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Best Poems Written by Rich Arsenault

Below are the all-time best Rich Arsenault poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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I am - Dialogue with our Elders

I am alive because of you
I live because of you
I suffer because of you
I love because of you
I am dysfunctional  partly because of you
I am loved and needed because I care, because you cared

The only thing which is not predetermined
    Is how I choose to live this life
     Will I spread love and acceptance to myself and others
       Or will I repeat the same mistakes in myself or my children?

We are not robots, but we are 'wired' together
We are not artificial intelligence, but intelligent, living, breathing fallible beings.

We live so many years on this ground, but are not defined by what we do.
We are defined by what we are. 

I am alive and I'm grateful for that.

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The Care Giver

I got out of bed 
In the middle of the night 
My time is not my own 
I do the tasks  
That are required of me 
My own sleep I do disown. 

From one task to another 
I go from room to room 
Making sure everything is alright 
I’m doing my best 
And often I get it wrong 
But sometimes I get it right. 

Full-time job 
On top of that 
The foundations are about to crack 
I do my best 
With what I have 
No time to take a nap. 

But at night 
I take flight 
And my mind visits distant lands 
My heart breaks out 
In artistic scraps 
Which I write with my crippled hand. 

I do not begrudge 
My lot in life 
It is what it is, I know 
But my poems and muse 
Keep my “feet” moving 
Leading me on the path to home.

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Memory is a Cruel Taskmaster

We take our memories for granted
As we go to and from our work
Never giving it a second thought
Until it slips, leaving us in a lurk.

Memory saves us the trouble
Of thinking before we act
But when it's gone or absent
We sure want it back.

Without it, we need to relearn
Everything we thought we knew
How to walk and how to talk
How to live anew.

Memory slips are the butt of jokes
Must be a senior's moment
But struggling with memory loss
Is no laughing matter.

Oh memory, do not stray far
Stay with us awhile
So we won't be so afraid
Of acting like a child.

Without memory it gets harder
To know how to act and say
To live a normal life
During an ordinary day.

Memory, we cannot do without you
You are the rock on which we rely
To keep our ship from sinking
And keep our minds alive.

Details | Rich Arsenault Poem

The Blues

The heart is ever restless 
Because it tries to find its rest in temporary places 
The heart searches, it yearns, it pumps life into us 
Even when we do not notice it. 

What is deep down?  
We do not know until we have explored that abyss,  
That dark cave. 

Why are we so afraid of discovering ourselves? 
Why are we so terrified in discovering the truth that lies within? 

With truth, comes responsibility 
And most of us feel we have enough on our plates 
Then disturb a sleeping dragon.

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We are Bruised Apples

We are bruised apples
    lying on the ground
    hoping to be picked
    But day after day, 
        we are ignored, till we rot
    And feed the soil for next year's crop.

We are bruised egos
    as we go about our lives, either acting or reacting
    bumping against societal rules
    bumping against others, till we are black and blue
       inside and out
    Till we yell out, I want to get off this crazy ride.

We are bruised egos 
    yearning to be better, aching to fly
    but the walls close in around us, chocking us, boxing us in
    measuring us with it's strict standards 
    Till we submit and dare to dream again.

We are bruised hearts
    who dare to love, who risk rejection
    who risk getting hurt
    who dares getting our fingers wracked with a societal ruler
    till our hearts ache to love and be loved.

Will it ever happen? Will love find us?
   We ponder in the darkness, alone with our thoughts, our dreams, our hopes
   Till we get up and dare to love again
   Lest our heart shrivels and dies a slow death
   Incapable of feeling or loving, not even ourselves.

We are bruised souls
   That brave the arctic winter
   Of a world that is devoid of compassion.
   But the light in our heart, though but a flicker,
   illuminates the dark stains of humanity.
   That light is love and no darkness or coldness can extinguish it.

Details | Rich Arsenault Poem

The Measure of a Man

What is the measure of a man?
Is it the number of churches he attended?
Or the diapers he has changed
Is it the child he had to discipline
Or the one he constantly praised?

What is the measure of a man?
Is it the hours he clocked in 
Working for the Man
Is it the sacrifices he has made
Leaving callouses on his hands

What is the measure of a man?
Is it the times he said please and thank you
Or the birthdays he has missed
Is it the vows he's kept or broke
Or the women he has kissed?

What is the measure of a man?
Is it the time spent doing hobbies
Or the hours watching TV
Is it the home he built for his family
Or the scars on his hands and knees?

