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Best Poems Written by Meggan Rogalski

Below are the all-time best Meggan Rogalski poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Meggan Rogalski Poem

Crossroads- a Night Flight

I can hear the silence again
I can take back the time to think, to feel, to just 
breathe.
I have held out my hand to slow down time
and I have floated back down to myself
returned to my body for a while, you see;
I am here just on loan.
I dont know if I can lose myself again, 
lose myself to the fear of living, fear of the inevitable, fear of pain inescapable
so I think I'm just gonna ride on out on this illusion wave
and, you know- 
If you find a rock to cling to, and it breaks away suddenly, and you find another 
rock to cling to,
and it also uproots itself as well,
and you feel uneasy without solid ground
you gotta just learn how to be at ease with floating
till you gather the courage to fly away
into the unknown
and pardon my sudden departure.
but the next flight is at 12 sharp
and its already a quarter to midnight

Details | Meggan Rogalski Poem

The Trail of the Dying Sun

The trail of the dying sun
told me of your tears
and the west wind
brought me your name

The river spoke
of all our fears
the ocean
felt the same

The earth waits to receive your bones
and your spirit be cradled by sky
all we are is dust and thought
dust and thought until we die

Details | Meggan Rogalski Poem

If You Had a Name (An Ode To Loss and Water)

If the lovely breeze had a name
we could drift together as two dandelion wishes
floating wanton on foamy winds.
If the river were rolling, gently
we could slide in and swim
for hours, without rushing
and love is like that.
Love is like still water
standing so deep in a vessel
 yet so easily broken upon the smallest of stones;
scattered, and yet-
from this another river begins
(as you begin)
How lovely if you had a name
I would call out to you
and I would hear your reply as
the wind blowing, the water rushing
and not your echoes
 as you trickled across so many small, jagged stones

Details | Meggan Rogalski Poem

The Needle Stings But Sews

Grandmother sits in her rocking chair 
nearly as old as she 
ragged patches of scrap spread across her lap. 

She tells stories from her eighty years of senescence, 
of faces now aged, some no longer bound by this earth 
as though they were still enjoying the blessings of youth- 
as fresh in her mind as the daisies and buttercups I picked for her this morning 
and placed beside her chair; 
its occasional accompanying squeaks affirming her words from time to time.


She did not know then that she was sewing two blankets for me; 
weaving quilts of words 
from patterns of memories 
patching good times to bad 
making one smooth blanket of emotions. 


The needle stings-it's true 
but only so little by comparison 
to the warmth it provides

Details | Meggan Rogalski Poem

Death Comes To An Old Man

An old man, worn and wearied by the toils of life, 
stood alone in a darkened hallway, 
each wall hung with brightly lit paintings. 
He walked by the Mona Lisa, and as he passed 
he knew the reason for her smile. 
He paused before Cleopatra, Queen of Egypt, 
and the air seemed to be sweetly scented with the heavy perfume of roses, which pulled at his soul with soft, wraithlike arms.
He stopped.
The world seemed to shrink away from him,
dissolving into nothingness.
Before him was Van Gogh's "Starry Night"
Its yellow paint looked wet, vivid.
The blue rippled as the colours swirled
together, hypnotizing; the old man transfixed
by their mesmerizing beauty 
as he was swept up into their whirling splendor,
leaving the blue-shadowed hallway silent and empty,
as the pale stars wavered on in cold brilliance

Details | Meggan Rogalski Poem

Epiphany

Well it's sad to say, that this ugly duckling
never grew into anything more than an ugly duck

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Fly Agaric

Wandering traveller of the night
Occult creature,
your velvet butterfly tongue leaves thoughts lingering in my mind
as visions of obscured beauty pass before me,
in the shadow of your smile
hypnotic, illuminating
to pluck the thoughts out of the void
like petals from divine lotus
streams of consciousness pool, playing before our shimmering eyes 
in crescent moon lullaby 
melodic rhythm of throbbing life,
spinning illusion
illuminated in violet luster  
revealing truth hidden in images of splendor
every hue brilliantly diffused
in the immensity of an unshattered silence
fragmented bliss,
I sleep, lulled deeply in Morpheus' embrace 
and so I ask you,
if I am a child of the light why do I feel so at home in the dark?
falling tears die delicately
as you told me that
today is the child of yesterday and tomorrow 
innocence, captured peacefully
formed with golden bough.
Strange, twilight child,
lost in your mercurial pleasure
set free my naked soul
shivering, into darkened night
ascending on stairways of delirium
to the orphaned city of stars

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Monarch

monarch butterfly
breathing regal in colours
black, white, and orange

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Love- Murder Or Suicide?

I am sunflower to you, great sun
I bloom for your presence
Without you I should wither and die, 
but I would scorch beneath the brilliance of your gaze

Details | Meggan Rogalski Poem

Down the Garden Path

When radiant blooms of springtime abound
in every humble garden grows
many a fancier flower to be found 
though noblest is still the rose

How gently do the ivy vines cling
like sunshine on mossy walls
how lovely does the little bird sing
his sweet, throaty enthralls


Where blazing morning glories climb
in shades of violet and blue
they grow like memories entwined 
with seasons spent here with you

In a springtime of soft lovers' strolls
we walked the garden path
across verdant and dewy knolls
echoed the river's laugh

As we grow old and lose our faith
there is a truth that will console
the footsteps of our fleeting youth
leave balmy imprints on our souls