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Best Poems Written by Bernadette Langer

Below are the all-time best Bernadette Langer poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Bernadette Langer Poem

Lest We Forget

In churned up soil the poppy rose 
On top of death, still steadily grows 
And in our minds we see the crosses 
That lie in rows and count our losses 

Blood that drips from tiniest bloom 
Beloved children, lost from the womb 
Their essence blown upon the earth 
For infinity, will show their worth 

And so they marched by decree 
A war they fought, so we could be free 
The poppy, how we remember them now 
So in silence we do reverently bow 

One single day, just once every year
To remember all the horror and fear 
To give thanks and praise, to those in need 
Who saved us through unselfish deed 

For so young when they said goodbye 
With no idea that so many would die 
In Flanders Fields where poppies grow 
Innocence, now lays buried in each row 

For those that did return safely home 
Their spirit lost and so had flown
To fly away among the peaceful skies 
With friends and larks with carefree eyes

In the thunder hear the roar of guns
Calling to all our native sons
Arise, arise, from sleep once more
For once again, there will be war

In Flanders Fields, the poppies grow 
They cover our loved ones, buried below 
Like a blanket, they protect all within 
From a world that is ravished by sin 

More souls will join them as the years go by 
More wars will be fought, as the lark does cry 
More fields will be filled, with our dead 
And poppies will mark their graves in red

"Lest we forget and more shall die"
"In Flanders Fields our loved ones lie"

Details | Bernadette Langer Poem

My Left Breast

strange it was there just the other day 
hanging about as usual, 
reminding me in my mirrored image 
of my definite femininity 
now gone, am I less of a woman? 
will you look at me differently, 
or strangely as I do myself? 

I never really gave it much thought before 
of how things come in pairs 
how lonely one would be without the other 
how misshaped one appears, 
no longer jutting forward, 
proclaiming sensuality 
thrusting into the limelight, 

now scars and a flattened ego, 
fill my robe, bras useless without stuffing 
men, look at me in horror, 
women in shock and pity 
and with gratitude, yes that it is not them 
my left breast is missing 
no not missing, taken, stolen...

it was just a lump a few weeks ago 
a tiny pea shaped knob, 
that hid its cancerous intentions
so very well, yet lay in silence waiting 
to steal away that part of me
that defined who I was 
what purpose I served in society 

am I still a woman, a sexual being? 
I'm not sure, my right breast thinks so 
but yearns for its mate, 
the image in the mirror just doesn't seem right 
unequal in its proportions, glaringly lopsided
my left breast is gone, surgically removed  
I can still hear its scream

Details | Bernadette Langer Poem

Naked Dissent

Daddy always kneeled--
but it was Momma who prayed,
as he spread lips that couldn't dissent,
no matter how much they trembled.

She was always naked for him
bleeding babies upon the floor,
while he explored their cradle,
fingering walls absently--
assessing her foundation;

Momma prayed for simple things,
blankets and frigidity--
anything to create separation;

Where naked wouldn't matter
under the cloak of autonomy
and the only grasping thoughts--
would be her own.

Details | Bernadette Langer Poem

Chronicles of Life

I grew up in rows of houses ending in graveyards,
where six feet of dirt covered
the mound of my existence
and failure arched every single doorway.

Depression draped the windows
with patterns stitched
by poverty’s unapologetic hand.

The futility of language lacing its voice
with abject grief and guilt;

Expression left to moan its desperation,
yet unable to communicate its plea.

While eyes lost the blue of horizons and hope--
blindness welcomed

as agony’s twisted comic relief.

Emptiness has a way of filling up
and spilling over, consuming;

 
Until all that remains is a chronicle of life
lived too painfully in reverse,

and the screaming sheathing of despair

mummifying the entombed...

Details | Bernadette Langer Poem

Abused

Belt in hand 
Red of face 
Eyes bulging into space 
The children scatter every place 

His temper is in full bloom 
They know they will pay for it soon 
Tiny hands and tear stained faces 
They silently pray from their hiding places 

"Someone, anyone, please come and protect them" they plead 
"For if not soon they will bleed"
The father rises and calls to each one 
And so it has begun 

Tenatively each steps forward 
Knowing their fate 
With a sadistic gleam in his eye 
The belt finds it's mark 

On soft skin, it leaves it's stark welts
Tears flowing fast
Live rivers in spring 
The terrified kids can do nothing 

On and on he punishes them 
Until they lay like broken toys 
They lie so still 
But he continues to enforce his will 

There is no help
No reprieve 
And worst of all 
This isn't the end 

Tomorrow it all begins again!

Details | Bernadette Langer Poem

Lies of Perfection

in the night, he reaches, my body responds, aching to be near 
yet the mind screams, pulls back inside its deep recesses
familiar pain rears, sits nonchalantly, laughing, taunting me 
is it I who am loved or am I just involved in the act of love 
the end justifying the means, a single moment, a brief interlude 
conveniently remembered and enacted, how can one truly tell? 

