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Best Poems Written by James Gibbons

Below are the all-time best James Gibbons poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | James Gibbons Poem

Tender Child

A very tender child, aware, knowing 
Lives in your consciousness
On your lips, in your heart,
Part of you in every way
Waiting, waiting patiently 
To be free, the right combinations
Sequence that every locked door knows
ciphering a message as complex
completing the DNA sequence
and replicate! Do you not know!                                                                                 Replicate, ciphering to transform, to live
becoming alive again and again
old as the ageless mystery of the bells
ringing and singing the song of life
The waiting heart stitches the words
in some special sacramental order
known only to those who wish to know
And when the last bell is struck
They are no longer words
but alive and in becoming alive
they simply spread their wings
and fly away

Details | James Gibbons Poem

Come Dance With Me

the sun beams danced
they danced on the roof
and they danced with the trees
and danced on the branches
turning green to gold
and the wind said dance with me
the branches whirled and swayed
the voice of the zephyrs danced in air
floating in the wind
carried by the gentle breezes
and the people heard the music
their feet started to move, and they danced
moved to the rhythm blowing in their hair
the musicans played and danced
they danced where they stood
they danced single and in a pair
and the songs danced in air
the music carried aloft by the breeze
carried until it overflowed
and filled the whole world with song.

Details | James Gibbons Poem

Cheerful Birds Song

Pieces of sunlight
Indiscriminaely scattered
Amid dappled green
Change places with
Latticed shadows
of emerging silence
Cheerful birds song
Chirp, chirp, chirp
Mingle with
Gently rustling leaves
Morning's musical companions

The flaming muscle car rears
Screaming lurching to a stop
Nose diving, braking hard
Deep throated mechanical bark
Shatters stillness
Belching tail pipes thunder
The assault splits the air
Chopping stillness to pieces

After awhile birds sing
And the trees are still green

Details | James Gibbons Poem

West Side Story, My Brothers, Mother and Me

I cried for them this afternoon
Knew them since the matinee started
Saw them fall in love
At first sight, the world stopped
Everything was silent at the sight of it
They looked and were lovers
Later that day on their knees
Repeating vows that till today
They saw only in throw away plays
I cried for them, their lost love
But not for mother whose long life ended
By the Yankee Sluggers creeping disease
What was there to cry about?
As the blue ice calved from glacier slabs
Creased iron plates, made orphans, widows
And most aboard but not me or my mother
Or the yet unborn twice told tale
Tony was told she died, frantic with fear
He called out for her but got Chino instead
Saw her running to him, delirious with fear and joy
He got a bullet instead, tearing threw his back
Breaking his heart in half he fell into her arms
She covered his face with kisses and tears
And I too wept again for what could have been
What should have been for mother, died without my tears                                   
For I knew not how to give!
Instead to those I gave tears so freely
But I knew them since the matinee started
Who cried for my three brothers
Charley, like Marley dragged his chains around
And spent a life time sawing them off, Michael who fell
From heaven one day, curly hair and welcoming smile
Orphaned by mother who just gave him away
Brain dead one day in June, the rest followed six months to the day
Brother Tom, large lonesome eyes never saw what the world wondered.                             Water boarded at age five, he left and never returned
Last month got cancer and died exactly one month later.
I cried today for the matinee lovers,
When I should have cried for them.

Details | James Gibbons Poem

Accidental Death

Should I be frightened
of what's on the next page?
Perhaps in some strange way
what is revealed can be controlled?
Am I afraid of the future?
Do pieces point dismal disaster?
Can kind conditions be conjured?
A powerful form of writing
That creates what is written!
These sentences betray my fear.
What if I accidentally write myself out?
Have you ever heard of a poet
killed in the line of duty?

