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Best Poems Written by Jennifer Ratcliffe

Below are the all-time best Jennifer Ratcliffe poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Gone

There's no justice in me
for you.

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How To Love

My roots are trembling
through clay orgasm,
tumbling the landslide
that speaks every shake or so.
Leo roars and I await life,
Generic roving rumbles
reminding me of the world around,
but I never remember
how to cling to the ground.

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Speech Therapy

You wrote on the keys of my piano
“there is lost, there is gone, there is none”
you painted shells on my back
you spoke,
my ears tear with sympathy.
Your whisper.

My eyes score you once more,
you pull out the sharp
you take in a drag
you dab another long one
you shape another colour.
And fake goodbye.
Yes. You always fake goodbye.

Because this one isn’t done,
unbegun
you have shone
won in my cells
my skin for another, little take.
Wakeful she’ll take you away,
together in TV colour.
Speech therapy

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The Failure

Most of the failure
is not truthfully that of
the accidental

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Now

... because forever cannot belong

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Kiddiekat Crawl

Pitter Patter kitty's natter,
meow on the wall
eight to go after the fall-
what a whisker risk-er!
And such a minxy tinker!
The paws at the door
straight to the cupboard crumb
sneaky biscuits for the tum,
and into the hall a cry "Mum!-
What's for dinner?"

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Tottenham To Toxteth

Let loose the whip
and tighten the lip
with its reasons for humble cause.

And I'm alight in darkened entries
shrugging my shoulders to warm
my picked pockets with another's
shoes.

Burning down the towered clouds
for the gas chamber streets,
why burn the bills
whilst flesh is still flamable?

And the crier rang out silently.
Could only make out the action,
of something she was trying desperately
the reasons of the destraction.

"You're too blind to make out colours
which have mixed to make brown.
Just a human illusion
of light under cover of sound."

The cobbles are disrupted
and yet its just another cup of tea
to watch on with, pathetically.

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Diversity

Diversity
I was born out of a number,
Faces defining my world,
and I've always been inclined to cumber
the distress I witness at this berth
against the figure.

Yes, the figure that is and is not,
because I have no culture, no heart, nor home.
I am something light tricks to be, an illusion of diversity,
the colour of your teething bone,
the greatest profanity
being humanity,
I am much less-the unfortunate- the unknown.

Words are nothing without your lips,
and spite can't see without some tongue.
So being human cannot reason
without some puncture to the lung.

If there is a God he is not here,
the reliance of invisibility
is one to me
an unintelligibly cowardliness of fear.
You want the air, to take care of what you said was your own will.
You want new souls to suffer for an ancient bill.
You want me to stand and say I am sorry for something I haven't done,
when you're the one,
who is ticking the times tables incorrectly.

Today will be tomorrow and soon after the great past,
If you don't want history
to be seeded in misery
then you should stand out and make it last.

I was born out of a number,
mathematically spiralled into life,
and so far I still find it a struggle
to understand the joy of waking.

To be born is to be alone,
To live is to be surrounded,
To die is to be free,
but for that you must work first.

And I don't barter with this curse,
if there is nothing- I may as well exist a little first.
But what I can't compose is how I see these faces,
where others separate by numbers, words and races,
I only see one in the mirror:

human.

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Invention

Invention is a blinded thing,
solving existence with the existing,
Its mirror stands invisible
and its problems are quizzical,
but yet we surround in its splendour,
thanks to the legacy of the inventor.

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It's Your Prerogative

To cleanse your life, empty out it's past and move on, to leave no explanations, no pity, no shame. To usher the insensitive to the living and the not, to delete faces from your photographs and smile once more. I'm owed no explanation, as I was never bought and was never returned, but my past litters with others excrement. I'm sure you'll do it again and you've done it before, used and disposed, cared and then lost interest; I'm more sure that there'll be occasions where I'll be or have been the same. At the disposing end though, it's instinct to look for recovery, the need to fight is always pointless nowadays. But what can you do?

There's a million different ways to move on or to diminish, and to do either one you have to experience both. It's your prerogative to do as you please as it is mine, and that's all.