What is the measure of a man?
Is it the degrees hanging on his wall
Or the empty praise he got
Is it the knowledge that he gained
But then soon forgot?

The measure of a man 
Is not what he says or does
It's not the money he amasses
Or the great deeds he thinks he's done.

The measure of a man is hidden
It is what he is at his core
The measure of a man can be anything
But the true meaning of a man is hidden
Deep in his very core
It is being true to himself
That he can be that much more!!!

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Our Imperfect Dads

Come all ye old fellers
Gather ye around
We'll talk of our dads
And have another round.

What's to say ? We all had our shares
Of getting out of his shadows
Some escaped soon, others were late
And some are still stunted right out of the gate.

Pointing at him, is like pointing at us
We are more like them than we admit
As we look in the mirror and ask ourselves
Would we have done any different?

So let us all toast
To our imperfect dads
And remember the apple 
And where it lands.

Details | Rich Arsenault Poem

Cans in his hands

I stand at my counter
Black gloves in hands
I count out the empties
Countless bottles and cans
 
The pay isn't much
Working at the Beer Store
But I'm a lot better off
Than those who dirty our floors.
 
You've got pimply face kids
With their nervous laughs
You've to smart dressed executives
Feeling out of their class.
 
You've got the working class Joe
With a 24 in hand
And then there's the homeless
With cans in his hands
 
     I shudder inside
     And feel kind of sad
     When I see the old man
     With the cans in his hands
 
He walks in all dirty
Shuffling his feet
Throws his cans on the counter
Which he found on the street.
 
My head turns away
His breath, I can't stand
For here comes the man
With the cans in his hands.
 
He argues with me
When I give his change
Says those are worth more
At the bottle exchange.
 
He curses and swears
But he's out of luck
As he orders a Tall Boy
More beer for his buck.
 
I look down at the empties
Wondering where they've been
What sorrows they've drowned
What horrors they've seen.
 
They're shipped to the plant
To be filled up again
To give some respite
To a world full of pain.
 
     I shudder inside
     And feel kind of sad
     When I see the old man
     With the cans in his hands.

Details | Rich Arsenault Poem

Medieval Mind

In yesteryear the wind was full of battles
Now the wind is still, 
Only the ground is active, nourishing itself from the blood of countless sacrifices. 
Wild flowers bloom around the spoiled spoils.

"Never again, shall I take up arms," he swore
To the sky, to his God, to the wind, whichever would hear him.
His fists clenched, he beat the air with his rage.
A rage that stemmed from thousands of conflicts,
Over countless millennia
From bare hands and to ultra-nuclear weapons
The results are the same:
The ground drinks fresh blood again from endless human sacrifices.

There are no winners or losers. Only the ground, the wind, the rocks will continue to strive long after we are gone. And the wild flowers will bloom once more in the light of our fading sun.

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The Flicker

In the cold night
When our bones ache with pain
We draw nearer to the fire
As we warm up again.

Fire brightens the night
And it lights up the dark
It casts shadows and secrets
With every spark.

"What can you show us
Great Fire, you are?
Show us the truth
For we have travelled far."

"Gather ye around
Young ones and old
And I will tell you a tale
That few people know."

We all gathered around
The great fire of light
To hear the old tale
And drive off the cold night.

"Ye humans are cruel"
We all held our breaths
"Fighting among yourselves
Till there's none of you left."

We shake our heads, no
"We're not all like that
Surely, Father Fire
We are better than that."

"I will give you warmth
I will give you light
I will cook your food
And I will be your delight."

"You don't deserve it
You selfish beasts of prey
You will become extinct
And I will flee away."

"Your light will grow dim
And your bones will freeze
As you realise
Begging on hands and knees."

"But I will not come
I will not rejoice
Till you learn to behave
You all have a choice."

"Father Fire, do not leave
Don't abandon us, poor and lame
We have no one but ourselves
In all this to blame."

"Show us your light
And give us your warmth
Otherwise we die
From our greed and our wants."

"Yes, I will stay
But only for a little while
Learn to love peace
Like a little child."

Best Poems Written by Rich Arsenault

I am - Dialogue with our Elders

The Care Giver

Memory is a Cruel Taskmaster

The Blues

We are Bruised Apples

The Measure of a Man

Our Imperfect Dads

Cans in his hands

Medieval Mind

The Flicker

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