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Best Poems Written by Alexander Schwartz

Below are the all-time best Alexander Schwartz poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Alexander Schwartz Poem

When Love Leaves You Hugging the Toilet

I feel myself going rigid
You don't need to tell me, darling
It's my body after all 
I feel myself going quiet
Like I've never known what is was to speak in flowers even though that's not true
I feel myself fading beyond grasp 
Because fear fades faster than any firework could
And the boom in my chest hurts even louder 

Clock hands aren't meant to move backwards 
And I'm wondering what that means for us and the sum of our blurry past
Rivers only move in one direction 
I envy the water even when it's angry
I want to become gentle like the run off and not hard like I feel now
I want to find expiation in your words like a forgotten bill in my pocket but I know these things are only wishful thinking

I took a walk in my head all the way past the dying and dead 
Past the freshly broken and back to the beginning of things
And what I saw there stole my breath because beauty hurts in the past just like I'm still living there
And we both know that part of me always will
I took a walk and found that disaster never strikes when one is prepared for it

Sing me a song, my lover 
About how the leaves stay green in some places despite the cold 
Despite the storms 
Sing me a song but only if it's a true story and with that music in your mouth let me kiss you and taste a melody instead of ambulance sirens 

You tell me I'm not trying, love
But if that were true you wouldn't hear my voice anymore than I hear god 
If that were true I would have stopped answering the phone
You say I'm not trying because I'm sitting still
When in fact that's the only proof you should need
My very bones tell me to flee and yet here I am 

But if that's not good enough for you, my love
I'll do the kindest thing 
I'm gone, baby 
I'm gone

Details | Alexander Schwartz Poem

Stretch and string me to a crucifix with barbed wire.
Display my failures and shames.
When you cast the stones, you cast them away as well.
And when I die, I will just come back new. Stronger.
My man Jesus knows what I mean all to literally.
Bonded by the phoenix we burn as brothers.
Perhaps of the same kind in more ways than one.

I’m drinking
Drinking
No more
Drinking some more
Drinking paint thinner.
I swallow blurred lines and let the smoke burn orange in the night like the relentless spot light in my cerebral cortex.

Smoking.
Smoking cigarettes.
Insatiable lungs are getting heavy
Smoke more. More cigarettes to numb the senses. You appreciate the breath you have left that way.
Barnyard, winter
Shivering hand
Quick smoke in Kansas,
After a quickie on a front porch in Georgia.
Smoke screen, blanket.
I just like to keep cozy.

Habits or weapons?
I destroy myself but, I’ll be damned if don’t kill my pains and demons too.
I might even live.

All powerful
Broken boy
Perfect heavy hearts
Good intentions and the angels fall to a false hell.
Hell is in earth and in our heads so, we've already been there.
Confident in a dim room with shades on
Little to no company
The smell of marijuana and hope
Hide the red glimmer of knowledge in your eyes.
Lone wolves roam back alleys
Built for convenience
But, sometimes they become short cuts to gasps of clandestine exposure.

I am the world.
This world belongs to me.
Mission to hold it in hand and make it tangible.

Commence. Transmission over.

Details | Alexander Schwartz Poem

Silver Tongue

His fingers left blood on the strings

but, come time to walk away he hadn’t really learned anything.

Course and dried brushes sit atop the rubbish,

His mind held a perfection too delicate for his clumsy hands to create.

He opened his mouth to sing like a jay but, instead of notes it was rust that fell out. Part of the wear and tear of early adulthood.

But then, this same boy picked up a pen and found some paper. The pen in his hand felt as natural his own bones and he began to write.

He wrote every tear

He scribed every star

He built towers from mountains with every line

High enough that the angel’s just might hear them.

He made pages for chapters of his life that could make those seraphim weep sapphire tears.

He could write the wind blowing across the nape of your neck in Autumn

And make you feel the chill on your skin.

He could articulate the sad beauty of a lover’s quarrel that ends in tears

If they cry, it makes it all more real.

He documents the history of a war inside himself that will never end.

The loss and the gain,

But not those of monetary nature.

When life begins to scream around him

All he must do to silence it is to put it in a stanza.

