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Best Poems Written by Tammy Armstrong

Below are the all-time best Tammy Armstrong poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Tammy Armstrong Poem

A Mathematical Uncertainty

Can you count the times you’ve crossed me
And divide it by the times you disrespected me
Then multiply that by the times you hurt me
And come up with a figure?

Relatively speaking it’s a simple equation
Resulting in a drastic re-calculation of the outcome.

Can you give me the square root of the problem
That started this whole conundrum in the first place
And tally up the results and give me a statistical
Analysis comparing the amount of times you
Left me wondering why I’m on this earth 
Or if I’m not worthy of trust?

I’m sure the answer would be skewed resulting
In the necessity to rethink the control group.

I believe the right course of action would be to
Figure out the base and height of the love triangle
You thought I wouldn’t notice, and in case you didn’t know
It, I’m pretty good at trigonometry. 

Cause for me, who came into this problem with
Total devotion and a faithful trust, this doesn’t 

Add up.

Details | Tammy Armstrong Poem

The Mightiest of Poet's Still

Hark! The mighty sage’s quill,
Leaves remnants of genius, still.
Reminding me of richer days,
Where wines could really come to age;
And gods among the people dwelled,
In works of master poet’s felled.
Where aerie tales and thoughts of fancy,
Awaken something everlasting.
The faded thoughts of vestments tore,
Through mournful tales of days of yore.
I bore inquisitive insight,
To mouth a masterpiece delight;
Reciting thoughts from Edgar Poe,
In poetry and foul-like prose.
And as I muttered, “Nevermore”,
I pondered on his lost Lenore;
A femme who captivated thought,
His inspiration to the plot.
And in his wording wizardry,
So haunted by his imagery,
Moves me to expound wanton lyrics
To every soul who dares to hear it.
And with immense humility --
No pen shall cite as good as he.

Details | Tammy Armstrong Poem

Melancholy Faun

Wooden paths I seek forlorn,
I miss the smell where I was born.
The coolest air of blossoms bloom 
no longer wait for me to loom.
No canopy to be my roof ~
now ashes scattered under hoof.
I had to leave I couldn't stay,
they took upon themselves that day:
destroying what I miss the most ~
My home,
 now just a charcoal ghost.

Details | Tammy Armstrong Poem

Through Mundane Clouds

To make a word mean something new,
With some uniqueness  -
O what genius!
These words are washed of all their color
Black and white, lo, gray
With boredom.
So what’s left to write about,
When words mean nothing more today
Than they did  one thousand  yesterdays,
Where lyrics sung like gentle sparrows
Lifted on a feathered wing
To heights I dare not envy -
                   O such jealousy I carry!
What utterance can be invented 
That will strike a brand new language in me?
Woe, to have just one new word
To write across the clearest sky… 
Mark, until it breaks through  mundane clouds,
I call upon a devil’s darn to sew my lips -
Until righteous words rain down from heaven
Where I shall  taste sweet nectar of fresh letters
Falling into gorgeous arrangements
On crisp white sheets.

Details | Tammy Armstrong Poem

The Forgotten Child

I recognize your faces
You pass me everyday.
Crossing the street to avoid me.
Jeering eyes cut into my soul
My pride died long ago.

While you work I’m working too
Moving from corner to corner
Praying for a miracle to come
Dealing with deafening regrets.
I long to walk with you

For just one day.

As the clock strikes five
You all pass me again
Can you spare some change?
I feel your eyes avoiding mine
I have a family out there
But their eyes avoid me too.

An embarrassment to them.
An embarrassment to you.
I deal with it every day.
I hate what I’ve become
But I’m so very numb now.
I fall asleep with my decisions.

Just as you do.

Good night Society.
If you wake up and I’m not there
Don’t worry.
Wherever I am now, 
Is better than where I was.
If there is a heaven,
I’ll greet you there where
You can see me for what I really am.

As God sees me.

And if not, 
I hope that comfort
Keeps you warm and safe.
Someday death will come
And you’ll have to ask yourself
If you had any regrets.
And you’ll  have to face what I face
Everyday.

Tomorrow.