Details | James Gibbons Poem

Goodbye For Now

large yellow diesel machines coughed
coughed thick black smoke, caught their breath
struggled convulsively and after a series of loud farts
assorted groans and mechanical creaks                                                       
lumbered like broken old men waiting to pee.
Oh, they worked that day, from sun up                                                                            till the orange red sky was upon them
shivering in the cold dark desert sand                                                  
parked together like defenseless tadpoles, 
shaking and quivering in the damp night air,                                            
their job done for another day.
Building what, sand ramps, that's what.                                                   
From nowhere to nowhere!
another notch in the creative history                                                        
duly recorded for potentates from the east
who understand & see cows in the sky                                                         
or not so pretty women with tight green skirts
whores, dirty mattresses and rats                                                                  
who love the companionship                                           
of pencil pushing addicts alcoholics                                                          
and assorted beasts of the mind                                                         
Squalor is the key here
rub your nose in crap is the meaning of their sage advice
promulgated by the ass kissing majority                                                   
who worship at the altar of mendacity
after all, they were at M.I.T. and were bored.                                                
Who gives a shtt! Publish, it must mean something                                      
If it doesn' they were the first to do it!                                                       
Eat flesh and die. Filthy flesh at that,
hardly fine dining, but that's another story.
Goodbye for now.

Details | James Gibbons Poem

Our Saviour

Lacy tablecloths
Sweet music
Red ornamental vestments
Gold tapers flickering
Red bound book
A sip of wine
White cowl on red
Bowed heads, folded hands
Ruby wine sipped from chalice
Folded white linen napkin
Genuflecting nodding heads
In pious agreement
Brown robbed friars faces
Cynosure of white ribbed 
Black cassocks
Little circle of bread
Piously put on tongues
Again and again
Row upon row to receive
Gold richly decorated tabernacle
The body and blood of our Savior
Needs to be kept
Under lock and key.

Details | James Gibbons Poem

Walking the Dog

Its south Florida but it could fool you
The sun is ascendant, bright, but its expected
Warmth didn't penetrate the cold blowing bracing wind.
I know, can’t get any sympathy living the winter luxury
Here in south Florida. 
My walking companion this morning
Is a jolly lady octogenarian with her companion dog.
Wide open smiling pillsbury pudding face with 
Somewhat lumpy dough ensconced with two
Wrinkly jovial dried cherry eyes 
Topped by angel hair pasta folded in front
By a carefully marcelled blue wave.
We exchanged pleasantries; she walked
Smartly along in the stimulating cold morning.
But her dog; having four legs you might think
They’d move faster then hers, not the case!
He barely got one paw on the ground ahead of the others.
I was really afraid he was falling behind.
That dog was old, he was a candidate for 
A doggy eye job what with his droopy lids.
His face seemed to sag slightly ,
He barely acknowledged me. Most dogs
Curiosity overwhelms their good manners
Because they are compelled to sniff you out
But not him. He just couldn’t be bothered,
His age I guess. I saw them both walking
Yesterday and today, maybe I’ll ask her
How old he is. Maybe not, probably not polite.
What do you think?

Details | James Gibbons Poem

Busy Sandpiper

A solitary sandpiper picks his path
Three - four maybe a score
Find them on any sandy shore
Marvelous kaleidoscope  of mobility
Double jointed tooth pick legs
Old time movies jerk ahead
Staccato motion, roaming and roving
Pointed beak pecks at sand
As if going treasure troving
So intent upon the chore
Hopping over grounded wave
Flap and fly three feet away
Running, racing rain or shine
Like a cycle rider in a line
Skip, leap, nary a peep,
Always hunting, peck and bob.
This no eight to five job.

Details | James Gibbons Poem

Lemon Bars

I tried the lemon bars
My wife made from scratch
Lovely 'luscious lemon bars
The first taste of heaven
Hit my brain like a coke
Snorter's high seen on TV
Then the taste kicked in
Like a Missouri mule,
Galloping down my swallow tube,
Like swans swimming 
To the sea. The substance,
Oh the substance spread
Its sublime satisfaction                                                                                                 
Simply everywhere like
Season's first snow falling
On the outstretched tongues of 
Enchanted winter children.