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Best Poems Written by Philip Preston

Below are the all-time best Philip Preston poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Philip Preston Poem

The River of Comfort

Down the river

Far from the emptied swimming pools

Far from skateboards

Down the cold, foaming river

Sitting, reclined in a floating rubber tire

Skin tanned from summer sun

T-shirt stained from farm work

Dirt, mud, sticks, fire

All muddle your shirts colors

Your mouth full of smoke

In your hand, a rolled paper smoke

In your top coat pocket, three more stand 

Resting like bullets in the chamber

The sides of your coat, dripping wet

Dragging behind you in the water

There you sit

Farmlands can be seen in both eyes

Yellow grass, red barns

White silos with blue caps

Green tractors

There in those barns

Moonshine is made

Squeezed from the fruits of autumn

There, in those barns

Secret plants are grown

Little laboratories are set up

A mix of white doctors tables

And the smell of hay

The river keeps pulling you forward

The sky blue like deep water

Clouds with foamy shapes

Metal can of lemon juice in your spare hand

Its sharp lid bent to one side

Cold with ice that jingles like pocket keys

This is a good trip

Not psychedelic or anything 

Just calm

Just relaxed

Just right for floating

Fish underneath you

Swimming against the current

Their bodies the color of clay

The rocks around them

The same color but covered with snails 

Moss green snails 

Plate sized painted turtles paddle along

Their eyes striped with yellow

Their shells the color of dried pumpkin fire 

A puff off your wrapped paper smoke

A new wave of sleepy muscles

Of new ideas and new questions

But mostly of calm enjoyment 

Another puff as you keep floating down

The river goes for miles more, so you will too

Details | Philip Preston Poem

A view from a high place

On a pink cloud
Smoking a watermelon cigar
Fields of skateboard wood and rainbow flowers
Children digging blue holes in purple sand
Skeletons carving bone into dust
Sun like a sweetened lemon
Sky like orange wax melting on a sheet of blue paper
Seagulls dive down into shallow pools
Starfish sing
Blood red coral calls 
Golden birch wood fires
Sacred eagles
Sea shells full of fish
Mushrooms sprout like hair
Play drums of animal skin
Eat meat of fish heart
Smoke clouds of green
Glory to The Frog and The Loon
Their crest on the horizon
Glory to The Frog and The Loon and Man

Details | Philip Preston Poem

The Woods of Four dimensions

Washed ashore on the lost island

Skin already peeling on the beach

Burning from the hot green summer sun

Meat melting off to become bone

Jumping back into the water

Cooling off with the clams and fish 

Washing the sand off from your leg bones

Discarding you clothes

Who needs them?