Details | Tammy Armstrong Poem

Oh Gentle Spider

Spin your web, oh gentle spider
Gentle spider maker of wondrous things
In a hazy morning dew so splendid
With your  sticky string so mended
Simple life is what you kindle
So concentrated on your quilt

A breeze runs past a cooling shadow
You sway, so gently, gentle spider
Natures’ humble weaver
The fly your only griever
Elegance your finest spindle
Content amidst  a web you built.

Beauty streams from your elegant steps
Around you go gentle spider, tiny spider
How much more is the grand design
Reflective in your sticky twine.
A flickering of spirit dwindles
So precious as a flower’s wilt.

Longing to sit for hours in your  presence
Waiting for heaven’s breath to guide me
To your grassy hiding place
To shiver in a gown of lace
Beyond the blossomed flower bed
You - hanging by your gentle thread.

Details | Tammy Armstrong Poem

Magic Beans

European-style elegance
Meets modern ingenuity
Where stools too high to sit in welcome tired feet in flip flops
Near the tourist bookstore
Standing just across the street
In tasteful jingles ~
Creaking through the heavy door
The ordinary becomes more.

Voices rise over carafe’s,
Through Musak in the old café
Where egg-shell mugs are neatly stacked below a chalkboard menu.
And in-between glossy lacquers
A ritual of life endures ~
With whipped cream topping
And a dash of chocolate sprinkles.

Details | Tammy Armstrong Poem

An Ode To Grass

No one talks about the grass,
But yet, it does so much;
It covers up the ugly stuff,
And adds a nicer touch.
When you fall amongst the grass,
And scrape your knocky knees;
It doesn’t tear your knees apart,
Like rock or grey concrete.
Or freshly cut, it smells so nice,
Yeah, nothing smells like grass;
It takes you back to better days,
Your young days playing catch.
It gives a place for bugs to live,
The good bugs and the bad;
It gives a soft and comfy place,
To sit if you are sad.
To really feel how great it is,
Remove your stinky shoes;
And walk among the cooling strands,
In springtime’s morning dew.
Sometimes I think about the grass
- It still amazes me.
There’s only one thing greater than
The grass - and it’s a tree.
So nature’s carpet needs a bow,
Cause without it we’d be blue;
And just remember if you’re down,
Hey - you can smoke it too!

Details | Tammy Armstrong Poem

Time Well Spent

My thoughts, not like what can be written on paper -
A paper so thin that you can see through,
onion paper, yes,
are not worth citing still,
they are just empty words, like yours
or others that resemble someone like you.
No need to feel "oh, so insulting"
just think on matters more convincing -
like the matters of retirement,
or ending some beloved engagement,
where of course, you and I mattered not
enough to be heard by someone just like us,
where tears are waters enough to fill
all the wells in Yorkshire, or the seven seas.
So what exactly are my thoughts, as if they spoke of 
volumes or of super heroes
that would revive the emptiness that is living.
Refuse me, please, you have your own
decisions and contentions to displace,
but all the words we speak are
windows to the human race.
Even yours.
So though you fret in lonely silence now
alone with laptop gleaming,
or sitting in a library while
someone more important breathes behind you
for her turn -
Remember, we are all sitting in front of some
media-bleeding device, be it our mouths, our radios
laptops, or campfires.
Think on what I've said here in deep reflection,
if you think your own thoughts are important enough
to prove that mine are as well.
What do you think, when alone with your thoughts ~
Are they real?
Or do they speak the level-headed cruelties of
politicians and spokespeople for some soft-drink?
Truly, I say to you all ~
Breathe in.

Details | Tammy Armstrong Poem

Feeble Little Mudskipper

In alternating bad attempts;
To reach a puddle of regret.
   A bathing suit of scales he weighs;
   His mouth a circle of dismay.
Flip flop he fumbles back and forth;
A feeble wish he will retort.
   A final honourable sway;
   A gulping down of water may,
Entice a drama too excite,
Enough to one more time ignite,
   A jerk of flesh, elliptic course;
   Too infantile to sense remorse.
To land within a puddles’ shallow;
Missed the creek, forget the paddle.