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Best Poems Written by Blake Bourland

Below are the all-time best Blake Bourland poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Lousy Hotel Bar

He lived in room 757
just like a haiku
thats what he said to me
just like a haiku
eesh

There’s a reason I avoid this part of town

if not for the psuedo intellectualism that spreads
faster than herpes at a swingers party
then for the cheap drinks for too much money
the door guy that thinks he deserves a tip
keeping out the ‘riffraff’ as they used to say

The Polo shirt with the Raybans over in the corner
makes eyes at the one girl his buddies brought to the bar
if he plays his cards right
he might just have a chance

and why not? 
Did I walk into a bar
or some sort of reality show
where are the cameras and who’s
ing with me?

The carbon copy cut outs of people all staged around the place
talking about haikus
and their twitter account 
and their many followers
not my scene as I head to the door

As a pick up from my coat from the check
the girl tells me to have a good night
I doubt it
no one writes Haiku’s anymore

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the room

keyboard is gone and
i don't miss it,
much

cup is dry and
I look on
lovingly

ash tray is clean and
i feel the sweet
necessity of it

pages march on and
i have pangs of
pride

ink is splashed and
It is a joyful
jubilation

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inner critic

He used to take his lectures with a cigarette and a 
blindfold.
Can you publish a single sentence?
Didn’t work for James
won’t work for me
choclate sorbet
sunday
in the pipe playing
old mexican sweat
from an old tube amp
and how’s that for a sonnet?
Close but no dice
this ain’t horse shoes
and you ain’t no hand gernade
ten stone gained 
while im ten stones lost
stoned in the gutter
wasn’t me on mr ferris’s window grate
too bad
no one likes the blues anymore
and the inner critic keeps chewing away
through the poems like I’d left them
for the rats
real sick son of a 
to dissolve one’s own work
never made sense
didn’t have to 
makes sense
and then you name it
god the names
the fonts
it’s the title of a Piece after all
too much noise
interferance
bad baggage send it out
its not mine anymore
and so the poems go

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Overrated virtues of cleaning

Organ-ize it
like some sort of sick 
symphony 
I suppose
though the latter half of my A&P 
studies
suggest otherwise
working together in harmony
a kind of homeostasis, (it makes me
shudder to think of any living space being like that)
organ...ized
like fossilized something that sets out a course to 
take place over eons of time 
that no one small 
frail human could ever understand
much less scratch with tiny hands
at the surface of..
it just feels so cold, so
desolate, 
but despite all this languid poetry
and verse 
the room still has to get cleaned

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down south

Met her out in Costa Rica that summer
we were on the streets on Liberia when it hit me
crossed by an old casino long since burned out
forgotten
that’s when you looked at me

ever since then
and since that time down south
I wondered what you meant
back there
never questioined though

these things being the way
they always are
the timing wasn’t right
but it was more than just that
wasn’t it?

Took horses into the mountains
past ravines
groves with mangos not quite ripe
past howling monkeys
and up to the ridge

I could see you

Either way, whatever it was shattered in Cay Caulker
nothing good ever lasts
not in Belize anyway
all rounded down and divided in half
leaning on the collossus to keep itself afloat

you were there
and when I saw your smile
Got up and left my drink at the bar
didn’t want to start trouble with the guy
you came in with

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it all comes out

If you need to find it well it should
be written here I guess
if its not that means I either
haven’t got to it
or I wont 
bother
so if you wont mind or if you have
the time, sifting through
this etipath or epilouge
because I know by now this is not the
end no this is not even the
beginning to the end
but maybe just maybe
the end of old beginings and

oh mornings bastard mornings

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the war of the count

screaming fryish in their
lyvish friars
oob noobschbu
your gandersalps! and nighfry
the gallant swurpenchraft
whoop hollar
victories of count oopenweir
and his lustful countehsee
gweniviere
when the jugg headed blastywhines
strode the sacred twimanors aisle
O quarterhorse 
O moonshep
the clipshank whitebootz upon us!
on naught in vain do we ever
for old twumpvines ner'
done stomped

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MTG aint deep

spent too much time on my
quest for global domination
might have forgotten for only a time what it means to be a pawn card in the deck.
So shuffled up and dealt to deal with the hustle and shuffle.
The unnatural shifts we call society.
It played out last time the deck was stacked and look at that
we all got another throw of it.
Everyone wants to be the deck builder or master,
but who wrote the flavor text?
The intelligent among us no doubt can quote in their parlor message boards,
glowing screen Balkans,
accomplishing nothing
yet proving even less

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puddle

would I want to if I could
Jesus think of the heart ache
the life lived
I guess that's why I read it
in the end I just would rather
read it than have to live it

better to have loved and lost but
after sands melt away and those
embers smolder so too (if only
in a way to

steel away what turned out to be
tarnished silver) though all you end up
longing for
is peace with it and say when
that I cant only do what can be done.
It is done regardless

so now they say a survival tripped
hard wired faulty from their
somewhere a circuit breaker
too blown the fuses all failed
not even civil engineering…
isn't that nice

or good as they say in
‘the good life’ or so I’m
told never had much time
for dime store sci fi but
good I’ll take the short and high notes

wishing it played out like a jazz piano in the streets
slow moonlight swirls like mercury in the puddles on the ground
your one black boot
splashes into me

Details | Blake Bourland Poem

introducing

If you need to find it well it should
be written here I guess
if its not that means I either
haven’t got to it
or I wont
bother
so if you wont mind or if you have
the time, sifting through
this etipath or epilouge
because I know by now this is not the
end no this is not even the
beginning to the end
but maybe just maybe
the end of old beginnings and

oh mornings bastard mornings