A skeletons not so bad

You still have your Olmiut 

And you can still move 

Walking to the pine forests 

Making camp in a clearing 

Making a fire

Flames full of burning skulls and snail shell mountains

As night peacefully approaches 

From the dry leaves

Found all throughout the woods

You make a joint

Lighting it on the burning wood

In the sky

Purple waves of Saturns rings

Yellow flashes of Venus

Blue paint stokes of Neptune 

Jupiter’s electric storms

As mushrooms grow on your spine 

You cook some

Then keep moving

Here, is too dangerous

Big cats must be behind every tree

Ready to pounce

Take a torch in your hand

Give yourself a bone tattoo for luck

Carved with a charcoal knife

And stick two burning coals in your eye sockets

Better to see with 

Into a forgotten cave

Perfect to watch the sunrise

Lying there in perfect silence

As the mint green moss blankets your body

Carving a pipe with a stone blade

From the wood of a branch

Better to smoke more leaf

Wake up the next morning

Out and about

Smiling sun, no longer angry

Dancing with her moon brother 

The sky still purple

The clouds everywhere and dark

Flowers sing as you take every step

No more big cats

Only bugs and spirits

Spirits inside the trees 

Or waiting on the high tree tops

Their hair ragged and wet

Give them dry grass for their beds

And dried leaf to smoke

Pass it to their hands with gnarled fingers

And many callouses

One spirits gifts you half a tree

Cut down neatly 

With a deer bone chisel 

And a oak wooden mallet

Carve your human self into the tree

Every detail 

The nose

The ears

The expensive clothes

The pretty rings now melted on the beach

All the lovely hair and clear skin

Take it and throw it off the beach cliff

Watch it smash on the salt rocks

Eaten whole by wood crabs

The bird of thunder comes

With ravens by his tail

A respectful bow down at his presence

The Frog and The Loon crest

Their most elaborate design

Burned onto your forehead

With the two holy bones of time 

And the symbol of world and spirit 

The clouds clear 

The sun shines upon a distant island 

Full of enormous pine trees

Ten thousand steps away 

With this

Jump from the cliff

Glide into the water 

Sink at first into the kelp

But with a quick untangling

Off you go to the big pine island 

Staring at reflections in the water

Of yourself and other animals 

If you dive down too deep the sharks will find you

The deep sea creatures will get you

Octopus or sharp toothed fish 

Or a bone whale with crushing jaws

So dive down just a little bit

To find the underwater masks 

Masks like those in museums 

Masks like you made long ago

Around a raging, snowy bonfire

Smoke like burnt meat

Drinking blueberry foam in a can

Swim down into the mouths of the masks

The massive stone masks 

Their eyes locked

Their wrinkles deep

The water cracking with rocks 

Humming with songs of whales and dolphins

Finally at the island

Caught in the rapids

Saved by the river spirit

He picks you by your shoulder bone

And drags you up on his raft of sticks

He wears a hat of dried sea weed

His face is like a killer whale

With red face paint under the eyes

He wears a patched black cloak 

And steers his boat with a thin oar

Past the roaring currents 

Over the waterfalls

Smashing against the water rocks

Fighting off the water rats the size of dinner plates

Into the village of the tall men

With trees a thousand feet high

Houses scraping the clouds

The people thirty feet tall

Their skin made of stone

Stone like brick but shiny and bright

Clothes beautiful

Made of many seals and deer

Painted with untold berries 

Their hands like an artists drawing

Free of any slime or gray goo

On every meat rack

Hunted whales and wild dogs rest

Steal a bit of food

A few of their paintings 

A couple jugs of wine

Avoid them, the river spirit told you

They’ve never been friendly, he said

Their books you steal but you can’t even read

Take them back to your new shelter

By a creek in the swamps

Full of reeds and rich mud and sand 

Plenty of fish and bones to carve

Singing to the nearby frogs

Carving necklace from skeletons horn

But you can’t stay long

The salamander with a pick axe head will be coming soon

So back to the lost island you go

Make yourself a thin boat with a clean white sheet 

And sail with the yellow sky

Details | Philip Preston Poem

Pine sap pipe

In the deep spiked pine forests

On a walk you forgot you took

Snow up your knees

Twenty feet away

An enormous old house

Not abandoned, smoke from the chimney

Large windows, dark wood walls

A forest castle here for you 

To explore perhaps

Eyes flash pink with sun light 

Through the unlocked door 

In the main hall

Taste the dust

 Ancient carvings everywhere

A cough from upstairs

There by the broom closet

With chemical smells and an open door

There seems a staircase goes down

Let’s go down there

All kinds of paths and passes 

Down in the basement 

A maze of wooden tunnels 

Full of paintings and the smell of cigar smoke

Down tunnel 783

More carvings 

Ink drawings on the wall

A kind of sign language 

It must be

Mouse, circle, person

I know that mark 

Knock on the mark

Door opens

A boy with long hair

Fur clothes

Pipe in his mouth

Spear in hand 

“What took you so long? Come in.”

Enter a wooden cave

A dozen people here

Lying on pillows 

Smoke clouds and smoke rings

Hookahs and pipes and rolls of every kind 

The ceiling made of fog

Lanterns and blankets on mystic carpets 

A smell of lotus flower and incense 

“You come for old man?”

A cleaning woman asks

White blonde hair

Short, with tanned skin, very friendly

You don’t know where you are

“Oh, well what your name?”

You don’t remember

“Let me help you Mister Name.  I am Zophia.”

A handshake of cold purple water 

Mrs. Zophia, how long have you been here

“More than most, I’m the only one the old man trust.”

“But she’s with us.” Pipe smoking boy says

He smiles

“She helps us, she’s the best of us takers.” 

“But I no take anything.” She says. “I just help.”

