Best Poems Written by Rebecca Watson

Below are the all-time best Rebecca Watson poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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The Willow Tree At the End of the Road

I must have been 7 when I first climbed that old willow tree,
The gang called it the club house.
There was Jodie, Bridget and of course Rebecca the Wrecker. 
I think that that tree was more of school than school.
It was more a parent than my parents.
I certainly learned more about life, boys and the fear of falling,
Than any other place I've been.
We once placed 5 snake eyed marbles there.
The first was Courage in Adversity.
The second marble was Joy in the good times.
The third was Faith to overcome Doubt.
The fourth was Love thy Father.
The fifth marble was Love thy Mother.

I went back one day, all grown up.
I saw that the council had a sign on the tree.
This tree is regarded as unsafe. 
Please beware.

Oh doubt in my childhood. Fear in the  every day.
Let not the pangs of daily life ever erase
The treasured moments in that tree.

Copyright © Rebecca Watson | Year Posted 2012


Details | Rebecca Watson Poem

Dont Go

Don't go
Stay.
Don't go
Stay.
I said no
But I mean, I don't know.

The black moon is drowning over the opal sea.
And my heart is a giant eagle beyond my will.

Hold my hand,
Please.
Hold my hand,
Please.
I said I'm not ready,
But I mean, I don't know.

The red sun is exploding in a plum blue sky.
And my heart is a giant eagle beyond my will.


Sleep with me,
Tonight.
Sleep with me,
Tonight.
I said I'm not sure,
But I mean, I don't know.

The Lightening in my soul is burning, burning burning.
And my heart is a giant eagle beyond my will.

Copyright © Rebecca Watson | Year Posted 2012

Details | Rebecca Watson Poem

The Answer

Why do we ask when the answer is always no.
I look into a blue sky and ask the Ghost of Snow.
But there is no answer.

Hold a baby in your arms, who is dying of cancer.
Let her tiny hand grab onto your finger,
In a last desperate plea for an answer,
And then tell yourself you still believe in God.

Cut your dead son down form the hanging tree,
Wipe the fear from his brow,
Wonder what force allows that level of misery.

The answer is not in the dancer,
It is in the dance.

Copyright © Rebecca Watson | Year Posted 2012

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