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Best Poems Written by Rosie La Puma

Below are the all-time best Rosie La Puma poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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The Shadow Man

If you’re ever passing Auburn Street
Find him if you can
Though he is not invisible,
He is the shadow man

Eyes avert his corner perch
And voices thin and drop
Paces quicken at his sight
And no one ever stops

The shadow whispers, “help me”
But it never hits their ears
Sound hovers for a moment
Before realizing no one hears

“I’m busy,” “Didn’t see you,”
“I have no change,”  “I’m late!”
Sun setting on an empty hat
The shadow bears his fate

But one small hand
Holds out a dime
“You’ve got no coins sir,
Please, take mine,”

The child skips away from the practiced
“God Bless You”
Back to the life Shadow once had,
Young conscience clean and true 

The Shadow’s scars will never mend
And hunger takes its toll
But with the dime clutched in his hand
The shadow heals his soul

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The Recipe For Dreams

I’ve heard of boys made of puppy tails
And a drink made of chocolate topped with cream
I’ve often seen girls made of sugar and spice
But what is the recipe for dreams?

I imagine that dreams have some sugar
And also milk chocolate as well
I’m sure that dreams have some fantasy 
But where do you find that for sale?
 
They must contain some fairy dust
But some say that doesn’t exist
Although if fairies and magic aren’t really real
Then how could dreams still persist?

I’ve found it! I’ve found it!
The recipe for dreams!
The first is imagination.
Just add this to sleep
And blissful thoughts
Then taste-test your own creation

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Alphabet Soup

I make my checklist
And begin

Words and lyrics don’t blend but 
Numbers
Concise, not deris{ive}
Begun thinking again. Stop.
Classical music; diction-less connotation.

The history bar grows longer but the checklist never shorted
The train is going in circles and 
my mind is a bowl of alphabet soup.

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The Weaver

Her fingers are as thin as lace
Her eyes a milky blue
A web of hair surrounds her face
Her aim is strong and true
She lifts the thread up expertly
And now a life begins
She has no map to look upon
The loom not marked nor pinned
She pulls new colors from the shelf
Pink for love, red for hate
The pattern twists around itself
A patterned, tangled fate
The blanket sets itself aright
The weaver adds new string
The colors briefly faced to white
As Life encounters a ring
Brighter patterns come to play
As baby colors light the loom
The weaver starts to add some gray
As the blanket gathers gloom
One short line is colored black
Another soul has fled
The finished life laid on the rack,
The Weaver cuts the thread

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Coded

The coded lady
Merchandise set on the shelf
A life sold like bread

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Echos

Echos of the past.
Shadows haunt the girl. She sits,
Torn between two lives.

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Sunset

Color spectrum streaks the sky
Fire melts into the sea
Every shade of sunset flies 
And all that’s left is night and me

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Humanoid

Dark eyes with darker pupils staring here
Glazed over with a prejudice within
They look with venom, wonder, hope, and fear
They’re not guilty- just victims of the sin

Deep wounds with deeper anger caught inside
Red blood slides down to join the tears and sweat
Caught in the dark, there’s still no place to hide
The ship sails on an ocean of regret

White sails with whiter masters lead the way
Though every shade had captained SS Hate
Many the trips and many the people with no say
As time plows on toward wealth or death or fate

The scars of violence stain our history
Why are we our own greatest enemy?

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Labeled

Labels 
Help to classify
To organize
To name
They help to find a reason
A scapegoat
A blame

We use them everyday
In a store
In school
Their mark is strong and clear
Something’s “lame” or 
Something’s “cool”

They label it as “healthy”
They label it as “bad” 
They label it as “very sweet”
Or simply “raving mad”

The problem starts to escalate
To rise
To worsen
But if you peel the label off
You’ll find
It’s just a person

Details | Rosie La Puma Poem

Thoughts

Letters trapped in a mind
Form words for protection
Huddled in ideas and thoughts and trains
They clamor for attention
Some begging for release
Others content to simply
Turn to memory
A mind too small
For it's inhabitants
Spills prisoners onto paper
Released, unbound
They are free to inspire
Another thought