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Best Poems Written by Veronica Merka

Below are the all-time best Veronica Merka poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Rendezvous

Soft velvet petals
Rendezvous in the moonlight--
Your lips against mine.

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Tranquil Waters

Her dark eyes reflect
Tranquil waters beyond dusk
When she does not cry.

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Another Long Night

Landscape slimming
Moonlight dimming
Her eyes lose their luster
Her mind-the dream caster

Involuntary decision
Frequent submission
Somnial worlds come
Her soul is undone

Psyche unraveled
Pathways travelled
She rekindles memoirs
that were lost in life's hours

Helpless feelings
Wicked dealings
Her soul seeks escape
from its violent rape

Carefree frolics
Endless picnics
Time seems to stand still
while desires are fulfilled

Dreaming continually
Waking eventually
She sits fully content
Another long night well spent

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Once....

Once.....

I swore I loved you more than any other. 
You couldn't be near me 
without somehow touching me. 
I felt safe when your large, 
soft hands embraced mine.
I believed then that your hands were 
mirrors of your tender heart. 
When you held me, your finger made
an invisible trail from my temple to my chin.
I closed my eyes and vowed
never to forget how that felt. 

I would have to stand on the tips of my toes
just to lock my arms around your neck. 
You held me so tightly,
as though you never wanted to let me go. 
I would run my hands 
down the back of your head, 
that you hadn't shaved in two days,
and it felt like velvet on my fingertips.
My face was so red from your stubble after we kissed
that I looked like a child with
Kool-Aid stains around my mouth.

Your eyes were indecisive.
On Monday they were deep blue,
and by Tuesday they had been overcome
by a sea of green emeralds.
At night, you would kiss me,
and my lips would burn
from the VapoRub you had put on yours 
to keep them from drying and cracking.
When you woke in the morning to shower,
my eyes would crave you 
and follow your naked body to the bathroom door.

Now.....

This dusty film plays over and over in my head
as I sit alone in my bedroom,
wearing your sweatshirt,
clinging to your photo,
praying to forget....

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The Gift

God sent an angel down to touch
This motionless recluse. 
Emotions that I had not felt 
In years were then induced.

Old sadness and resentment
That had broken me in two,
I chose to bury deep beneath the Earth--
That life was through.

The angel pieced the small shards back
With ease and tender care.
Then gently brushed the dust and dirt
To aid in my repair.

He opened up his life to me,
And reached out from inside.
I said, "I'm so in love with you."
"I love you, too," he replied. 

His presence is a blessing.
My prayers have come true.
He has given me the gift of love--
A chance to start anew.

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Shall We?

Your lips,
soft as velvet petals,
encounter mine in a 
midnight rendezvous.
The moon,
outside the window,
is our chaperone tonight.
Shall we?

With a slight ripple of mischief
in the tranquil waters of my eyes,
I slowly close the plum-colored drapes.
It is just you and I now....
wearing nothing but smiles.
We embrace and entangle
as though we are two strands of hair
trapped in an inescapable knot.

Your tongue
speaks novels as my skin listens.
Your fingers
paint the pale landscape of my body.
We both share in this bliss
until we explode
into a midnight
thunderstorm.

The storm soon dissipates,
and our bodies and souls
collapse from exhaustion.

Soon, 
we are ready for another rain dance.
Shall we?

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Frigid

Your resentment bites as the frigid sea
In a frozen arctic land.
The initial encounter brings agony
That no human could sainly withstand.
The breath from my lungs is harshly exhaled,
And goose bumps plague my pale skin.
The pain that your anger first had unveiled
Is replaced by a numbness within.
My muscles are stiff, I can no longer fight
This war that you have begun.
I try to yell out and curse you despite
The fact that my struggle is done. 
Your bitter words have no more control.
This death will free my broken soul.

Details | Veronica Merka Poem

Snow Day

Sleepy trees remain still
in the cool, crisp air
as joyful sparrows dart from tree to tree.
Clouds in every shade of grey paint the sky,
and a silence
-heard only in the dead of winter-
is present.

Soon, a newborn breeze 
begins to play a light sonata
on the delicate wind chimes above the porch.
The trees awaken to the music,
and stir restlessly.
I watch and wait silently with them.

My nose and cheeks turn to a light rouge color.
My skin begins to sting
from the escalating winter winds.
The blood in my fingertips stiffens.
My eyes become dry
and thirst for warmth and humidity.

As I turn to open the front door,
to blanket myself in the sultry air of the living room,
I feel a tiny cold bite 
on my nose...
then on my cheek...
again on my lower lip...

My eyes drift upwards to scan the grey sky,
only to meet a cascade of what looks to be 
millions of miniature specks of white cotton.
I allow the newcomers to penetrate the pink skin on my face,
and I open my mouth to taste their pureness--
a taste that cannot be imitated by any other.

I twirl in a whirlwind of circles, 
arms outstretched,
eyes to the heavens.
My inner child has emerged, 
and will bask in the
perfection
of this day.

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Watermarks

There is no need for her to speak
of how she fell from glory.
Watermarks stain her cheeks
and tell her bitter story. 

Her betrayal begins in the plateaus
of her weak and swollen eyes.
As her love for him began to grow,
he detained her with his lies.

Follow the grooves to the mark 
that was painted on at birth.
She felt her life was truly stark
before he stole her worth.

Devalued she quickly became,
as is apparent beside her mole.
She did not sense his acid rain
that flooded her poor soul.

Her heart was not enough to give.
Love transformed into fear.
Devoured by pain, each day she lives
with scars carved by her tears.

Details | Veronica Merka Poem

Where I Walk

On the sweltering sands of this hourglass
is where I walk....

My bare feet blister. 
It feels as though I am walking on hot coals.
As I struggle to walk,
I see images of beautiful lakes and ponds.
The hot air, with its lies and deceit,
has fooled my brain into believing
that the crystal pools of water ahead of me
are genuine.
But soon I realize that
the only water for miles is my own perspiration. 

I have no one here....
nothing....

My only company is the tiny grains of sand--
an audience of orange, white, and black.
But the wind continually picks them up
and carries them to a new world,
away from me.
Everyone here is bored with my performance.
What is it I have done?

Sadly, I explore this empty world
with my brown marble eyes, 
looking for someone....
something....
I realize that I am surrounded by magnificent artwork--
beautiful mountainous sculptures
that mirror the smooth flow of the wind.
But rather than enjoying this desert's art gallery,
I instead tell myself that
these sculptures are another obstacle
that I must face 
to find my way out of this lonely barren world.

I cup my hands around my mouth and plead,
"Is anyone out there?
Can anyone hear me?"

No echo.

No reply.