Very confusing

“Take this.” A frog shaped pipe

Full of golden sap burning

Take a deep puff in

Give your sawed legs to Zophia

She’ll fix them while you float

You’ll need your arms though

To sway the sacred dance

The stars orbiting the earth

Twinkling like a bone wind chime 

The rain makes feathers on your skin

The moon rumbles as it beats you with sticks

The eyes of a thousand fish open around you

Your spine bent like a jackets zipper 

The lemon smell of lakes and kayaks

Brought to the land of cushions

Tangling with the pillow people

Zophia returns your legs

And chews a honeycomb

The sugar beetles vengeful but quiet

Soon she enters the cushioned land

Falling like a comet to her pillow

The piped boy standing strong

His shoulders straight against the door

His spear in his hand

A jealous god takes his eraser 

And tries to scratch away the work of man

But Zophia and I cooked and ate his tongue

Into the room of the two tea sisters

They’ll give you stones for luck

And you’ll wonder why you weren’t lucky enough 

Their cats pawing at your exposed muscles

Their dogs eating your bones

Their parrots pecking your heart and lungs

In a near dead heap on a leaf floor 

Thankfully the flower rabbit takes pity

With you revived

Zophia with a tea pot

Shave the tea ones bald

And give them to the river god

And now the god is pleased 

His smile like a new silver ring

So bury yourself in the garden with peace

Wait until the ants come

They’ll sting but they’ll never bite

Softly the smell of oranges approach 

An earthquake leads into the electric river

Take the dragon boat of the blue fairy

Down the waves of forgotten seas

Zophia taking the sail rope

You paddling through the rocks

Past the toothed islands and coconut sharks 

Strawberry ice cream in porcelain and string

A mammoth tusk perfect for sunglasses 

Just as grass is to be dried

A march with roses back under ground

Down to the land of pillows

To make another adventure

With eyes tired of staying open

Before the sap will smoke out your nose

And puff into the ceiling

Details | Philip Preston Poem

Future restaurant

False, mechanical eyes see across the city

Their connectors neatly hitting your brain stem with tiny signals

It’s amazing what technology can do these days

what your technology can do

You taste the salty fish cubes in front of you

Resting on a rectangle plate

Salty, but not much else

In a fine futuristic restaurant

Rain pattering the windows

Bluish green buildings in rows against deep fog

Potted plants in the dark corners of your room

A small booth area with a single table, chair

And a door where only you are allowed in

Paintings of rich colors and of unknown designs on every wall

Cased in simple black frames

A glass of exotic by your plate

In a crystal wine glass well chilled

Perhaps a neat green glass ashtray 

And a sleek, metal pipe filled with your favorite drug of choice

It’s color pink and smooth, and sweet

Smoke comes out purple like a factory, like your factory

 Your company

Your business you own in the city

Bodyguards stand by the door

Ready to escort you out 

You feel the warm touch of your silk clothes 

Brush against your arms and legs

Shoes comfortable and stylish

Hair neat and well done

A next course of sweetened sugar bread with raspberry jam appears before you

Handed by an apron wearing waiter

You grab your silver fork

As the night passes on

Details | Philip Preston Poem

Treehouse

In the great Old Grove forests

Perry, Sayva, Diamond, and Jack

Went out and built this tree house

A fine little tree house

It had a ladder, it had a few windows

It had a little garden they built

The garden full of fresh mulch  

Smelling like spiced wood and peppered dirt

In it grew mushrooms

Great beautiful mushrooms

Even The Crow Club paid good money for these mushrooms 

The mushrooms were blue, round, as big as a human head

Some others were pink like a birthday balloon

Or blue like pine fire smoke

They grew and sold many other plants

They grew tobacco of all types

They grew purple leafs

They grew sea foam sunflower 

They grew great green ones 

And a few other funguses and mosses

Southern sand moss

Eastern tree rot

And northern Gaviran puddle flower

All was great to sell or taste

On one day, as a rainstorm thundered on

The group stayed in their treehouse

They smoked from pipes or rolled paper

They ate from jars of peaches and pears

They bit into juicy green apples 

All while they reclined on pillows

Their fingers weighed down on fuzzy blankets of fur

And like that old stump pilgrim story about “The night before Yuletide”

Visions of everything good, danced inside their skulls

Imaginings of birds

Big birds, not like the birds they sold to in their kingdom

There were brown vultures that smelled like brown sugar 

And you could ride them 

You could speak with old extinct seals

Their bones the color of freshly pulled teeth

Fingers and knee caps became numb as the time passed

As paintings never seen before were everywhere in the treehouse

Paintings in the eyes, brush strokes on the skin

An invisible painter, the smell of clay and paint chemicals

Prayers to The Frog and The Loon heard in each ear

Electric light outside

Perfect smoke under the nose

Dry mouth from breathing too much 

Still sweet from eating too much

Relaxed until it will all go back

Back to what it was

But it can be done again

All you need is a garden

Some leafs

And a treehouse