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Best Poems Written by Lemongrass Stevens

Below are the all-time best Lemongrass Stevens poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Atop Holy Hill

Atop thy holy hill,
Thy pine – so banished – weeps.
It reaches high for clouds of rye
But falters incomplete.

Atop thy holy hill,
Thy servants kneel and pray.
In holy stone thy bell atones
And beckons forth the day.

‘Why dost thou hide behind thy wooden doors…’

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Isle of Pigs

Alone the demon sleeps–
Alone the demon weeps.
Last night mother died–
Last night father cried.
Yet here I sit by the windowsill,
Watching the doves fly by.

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Ode to St Korvin

“For do I now persuade men, or God? or do I seek to please men? for if I yet pleased men, I should not be the servant of Christ.” (Galatians 1:10)


In exile ‘midst the southern timbers’ walls,
My chamber bleeds the candle’s dimming thralls.

Upon the midnight blaze, I weep in vain,
Awaiting courts beneath Islamic reign.
For mother’s blood lay cold and carpet stained,
And thus the village pointed me to blame.

As peril looms and fate constricts my soul,
My heart grows dreary, sweat consumes me whole.
In shaking breaths, I glare above the coals,
The wooden cross reveals a burning gold.

“O’ Father, lay upon me warming hands,
Amidst this sea of wolves, I walk a lamb.”

		

I am the way, the truth, and the life: 
no man cometh unto the Father, but by me.




In darkness shines his light of blinding grace,
Upon my chamber blooms his loving face,
He stands above me, arms in gold embrace,
As holy wonder sets my soul ablaze.

“My son, why dost thou meddle in thy woes?”
“O’ Lord, my soul lay barest in their throes.”
“And whoso dost thou fear, thy dove or crow?
For hearts of men lay barren ‘midst my throne.”



Be not afraid, only believe.



I wake, my chamber blind without a flame.
With peril knocking, father calls my name:

For do I heed the judgement of men,
Or the mercy of the Lord?

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The Orchid's Death

O’ withered orchid; once
A blooming child devoid
Of weary, standing ‘midst
The evening sun, beneath 
Its golden smile–now
Thy leaves of deathly bronze
Decay, sinking coarsely 
Beneath the frail hemlocks
Who weep with hollowed bones.

“O’ withered orchid…
We miss thee, withered orchid…”

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Plains of Nod

Amidst thy grassy sea,
Stands a lone cottonwood tree.

A man of red–
His many feathers
Scatter like dust–
Away in the wind.

Amidst thy cottonwood tree,
Lies a man who once was free.

A man of blue–
My musket, aflush
A sacred scarlet–
Stricken with iron.

‘Thy brother’s blood crieth unto me.’

My blank canvas,
Suspends in time–
For I – I
Hath begotten flames–
Unto this rich plain 
Of gold.



My brother in red–
He is dead–
And my sin hath killed him.










In shaking tears,
I run out into the sky–
Chasing his feathers.