blood of my blood and bone of my bone
Who, formed in my womb, has become my home.
Scarlet threads from far back in time
Connected by, and desirous are, these ties that bind.

Details | Crystol Woods Poem

Castles Made of Sand



     The whole of my life is rather mundane, endured only until those few minutes gained; Yes, granted reprieve from this daily drudge, and allowed for the nonce, even if begrudged, to hold a feather,very sharp, to write with the tip. Slow and steady like a man taking sips…from the water of life after a long weary trip. 
When all the gears are lubricated, operating efficiently, and the needs of the world weigh on someone else, the mechanism of creativity connects with the crenelated cog of self. 
Dominoesk works cause my hand to haltingly write. Heart to mind, mind to body, body to hand, hand to quill…okay, so it's a keyboard, alright. 
Emotion, like sand after a beach trip, pours forth from places usually dark, not seen, unlit.
Using that water of life and the sands of emotion, I build my castle with words and notions.  
Intricate battlements, portcullis, bailey , and arrow loops. Protection from arrows of interruption, darts of responsibility, and soldiers of the Soup.
Until, Inevitably the drawbridge is breached, the end of my time finally reached. 
Slowly I surrender my feather sword, in this messy, mixed metaphorical world. 
The oven timer beeps and the phone rings,  bringing me back to my life of mundane things.

Details | Crystol Woods Poem

Poetry Soup Kitchen

On a dark and stormy night, when the temperature plummeted to zero below,
A poor soul was lost and frozen, in the cold and blinding snow.
All was darkness, all was quiet, all around, until just a tiny glimmer of light far away was found.
Nearly frozen to the bone and feeling so alone,
The lost soul stirred at the sight, one hope that yonder glows.
One weary foot into deep cold snow, then the next, and again, he made his way into the night, pressing against the wind.
The light grew brighter as each step brought him closer yet, to a home with windows alight, him shivering and wet.
A sign, nearly covered with ice and diamond flecks of snow,
Ungloved,frozen hand wipes it away, so the words would show...
“Wordtown Wanderers Poetry Soup Kitchen, won't you please come inside?”
Knock knock, ding dong, then the door opens wide!
Light, heat, voices, and smells of food, no lie…
More signs with more words to read, instruction, and directions explain…
no person greets the weary stranger, the silence around was strained.
Following the signs, both written, heard, and smelled,
The Wanderer enters to see letters on every shelf!
His mouth began to water, so hungry and thirsty was he,
So he got into the line with others like him so it seemed.
Along the wall were tables, with huge steaming soup pots.
People standing behind them, to serve you what they got.
Finally, he arrived at the front and with a huge bowl and plate,
He was served a little from every pot,and then sat down and ate.
Oh! heaven in the first bite! Warm and meaningful words, a bite from each offering brought tastes he'd never before heard.
Feeling so welcome and satisfied, the stranger fell asleep…
… Only to wake the next day with consequences to Reap.
The people who had served him such fancy beautiful prose,
Said that tonight was his turn to share recipes he knows!
“You will cook your own soup today and serve it to us tonight,
Don't you worry, we've all been there, beginners, so it's alright.”
The stranger decided to do his best to return the kindness shown,
For the next few hours he poured his heart into soup of his own!
A dash of melancholy, a pinch of descriptive prose, don't forget good Grammar, and metaphor, a big dose!
Everything he needed to make his poetry in the big soup pot…
The kitchen had an abundance, all the words were all in stock.
When dinner time came around his hands began to shake…
What if they don't like the kind of soup I make?
The line began,a bowl in hand, the people all were served.
Then such a silence fell, no noise ,no not a word !
Then a loud clatter as a woman dropped her spoon…
She stood and started a slow clap. Then each one of the others did too!
Applause rang out as someone gave a shout and the stranger, a stranger no more, started to cry but on his anxious face was the biggest smile he'd ever worn before!
From that day on the ‘not a stranger’, ate so many unique and wonderful things,
And shared his recipes and soup and today his heart Sings!
Every once in a blue moon, when temperatures sink really low, they get another stranger to come in from the cold.
They welcome everyone with a warm and full bowl, they share their love and heart with this poetry soup for the soul.