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Best Poems Written by Trista Whaley

Below are the all-time best Trista Whaley poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Trista Whaley Poem

The Randomness of All Random Poems

Pooper Scooper
Scooper Pooper
I like to watch my cat
tip its hat
in its tea.
but only for me
thats why you'll see me
Somewhere over the rainbow
Way up high.
Thats why you wont find us
with a stigh
in our eye.
No it's not a lie
from this mouth.
Yea, thats what I'm talking about!
Dont sit there and pout.
You little nerd.
Go take a turd
In the cow herd
in the field.
Just keeping it real!
Dont catch a feel
in my dress.
Lets play some chess
like a geek
in a creek.
You little freak!
Go play a game.
Just do it for shame.
Not in my name!
You Liar!
Use a mushroom fryer
on a garage band flier
when you put it in a dryer
on low.
You really blow! 
Do it on show.
I'll pay a dollar!!!
And I'll put it in the collar
of your G-string.
Aint a thing
But a chicken wing!
Go get some booty
From a frooty
tooty
cooty
Yuck Boys!
Biotch! buy your own toys
at the special shop
where you always drop
like a blow pop
on the floor.
Dont knock on the door
just ask for more
when you dance dance!
We're falling apart to halftime!
Dance Dance!
Underneath the cork tree
where we took a pee
for a two dollar fee
when we shown our butts.
Or how about when we scratched our nuts.
Your Nucking Futs!

By: Miranda and Trista

Details | Trista Whaley Poem

Constant Vigilance

A plain but inviting bench
Old with chipped black paint
Yet brisk with an energy I long to caress. 

Dancing flowers tall and bare surrounding the old sit-place
Flowing in the ever blowing wind
Weeds entangled in the exquisiteness I strive to accumulate.

Lush green leaves shift and then become still 
As the slight breath of the angels ceases to come
And the bark beams up at me 
Through bright eyes and with never ending nerve.

Downhill there is a creek, bubbling with anticipation
Fish of beautiful colors are trapped beneath the surface
With Elodea Canadensis crowding the bank.

Across the street, children running
With parents striving to reach the goals
That their children can on the play area
Watchfulness is the key ingredient.
Constant Vigilance

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Apocalypse

Apollyon is His name
He will sing for the Day
When the World will turn into ashes

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Preperation

You see signs everywhere.
Traffic signs, shirt logos, or even cute little sayings online.
But have you ever seen a sign about reality?
One that says, "Sometimes, everything's not going to be okay."
Or one that's like a slap in the face?

No

Everyone wants you to see the mask that covers the world.
Instead of the face it has.
Honestly, we need that truth in our lives at some point.
So we can be prepared for the ugly road that lies ahead.

Details | Trista Whaley Poem

The Passing of Lameraeron

Sun rose in the morning
Glittering on snow covered
Driving the freezing dark of night
To another place, another time
Sun set in glorious red, and shining saffron
Moon rises spreading midnight blue and ghostly pearl
In winter, in the glory of Lameraeron.

Dawn breaks over Lameraeron
Bringing warmth back to cold streets
Sending steam skywards from dew-covered stone
Sun warms new buds on creeper, vine and tree
Turning winter's cold gray beauty to fresh emerald
Fair towers and pinnacles bordered with the green hope
Of spring, in the fair days of Lameraeron

Bright sun beats down on markets
Traders and their stalls in Lameraeron's streets
Sending many an exotic aroma wafting on high
Through window in fair citadel, the great towers of watch
Hot day passes to cool night breeze
Stirring softly leaf of tree
Calm summer eve, in the bliss of Lameraeron.

Rain beats on stone and glass
Washing them clean on summer's dust
Rain passes to gentle breeze carrying upon it's breast
Fallen leaves of gold, or of fair oaken brown
Borne by breeze to another place, another dream
The dream of peaceful autumn
In autumn, in the twilight of Lameraeron

Winter returns to Lameraeron in glittering snow and frost
Thick pires of fog veiling the approach
Of the passing of Lameraeron
Evil from the far north, awakened long ago
Came and laid waste the fair glory of Lameraeron
Great city which had for centuries stood, laid waste in but a week
Forevermore the horror of the ruin of Lameraeron.

Details | Trista Whaley Poem

Belief

You said it a thousand times before
but never really believed it
Saw the snow coming down
the thick mist enclosing
felt the ice piling up
the cold sinking in
heard voices fade
care disappear
and yet, you never believed.

Details | Trista Whaley Poem

Hollow

Run desire run
Sexual being
Run him like a blade
To and through the heart
No conscience
One Motive
Cater to the hollow

Screaming feed me here
Fill me up again
Temporarily pacify this hungering
So grow
Libido throw
Dominoes of indiscretions down
Falling all around
In cycles
In circles
Constantly consuming
Conquer and devour

Cause it's time to bring the fire down
Bridle all this indiscretion
Long enough to edify
And permanently fill this hollow

Screaming feed me here
Fill me up again
Temporarily pacifying

Feed me here
Fill me up again
Temporarily pacifying

Details | Trista Whaley Poem

Christmas Morning

Together we recall,
delicate moments-
smells, whispers and dreams.

Back to simpler times,
sweet memories-
rush to forethought.

Tiptoeing softly,
down creaky stairs-
sneaking a peak.

Early morning before dawn,
presents piled high-
teasing and tempting.

Calling to curiosity,
shaking for sounds-
size and weight, enticing wonderment.

Hearing the rumble and grumble,
Dad's truck pulling in-
we race back to bed.

Pretending to sleep,
another hour or two-
till we gather and pounce.

Upon their bed,
waking mom, startling dad-
breakfast and coffee.

We would sit,
like a pack of wolves-
hovering ready to attack.

Around the tree,
maybe to stockings first-
finally to unleash.

Frenzied ripping and tearing,
to reveal our prize-
treasure galore on Christmas morn.

Details | Trista Whaley Poem

The Poet

Her hand races across paper after paper
Words spill from her soul and enter life
Through the metal tip of her favorite pen
Stories of war and art and the assets of life
She sees them through the eyes of a true poet
A true storyteller
A window at the end of the room allows
The sun's light passage into the confines
Of her solitary den... then light washes
Across teh desk and allows her the brightness
She needs for her writing to be done
The images painted on her canvas of words
Glows with emotion set into her every line
Every stanza stands proud, every word
Flows into the next
Her talent is envied by all
She never shows the world how beautiful her mind could be
When the key is placed into her door at night
A soft click to emphasize that no one can enter
Her secret haven
No one can watch as her songs erupt into the forms
Of words and ink splotches
On fresh white paper
No one knows what goes on in her little room
With no color on the walls, no furniture
Besides her little cherry oak desk
And her favorite oak chair
All that accompanies her work
Are the inspirational sights of the outdoors
The warmth of the sun
The songs of the birds that enter through
Her open window
They keep her arm moving
Piles of her work sit beside her
As the portal of her mind's eye
And yet she is not satisfied
For she must leave this sanctuary
But she shall return
Some sunny day

Details | Trista Whaley Poem

He Is

He's the sun that gave me light
He's the moon that lights my night
He's the stars in the sky
He's the only one that's mine

He says things that make me laugh
He says things that make me cry
He says I'm his better half
If thats true I don't know why

He's the reason I'm complete
The only thing I can't defeat
Is the way he makes me feel
The love he gives me, just so real

He's everything I pray for 
He's everything I need
He's everything I wish for
My heart and soul to be

Every time I think of him
I see his warm sweet smile
I admire his magical green eyes
His hands laced with mine
Our fingers entwined
My heart-beat ringing in my head
As I lay here in my bed