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Best Poems Written by Justin Benassi

Below are the all-time best Justin Benassi poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Justin Benassi Poem

Rubik's Cube Sestina

It has not once left me alone, the stubborn beauty,
It has called to me to be at last solved,
But I had left its secrets alone, the unknown pattern,
Colors telling stories left running around my head,
Every fragment remaining present at my side,
I've been left no choice but to learn the cube.

Subtlety not a strength of the cube,
It flashes its routine as a show of beauty,
A rotation giving some new meaning on every side,
It screams to me to be done and solved,
I cannot resist the call as it echos in my head,
As I am inclined to find the natural pattern.

It is not talent that I decode these patterns,
Wisdom pours from the pieces of the cube,
Strength to body, to my soul and head,
Until at last I can interpret that stubborn beauty,
New puzzles presented, new puzzles solved,
It remains with me ever at my side.

Others have put it from their side,
Trampled or mocked the power of pattern,
Convince their being that in their hands it can't be solved,
They self trap in the confines of the cube
Every aspect of both simple and dense beauty,
Lock and seal and throw away the key of their head.

Shame to me if trapped ever is my head,
With only ignorant misery to ever be at my side,
Gray-scale and dull would I find natural beauty,
Confusion certain to hold even with simple pattern,
Never would comprehension visit the cube,
Ever distant the problems from solved.

Joy to the heart that you may be solved,
Enlightenment to minds you posses our heads,
Wonderful truth in so small a cube,
Do not ever leave me, stay at my side
And whisper closely all your practical patterns,
Thank you for being such stubborn, stubborn beauty.

The pattern of the cube,
Can only be solved on every side,
If the beauty is in my head.

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Fragile

A promise breaking:
The sound of a snapping twig
Or butterfly wings

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Pocket Watch

Technological age.
Advancement of advancement,
Digital acceleration unlimited.

Gifted and pocketed,
This watch,
Dull dark silver,
True and tested mechanic,
Short and sturdy chain,
Analogue accuracy.

It fits comfortably in my jeans pocket,
Ages alongside my creasing lines with wear marks,
Time isn't well kept with its adolescent sporadic tock,
Certain to be set to be kept at a minute ahead,
I am directed to watch this future unfold,
While it clings to my pocket lining and present time,
And the engravings pull me back to the past,
You told me not to let this time pass me by,
As you held me tight before you passed me by,
And I never kept very good time like this
Fresh watch that sticks close to my side,
I cannot say that you were lost,
For the path you had set was more set than stone,
No improper implication should be allowed,
The wallowing whispers that beg me every which way,
They told me to go away from the very place
That I had interest to stay and investigate,
The stars sway with no stationary complaint,
Our night sky that's not so city bright,
Contains a dim white plate in-between its phase,
Much like my pocket of space it hangs,
A witless glow behind the cloudy night.

I am no more than I was except for a simple realization,
To look back and find I am not the same as I was,
Commonly known as growing up and moving on,
But I know I'll be happy in just a few short years,
Just glad I am not the same as I am now.

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Distance

Are we not all
The night sky for our atoms,
A brilliant display for our elements,
A grace for our composure?
All are vivid; All are rich,
But as with any star,
Dimmer with distance.

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Nature-Nurture

What suffering has been abated?
The cat still toys with her pray
Watching like a mother protecting her young
A grin carved with malintent

Order, a court of greater ills
Ladders with no rungs, smooth pillars
What sins does this kingdom commit
When there is no capacity for reason?

No ships sunk from remorse
A cargo never considered

What generous heart is weaved in roots and vines?

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Patient

Footsteps echo from where you used to stand,
I've sat around just like I am still now,
That stubborn grin still tied across my face,
Hands still folded, patient and steady.

And I list the things I have not been,
And probably will never be even now,
My voice distinctly lacking any song,
Clumsy more than polite and right to say,

Here my view allows to watch the storm part,
It's burdens are past and the clouds divide,
Into smaller clusters of wisp and life,
Slowly fading into light and air and atmosphere,

Such is your sound and presence of soul,
An echo of the former that will haunt latter days,
As I see you, you're fading is held in place by hands,
Certain and sure in their warmth and grasp,

Shadows and glows define my rest and place,
Definitions and senses of reality or hope,
My joy is ironic and bittersweet bliss surrounds,
Let my chronicle be recorded, my foolish self pronounced.

The pen graces the paper with poorly constructed
Characters arranged into jumbled formations
Unpleasant to the eye and difficult to perceive
Even to the most well trained profession of sight,

These words are mine and will remain,
Although my mind is derivative of truth,
At the end of the day regardless of sun or smile,
I still wait, sitting, as is alone my fate.

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Fresh Air

Concrete streets washed through
Dirt to mud and mud to street
Ground dirty; sky clean

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Room

The room in the corner, 
With its three wood doors, 
Each heavier than before, 
A subtle air not of fear, 
Patient vents waiting to hear, 

Clenching at the scent, 
Umbrage and stale paint, 
Taste of turpentine and taint , 
Dust gracefully composed, 
Large eraser shards in throws, 

Senile light made rent, 
Lingering weight of lead, 
Below a layered graphite bed, 
Glows like the antithesis of chrome, 
A shallow doom drawn in monotone.

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Time

Incessant.
Perhaps better put as
Perpetual.
The master movement mechanic,
As consistent as my healthy heart beat,
The ever clever uninvented
Perpetual motion machine.
It has its circular sway,
Monotonic metronome in
Measured meter mastered.
How uncanny the way it is
Laid in such a strange place.
 
Relentless.
Definitely better made as
Unforgiving.
That callous overlord,
Carefully creating our caution,
The timid terror of the ticking
Clocks and mechanics.
Analogue or digital measure,
Irrelevant ideas indeed seen
In this unstoppable being.
How cutting the way it is
Drained in such a steady way.
 
Ironic.
I would rather make as
Perfect.
This emotional wrapping,
Inescapable bliss train towards pain,
The warm pulse patterns
Make out to mock me.
My out of reach song,
Your gift was this infernal
Perpetual tick tock torture.
How fitting the way it is
surrounding in such a cloudy night.

Details | Justin Benassi Poem

Walk

An old green t-shirt, in the corner
Lying on the floor, crumpled and faded,
Thoughts of the intended owner have their say,
All manners of time have left their stain in white,
Scoffing as they leave, post haste and diligently,
Dilema to the head, to bask and smile at then
Or to perform  a twisting decay more towards today,
The t-shirt is tossed to the cold ground and rain,
A walk to search and scavenge for God knows what,
Impressions from a sigh atomize the rain,
Catching it in place long enough to feel its leave,
Paths of concrete softened with the sheddings of trees,
Soggy yellow wisps that once supplied,
An entire years worth of hope and life,
Until they too faded and now provide
Both support and resistance for distance I transverse,
Only as the rain secedes from the sky can my eyes rise,
We knew it was a facade, however well made,
Just like you said my eyes are ice, glazed and blind,
Clouds concealing stars.