I opened my heart and yet I know, I'm not what he was looking for
the knowledge leaves me cold and saddened, ice forming around my core 
rejection, inferiority, second best, all words that accurately describe 
yet leave no telltale signs of the great pain that they have inflicted 
reality and yet my hands roam freely his body as I welcome him inside 
to lie buried deep within my being, my heart beating furiously

the sheer joy of being loved blocking out the fear, feeding on hope 
even if his emotions are not real, every fibre of my being yearns 
to one day capture all his love, to see it expressed in his eyes 
to silently carve my essence indelibly upon his heart,
to feel it in his smiles warmth, as his eyes adore each curve  
the knowledge that says you are mine and I will love you always 

everyone wants perfection, those that know that they are not 
nor ever will be the one, suffer from the lies of perfection 
so here I lie, accepting the very little that is being offered 
praying to someday find more, existing in that in between world 
between shadow and light, where nothing is clear, everything is shaded
needing to be perfection to someone, as I breathe deeply with eyes drifting into 
my dreams, helplessly staring across the bed of my future

Details | Bernadette Langer Poem

Time Means Nothing When You Love

you can love 
in a just a single moment 
so deeply 
that the loss 
is felt for a lifetime 

it doesn't take time 
to form love's bond 
sometimes it is immediate 
a connection of heart and soul 
that defies logic or explanation

these thoughts crowd the mind 
as flowers she lays 
among her memories 
silently filling 
petals with tears 

for blue eyes now closed 
forever gleam brilliantly 
smiles given so eagerly
with tiny lips of kisses 
still hold her heart captive 

so she lays a white rose 
for every day 
that her little girl
blessed her with her presence 
and one red bleeding rose 
to represent the pain of her loss 

for even in the agony, 
the joy far outweighed the pain

time means nothing when you love 

the gift is to love at all...

Details | Bernadette Langer Poem

My Name Is Sam

The kids are playing in the park 
It's late afternoon,  but not yet dark 
Time for one last game of hide and seek 
"Everybody hide and nobody peek".

One little girl stops on the grass to tie her shoe 
She has to hurry before they find her to
Suddenly a shadow falls over her 
She looks up to find a strangers face 

"Hello little girl", the man says with a grin 
"Would you like me to help you win"?
"I'm not allowed to talk to strangers Mommy says"

He reaches out and takes her hand 
"Well ", he says "My name is Sam"
Now that we have met, your Mommy wouldn't object 
"I guess your right", she says with a smile on her face
And she lets him guide her to a hiding place 

Within an hour, everyone is searching the park 
She hasn't come home and now it's dark 
They search and search,  but to no avail 
Her Mother is frightened and very pale

The police arrive and comb the woods 
A short distance in,
The search dog Buddy 
Makes a very grizzly discovery 

They find her lying on the ground 
Her tiny body bent and bound 
Her panties down around her knees 
The horrific scene covered in leaves

Her Mom sees the ambulance by the woods 
She arrives in time to see her beloved daughter 
Being carried in a black  bag thru the trees
The shock and pain bring her to her knees 

Her tears rage, "Oh My God, how can this be,
It was only a game, who whould want to hurt my child?"
She shakes her head, her eyes gone wild 
"Dear God, please no, don't let this be, please, please, 
bring her back to me"!

A few days later in a little church graveyard 
She buries her only child 
Her anger burns deep within 
For the person who perpetrated this sin 

She prays to the Lord for justice to prevail 
As the casket is lowered to the ground 
She prays that he will soon be found

Across town on that very day 
The children are playing in the park 
It's late afternoon, but not yet dark
A man approaches another one and extends his hand
"Hello", he says "My name is Sam"!

Details | Bernadette Langer Poem

Orgasm of Sadness

images pour erratically
falling on eyelashes 
tears fueling my pen 
always the sadness 
finds me waiting 


wrenching emotion 
twisting my heart 
in a vice grip 
can't stop the images 
from driving me insane 


raped and murdered eyes 
pleading for children 
drowned beneath 
adult oppression 
and addiction 


it's the emptiness 
that I write 
a cursed 

social consciousness
that blinds


I don't write love 
for it lies 
can't find happiness 
to send to my pen 
for it lays behind 
my eyes 
a tired whore 
spent and overused 
with too much hype 


can't even pen security 
never found that either 
under blankets or kisses 
not even in hardened urges 
that deflate just as quickly 
conveying only want and need 


no I write of sadness 
I return there 
a drunk to cheap wine 
guzzling my addiction 
with lust 
it holds me safe 
for it is familiar 


I live it 
I see it 
it knows my name 
and I know its


we are intimate 
sadness and I 
a couple 
twisted together 

in some grotesque 
sexual position 
culiminating in orgasm 
with my depressed pen

Details | Bernadette Langer Poem

Empty Nourishment

A porcelain bowl upon the table
waits, in colored beauty,
as a stomach sits to gnaw
upon its filigreed edge,
where an artist once painted
pastel fruit, so delectably.

Emerald vines,
sweeping across delicate expanse,
textured in their stillness,
inviting one's imagination
to simply taste.

But what good is such vision,
when it fills naught but eyes
and lungs, with artful sigh? 
While its emptiness is swallowed whole,
to dwell, in unsatisfied depths.

If artists truly starved,
would they paint only ugliness?
Could hunger ever really appreciate
such decadent beauty,
without considering its waste?

And still the bowl awaits
upon life's table,
as many different hands
span its crafted rim,
in search of individual
fulfillment...