The boy’s tongue can pave the way for good intentions, and we all know those can fall South. He finds strength. And with this Strength a power.

Finally the boy knew his gift. But how is he meant to use it and who will truly listen to the personal strands of his soul he ties together with punctuation?

And now that he has tasted the pleasure of his power, will that be enough?

Details | Alexander Schwartz Poem

A Blue Boy's Death Wish

A fragile mind breaks 
Wake upon the rock laden shores
A muffled heart begs to echo
Whispers lost among a velvet chamber

Dusk comes premature time and again
Dropping the curtain on an optimistic sunrise
If you never witness dawn
There is no tomorrow

Always the dreamer aches
Never awake to make real what he desires
The restless corpse walks blind
Dead ends seem fitting for one of the kind

Lost in the labyrinth of strangling vines
Love is the motive and the weapon
Taking root in throats dry from weeping
Sprouts of amnesia in place of smiles
A garden called heartbreak holds onlookers captive
The comfort takes hold, sets in the bones weary of searching
A plea for rest lands on deaf ears

The hollow boy tires of himself
The last request he will ever make
"End me"
Lost and tired
He wishes to be weak no more

Details | Alexander Schwartz Poem

Our Lullaby

Sing me to sleep
Sing me what was once out lullaby.

The only words spoken were
I love you, and sleep sweet my angel.

The only music was the sounds of
our shallow breaths
the rustling of the sheets
the bustling of the curtians in the wind
the neighbors chimes in the breeze
and the gentle chirps as the birds take their last bows.

And one sound could only be described as angelic
the highest note in this nocturnal symphony
the sound of two lovestruck lips meeting for their last kiss till dawn.

And once we drift away it does not end
the gentle rythm of the dishwasher
and the steady whir of the fan
still work to create that place in slumber
where you and I can remain together
undisturbed
forever
or at least in until daylight breaks.

You always told me we never had a lullaby
you said I dont know the words
I said the only thing you have to do is lay beside me and listen.

You thought we never had a lullaby
but now you know better
we had had the best lullaby there is
simplicity.

Details | Alexander Schwartz Poem

Tree Houses and Trigger Fingers

I wish I could take this noose from my tongue.
It doesn’t seem to work against the honesty of silver anyway.
I wish I could hang it over the neck of my thoughts and pull it tighter every time they try to choke me with guilt or pessimism.

Well versed in the words it takes to build things up. My lips and sounds paint pictures and build grand cities where the price would be too high but, people would still pay to live there.

Better versed am I in the words that call for demolition. I need not even speak them before, I set all the beauty ablaze and cast those cities to rubble. All the people paying too much can flee or stay but, as the founder and captain I am charged with going down with my ship.

If I could just speak a balance.
Articulate a safe place.
A perfectly leveled tree house with room for one or two.

Lately though, my words and thoughts shake and stutter.
Trip over themselves like my hands reaching for a pen or a pill bottle.
At least that bottle is half way full, I guess.

In love with the thought of the very idea.
I see now, with no lenses, softening my harsh reality.
I must once more, try to focus on myself.
Love myself and prove it.
Reach for the things I need with conviction and not the unsure hands of a child, I've been sporting so well.

I can find a meadow.
No path required.
I will not rest there, I promise but, I may take in the scenery along the way.
I need no hand to hold my own in respective appreciation.
I can see the wonder painted even brighter when it burns with a pang of solidarity.

I will work my words,
My tired feet,
My heavy lungs,
My heart with dented armor.
I will train my hands steady.

And this time when I put something in my sights, I won’t have to hesitate before I pull the trigger, painting the walls and ground with my red victory.

A flower may yet hold promise,
Even in the wrong climate but first, the seed must be planted. Will it bloom?
We are getting ahead of ourselves.

Clear the board and start again.

Best Poems Written by Alexander Schwartz

When Love Leaves You Hugging the Toilet

What Was and What Will Be

Tough As Nails

Catching Fire

Light To Dark

All Powerful, Broken Boy

Silver Tongue

A Blue Boy's Death Wish

Our Lullaby

Tree Houses and Trigger Fingers