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Best Poems Written by Bruce Schuhart

Below are the all-time best Bruce Schuhart poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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After You

I saw a light from across the field
On a night the sky shed tears of rain.
I had hoped the dark would help to shield
My heart from sorrow it need not feign.
To the burden of truth I must yield
And with truth the burden I might explain.

The light shone on, then it was put out –
It’s glow prematurely extinguished.
Gloom filled the void and then cast about,
It engaged me and I was anguished.
Morning found my spirit easy to flout,
And all that morning I so languished.

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In Passing

I felt the cool of a morning breeze
As it rustled through the poplar leaves.
It may have been urging “come with me”
As it swayed the flowers around my knees.

I tried to discern but could not see
Nor mark its transient destiny,
And if to follow I might have yearned,
But its passing left no void in me.

To exotic affairs I might have turned
Or intrigues of state I might have spurned,
But would I be wiser for all I had learned
Once having departed and then returned?

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The Fairy In the Glen

She comes to me when e’er she will,
When starlight sprinkles my windowsill.
When the dew finds rest upon the grass
She taps upon my window glass.

I go outside to be with her,
To share a moment soft and pure,
But she soon glides away down a wooded lane
And I who follow think I follow in vain.

We amble through the night time woods,
Past curled up ferns and dark monk’s hoods,
Past spiders in their silken weavings,
Long past when night surpasses evening.

I follow her deep into the glen
To the reedy edge of a foggy fen
Where cattails sway in a subtle breeze
And glowworms float in airy ease.

She pauses by a drowsy creek
And turns to me as if to speak,
But saying nothing moves farther ahead
And alights on a nearby milkweed bed.

She bids me listen to a joyful tune
The crickets play beneath a full white moon,
The notes flutter, then fall, gentle and sweet
In dappled moonlight at my feet.

We listen in silent similitude
Afraid to disturb the delicate mood,
Yet soon she starts to converse with me
And I am richer for her company.

We talk about many wonderful things –
About robin’s eggs and butterfly wings.
About caterpillars, elves and gnomes
And where she claims to make her home.

We talk about love and the joy it will bring
And how it can make a lonely heart sing.
I then smile at her but she turns away
And I, left speechless, have nothing to say.

And so we share the passing night
And greet the dawn’s creeping light,
But before the night succumbs to day
She once more starts to glide away.

She lingers near the waking brook
Then disappears in a rocky nook.
Looking in I can see her no more –
She has returned to where she was before.

Morning has come too soon it would seem
And she has left me alone to ponder my dream.
A dream?  Perhaps, but real I know
For she had deigned to make it so.

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The Frog and His Fiddle

Cross-legged he sits upon the ground
Playing a fiddle that makes no sound.
With a broken bow in his frozen grip
No note from his hand will ever slip.

He sits amidst the flowers in bloom-
The air redolent with their sweet perfume,
But he’s immobile indeed throughout the day
And so never sends forth a musical lay.

Yet I swear I heard as I was falling asleep
At the end of a day I had no wish to keep,
When my mind was weary and my thoughts were dim, 
I’m sure I heard music coming from him.

He fiddled in notes that were joyful and witty;
Soon I was caught up in his musical ditty.
As the crickets kept time with his light airy tune
The flowers all danced beneath the full moon.

And I, for my part, as I lay in my bed
With his music swirling in my dream covered head,
I danced with the flowers each in their turn
Humming a song I never did learn.

Then after a while he changed what he played 
As he eased into a soft serenade, 
And the crickets, and flowers, and I myself too,
Found rest in the notes his music spoke through.

And so I dreamt throughout the night
Then greeted the dawn with strange delight,
And the troubles that had gone to bed with me
Now no longer have the same urgency.

If you called me strange I would have to approve,
For I certainly agree that a statue can’t move,
But I noticed this morning down the garden lane
As the sun slowly crept toward my window pane

That the frog and his fiddle, though in the same place,
Has a wry little a smile upon his face,
And with his fiddle resting on his knee-
I do believe he winked at me!

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At Sunset

The sky is cast in Heaven’s forge
With pourings of molten sun.
Clouds rise like steam from the furnace gorge
As liquid colors start to run.

Bright yellow light is liquefied
And spills from the bubbling pot.
It illuminates the countryside
In places where the shadows are not.

The blazing orange of the burning sky
Is rimmed around with a golden band,
Like an ingot just poured and set nearby
It slowly cools over the darkening land.

The fire then dies and the furnace cools
And all the day’s labors are now complete.
At rest are God’s celestial tools
And the glowing embers at His Feet.

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Tomatoes On My Shelf

The last of my tomatoes are in a basket
I keep in the corner of my kitchen shelf.
I can’t remember when I picked them
But there are much too many to eat myself.

All summer long the crop was good -
Each vine strained hard against its stake.
There was more than enough for just one man
With plenty left after what the wildlife would take.

I tended to each from seed to seedling,
And saw each mature to a full-fledged vine.
From little green spheres to red ripe tomatoes
I blushed with pride knowing these were mine.

Yet these remaining tomatoes are a curious sight,
In fact they are rather an ugly scene.
I think I have kept them much too long
Because they are once again turning green.

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Deep In the Wind

I heard her calling from deep in the wind,
From someplace too far away.
A muffled voice, some shapeless words-
What was it she was trying to say?

I turned my head and strained to hear,
But her words were a jumble of sound.
They were tossed about like the dying leaves
That carelessly blew on the ground.

I gave up listening and started away,
But paused once more in my track.
I heard again- or so I thought-
What could have been “Please, come back!”

But those words too, were quickly lost
As the wind gave them formless flight.
They were stolen away in the autumn air
And disappeared in the encroaching night.

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Moonlight

Deep was the night, layered in darkness,
When the moon hid her face behind an opaque veil.
In the breathless silence of the tranquil starkness
It seemed the night was immortal in the slumbering dale.

There came a light breeze from some distant place
With no more strength than what a whisper brings.
The maple tree murmured in its tremulous embrace
And the clouds flew away on invisible wings.

No longer hidden by that vaporous veil
The moon takes her place as the guardian of night.
Resplendent now in her gown long and pale
She illumines my room with her faint falling light.

She takes her place at the foot of my bed
And keeps a vigil while I slumber.
She soon drapes her robe across my head
And loosens the dreams the night might encumber.

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In a Summer Meadow

Being bathed by sunshine showers
Is a vast array of wildflowers.
Swaying in time to a summer song
This field of color is a dancing throng.

They shimmy in the daytime heat
And move as one to a breezy beat.
Their petals are poised for celebration
And send out a perfumed invitation.

Bees soon catch wind of the scented air
And gather to sample the meadow’s fare.
From flower to flower they buzz and play
Enjoying the wares of the floral buffet.

Butterflies, too, join the revelry
As they float along so daintily.
Their confetti wings of airy mirth
Are bits of rainbow that flutter to earth.

Then the birds of songs and other means 
Lend their plumage to the meadow scene
With notes of joyous melody
They sing of the daylong gaiety.

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An Invitation Declined

The gift that is given is given in vain.
The loss is incurred by having to explain
What the present is and why it is hers
The acceptance of which she deftly defers
Thus avoiding, yet causing, much heartfelt pain.