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Best Poems Written by Kevin Bergin

Below are the all-time best Kevin Bergin poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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We Dont Deserve

We Don’t Deserve

I read the stories
see blood in the margins,
names etched in shame.
Man’s hand, steady with the knife,
shaking only when called to kindness.

History isn't history.
It's breath on the mirror.
It fogs up, then clears,
only to show us
the same haunted face.

We burn what we didn’t build.
Crush lives under flags
we barely understand.
Skin becomes a reason.
Love becomes a crime.
And faith,
once meant to lift,
becomes the rope and the fire.

Tell me
how did difference become danger?
How did colour, creed,
or simply being
become enough
to justify a bullet,
a cage,
a silence?

There are godless things
done in God's name.
Things that make the ground
want to close its mouth
and never speak of us again.
We are a blot,
a bruise on this planet,
spreading still.

The trees ask nothing.
The rivers give everything.
The sky forgives daily.
But we
we do not deserve
a single leaf,
a drop of rain,
a shaft of sun.

We are a cruelty
that dressed itself in kingship
and called it civilization.

Details | Kevin Bergin Poem

Your Perfume

When we parted at the airport you left a part of you behind,
Your scent Lingering still on my shirts, my clothes my hands.
I crushed them to my face and breathed you in, my eyes closed, remembering you. 
You smelled like lemons and flowers and strawberries.
You filled the room, every room with the scent of you,then left it behind.
A bewitching trail of love almost wild and untamed,
I still remember that smell,
You

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SCREAM

Shame is not loud.
A forest torn like paper
Like the spine of a child’s book.
He remembers the fire,
The silence of bees.
Hears cries of nature,
Shame is not loud.
Its a SCREAM!

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Opposable thumbs

He walks alone through the hush of morning,
dew balancing like prayers on blades of grass.
above him, a red kite wheels as geometry drawn
and for a moment,he forgets what we’ve done.

the earth is still kind,still spills blossom from trees
we’ve maimed all that is good with our distain
let rivers write sermons through concrete and spillage.
yet even now,she forgives us, the mother can be kind.


As he stands beneath a birch that grows despite the plastic
coiled at its roots his hand touches the bark there’s warmth.
Its life refusing to retreat from it greatest enemy homoerectus
the weight and menace of opposable thumbs.

Details | Kevin Bergin Poem

For voice

Around us the wind moves
not angry,
not broken
just tired of carrying us.

it doesn’t cry out or plead.
it sits in the chest
like a truth we cannot know,
a stone where song should be.

what did we do with beauty?
what did we trade,
for voice,
for sky?