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Best Poems Written by Unpolished Ink

Below are the all-time best Unpolished Ink poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Herannyt

Winter sun
kissed by the breeze
shakes the limbs
of starveling trees
wakes the bones
of each bare bough
and tells the spring
it’s not long now

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Orchestra Of Sky

The rain when it came 
was not unexpected
soft at first
then larger drops 
dancing puddles
ignored by hurrying passers by
I stayed to the end
and heard it all
that orchestra of sky

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Totemo Utsukushi Basho

If I were to end it,
pull the cord and douse the cabin lights for good,
it would be here at the high bluff 
salt tang in my hair blowing free to the lighthouse
the blue blue gem of the sea below
this is what I want, if I should ever choose to go
It does not mean I will
just that I might like it to be so

Such a Beautiful Place

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April

When April comes
she will do as she pleases
concerning snow or gentle breezes
as for her mood no one can say
she's not as calm as her sister May

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Tansy

My cathartic heart
threw away the finished leaves of bitter autumn's burning
I brewed myself a loving cup, made sweeter by my learning
tansy, bay with chamomile, bright meadow flowers to sip
tastes better far than poison to be found upon your lip

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Failte

I can feel it,
smell it fragrant on the breeze
watch it in the leaves of broadleaf trees that bend to give me shade
taste it sweet upon my waiting lips
a kiss that comes to me 
through every flower and bird and labouring bee,
not in gentle honeyed sips but fresh as new picked mint 
every morning clear as day, bright as resting dew at dawn
I hear it whispered through the grass 
summer is reborn

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Momento

What is left,
what remains
beyond pain at my leaving
as memories fade
at the end of your grieving
when the tide in which you wade
is not so cold and not so deep
what then my love
which memories will you keep,
the echo of my voice
wrapped in memory,
pressed in a book
will you take a look
but not too hard,
don’t stay too long,
remember me fondly
when I am gone
then take down my picture
and carry on

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Margaret's Hands

Margaret's fingers clasped and still
white wings upon her windowsill
silent doves that came to rest
sleeping now upon her chest
each settled bird that came to land
will fly no more from Margaret’s hands

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Old Librarians

There are tulips in the gutter 
perfect blooms,
destined for dinner with a friend,
they were meant for the table
but alas she was unable to attend

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Nirvana

A house upon my shoulders
with a garden for the mind,
an address the earthly body
could never hope to find